More Than Music (14 page)

After his brother left, Jared sat on the edge of the bed near me. “Kyle’s only trying to help you.”

“I know. I just suck. I’m going to ruin everything for us.” I threw my arm over my face. This bed was comfortable. Maybe I could just lie here forever, and then I’d never have to perform again. A perfect solution to this problem.

“You don’t suck.” He jumped up and grabbed his guitar again. “C’mon, maybe I can help. Kyle spends all his time on stage behind a keyboard anyway.”

I sat up to watch him. I was willing to try anything at this point, and let’s be honest, I always enjoyed seeing Jared perform.

“For me, the trick is to feel the music and move along with it. Tap your foot, nod your head, whatever feels natural.” He started the opening again and leaned back, stretching his long body as he played. I stared at the spot where his stubble trailed off on his neck, yearning to press my mouth there. I imagined the way it would feel to slide my fingers under his shirt and across his toned stomach. I wanted to see that tattoo on his chest again.

He stopped and frowned at me. “What?”

What was
wrong
with me? I dropped my gaze and grabbed my own guitar. “Nothing.”

This time I tried to feel the music as I played, but it didn’t come as easily for me as it did for him. The truth was, I was still too distracted from picturing all the things I wanted to do to him. It was like avoiding Jared had only made my desire for him increase, and now that we were alone—and now that I knew what he looked like without any clothes on—I found it even harder to resist him.

“That was better,” he said. “But I can tell you’re still holding back.”

No kidding. If I was in this room with Jared for one more second, I might not be able to stop from touching him. Where was Hector? Shouldn’t he be back from the gym by now?

“This isn’t working,” I said. “Maybe we can try again tomorrow.” Tomorrow, when the other guys were here, too, and I could focus on something other than being alone in a hotel room with the hottest guy I’d ever met.

“Hang on, I have another idea.”

I sighed. “I don’t know…”

“Let’s try playing something together, something just for fun.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know this one?” he asked and then started up “Blitzkrieg Bop” by The Ramones. It was one of those songs most rock guitarists learned since it was simple but a lot of fun to play. I reluctantly joined in when the chords repeated again. When he got to the chorus, I sang along too, and he grinned at me.

As the song went on, I loosened up and let myself get into the music with him, tapping my foot to the beat. We jammed on our guitars and grew louder and more ridiculous, not caring if the people in the rooms next to us complained. It was the kind of song you could easily be silly and over the top with, and by the end, we were bouncing around and belting out the words like we were drunk.

When it ended, I fell back on the bed and laughed, my pulse racing. Playing with Jared like this, banging on our guitars and singing at the top of our lungs without caring what we sounded like, it was different from playing alone or with the band or even in front of Julie and Carla. With one song, Jared had reminded me why I loved playing guitar in the first place.

He crashed on the bed next to me, and we stared at the ceiling as we caught our breath. After a minute, he propped himself up on one arm to look at me. “I’m impressed you could sing all the words to that one. Who knew piano player Maddie had this hidden punk rocker inside her?”

“No one. Before I joined the band, guitar was a secret, a guilty pleasure. Something I only did when I was alone in my room.”

He raised an eyebrow. “And yet you picked up my guitar at a party and played one of my songs like you had written it yourself.”

I covered my face with my hands and groaned. “I knew you’d bring that up eventually.”

“Hey, I’m flattered. Besides, it worked out in the end.” He trailed a finger across my arm, his touch soft, making me shiver. “I saw the real you that night, and just now I saw her again. That’s the trick. When you’re on stage, play like you do when you think no one’s watching.”

I dropped my hands to stare up at his face, so close to mine I could smell the shampoo he’d used. I wanted to kiss him so badly my body ached with it. It wasn’t just how his hair was still wet, framing his blue eyes and dark lashes, or the way the tattoos on his arms stood out against his otherwise flawless skin or how his voice made me forget everything but him. It was the Jared I discovered every time we were alone together, the one who somehow found the real me and set her free.

His hand cupped my face and his head dipped lower, lightly brushing his lips across mine. Little warning lights flashed in my head. What was I doing, lying on a bed with Jared, about to kiss him? This couldn’t happen. Not only because of what Dan had said about the producers and the show, but because I knew if I fell for Jared, I might never recover.

I pressed a hand against his chest. “I’m sorry. I have to go, um, to dinner. With my friends. Right now.”

He stared at me while I jumped up and stuffed my guitar back into the case. “Maddie—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I ran for the door before he could even get up.

Once outside the elevator, I pushed the button a hundred times until it arrived. Only when I stepped inside and the door shut did I allow myself to relax. That had been way too close. Kissing Jared could only lead to heartbreak, and it would ruin everything with the band and with the show. But how was I supposed to resist him for another three weeks?

The crowd screamed as the lights went up and the four mentors walked to their seats, waving at the audience. Ray Carter appeared on stage, his black hair shining, and he flashed a big smile.

“Welcome to
The Sound!
This is the first live show, and tonight’s theme is ‘Sick of It All.’ Starting now, your votes will determine who stays and who goes, and ultimately, who wins
The Sound
. We have some amazing performances lined up, so let’s get started! But first, let’s talk to the mentors about their bands and what they’re hoping to see from them.”

I watched from the screens in the lounge and then turned away to get some coffee. After a full day of hair, makeup, wardrobe, and soundchecks, I was already exhausted—and we still had another hour before we went on stage.

Mohawk Girl was filling up on coffee, too, wearing a green plaid skirt with a studded corset and matching choker. “Hey,” she said as I grabbed a cup.

“Hey.” I wasn’t sure what to say to her. We’d never really talked before. I didn’t even know her name.

“You’re a lucky girl.”

“Huh?” Had I missed something? Maybe I was more out of it than I’d thought.

