“You’re totally insane if you don’t like this place,” I murmured as we entered the last bedroom.
“Oh, I love it,” Pick corrected. “It’s just not the right place.”
I had no idea how this couldn’t be the right place. It was fucking awesome. “I’d give my left nut to live in a house like this.”
I busied myself by examining the white crown molding lining the ceiling, but I could still feel my brother’s gaze on me.
“Never lived in a true house?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. A couple of apartments, a trailer park once, and now I’m in some basement under a storage warehouse that some guy rents out, but never a house-house.”
“So why don’t you get one?” Pick asked quietly after a short silence.
I snorted. “And live there with whom?” I met his gaze and shook my head. “Houses are for families.”
When pity and compassion filled his face, I realized I’d said too much. More exposed than I wanted to be with him, I left the room without a word and didn’t stop until I was outside and pacing the front lawn. I wasn’t comfortable with being so vulnerable and letting others know what I wanted most. To fight off the panicky anxiety crawling through me, I kind of wanted to ninja kick the For Sale sign in half, but I refrained.
Pick emerged a minute later, jiggling his car keys in his hand. “Ready to go?”
I nodded, grateful he didn’t try to pry anymore into my head. In the car, we were mostly quiet. As he drove me back to my bike I’d left at Forbidden, Pick searched the radio for something to listen to, but when he couldn’t find a decent song playing, he sighed and asked, “Any luck finding a new drummer for your band yet?”
I couldn’t answer beyond “Nope,” as I continued to stare out the passenger side window, ready for this little field trip to be over. I felt shitty because I knew I was the reason everything had turned awkward and prickly, but I didn’t know how to fix it. So I sat helplessly silent, just making it worse.
When Pick parked beside my Triumph, he turned to me, worry in his eyes, and that made my shame double. He had no reason to worry or feel as if he’d done anything wrong.
“I know we’re not conventional, Asher, but Eva, the kids and I...we’re your family now. And all the guys at Forbidden...they are too. You’re not alone any longer.”
Fuuuuck.
It just wasn’t right how easily he could read me.
“Whenever you’re ready to accept us and let us in, we’ll be here for you. Just remember that.”
Clearing my throat, I stared down at my lap, trying not to get all sissy and emotional. I had to clear my throat a second time. “Yeah,” I mumbled, sparing him a micro-glance before quickly turning away and reaching for the door handle to escape. “Thanks.”
I didn’t give him a chance to reply. I was out of there, slamming the door, and climbing onto my motorcycle before I really disgraced myself by doing something embarrassing, like giving him a hug and telling him he was the best damn brother a guy could suddenly have or that shit, I think I loved him already.
But I held it together, and as I roared down the block, the wind in my face made moisture seep from the corners of my eyes.
I wasn’t sure how to handle any of this, because I did have a family now. I didn’t have to feel so alone.
So why was I too fucking afraid to just...embrace it?
I should’ve known when I’d drafted Jodi for this job she’d go all out. That was just her way. And wow, go all out, she did.
Making the clay mold had been a bitch. For her, that was. All I had to do was sit still as she caked my face with gunk. Then she’d made another mold. The first was an exact replica of my face and the second was the altered, male version of me. After that, it was easy. For me.
That’s when the real work started for Jodi, though. For the mask to work properly, it needed to be an exact representation of the face we wanted to make. Every flaw in the mold would show up in the outcome.
I sat and watched in wonder as she hovered over the mold, chipping and sanding to perfection.
“How old do you want to look?” she asked, frowning at her work as she concentrated. “Lots of wrinkles or a baby face?”
“Uh...about as old as I am now?” I guessed. “Maybe a year or two older.”
“Early twenties. Got it.”
Pouring the latex in was kind of cool to watch. Jodi moved the mold constantly so the liquid would fill every crease and corner equally.
“It’s like watching a cooking show,” I said as I munched on popcorn.
