“Maybe if you didn’t rush the riff, I’d drop in on time.”I keep my tone flat, not revealing an ounce of the frustration thrumming through my veins.
“Are you kidding me with this bullshit right now?”He chuffs and takes a step closer to me.“My riff, my timing?Right.On.Fucking.Cue.Asshole.”
I unclip the strap of my bass and lower the guitar to the floor and then close any remaining space between us, my nose almost touching his.
“Call me an asshole again.”My voice is low, but by tone leaves no room for misinterpretation.“I dare you.”
“What the hell is wrong with you two?”Luc’s between us in the next second, a hand on each of our chests, forcing us apart as his gaze swings back and forth between us.
“You,” he gives Dean a gentle shove as he stares in his direction, “go take a load off in the control room.”He shifts his focus to me and points a finger.“You back the fuck down with whatever shit’s eating you.”
“He fucking started it.”Dean grumbles as he stomps in the direction of the booth, lifting his guitar over his head to drop it into a stand as he goes.
“Shut it, Dean.”Luc hollers over his shoulder, then turns toward Mikey, who’s still behind his kit, grinning like a cat who ate the canary as he watches the drama.“Bro, take five.Let me have the room.”
“Sure thing.”He rises from his throne and strolls out behind Dean, joining him in the control room.
Luc slides a hand into the front pocket of his jeans, his posture casual as he leans against the back of a couch.The control room door swings shut behind Mikey before he drags a hand down his face and then looks back at me.“You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”
I bend to grab my bass from the floor, clipping the strap back on its neck before setting it carefully into its stand.“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
I straighten slowly, meeting his stare without flinching.“I missed a few drops.Dean got pissy about it.”
Luc lets out a humorless laugh.“Dean gets pissy when Starbucks spells his name wrong.That’s not what I’m talking about.”
He folds his arms over his chest and sighs heavily, calmer than he has any right to be.“You were about two seconds from putting him through a wall.”
“He got in my face.”
“You got in his first.”
I don’t answer.Because he’s right.Luc watches me for another second, reading the silence for exactly what it is.
“So, you’re just going to keep pretending this is about Dean’s timing?”
I glance toward the glass separating the live room from the booth.Mikey’s sprawled back in one of the chairs, feet kicked up onto the console while Dean paces beside him, still ranting with his hands.
“Something came up.”
“Yeah.”Luc nods once.“I figured that much out all on my own.”
That’s all he says about it.No pressure.No pushing.That’s the thing about Luc.He knows exactly when to leave something alone.Finally, he pushes off the couch and points toward the control room.“We’re done for today before one of you idiots ends up in the emergency room.”
“That’s a bit dramatic.”I deadpan, because I’m a little shocked he thinks it would have gotten that far.
“You threatened to kick Dean’s ass over a bass drop.”
I grab my jacket off the arm of the couch.“Fair point.”
Luc opens the control room door.“Pack it up, ladies.Rehearsal’s over.”
Dean throws his hands in the air.“Thank God.I’m working with amateurs.”
“Fuck you,” Mikey fires back around a grin.“I’m a professional.”
Dean points at him.“Professional man child is about all you can claim.”
