But then, something changed. I still don’t know exactly know what did it. What that magic moment was when we went from being third-rate garage band to up and coming stars.

Suddenly people were talking about us. And people started showing up to watch us play. What had begun as a pipe dream slowly became a reality.

And when Dougie hooked us up with a marketing manager with a rising indie rock label, Pirate Records, we jumped at the chance to record a single to sling out to radio stations.

And then Jose Suarez had entered the picture. He had heard about us and decided to check us out. He had liked what he had seen. He wanted to manage us. He was positive he could take us to the next level. He had been working in the industry for over fifteen years. He had connections. He had experience. He was exactly what Generation Rejects needed.

Jordan was adamantly against it. He hadn’t wanted to screw over his girlfriend. That had pissed me off. And that had led to one of our worst fights. When all was said in done, we had forty stitches between us and had signed Jose as our manager.

Maysie had been fine with it after I had gotten tired of Jordan’s shit and gone behind his back to talk to her about it. She had understood that working with Jose was a once in a lifetime opportunity. She hadn’t been as blind and emotional about it as her pu**y-whipped boyfriend.

But I still got the feeling that Jordan resented me for strong-arming the decision. Whatever. The one thing you could never accuse me of is not having the best interests of the band at heart.

I wanted us to rock the world. I wanted us to be a success. I wasn’t going to let Jordan and his pink, fluffy relationship get in the way of that.

And once we had signed on with Jose, things took off pretty quickly. Using his connections he got us bigger and better venues. He got our single, Perfect Regret, airplay on a bunch of college radio stations.

Slowly and surely, we were building a fan base that consisted of more than just the drunks that hung out at Barton’s Bar and Grill on a Saturday night.

And then he had gotten us the prime gig as the opening act on Primal Terror’s first nationwide tour.

Now here we were, six months later, getting ready to release our first album, playing to sold out venues and preparing for our first radio interview.

Shit couldn’t get any better than that.

I wanted to fist pump the air like a Rocky. I wanted to click my heels Fred Astaire style.

Life was good.

And it would be just about perfect if my stupid phone would just freaking ring.

“Here ya go,” I said, sliding the mug to Jose and sitting down across from him. He barely looked up but he nodded his thanks.

I had learned that Jose wasn’t one for niceties or manners. It was one of the things I appreciated about him.

“The interview has been rescheduled for two so you aren’t so crunched for time. You have to be back for sound check at four,” Jose explained in his cut the BS delivery.

“Yeah, okay,” I responded.

Jose looked over the rims of his dark framed glasses and seemed to be studying me. I hated when he did that. It was as though he were trying to steal my soul or something.

Jose wasn’t your stereotypical manager. He didn’t subscribe to the school of khakis and pressed shirts. Jose Suarez was covered, head to toe, in crazy looking tats. His face was full of piercings. It must be a pain in the ass for him to go through a metal detector.

He looked more the part of rock star than most of the actual rock stars I had seen.

He was one badass motherfucker.

It was rumored he had been a gang banger when he was younger and it was on the streets that he gotten to know some dudes who went on to become some of the biggest musicians out there right now.

It was through those connections that he built his business and he had established himself as a reputable manager. He had personally catapulted at least two other bands into the stratosphere. Blind Susan and Catch ‘Em Cal were two of the biggest rock acts on the scene. The latter of which had just gone on to win the Grammy for Best New Artist.

He was rumored to have the magic touch. He understood the industry and knew how to turn shit into gold. And he was committed to doing the same for Generation Rejects.

The whole thing was still so unbelievable.

“You nervous?” Jose asked arching what should have been eyebrow if he had any. I had seen him shave them off meticulously every other day. It was f**king weird.

I scoffed at his question. “Hell no,” I snorted.

Jose stared at me again.

“Good. That’s the attitude I like to see,” he said shortly.

I picked at the black nail polish on my pinkie finger. Vivian had thought it would be cute. And she had been naked with her tits in my face so I had let her paint my nails. Now I could admit it looked ridiculous.

What can I say; I was weak when it came to Vivian’s boobs.

And the rest of her.

“So what sort of questions will there be?” I asked, flicking the black flakes onto the floor.

Jose shrugged. “The standard stuff I’m sure. How do you write your music? Stuff about your upcoming album. What are some crazy stories from the road? But fair warning, you’re being interviewed by some female DJ who originally only wanted you there. So don’t be surprised if she asks you if you have a girlfriend or some trite shit.”

That shocked me.

“She only wanted me there?” I asked incredulously, feeling extremely flattered by that. Not that I would have ever done an interview without the other guys, but my ego needed the little boost. Particularly since the fact that Vivian still hadn’t returned my text was making it all to obvious she was ignoring me.