“He’s fucking good.” Austin’s brows rise and he lets loose a whistle from inside the sound booth where we’re all gathered watching some dude wail down on the drums like he was born to play rock.

“The right look.” Trent nods in agreement.

“Mad skills. I’ll give him that.” I tip my chin and watch as he breaks out into a roll that’s ten times better than any of our former drummers could have pulled off. The man doesn’t even break a sweat. In fact, he’s so calm he almost looks bored.

“Not a cokehead, either.” Austin laughs, but that earns him a room full of glares. “What? Too soon?”

“You’re a jackass, Austin,” I mutter and plop into one of the padded leather chairs, leaning back enough to rest my feet on the counter.

“Yeah, well, you’re a tightass. We each bring our individuality to the band.” He grins and sticks his tongue out my way. We’re all dealing with the latest turn in 3UG history differently. Austin continues to crack jokes as if it’s not a big fucking deal we’re drummer-less. Again.

I’m working to come to grips with it, but honestly, I don’t give a flying fuck who they bring in to play. He’ll probably leave like everyone else. I’m more consumed by the fact Iz is a drug addict. The guilt I have from enabling him to use while I turned a blind eye haunts me more than I’ll ever admit. I should have said something that night at the Grammy’s. Before, too. Would it have changed events? Maybe, maybe not, but now I’ll never know.

“What do you think, T?” Bedo asks, his eyes trained on our lead singer while Trent watches Coy through the glass of the studio booth.

“He can play. So, let’s meet him. If he’s cool, I say give him a temporary contract.”

“You all good with that?” Bedo asks and we all nod. He steps over to the control panel, knocking my shoes off the edge with a dirty look before pressing one of the buttons. “Hey, Coy. That’s enough. Why don’t you come on back so we can chat?”

I don’t miss how Coy’s lips fall with the interruption, or how his shoulders droop with a polite nod as he stands from the drum set and makes his way toward the sound booth. He assumes we don’t want him. Well, he’s in for the surprise of his life. I wonder who he is and what’s with his story. He can play like a motherfucker, but that’s not all there is to making it in this biz. Our band is tight, and we all grew in our success together, but this guy, he’d be climbing into an already made bed. Can he handle it?

Bedo pops open the door. “Come on in. Have a seat.”

“Thanks. Thank you all for the opportunity.” Before sitting down, he shakes each of our hands. It’s a nice gesture, and I’m hopeful this could really be so simple. We auditioned a bunch of guys last week, but they were nowhere near the caliber of musician we needed. Maybe Coy’s our next Ugly Guy.

“Where’d you learn to play?” Trent asks as Coy settles into his seat.

“Oh, a little here, a little there. My uncle had a set in his basement and I used to mess around there. Just enough to annoy the shit out of everyone, so he decided to teach me to play.”

“He play for a band?”

“Just a local group. A bunch of old dudes from his church got together to play covers at local bars and stuff. Nothing huge, but he loved it.”

“You can certainly play.” Trent tips his chin with a smile.

“Thank you.” Coy puffs up a little with the compliment and sits taller in his chair.

Austin leans against the wall. “We think you have the right look, too. Not as good looking as me, but it’ll work.”

“I don’t know man, the ladies . . . they love my eyes.” He bats his lashes and I’d smile if we were friends.

“What’s your stance on illegal drug use?” Bedo cuts in, kinda harsh.

“Is this because I’m from Denver?” He winces and then gives a little wink.

Bedo taps his fingers on the counter, his smile grim. “We’re not debating morality here, we just wanna know if you use.”

Coy shrugs. “I’ve been known to light up in my younger days, but I can pass a drug test if that’s what you’re asking.”

Considering our blunder at the Grammy’s has been plastered on every news show and entertainment site for weeks, I find his indifference in bad taste. “Ringing endorsement. This guy.” The moment the words leave my lips, Coy meets my stare.

“I don’t touch the hard stuff.” He runs his palms down the front of his jeans. “Look, I’m gonna be stupid honest with you all. This is the biggest fucking opportunity of my lifetime. I get that. I don’t take it lightly, and I won’t fuck it up. If I do, you have full permission to beat my ass.”

