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“Just shut up.” I push forward, knocking him out of the way and taking over the main position at the console, gearing up to record Hayden’s track so we can get on with it.
Reid stiffens as I take his spot, clearly contemplating if it’s worth it to deck me or not. Even though he’s got a couple inches on me, I’m bulkier than him, arms corded in muscle from years of playing drums. We’ve come close to blows before, but none of us have ever actually thrown a punch at each other.
Today’s not going to be the day for that.
Reid blows out a strangled breath, snatching his water bottle from the small coffee table in the middle of the room and storms out of the studio. Nikolai hauls his ass off the couch and follows him out.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, mentally counting to ten, before turning my focus back to Hayden.
“All set?” I ask him, pushing down on the intercom.
He gives me a small smile and nods, swinging his favorite bass over his head and fixing it over his left shoulder.
I get everything queued up, shoot Hayden a thumbs up, and try to settle the frustration still swarming my skin while he begins to play.
* * *
Scar
“This is fucking sick!” My head rocks back and forth, hair swishing across my face with the movement in time with the beat. Boone and I have been messing around with a few more trap elements lately, and combining it in with my typical progressive and electro house sounds is proving to be a really interesting dynamic.
Boone is hunched over his laptop, neck also moving with the beat, a huge smile across his face. Even though my body was heavy with exhaustion this morning, getting off the red eye and the call to my hotel room bed was strong, I dragged myself into the studio with Boone so I could show him what I’ve been working on lately.
I’ve been starting to think about writing my first full-length album, hopefully shortly after the tour is over. It’s daunting to think about pulling together an entire body of work like that, but it’s good for me to have a goal to keep my mind focused.
Plus, having Boone with me to bounce ideas off of and encourage me along the way, it feels more manageable.
“Got any vocals ready to go for it?” he asks, stopping the track and leaning dangerously far back in his swivel chair.
“A few ideas but nothing quite ready to go yet today,” I say.
“Then let’s get some lunch.” He claps his hands once and rises.
I shoulder on my leather jacket and stand to follow him out. My little legs strain to keep up with his long strides down the various hallways with doors for other studios.
Records and posters line the wall of other artists who have recorded here, and I can’t help but stop and stare at some of them, in awe that I’m in the same place that some of these musical legends were.
At some point, Boone must’ve realized he lost me and his head pokes around the corner, calling out to me. I shoo him away, instead taking my time walking down the hall, soaking in all of the memorabilia. I can’t help but think about what it might be like to have something of mine up here one day. A surge of motivation courses through me, a lightness springing into each of my steps.
Just as I’m about to round the corner, I smack straight into a broad chest, nose stinging with the contact. “Shit,” I say, hands immediately reaching up to cup my face.
“Woah, sorry,” Nikolai apologizes, steadying me with his hands on my shoulders. “You okay?”
“God, pecs of fucking steel you got there.” I scrunch my nose, shaking it off.
A Cheshire cat grin stretching across Nikolai’s face as he leans against the wall with one shoulder and crosses his arms across his chest, flexing his pecs through his open shirt. I can feel his eyes on me, as if daring me to drag my attention to them.
“You wanna touch?” he asks.
“No thank you.” I back up a step and keep my eyes trained solely on his face.
“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“I won’t.”
That only makes him smile bigger, clearly loving the challenge. But it’s one he’ll lose, which he seems to be aware of but can’t resist.
“Done for the day?”