The clock hovered at one in the morning, and the clay mold had just dried enough to play with. Nudging the bowl full of liquid latex, I shuddered., “Except I wouldn’t want to eat that shit. Smells funky as hell.”
“Ooh, don’t mention food to me right now, you bitch. I’m starving.” Jodi’s hands were caked with some kind of concoction I didn’t even want to know the ingredients to as she swiveled the mold back and forth.
“Well, then open up, sweetness, I’ll feed you.”
When I lifted a fluffy kernel, Jodi dutifully opened her mouth wide. On our first three tries, one bounced off her nose, then her cheek and finally her chin. That’s when I gave up and scooted off the comfy chair I’d been sitting in to let her grab the popcorn straight from my hand with her teeth.
I hand-fed her until she claimed to be thirsty. Then I fetched her a can of cola from the fridge and stuck a straw in it before holding it up to her mouth for her to drink.
“Mmm, puta, you sure do treat me right.” She sent me a smile and sexy wink. It was too late for me to flirt back, so I just grunted out a sound, plopped back onto my chair and tried to stay awake with her by reading funny little things I found in the newsfeed of the Facebook app on my phone.
By three thirty in the morning, I was just beginning to nod off when the timer blared, letting us know the latex was dry. Jodi jumped and rolled off the couch where she’d been dozing, landing on all fours on the floor.
“Shit,” she mumbled as she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and let out a mammoth yawn. “Time to decorate your new face. Get up, woman.” She slapped me on the ass as she passed.
I wanted to whine, but since this was all for me, I merely yawned too and stumbled out of the chair I’d been curled in.
And even though I was only half-awake for the rest of it, I remained in awe of Jodi’s power of creativity. She had given the male me a square-cut jaw and a sloped forehead with a defined brow ridge. But it was her talent with hair that blew my mind. After finding a dark wig, she hand-sewed it to the mask, allotting it an m-cut brow line, slight sideburns and even a five-o’clock shadow.
“Holy shit,” I murmured in amazement as Jodi tacked in the last of the mask’s eyebrows. “That looks...wow.”
“I thought I’d give you a little facial hair to cover as much of your jaw as possible, so it’ll be harder to tell you’re wearing a mask.”
I just nodded, unable to say anything, though seriously, I didn’t think anyone would guess it was latex after the expert way Jodi had painted it and applied makeup.
“Jesus, you’re amazing.”
Preening, my friend grinned as she held up the final product. “I know, right?” She motioned me forward. “Now this might feel a little strange. I tried to make it as comfortable as possible by fashioning the inside layer to conform to the shape of your face, but it’ll also get warmer more quickly that way.”
“Well then, thank God we’re in northern Illinois in November,” I teased.
I ducked my head, which Jodi had wrapped with a tight nylon hairnet to contain my natural hair, and the mask slipped over my scalp. The latex tried to stick to and pinch my face but Jodi kept working it, determined to get it into place. And finally we were a go. I opened my eyes, blinked my lashes a few times and peered out from a mini-tunnel.
“Ooh, it makes your eyes look deeper set.” Jodi nodded with an approving smile. “Much more masculine. And I’ve always prefer
red that in men. Actually...you’re kind of hot as a guy.” To prove her point, she wiggled her eyebrows and sent me a little wink. “Too bad you’re not into girls; I’d so turn bi for you.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned to study my face in the mirror. “Wow,” I said again.
I looked nothing like myself whatsoever. My forehead was more pronounced, the bridge of my nose wider, my chin no longer pointy. Even my mouth had been squished around the edge of the mask to look wider and flatter.
I opened and closed my jaw a few times; the mask never gave itself away. “This is freaking unbelievable. It looks so real.”
“Yup. So, let’s get to work on the rest of your body.” Jodi sounded way too eager and energized for ten in the morning, after she’d been up all night.
I turned from the mirror and lifted my fake, bushy dark eyebrows. “The rest of my body?”
