Storm Goddess Book Reviews & More: Release Blitz: Craving Constance

Turned out Gary Steele from Music Line did have a job for me. I almost lost my shit when he said Blow Hole was looking for a replacement guitarist to finish their tour with them. Fucking Blow Hole! As in some of my favorite music to play.

I knew the chords to their songs better than any other band. I liked their sound and I’d always been able to pick up their pace right away. I could hardly believe my luck. So when he told me they wanted me to come to their condo in Los Angeles to audition, I was all over that shit.

I called Shay to bring me some gas money, told her why I needed it, listened to her scream on the other line, and then I drove entirely too fast to the address Gary gave me. I pulled up around the corner and changed my clothes in the backseat of my car before going inside the massive building the boys lived in.

When I finally made it to the top floor, I stood in front of the door and convinced myself that ringing the doorbell was the best thing I could do no matter how badly my nerves were jumping around. I’d never auditioned before since I’d never played for any other reason than I loved it, and I couldn’t lie. I was scared.

When I finally worked up the nerve, I reached out and rang the doorbell. I stood there waiting for someone to answer the door, but no one came. I rang the bell once more, and the door opened quickly.

“Can I help you?” It was Finn, the lead singer.

Everyone who loved music knew who Finn was. His voice was soulful. When he sang, he put so much emotion behind it you could almost believe he was living his lyrics. He was raspy and deep, and I’d be lying if I said he wasn’t attractive.

He was taller in person, and honestly, I expected more muscles, but that didn’t take away from his eyes or those lips that girls seemed to get wet over. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. A black shirt with cut-off sleeves covered his chest yet revealed his tatted arms, and a pair of drawstring sweats hung from his hips with loose ties that brought my eyes to his crotch.

Quickly, I looked back up at him and my cheeks turned red when his expression told me he’d caught me looking. Turning away, I adjusted my guitar case and shook the thoughts from my head. I wasn’t one to get star struck… ever, but Finn was the real deal.

Looking back up at him, the question in his eyes told me I needed to speak or he was going to close the door in my face.

“I’m here for the audition.” My voice cracked and I wanted to slap myself.

I needed to snap out of it.

I adjusted the guitar strap on my shoulder to show him I wasn’t messing around.

“You’re kidding, right?” His right brow popped up in challenge.

I didn’t have time for the whole females can’t play bullshit I knew was coming. So I went in for the kill.

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Is the word jokester tattooed across my forehead? Yes, I’m a chick. I have tits and a clit, but I have bigger balls than any man you know, and I can play the fuck out of a guitar. Now are you going to keep wasting my time, or are you going to invite me in to play?”

His mouth popped open in a wide, shocked smile. Then he chuckled to himself and stepped aside.

“Then by all means, come in.”

The space was sleek and clean considering it was the home of a bunch of rockers. Abstract red-and-black paintings of different instruments covered white walls, and the place smelled like pot and beer.

The place was huge. I followed behind Finn through three sets of doors until we were in a sitting room, and then I set my guitar case on the counter that split the living room from the kitchen.

A white, leather sectional filled the room. Eyes stared back at me as I entered behind Finn and instantly I recognized the drummer, Chet, and the bass player, Tiny. Finn left the room, leaving me in a silent uncomfortable moment.

Taking a seat on the edge of the couch, I kept my bitch face on. Chet grinned at me from across the room and nodded at me as he licked his lips. His tongue piercing clicked against his teeth. He was the colorful one of the group. Tattoos and piercings everywhere. I did, however, seriously dig his fauxhawk.

I’d been looking at him too long, and he was enjoying the attention. He was definitely the playboy of the group. I’d heard the rumors about him and how he stuck his cock in anything wet. I rolled my eyes and turned my head, and then my eyes connected with the bass player’s.

Tiny’s name was a joke considering there was nothing small about the man. He was huge. His thick tattooed arms were crossed. A look of absolutely no tolerance was plastered on his face. Quiet and mysterious was his game. Every band had one, and I usually dealt best with them, but something about the way he looked at me made me feel nervous.

His dark-brown hair was buzzed short and faded into a set a sideburns that melted into his light mustache and goatee. My eyes shifted to his lips and again, I wanted to slap myself. It was unlike me to even notice the things I’d noticed since I stepped into the den of sin, also known as the home of Blow Hole, and I wasn’t about to let the disgusting pheromones that lingered in the air get to me.

Tiny’s dark, angry eyes dug into mine and I suddenly felt exposed. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair to make sure I had no strays poking out, and then I turned away from him. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze in the side of my face. I didn’t like it.

Just when I was close to telling him off, Finn came back into the room and crashed onto the couch. Behind him, Zeke, the lead guitarist, came limping in. A cast covered his picking hand and instantly I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to not be able to play. He looked at me in confusion as he sat down.

As far as I was concerned, Zeke was one of the best guitarists I’d ever heard. His technique was unusual, but the sounds that came from his strings were amazing. I’d practiced his sound since the first time I’d heard them play on the radio. I’d once see them from afar in concert at a bar in Los Angeles, but the boys were playing bigger venues these days.

“So where’s the replacement guitarist? Zeke asked in aggravation.

The room filled with laughter like I was a joke, and it pissed me off. I stood and crossed my arms to show them I wasn’t dicking around.

“That would be me,” I said sternly.

Zeke looked me up and down without a drop of sexual awareness in his gaze, and I appreciated the fact that he was simply sizing me up, not checking me out. It probably had something to do with the petite blond that had followed him into the room.

“Is that so?” he asked.

He was acting cocky, and honestly, he had every right to be.

“Yep. Want me to play or what?” I asked.

Everything depended on this job and while I knew some would call me stupid for being such a bitch, I knew the boys would appreciate it. I’d been a part of their world before. I knew all about the girls that chased rockers around with their legs open. I was sure it was refreshing to have a woman in their presence who didn’t drool all over them. I’d definitely checked them out, but I wasn’t the drooling type. Not to mention, I knew band boys weren’t for me—at all.

Zeke looked around the room at the rest of the guys. “Is this some kind of joke?” he asked.

Again, the boys burst out in laughter, which did nothing but make me madder.

“It’s not a fucking joke. Quit being a chauvinistic asshole. Either you want me to fucking play or not. Say something and quit wasting my goddamn time,” I snapped.

His stern expression cracked into an appreciative smile. “Then play,” he said with a careless shrug.

Stepping over to my guitar case, I flipped it open and pulled out my baby. It was a candy apple-red Les Paul from my dad. I barely played it, but I thought of this audition as a special occasion. The boys of Blow Hole didn’t need to see my normal guitar.

I strapped it on, took a deep breath, and began to play. My fingers dug into the strings and I closed my eyes and let go of everything. Rips and grinds filled the condo, bouncing off the walls and shaking the windows. I mimicked Zeke’s playing perfectly. I even ripped through his unique chords that other guitarist seemed to have a hard time with.

I played an entire song and no one stopped me. When I was done, I unhooked my strap and set my guitar back in its case. The room around me was silent, and when I looked up, looks of shock stared back at me.

The only girl in the room, the tiny blonde with ice-blue eyes, began to clap.

“That was amazing!” she said with a smile.

I nodded at her compliment and turned my attention back to Zeke. He stared at me with angry eyes. That was his thing. I don’t think I’d ever seen a real smile from him ever.

“What did you say your name was again?” he asked.

“I didn’t. No one bothered to ask. My name’s Constance,” I responded.

He looked around the room and then back at me. The side of his mouth lifted in an almost grin. “Well, Constance, welcome to Blow Hole.”