“Bullshit.” Larry almost laughed—he didn’t sing half the time. Hell, he didn’t even knowmost of the songs, and once he really got into the drums, he let the music take him away and forgot all about the singing entirely.
But Doug was being a little bitch, still pissy about Geoff showing him up by singing better than he did, as if it were all that hard to do, and as much as he wanted someone new in the band, he wasn’t about to make it easy. Or enjoyable.
“Fine,” Larry said, tapping out a quick beat on the snare drum to start warming up. “Give him your mic.”
NowDoug looked at him, and Larry fought to keep from smirking. All Doug’s anger blazed in those eyes, directed his way, but Larry shrugged it off. No, he accentuated it, striking the hi-hat cymbal like a challenge. You invited him to join before you even heard him sing,Larry thought, refusing to look away from Doug, refusing to give his friend that pleasure. Turns out he’s better than you, and now you have to suck it up.