“You and Jared,” she said, nodding to where he sat with Kyle. He looked over at us, as if he’d somehow heard his name, and winked.

“Oh. We’re not together.” I dumped a bunch of sugar and cream into my coffee and stirred it, hoping this conversation would end already. She was not helping with my plan of thinking about Jared as little as possible.

“Yeah?” She leaned against the table, with no intention of leaving. “I tried to get him up to my room the other night, but he wouldn’t go for it. I figured it’s cause he’s with you.”

“Nope. We’re just friends.” I was tired of repeating that phrase, but maybe if I said it over and over, I’d start to believe it, too.

She nudged my side with a bony elbow, which kind of hurt. “Uh huh. He can’t keep his eyes off you. If you’re not tapping that now, you need to get on it before someone else does.”

I was sure my face had turned bright red, despite the layers of makeup on it. “Um…thanks for the advice.”

“No problem. Good luck tonight.”

“You too.”

She went back to her band and I sipped my coffee, going over her words. All the rumors I’d heard about Jared made it seem like he would sleep with any girl who offered, and Dan had told him to encourage this reputation. But to be honest, I’d never actually
seen
Jared do anything beyond flirting, and hearing he’d turned down this girl who had thrown herself at him was a huge relief. But even if Jared
was
interested in me, he and I had to stay apart as long as we were on the show. Besides, I doubted he wanted anything beyond a quick fling, like his former bassist had been.

Bands moved in and out of the lounge as they waited for their sets or recovered afterward, and I admired all of their costumes. Compared to some of them, our band’s sleek, futuristic, black-and-red military uniforms looked almost tame. Of course, mine had a short skirt and a low-cut jacket with nothing underneath, while the guys got pants and a jacket that completely covered them. Dan said it was necessary for the “young male vote,” but the blatant sexism still made me want to set my costume on fire, even if I did look pretty hot in it—especially with the tall black heels that made my legs look longer.

The Static Klingons took the stage and performed “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People, which the audience seemed to enjoy. When they were done, Sean ran over to me with a giant smile. “Maddie!”

“Hey, Sean. Great performance!”

“Thanks!” He reached out a little, like he wanted to hug me, but then pulled back when I didn’t respond. “I’m so sorry about the Angel thing. I just feel horrible about how it all went down.”

“Don’t worry about it—really.” Not this again. I’d seen Sean a few times in the hotel lobby since our battle, and he always apologized for getting us kicked off Angel’s team. Truthfully, I should be apologizing to him, since we now had a better mentor and he was still stuck with Angel.

“Are you doing something tonight after the show? Do you want to get something to eat or…?”

While Sean talked, Jared watched us with a scowl on his face. Probably worried I was giving away all our secrets again.

Hang on, was Sean asking me out on a date? I must have waited a little too long to answer because then he added, “You know, to talk strategy and stuff and, uh, just hang out… ”

Now I was even more confused. Did he actually like me or was he trying to get info out of me? I couldn’t tell, but it didn’t really matter because I had no interest in going out with him. “Sorry, I can’t tonight. I have a meeting with the band.”

“No problem. Maybe later this week?” His drummer called his name, and he turned to wave at him. “I’ve got to run, but we’ll talk later!”

He bounced off to join his band, saving me from further conversation. I’d need another excuse to avoid a date with him later, assuming we both lasted that long on the show. Who knew if either of our bands would still be around after tonight?

The Quiet Battles, the folk band on Team Dan, went before us with a song I didn’t know, and there were so many of them they barely fit on the stage. Did they even have enough instruments for all of them to play? I saw a harmonica, a violin, and a banjo, and one guy even “played” a plastic bag, if you could call it that. I’m not sure crinkling it in front of a microphone counted as playing, but I was trying hard not to judge. They also had two complete drum kits. Who needed
two
drum kits? If The White Stripes could be the loudest band ever with only two members, there was just no need for that.

Next it was our turn. Our equipment was already set up on the back of the revolving stage, and we quickly got in place and waited while The Quiet Battles got comments from the mentors. The thrill of going on stage made every nerve in my body tingle. I wasn’t scared this time; instead, I was anxious to get back out there and perform again. Playing on stage was my drug, and I was an addict now.

The stage began to revolve, and the crowd swelled in front of us. As red lights flashed behind us and smoke filled the air, the guys started playing. I waited, tapping my foot along with the beat, and then my fingers took off across my guitar with the eerie opening notes. Hector’s steady rhythm centered us and Kyle clapped along to get the audience going while Jared’s voice filled the theater. I nodded my head with the music and leaned into my mic to sing the backup chant at the end of each verse. The bass line Jared pulled off was almost hypnotic, and as his fingers moved up and down the fret board, I imagined those same fingers playing across my skin. I watched his lips caress the mic as he sang and pictured him doing the same to me. And as his voice rang out from the speakers, I wondered what it’d be like to hear him cry out my name instead.

Damn, I needed to get a grip. I stomped on my pedal to change the tone and forced myself to focus. Jared’s advice about playing like no one was watching came back to me, and I tried to let myself fall into the song. Dan and the guys had told me to move more, so I started walking across the stage toward Jared, as if his words were pulling me to him. But when I neared him, I tripped on a cord in my stupid tall heels. I tried to catch myself to prevent a complete face-plant but ended up stumbling off the edge of the stage, on top of a very large security guard.

The audience gasped, and Jared’s voice choked on the lyrics. For a second, I just sat there, stunned and horrified by what had happened. I couldn’t tell if I was injured or not, my body still in the post-fall adrenaline shock. I got to my feet quickly, the audience pressing around me, on my level now with only the security guards keeping them away. Sweat dripped down my back, under my clothes. I had to escape, from the cameras, from the crowd, from this complete disaster of a performance. I glanced around, looking for an exit, but there was no way out.