Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Okay, I thought he was hot before, but seeing him play . . . Woah. Someone pinch me.
My heart races in my chest and suddenly my mouth is crazy dry.
My hands shake, and I do what I can to seem cool, but it’s a well-known fact that little sisters of big brothers are never perceived as cool. We’re traditionally known for being brats. At least that’s the stereotype. Personally, I like to think that I’m the coolest little sister any brother could want. Axel has always been great to me. We’re close for siblings. At least, I consider us to be compared to how my friends are with their older siblings. Their brothers never seem to have time for them, but Axel always makes sure to give me the time of day, even when it’s clear he thinks I’m being annoying.
He never yells at me, never tells me to get lost, and sometimes, he even values my opinion. None of my friends can say their brothers are like that.
Putting the plate down on a stool, the boys wrap up whatever it is they were working on, and before I can even form a sentence, they’re already shoveling the cookies down their throats. “Shit. These are good,” Ezra says, glancing at me. “You make these?”
I shake my head. “I wish I were that good at baking,” I murmur. “This is all Mom.”
“Jesus,” he says, putting his guitar down and collapsing onto a chair. “You guys don’t know how good you’ve got it. My mom would have flipped out if I came home and told her I was going to convert the garage into a practice space, and she sure as hell wouldn’t have made us cookies.”
“Yeah,” Axel laughs. “Mom’s pretty cool.”
Ezra nods and turns his attention to me. “So, what’s it gonna be?” he asks, a teasing smile lighting up his face and making everything crumble inside of me. “Are we as terrible as you were hoping we’d be?”
I can’t keep the smirk off my face. “It’s worse,” I joke. “I don’t know how your hearing is, maybe it’s all frazzled by the constant ringing from your guitar, but from in the kitchen, it definitely sounded like some kind of massacre was happening in here.”
He doesn’t take his stare off mine, and every passing second with his full attention has something solidifying between us, yet I have no idea what it is. There’s something here, something that simply can’t be denied. A bond? A friendship? It’s too soon to say.
“You’re lying,” he says. “We fucking rock.”
“Okay, whatever,” I admit, rolling my eyes as I make my way back to the door, despite how desperately I want to stay right here and watch him play for the rest of my life. “You might be alright.”
Ezra laughs. “Alright enough to make it to the top?”
I pause by the door. “Maybe, but you’re going to need a kickass manager,” I tell them, holding up a finger at Axel before he has a chance to cut me off. “And before you even attempt to tell me no, it’s too late. The spot has been filled. It’s official.”
“Deal,” Ezra says with a cheesy grin as Axel rolls his eyes.
I go to reach for the door when he calls out again. “Wait. Do you know how to hold a beat?”
I whip around to face him, my face twisted with concern. A beat is certainly not something I am capable of holding. “Uhhhhh . . . No.”
“Come on,” he says, getting up from the chair and carrying it into the center of the practice space. He puts it down before grabbing an old tub and flipping it upside down. “Don’t worry, it’s not hard. I’ll teach you.”
“I’m really not good with music.”
“Yeah, she’s really not,” Axel agrees.
“Well, until we can find a drummer, she’s all we’ve got,” Ezra says, waving me over. “Plus, you know if we had a backing beat, it’d be easier to stay in sync.”
Axel scoffs, his lips quirking with a cheesy grin. “Maybe for you.”
Ezra gapes at him, and I roll my eyes, more than used to my brother’s stupid humor. “Okay, fine. Teach me what I have to do,” I say, striding toward him and sitting down in front of the makeshift drum, dreading whatever’s about to happen. Axel has tried to teach me before, but after realizing I had no hope, he quickly gave up. But the only difference here is that I’m more than happy to fail in front of my brother. As for Ezra, I want to be good.
“Okay. We’re gonna start with a count of four,” Ezra says, crouching down beside me as he lays both of his hands on top of the tub. “With your right hand, just tap. One. Two. Three. Four.”
He demonstrates, and as he starts a second count of four, I join in.