“So, you’re into ass play?” Austin’s lips pull up with a smug smile. Giving each other a hard time is just part of being in the band.

“I don’t turn down a little tongue or finger action. Especially if the chick is hot.” Coy doesn’t miss a beat and holds up his hand for Austin.

“I fucking love this guy.” Austin meets his high five laughing heartily, and settles back to lean against the wall.

I’m not impressed, but I don’t say that. There’s something about Coy, and I can’t pinpoint it. The words coming from his lips are the right ones, but they’re almost too practiced, or hold an air of pretentious self-entitlement that turns me off. A glance at both Austin and Trent tells me I’m the only one who feels this way.

“Let’s rock out for an hour before we make it official,” I suggest.

“What?” Trent eyes me and works his jaw back and forth. “Sean, he can obviously play.”

“Yeah, well, I wanna play with him. Besides, being in a band isn’t only about talent. It’s about chemistry. If the drummer and bass player don’t find a groove, the entire song falls flat.” My stare falls back on Coy. I have to give him credit because he doesn’t back down or glance away.

“Come on, don’t be such a shit.” Austin groans. He’s lazy as fuck and doesn’t want to drag this out. Too bad.

“No, he’s not wrong.” Coy’s gaze meets mine and dances with the same confrontation my eyes hold. We both smile, light and relaxed, like this isn’t a big deal, but he can tell I’m challenging him. I’m not usually one who needs to be the alpha. I don’t give a fuck who’s the center of attention, but this guy rubs me the wrong way and I have this unexplainable need to one up him. To make him work for this.

“We don’t have all day.” Bedo taps his fingers on his knee and the gold rings catch the light with the motion. “One song. Make it good.”

I strut into the recording room with the rest of the guys behind me.

“Only My Midnight,” Trent says, and before anyone argues, Coy counts us off with his sticks. Midnight is one of our older tunes, one Derek wrote for us back when we toured in a rented minivan, but it’s always been a fave. My fingers slap across the strings in an easy rhythm and I’ve gotta admit, as much as Coy’s personality irritated me a few moments ago, this guy can play. It’s as if we’ve been practicing for months, that’s how cohesive the sound is, and I know without a doubt he’s our new drummer.

We don’t even finish the last chorus before the studio door swings open and Bedo struts in with a smile that stretches his entire face. “Yes. Fucking yes!”

Trent and Austin beam along with Bedo and I manage a smile.

“Coy Wright, I think I speak for everyone when I say . . .You’re hired! Temporary basis, of course. We’ll make sure things jive through the summer tour, and after that, if all parties agree, we’ll make it official.”

His eyes widen and jaw falls open. He quickly recovers, though, his mouth snapping shut. He stands from behind the drums and struts over to shake Bedo’s hand. “That’s great. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“The label rents a house not too far from here; I’m sure you’ll find the accommodations comfortable. Guys, I’d like him to move in ASAP. Give you all a chance to build a relationship.” He nods at Coy, “Plus, we have a practice studio set up there.”

“We braid each other’s hair sometimes,” Austin deadpans, and this time I actually do smile.

Bedo rolls his eyes and turns his attention back on Coy. “If you’ll follow me over to the business side of things, we’ll work up the specifics of your contract.”

“That’s great. Fantastic. Dude, I’m stoked!” The words fumble from Coy’s mouth along with his joy. Maybe he’s an asshole, maybe not, but at least he’s clean, wants to be here, and can play. It’s not everything but it’s a start. “But, uh . . .One thing first?”

Bedo’s lips mash together and he taps his shoe on the ground. He lifts one brow. “Shoot.”

“There’s one condition to my acceptance. No, more like a request.” Coy’s shoulders droop a little along with his gaze and his feet scuff the floor.

“What’s that?” Trent’s eyebrows rise and meet my indifferent stare. I’m sure he and I are thinking the same. You’re being offered the gig of a lifetime and you’re already placing stipulations? Great. Just what we need. A diva of a drummer.

Coy clears his throat and meets Bedo’s stare. “My girlfriend, Jess, she’s been with me through thick and thin and we live together. I’d like to have her with me.”

Trent’s calculating stare softens with understanding. Oh, great.

