Page 9 of Cadence
But it’s completely irrelevant.
Maddox is an ass. A broody, arrogant, unfairly talented and, fine, annoyinglyattractiveass.
Every female—and let’s face it, male—fan who sees him is instantly attracted to him, but having my best friend fawn all over his picture? I don’t like it. He’s one third of a band made out of sexy-as-sin musicians, and before he opened his stupid mouth, he wasverymuch my type.
Jesus, who am I kidding? He’sstillmy type.
There was just something about him, the way he stood with his guitar, playing it like it wasn’t just an instrument, but a way to let the world see into his soul.
If emotionally unavailable assholes were a dating app category, I’d have run out of swipes years ago. Wave a red flag in my direction, and I’ll sprint toward it like it’s a goddamn medal.
Shaggy dark hair, thick enough to get a good fistful. Eyes so deep they look black in the right light. That silent, broodingintensity, like he’s carrying the entire world in his pocket and refuses to share.
Sign. Me. Up.
Hi, Toxic Trait, I’m Paige Erikson.
“You’re drooling.” Olive reaches over and wipes her thumb at the corner of my mouth. I bat her off, leaving her chuckling behind me as I head into the living room and throw myself onto the couch.
“Tell me about the others,” she continues, the champagne bottle tucked under her arm, glass in one hand, phone held in front of her face with the other. “Who’s the cutie with the baby face?”
Plopping down beside me, she wriggles until she’s leaning against my arm, waving a different image at me. In this one, Eli’s hair’s a little longer than it was today, kept out of his face with a headband, the semi-long strands sticking up on end as he leans into whatever song he was playing when this was taken.
“That’s Eli…” I flick across the screen. “And that one’s Beau.”
“Oh, hello,Adam Levine,”Olive purrs, slowly panning over the tattoos covering his arms.
“You think he looks like him?” I ask as I squint at the screen to try to see what she clearly does. I guess he has the same dark, coiffed hair and neatly trimmed beard that makes his lips pop, but that’s about it.
“Maybe it’s a good thing Maddox turned you down,” she muses, finding each of their social media pages and scrolling through their posts. “If I were you, I’d be hooking up with the whole band.”
“Andthatis why you keep getting fired from every temp job you’ve ever had,” I say with a lifted eyebrow, snatching her phone and tucking it in between the couch cushions.
Olive gasps, sitting up with an indignant look on her face. “First off, they all came on tome.And secondly, I can’t help thatmy type is an older man who just happens to be head of their department, the same way you can’t help that Maddox Knox is yours.”
As she ruffles her dark pixie-cut hairstyle, the earrings lining her right ear catch in the dying sunlight from the street outside. I smile, knowing full well that any man who’s come into contact with Olive Berner instantly becomes putty in my extremely gorgeous best friend's hands.
“Okay, so what now?” she asks, suddenly serious. “We keep finding you auditions?”
With a sigh, I tie my hair up in a messy bun on the top of my head. “They said they’d get back to me, so I kind of want to wait and see.”
Olive hums under her breath, nodding slowly. “And even if they do say no, it’s their loss.”
“I know.” I smile, even though I’m sure it doesn’t look convincing, because I actually really want this. Withthisband.
“Besides, you don’t need them anyway,” she says, turning to face me, taking my hands in hers. “What did I tell you back in college? You, my friend, are going to be a goddamn superstar.”
I look down, murmuring, “Your confidence might be misplaced.”
“Urgh,that is a damn lie, and you know it.” She reaches over and plucks her phone back. “Let’s look at the evidence, shall we? Your last video has almost five million viewsandrising. If Sip Station doesn't want you, you’re going to have so many other bands begging for you to join them.”
“No one even knows it’s me,” I say, taking the device and scrolling through the posts.
“Wasn’t that exactly the point, babe? We sat in that shitty dorm, tipsy on wine coolers, seeing if we could make you go viral just for fun. No face, no name, just hands, sticks and rhythm.”
“A way to play without being tied to my dad,” I say as the memory of fairy lights lining the ceiling and Olive’s cackle echoing off the bedroom wall tugs at something warm inside me.
“Exactly, and now look at you,” she says, tipping her glass toward me. “An account that’s growing rapidly, a spot in a band touring with the one and only Reign Cooper…”