“Well, yeah, puta. If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it right. You might not have double Ds like me, but that...,” she pointed to my breasts, “is clearly a female chest.”
Scowling, I glanced at the front of my shirt. “Can’t we just bind them with an elastic bandage or something to flatten them down?”
She snorted. “Only if you want to half-ass it. And after all that work I put into your face, you’re not allowed to half-ass the rest.”
“Okay, fine. But what exactly did you have in mind?”
A large grin spread across her face. “This,” she announced before pulling what looked like a tan bulletproof vest from her closet. “It’s padding for male actors to make their chests look fuller. But we can use it for you by cutting out some holes on the inside where your boobies can go.”
I blurted out a laugh. “Oh, my God. You have the strangest shit in your closet.”
Jodi merely shrugged. “No stranger than having molding clay and mask latex on hand.”
“Good point.”
So we made me a male chest. Then Jodi went as far as to sew in a rolled-up wad of cloth to give my panties a “package.”
“Why the hell do I need a package?” I argued. “No one’s going to be staring at my crotch.”
“You never know, they might. I made you look hot enough as a guy, I’m sure some girl off the street will cop a peek.”
“Honestly, I really don’t care if some girl off the street finds me lacking down there.”
“Well, I do. And I’m in charge of this man-body, so you’re wearing it.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I sighed but complied.
“Thank God it’s almost winter,” Jodi added. “You can wear jeans and long sleeves without anyone thinking you’re weird.” She shuffled through my drawers, mumbling something about how it was depressing I had so many clothes that could be considered manly. “Here,” she finally said, shoving a wad at me. “Put these on.”
After pulling on my “man” panties, I tugged up a pair of loose-legged denim jeans and put on a black AC/DC concert shirt over a white long-sleeved thermal.
When I turned to face her, Jodi was beaming with a huge smile. Then she held out what she called man jewelry, which consisted of black leather straps with silver beads on them for bracelets. And finally, she sprayed cologne in my direction.
Coughing and sputtering over the unexpected stink, I waved my hand over my face. “What the hell?”
“You need to smell the part as much as you look it,” Jodi argued as she pulled the cologne bottle to her chest and chirped with pride. “And you look just perfect. I would so throw you down on your bed and ride you right now if I didn’t know you were really a girl in there. Hell, I’m tempted to, anyway.”
I rolled my eyes but chased it with a smile. “Gracias. I think.”
“Now practice your man walk,” she demanded, waving out her hand.
I faltered. “My what?”
She sighed. “You’re not going to pass for a dude if you stroll in there with your hidden girl hips swaying and flattened tits pooched out on display.”
My mouth fell open. “Excuse me. I do not walk like that.”
She snorted. “Oh...own it, puta. You’re a hot piece of ass, you can’t help the girly swagger.”
“But I don’t—”
“Hunch your shoulders over a little more, concentrate on keeping your hips in line, and try to jut your cock forward when you strut.”
“Do...what?”
“That’s how hot guys walk, like they’re leading with their junk.”
I could only shake my head. I had honestly never seen a guy walk as if he were trying to poke his pecker out ahead of him. “Where do you come up with this shit?”
“Just do it, puta.”
I sighed but used her suggestions, trying to overdramatize the cock-and-go strut, as I was thusly dubbing it.
“What do you think?” I asked.
She purred out a promiscuous growl and clawed the air in my direction. “How do you say ‘I want to sit on your face’ in Spanish?”
“Jodi.” I fell to a stop and sighed in exasperation. She was too much sometimes. “Really?”
“No, seriously. I’ve always wanted to know how to say that to a guy anyway. Ooh, and use your slutty señorita voice.”
With a chuckle, I had to oblige her. “Quiero sentarme en tu cara,” I cooed, puckering my lips to go with the voice.
