A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) Read Online Free PDF

you not sure about?” Craig demanded. “Her proficiency with the guitar, or her familiarity with your musical catalog?”
    “The chemistry, man. I’m not feeling it,” Dylan said.
    “You guys know I can hear you, right?” Melody said from her place on the stage.
    “I want concrete reasons why you think it’s not a good fit,” Craig insisted, speaking over her.
    “Besides the fact that you want to put a hot chick on a bus with the likes of us?” Dylan quipped.
    “A hot chick that can hang with you, musically or otherwise,” Melody continued. Dylan tried to tune her out, but every word she spoke was burrowing under his skin, causing fire to flood through his veins.
    “Are you seriously saying that you jackasses are so ruled by your dicks that you can’t sit next to a lady without losing your minds?” Craig looked disgusted.
    “That is exactly what he’s saying and he’s got a point. This chick is good, I just don’t know if hiring someone is a good idea, Snake is our brother,” Rip said.
    “It’s going to cause tension,” Dylan continued. “You remember what it’s like on the road, don’t you, Hop?”
    “Don’t call me Hop,” Craig grumbled.
    Dylan grinned. Craig had received the nickname ‘Hop’ on the first tour he’d ever done, as a roadie for the Rolling Stones. Jagger himself had given him the moniker. The only people who were allowed to use the name were Craig’s immediate family members, or a member of the Stones themselves. Coming from any other living person, it infuriated him—which, of course, was why Dylan used it as often as he did.
    “I’m pretty sure I can handle you fellas,” Melody said from the stage.
    “Oh, you think that now, honey,” Dylan said, turning his attention back to her. “But by the time we’re eight cities in—”
    “Oh my God, you can hear me,” she gasped dramatically. “It’s a miracle. Praise Jesus. I’d get down on my knees, but I wouldn’t want to provide you with any imagery you’re not emotionally mature enough to handle.”
    “Her sense of humor fits right in,” Tank pointed out, chuckling again. 
    “So does her musical ability,” Craig insisted. “She’s a goddamn prodigy.” Why was he being so pushy about this?
    “I’m not questioning her talent,” Dylan said. He looked back at Melody, and felt his throat tighten. She was every fear and fantasy he’d had as a fifteen-year-old boy, all wrapped into one curvy, bass playing package.
    He could still remember it like it was yesterday, though it had been another fifteen years since that time. He’d been stagnating in his tiny hometown in Oklahoma, yearning to escape his overbearing mother. He’d known what his future would have been if he had stayed there: Dylan would get a job he hated, going through the motions of the same boring routine day after day, he’d be trapped in a meaningless existence.
    The only thing that had kept him going, that had pushed him to break out of that prison of mediocrity, was a dream of a better life. He had wanted a life filled with screaming fans and bright stage lights and blasting speakers, a life that promised a different girl in his bed every night, and a different adventure every day as he and his brothers-in-musical-arms fought the good fight against generic pop songs and the death of rock and roll.
    Melody stood before him now, dredging up those adolescent dreams. Five-foot-six inches tall with the help of her chunky leather boots, green eyes flashing with determination and chin held high, she was a rock Goddess replete with her red bass guitar. She was the embodiment of everything Dylan had ever wanted—and at the same time, a reminder of all the things he’d feared his entire life.
    Either way, he knew he couldn’t spend the next eight weeks trapped on a tour bus with her. No way, no how.
    “Then what exactly are you questioning?” she demanded.
    Dylan could tell that he wasn’t going to gain any ground using traditional arguments,