My Brother's Band

chapter 11: baby girl

Coffee.

That seemed to be my only logical thought as I stood, perched against the billiards table, watching the boys prepare to serenade me with their apparently 'God Like' musical abilities.

They had better be god like if they expected me not to murder them for this stunt.

Grey perched himself on a stool, surprisingly bright eyed for someone who had, if their chatter was any indication, only two or three hours of sleep. Apparently, the comedic relief of their group was also the musical composer. It made sense; with Paul and Rob penning the songs –mostly Paul- and Ben providing the required beat, that left Grey on guitar, throwing notes through the air like Music's prodigal son. It just meant that while most of them slept, Grey sat with a guitar and a piece of paper, alone in his room, for hours on end.

I was beginning to understand his obsession with sugary foods. Anything to keep him and his insomnia going.

"Which one do you guys want to start with?" Ben asked, providing a 'rap-a-tap-tap' on his 'beat to the bronze layer beneath the gold' cymbals with a grin, as if he knew he was bringing on the worst kind of headache. Made sense though: having the loud mouth of the group play the most obnoxious of all instruments. I rubbed at the skin above my left eyebrow with a scowl.

"It depends," Paul began, fiddling with some sheets of paper in front of his face. "If we want to soak her panties, we go with Get Down Here. If we want to win her heart, Baby Girl. Which would you prefer Grey?" Ben busted out in a snort filled guffaw, shoulders clad in a tight black tee shaking as he bent forward over the kit.

Grey didn't even bother to respond from where he was hunched over his black electric guitar. He threw the strap across his broad shoulders, and refused to meet my eyes.

Chicken.

"I, for one, would prefer if tried to accomplish neither of those nightmare inducing things," Rob grunts, throwing what could only be considered the king of all death glares at the three buffoons he called friends.

"It's Grey's call."

"Seeing as none of you three are my cup of tea, let's choose a song that isn't going to make me vomit!" I shout with a snide look in Paul's direction. The wide smile on my face was definitely fake, probably bordering on scary, and the line of glee in my tone only added to the serial killer vibe I felt I had going on. It was a look I knew I could rock, especially if they ever tried to wake me like this again. My murderous gaze latched on to Paul's one inclined eyebrow, furthering my hatred towards all things men.

That was a look of disbelief. Paul thought I was lying.

Well, of course I was lying. Have you ever been in a house full of mid twenty aged male rock stars? No? Well, if you ever had the chance, you would know that no level of hatred or disgust could quite mask the teeny tiny bit of attraction they could inspire in your lady bits. It was basic math, psychology, and biology all mixed into one dangerously flammable and disgusting cocktail.

Oh god, now I was thinking about anatomy. My traitorous eyes darted down to the front of Grey's fitted grey sweatpants, then flitted away just as fast.

Oh boy, that ceiling was a pretty colour. Black is definitely the new... black?

I didn't have to look down to know Paul had caught that little exchange. I could hear it in the slightly muted chuckles, and the way he fluttered his fingers along the keyboard at his disposal.

Thankfully, he didn't proclaim his thoughts to the rest of the possy. I don't think I would have survived the embarrassment if he had notified Grey of my pervy eyes. Especially not with my brother present, and especially not with Ben present. I huffed a breath up at my blonde locks, watching as wisps of hair defied gravity and whipped towards the hideously dark ceiling.