Ever since I’d crank called her once in Spanish, putting a sensual little hitch in my tone, she’d been fascinated. Totally intrigued by my impersonation, she’d dubbed it my slutty señorita voice and claimed it didn’t sound a thing like me.
She repeated the phrase, butchering it until I made her repeat it enough times that she finally got it right. Once I was satisfied, she seemed satisfied too. Letting out a loud squeal, she jumped in a circle and fisted her hands in the air.
“You are so going to rock this audition. I just know it, puta.”
With my new guise in place, I let her confidence consume me. “Yeah,” I murmured. And I allowed the hope to swell. I really was going to rock my audition.
I had to. There was too much of my own self-esteem riding on it not to.
I nearly didn’t make it in time. It was almost one in the afternoon by the time I skidded into the studio, hoping they hadn’t closed the auditions yet. Heading directly to the hallway where I’d waited in line for hours the day before, my relief soared when I saw six guys still loitering outside the auditioning room.
All half dozen of them glanced over to narrow their eyes. It wasn’t nearly the reception I’d received from my fellow drummers yesterday, because today, they saw a guy.
They saw competition.
Chauvinist assholes.
“This the line for Non-Castrato?” I asked.
One guy was gracious enough to nod, but that was it. The others went back to ignoring me.
Only two other people showed up to wait in line after me, and this was their last day, so shit, I was the third to last person to try out. For some reason, that felt like a bad omen.
But I stuck it out anyway. I’d gone too far to quit now. This time, dammit, I was going to play with them before they told me to “git.”
An hour of waiting later, it was my turn. I entered, not at all nervous. Maybe it was because I was hiding behind my mask. Maybe it was because they’d already rejected me, and things could only go up from there. Or maybe I just felt that confident.
I had no idea what was causing it, everything just seemed...right this time around. Even more right than last time.
The room was exactly the same, and the guys were still loitering in their same basic places they’d been the day before. But today, Galloway ignored me and seemed to be sulking as he fiddled with the tuning pegs on his guitar.
Hart took charge and nodded a greeting. “Hey, man. What’s your name?”
Score!
I’d already gotten further on this audition than I had in the first one. And the man guise was obviously working; he’d called me man!
Jazzed, I cleared my throat and used the lowest vo
ice I could muster, even though it was already low for a woman’s voice. “Call me Sticks.”
“Sticks?” Galloway snorted, finally glancing up. “Wow. That’s original.”
Still miffed over the way he’d treated me yesterday, I was tempted to shove my drumsticks up his ass. But I didn’t want to do such permanent, scarring damage to my babies—even though they were my non-pink backup pair—so I managed to contain myself enough to send him a bored glance. “About as original as a douchebag bassist.”
Holden let out a belly laugh. When Galloway glared his way, Holden only grinned. “Burn,” he informed his bandmate.
“Screw you,” Galloway mumbled to me...or maybe to Holden, I wasn’t sure which. Probably both of us.
Hart cracked a half smile. “Well, you can already take Gally’s shit and dish it right back. That’s a must. Let’s see what you can do with those sticks of yours.” He nodded toward the drum set. “You can handle a five-piece, I assume.”
What idiot couldn’t handle a five-piece? I arched one of my fake eyebrows, still amazed Jodi had been able to rig my mask so I could manage facial expressions too. “Only since I was six.”
With a horrified shudder, Hart shook his head. “You’d be amazed by the lack of talent we’ve seen come through here these past few days.”
I nodded, understanding. “Well, I can manage any drum set up you put before me.”
He smiled, and damn...that smile. I probably shouldn’t look at him when he smiled. Way too dangerous.
“Good,” he said, thrilling me with his approval. “I want to try a delayed backbeat with a quick blast during the chorus, then double time to finish it up.”
Pulling my drumsticks from my back pocket, I saluted him. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to, drill sergeant.”
With another half-smile, he shook his head. “Forrest Gump. Funny. In that case, we’re going to play ‘Run, Daddy, Run.’ You familiar with that one?”