“We should work on your social skills, Avie,” I taunt him. “A little hi, hello, how are you, goes a long way.”
Avie makes a noise that sounds like his anger therapy isn’t doing him any more good than it ever did me. “Fine,” he eventually mutters. “Hi, hello, how are you, Gemma?”
I snicker at the forced words. “Inhaling the beach. They band is having lunch before they get started on their material.”
He grunts. “Yeah? Put me on speaker with those fuckers.”
I glance at the band. “Ah… okay. Hang on—Hey, guys,” I say loudly.
Except they’re all laughing together now, obviously trying to make each other smile after such a heavy story. They don’t hear me the second time, and so I step a little closer.
“Four dumb fucks!” I project.
They turn and grin my way, and I hold up the phone.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” I tell them. I take the device away from my ear and hit the speaker button. “Okay, you’re on.”
“Hey, shit bags—”
“Avie!”
“There you are!”
“The main man! You coming out here to surf with us?!” Bonnie asks.
Whistles and catcalls sound from the band, and I shake my head at them.
I think I love my job.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hell the fuck no, I’m not surfing. Fuck off, all of you,” Avie says. “Where’s my album?”
“Tanked it,” Mads says, grinning.
“Yeah, it was trash,” Zeb adds.
“We thought we’d start over,” Reed says.
“You wanted the best, right?” Bonnie asks.
Avie pauses, making Bonnie and Reed snort.
“I know you assholes are fucking with me, and I don’t approve,” Avie tells them. “Seriously, how’s it going?”
“Amazing, Av,” Mads says. “Fucking amazing.”
“You’re going to lose your shit,” Reed agrees. “RagnaRock is going to lose their shit.”
“It’s insane,” Bonnie adds. “Wait until you hear the fucking violins and screechy horror shit.”
“Yes—” Reed points at Bonnie. “Hell yes.”
“Alright,” Avie says. “Two days. You’re back in the studio after, got it?”
“Got it,” they echo back.
I chuckle at them and take the phone off speaker. “Satisfied?” I ask Avie.
“I’ll be at their studio Tuesday,” he says.
