Page 17 of Under the Ink

And rap.

But those were secrets. Even Ginny only knew about her penchant for marching band. Not a soul knew she loved rap.

Well…lovewas maybe the wrong word—but she enjoyed how different it was from all the other music she had to listen to constantly.

At work, all she heard was weird pop and hipster music, and hearing it incessantly, the same songs over and over again, had made her hate it. Shock Treatment’s songs would be a welcome change of pace. But she was trying to recall one of their songs, and the only thing that came to mind was a tune off their first album called “Battlefield.”

Could she play the beat from memory?

Even if not, she wanted to test out the kit. As she began tapping on the skins, she realized just how out of practice she was—and she had no clue how to play the beat to that song. Instead, she wound up playing like she imagined a jazz drummer might, creating a rhythm that felt good to her and spoke to her soul.

When she was familiar with the layout, she closed her eyes.

She heard Bobby say, “Nice,” but then his phone rang, an obnoxious ring tone of a loud barking dog paired with an old-fashioned landline ring. Fortunately, when he started talking, he walked away, taking his noise with him.

For several minutes, she simply had fun banging on the drums, realizing this act was probably far more beneficial to her soul than any talk therapy she’d ever done. Bobby, having hung up his phone, started walking back across the cool room with a smile on his face. “Looks like you might be able to fill in if we ever have issues.”

“No way.” Naomi was tempted to drop the drumsticks at the suggestion. Instead, she took a deep breath, removing her feet from the bass drum pedals before resting the sticks back on the snare where she’d found them.

Just then the metal door at the front of the big room opened and a tall guy walked in the door. Was that the drummer?

It had to be.

Even indoors, he was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Why was that? As he sauntered in, Naomi couldn’t help but check him out. She had no intention of getting involved with anyone, but it was hard to deny who a person was at her core.

And, boy, how she’d tried.

After the incident in high school, relationships were off the table. Still, she couldn’t help but be immediately drawn and attracted to the beautiful man who was heading her way.

It wasn’t that shewantedto be attracted to men or even have anything to do with them. After graduating, she’d tried so damn hard to like women. She’d even gone on a date with one, hoping that she could feel something for a female, something akin to how she was drawn to men—because one thing she was certain of: few women would hurt her the way Jacob had.

But no such luck. She was attracted to males, like it or not.

Drawing in a slow breath through her nostrils, Naomi stood, moving away from the drums, unable to pull her eyes off the man walking her way. He had shaggy dark blond hair that would have hung in his eyes had he not been wearing the sunglasses. There was some definition to his pecs underneath the t-shirt, too, and he had a strong jaw. Plus she knew drummers oftentimes had well-developed arms, ones that could hold her tight, protecting her from the world.

What in the hell was she thinking? Where had that come from? The guy sauntering up to her was most definitely not the type who would protect anyone, much less her. He couldn’t even take care of himself by the look of things.

As he approached Bobby and Naomi, she was certain of one thing: the man was hung over.

When he opened his mouth, though, she discovered he wasn’t hung over at all. Instead, he was a drunken mess.

* * *

“You’re late.”

Walking past the band manager, Sage said, “What the fuck, Bobby? You were supposed to hire a new drum tech, not someone to replace me.” Even though the drumming had stopped before he’d walked in, he knew Bobby didn’t even know how to hold a pair of sticks properly.

Which left him fucking intrigued by the woman in front of him. And he surmised that she was probably a pretty thing, but she had so much makeup on, it was hard to tell.

Add to it, she was covered in tattoos. Holy hell. She had more of ‘em thanhehad, including two full sleeves. She seemed thin but strong—and her drumming was pretty damned impressive.

But he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Not until he was entirely sure about what was going on here.

“Yeah, Sage, we did. This here’s your new drum tech. Naomi Baxter, this is Sage Jackson. Naomi’s never been a tech before, but she comes highly recommended.”

“By who?”

“By Len Karlson, your old band teacher.”

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