“Shit, yes, you did.” She waved for the joint I’d been hogging and I passed it over. “It’s a good idea, Ash. What did you think you’d be doing, seriously? Putting an ad in the paper and auditioning for garage bands? Get your head out of your ass, sweetheart. You’re Ashley Player.”
“Not sure I know what that means anymore.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what it means. And I know what it means to be Summer Sorenson, and it’s not just being a DJ. I’m a musician first and foremost. And I’m going to be a star. It’s my destiny.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
If anyone had that kind of destiny, it was the woman standing in front of me right now.
She smiled at me. “And besides, all those fucking years of classical piano lessons need to count for something.”
I snorted. “Do they?”
“Hey, my parents spent a lot of money on those lessons. They had big dreams. And they will love you if you let me play keys with you.”
“They already love me.”
“No, my mom loves you. My dad thinks you’re a slut.” She actually said that to me with a straight face, then took a little puff off the joint.
“If only he’d seen his baby girl this morning,” I said, “in the arms of—what was it? Gemstone?”
“Jewel.” She handed the joint back over. “And don’t you dare tell my dad about Jewel.” She rolled her eyes. “You know I’m a daddy’s girl. This is not a surprise.”
“Okay. So tell me who else is in this supergroup, daddy’s girl.” I rested my head back and sighed. “Tell me you poached Dylan and I’m in.”
“Obviously, I did not poach Dylan Cope. He’s firmly entrenched in Dirty and no one’s taking him away from that band. Besides, Elle would never forgive me, and you know I couldn’t live with that.”
“Lightweight. You gotta grow a thicker skin if you’re gonna make it in the rock ’n’ roll game, baby.”
“Said the dude who’s been moping around all year because his band fell apart.”
“Ouch.”
“Anyway,” she said sharply, “I really don’t think you should have more than one ex in this band.”
I felt the smile fading from my face. “Dylan’s not my ex.” I took a drag of sweet smoke. Faith No More’s instrumental cover of “Midnight Cowboy” was playing softly; felt like it’d been playing a really long time.
Shit, was I high.
I rubbed my face. Why’d she have to bring Dylan into this?
Oh, wait.Ibrought Dylan into this.
“I don’t know who’s in the band except you and me,” Summer said, pulling me back to reality. “But, hear me out. I think we should get Matt.”
“Matt who? Matty Brohmer? Dirty’s bassist?”
“Dirty’stemporarybassist,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I really think Matt would be a great fit. He’s super talented, he’s a babe, he’s got fans of his own, he’s a nice dude, and besides all that, from what I hear, he’s in the market for a new band.”
She was right about all of that.
Especially the babe part.
“And he’s on the road with Dirty for like the next year,” I said.
“Yeah, and after that, they take some time off, then they regroup with Elle and they start writing their next album. They’re cutting Matt loose after the tour, as soon as Elle comes back. Everyone knows it. He knows it. It’s in his contract.”
“You’ve been talking to Elle, I take it?”
