Always Read Free Page A

Really?—to their uninspiring, broody rock songs and their muddy arrangements. He couldn’t remember the chorus of a single thing they’d played tonight. The guys in the band were all of decent ability but completely forgettable. He couldn’t even remember how many of them there were. There was only one good thing about Failsafe and she was standing in front of him.
    But Justine wasn’t just good, she was great. She was beautiful, her most obvious asset, with long, thick brown hair and wide eyes that dominated her face. Their color was somewhere between green and gold, edged by lashes so long they seemed to tangle with the thick fringe of her bangs every time she looked up at him. Her movie-star face lit up with animation every time she spoke, making her much more than just another pretty girl. Her killer body was on full display in an insanely hot pair of silver shorts and a top that was little more than a bra, but she wore it all with an easy confidence that was anything but slutty. The girl made hot pants look classy.
    She had plenty of physical appeal, but hot girl singers were a dime a dozen. Justine changed the game when she opened her mouth and sang. Her voice was like whiskey, rich and rough, with a hell of a kick. Coupled with her immense stage presence, it made her one of the best performers he’d seen in recent memory.
    And she liked his music. Dillon was trying not to preen under her admiration, but it was hard. He’d meant it when he said she could never be just some fangirl. Someone as talented as she had no business worshipping at anyone else’s altar, especially his.
    “You guys signed?”
    “We made an album last year on our own. You know, like you guys did. We got a few nibbles, but nothing’s panned out.”
    Dillon wasn’t surprised. Even Justine’s appeal didn’t make up for what the rest of the band lacked.
    “Hang in there. You’ll hit it eventually,” he said noncommittally.
    “You think so? I don’t know…” Justine looked back over her shoulder towards the stage. “Sometimes I get a little frustrated. It feels like we’re spinning our wheels, singing the same damn songs week in and week out. They don’t become hits just by singing them more.”
    “Who writes your stuff?”
    She sighed, looking defeated. “David.”
    Dillon made a noise in his throat. Justine looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Just say whatever it is you’re thinking. I’m a big girl. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
    “I’m not worried about your feelings. You’re great. The best part of your band, if I’m being completely honest.”
    “I appreciate complete honesty. How about some more?”
    “I’m just a guy in a band. I’m hardly an expert.”
    Justine shifted to face him fully. “I’m venturing into creepy fangirl territory again, but I’ll say it anyway. I really admire you. Your songwriting, your playing, your producing. I would really like to know what you think. Your opinion probably matters more to me than anyone’s.”
    Dillon gave her a long, appraising look. She seemed completely genuine. Plenty of people blew smoke up his ass, especially lately since they’d gotten a song on the charts, but that wasn’t what this felt like. This girl was telling the truth.
    “Okay, honestly? The songs suck. Well, that’s harsh. They’re forgettable, which is kind of worse. I can’t tell when the verse stops and the chorus starts. I can’t remember a single bit of one the second you guys stop playing it. The only good part is you’re the one singing them.”
    Justine was nodding her head slowly in understanding or agreement, he couldn’t tell which. He wondered if maybe he’d gone too far, despite her assurance that she could take the criticism. Maybe she was hurt or offended.
    “Tell me you’re not going to cry or slap me or something.”
    “Not at all. You’re totally right,” she said with candor. “I tell David the same thing all the time. Well, I’m nicer about it. But yeah,