The Loneliest Tour Read Free Page A

and darker
piece. Almost haunting. It was actually a little scary to hear with her
standing in a hallway all alone. The music reverberated inside her body, up to
her chest, smacking her right in the heart.
    For a brief second, Masie lost her
breath.
    It was that good. That pure. That
real.
    It was a far cry from the stuff she
had been dancing to with Crutch Fail. Not that Crutch Fail was the worst band
in the world, but it was more or less the lead singer that bothered Masie.
Freaking Colin was a pig.
    But this music right now … it chased everything away.
    The last note rang and held steady.
    Masie crept forward some more and
got to the doorway. The door was open, telling her that whoever was in there
wasn ’ t recording. The last
thing she needed to do was bust in on someone recording something and mess it
up.
    As she crossed part of the
threshold she saw someone with her back to her. A leather guitar strap around
his shoulder, a dark blue t-shirt that hugged a wide and sexy body. The t-shirt
ended right at his belt, hinting at showing skin. It was all insane and stupid
but Masie was frozen.
    The guy stepped forward, his foot hitting
some kind of box and button thing on the floor, and the guitar suddenly came to
life again, but with a different sound. That crunchy, rock n ’ roll sound. Masie knew it was
called gain because she ’ d
heard the word from Colin a hundred times.
    But it wasn ’ t sloppy.
    The guitarist stood there and
played.
    And, oh wow, did he play.
    From behind, Masie watched his hand
move up and down the neck of the guitar. Notes sounded, music poured from the
speakers of the amps, and it was fast, loud, and well put together. The
guitarist lifted the guitar so it was vertical and the guitar solo got faster,
louder, sounding unbelievable. Definitely the coolest thing Masie had ever seen
and heard.
    He then hit a high note and bent it
until the scream started to feel like her ears were hurting. Just as she was
about to stick her fingers into her ears, he climbed back down the neck of the
guitar with a fury of fingers, and then hit a deep note, letting it ring,
taking his hand away from the guitar.
    That ’ s
when he turned around and looked right at Masie.
    His face looked chiseled from
stone. A little five o ’ clock
shadow grazed his face, his eyes a beautifully rich blue color. His hair was
messy, but in a cool, sexy rockstar kind of way.
    “ Hey, ” he said.
    “ I,
uh, my bag. ”
    “ What? ”
    “ Nothing.
I ’ m so sorry. ”
    Masie moved to the right and bumped
into the doorway. She hit the big glass door and it hit the wall. She jumped
and tried grabbing for the handle but missed it. Stumbling into the studio, she
moved as though she had stepped into fire. Lunging from the studio room, she
was back in the hallway, her cheeks blushing a wild red color. She reached out
to the wall to keep herself from falling and she felt her fingers graze the
edge of a picture frame. As she turned her head, it was like watching the next
disaster happen in slow motion. The picture frame was already sliding down the
wall. She put her hands to her mouth and watched it hit and shatter. The
picture then seemed to stand there, cracked glass, for a few painful seconds,
and then it fell forward.
    “ Holy
shit, ” Masie whispered.
    “ Holy
shit is right. ”
    Masie spun and he was standing
right there. No guitar slung around his shoulder. His thumbs hooked into his
front pockets. The blue t-shirt came up too damn far, showing half his belt
line, among other things Masie shouldn ’ t
have been letting her eyes explore.
    Forcing herself to look up, she saw
the way his shoulders forced the t-shirt to stretch nice and wide. The kind
of shoulders to hang onto …
    She was blushing even harder.
    “ I
broke a picture. I ’ m
screwed. ”
    “ Yeah,
you are, ” the guitarist
said. “ Mind if you tell me
who you are and what you ’ re
doing in here? ”
    Masie blinked and then realized
something.
    She told herself