Austin groans. “Not another fucking girlfriend on the bus. No way. Fuck this! We’re gonna need to stock more tampons than condoms at this rate!” He throws his hands in the air. I roll my eyes at his tantrum. He’s the one that needs the Midol with his mood swings.

Coy’s hopeful smile falls and he nods at Austin’s outburst.

“Ignore him.” Trent walks over and slaps Austin on the back. “Dude’s just pissed he can’t ever get a second date.”

“Fuck you.” Austin laughs and pretends to hump and slap the air in front of him. “I hit it and quit it. I’m the smartest motherfucker in this band.”

Trent shoves Austin away and rolls his eyes before tipping his chin at Coy. “Won’t be an issue unless it starts to interfere with the dynamic of the band. My girlfriend toured with us last summer. She’s on her own now but once that finishes up she’ll join us, too.”

“Right, Lexi Marx. That’s awesome, bro. Jess won’t be a problem. She’s a cool chick. And if you guys decide she doesn’t fit, I’ll personally kick her to the curb.” He laughs like it’s funny, or maybe it’s just nerves. I can’t decide whether his broad smile is from the excitement of being offered the drumming position or he’s so eager to please us that he’s happily willing to discard his girlfriend. Whom he supposedly can’t live without. Either way, it’s annoying.

“Cool, man.” Trent steps forward and holds out his hand. “We’ll see you soon. Welcome to Three Ugly Guys.”

“Appreciate it. Thank you.”

“You’ve got decent chops.” The only honest compliment I can give. My lackluster excitement for this new guy is due in part to my overpowering concern for Iz. Maybe that’s unfair, but it’s real.

“Thanks, man.” He shakes my hand.

“Get our numbers before you take off. We should celebrate. Tonight,” Austin says.

Bedo’s frown appears with his disapproval. “No. No going out. I mean it, we can’t have any more bad press. Not now.”

“Come on, Bedo! Don’t be a killjoy. We need to initiate our man Coy into the band properly.”

“I’m not fucking around, Austin.”

“I’m not either. One night out. Just dinner. We’ll behave. Be home before midnight. Promise.”

Bedo nods his head, lips still mashed in a tight line when he finally gives in. “Dinner and drinks. No clubs. Home by eleven.”

“Fine.” Austin rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath as he passes me on the way out the door. “He’s gonna hire us a fucking sitter next.”

I’m ready to leave and get back to the house, so I jog and catch up to Austin, leaving Trent to resume the small talk. I’m also curious whether the gorgeous brown eyes that watched me with interest on the way in is still hiding behind her magazine. By the way she was sitting I couldn’t tell whether her body was banging, but those eyes . . . fuck, they were soulful and raw and real. They’re the reason for the extra bounce in my step as I listen to Austin bitch and moan about our most recent Bedo-imposed curfew.

We turn the corner to the reception room and fuck, there she is. This time the magazine lays open in her lap and she bites at the skin on her lower lip, completely engrossed in the literature. I wonder whether she’s really that into sound equipment. Maybe she’s here for an interview and I’ll get to run into her from time to time.

Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Not in a traditional sort of way, but it’s those big brown eyes combined with her tiny frame and hair so flat and smooth it looks like silk. Her outfit, an all-black ensemble, would be plain and boring really, if it weren’t for the flashy jewelry she’s paired with it. The metal and glass catch the light and draws my interest further. Yeah, she’s simply beautiful.

Before I can get her number, Trent comes from the hallway and slings his arms around both me and Austin. “Let’s go home sweet home, fuckers!” He practically shouts.

Little Miss Doe Eyes snaps her chin up to follow the sound.

My chest roars with delight when her stare lands on me first. I wink at her again, just like I did on the way in, and this time I get to stare long enough to watch her cheeks stain with pink. The blush is cute. Innocent. Something I don’t witness much in the women I meet.

My gaze locks with hers, and I find it impossible to look away. I don’t get to ogle long though, because with a shove at my back and a few steps forward, Trent pushes the three of us out the door where we pile into Austin’s Jeep for our ride back to the house.

I don’t know who she is, or whether I’ll ever see her again, but damn if I can’t get her and those big brown eyes out of my head.