Rhythm, Chord & Malykhin Read Online Free PDF Page A

in.
    “Flabby!” Eli hollered from across the empty auditorium, skipping around the employees busy mopping the floor. “You need help?”
    I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “You’re like thirty minutes too late. Carter and I are pretty much done.”
    The asshole had the nerve to snap his fingers as if he was disappointed he missed out. “I’ll help you carry the tables so we can get going.”
    As we walked out, I told him how good the show had been and even mentioned how well he played. After more than ten years of drum lessons and an intense practice routine, he really was good. Eli had somehow managed to avoid doing any actual schoolwork in middle and high school using his drumming skills as an excuse with our parents. Copying my homework when I was asleep or copying whatever girl was dumb enough to share with him, helped too. Luckily for him, it paid off. My dance classes as a kid had only afforded me the opportunity to not look like a complete ass at prom.
    Once we made it outside, Eli steered us toward the huge trailer hitched to the back of the bus. My shoulders began burning from carrying the two tables in an uncomfortable position. Four other men stood inside the massive trailer, trying to arrange the protective flight cases of musical equipment in an orderly manner. I recognized two of them from The Cloud Collision’s performance and the third man was their sound guy, who had been checking their equipment before they’d played. Gordo’s presence rounded out the four men packing the trailer.
    “We’re stopping at a travel center on the way out of here, so if you wanna shower, grab your shit from your suitcase,” Eli said. He leaned toward me before taking a quick sniff and pulling back with a frown. “Take a fucking shower. I’m begging you.”
    “Shut up,” I laughed, taking a step away from him.
    I wasn’t going to lie. I had taken a whiff of my armpits when I’d been breaking down the tables and it hadn’t been pleasant. Not at all. I had a feeling I was going to end up buying some men’s deodorant soon or I’d steal Eli’s. Whatever was easier.
    Walking toward the front of the bus, I saw someone bent over at the hips, looking through the compartment where the suitcases were stashed. The bare upper body, shadow of dark hair and a full-sleeve tattoo caught my eye while I stopped behind him. “Mason.”
    He stopped moving around for a second before continuing to push things over in his endless search for his luggage.
    “Mason.”
    Nothing.
    “Mason, you dick,” I said again.
    When he laughed from inside at the same time that I took a step forward, I frowned. I would swear on my life it happened in slow motion. My foot went up on its own, eyeing the target—his ass—at the same time I spotted someone stepping out of the bus. It was another bare chest with a full-sleeve tattoo and a dark head of hair. And as the tip of my foot connected with the black dress pant-covered ass, I realized that it wasn’t my supposed future husband, Mason, I had kicked in the ass.
    Mase was the one coming out of the bus.

Chapter Three
    M ason —the bastard, asshole, prick, dick—that he is, doubled over in laughter when he saw my face turn bright red at the same time I squealed, “I’m so sorry!”
    No!
    No!
    When my Mason-imposter-clone turned around with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, I wanted to fall on the floor and die. Or blame it on Eli. But I couldn’t… because he wasn’t anywhere near me.
    “Did you just kick him in the ass?” Mason cackled, holding his stomach with the palms of his hands.
    I was mortified, beyond mortified, so far into the realm of mortification I couldn’t see the starting line; so it wasn’t too strange when my face got so hot it rivaled the maximum heating temperature my straightening iron was capable of. I was one of those people who acted like a complete ass when I was nervous. According to Eli and Laila, I acted like a complete ass all of the time, but when I was