EPIC (Book 1 of the Soundcrush series)

Prologue

New Year's Eve Three Years Ago

Kat

"Kiss me," I whisper into the dark as sounds of cheap paper horns and Happy New Year! waft from the party inside, and fireworks explode in the distance.

The porch swing continues to creak, and the gorgeous guy sitting beside me plucks Auld Lang Syne on his guitar. "Hmmm. Tempting, Katheryn.  Sadly, also criminal. Serving time is not on my list of New Year's resolutions."

I smile at the way he's calling me Katheryn tonight, instead of Kat.  It makes me bold. Or maybe my courage is more of the liquid variety.  Either way,  I keep the banter, and my hope, going. "One New Year's kiss is not a crime."

He leans close,but veers toward my ear. His words are soft. "Kissing you might not be a crime, but it's definitely a gateway drug." He pulls back, looks at my lips, then shakes his head sadly. "Nope. Can't risk it. One kiss and you could ruin me."

His playful regret is so cute, I laugh when I really want to punch him. "You're such an asshat for teasing me like that."

"Teasing you is another hard habit to break. Been doin' it as long as I can remember." He slaps his guitar in abrupt finish as he points his pick at me. "But you started it."

Inside the house, I can see that the frantic-find-a-partner-to-kiss is over. The partiers have either returned to drinking and dancing, or their New Year's kisses have progressed to making out in corners. "Never mind. The magic moment is over," I grumble.

Trace chuckles and keeps playing his guitar.

I squint at him. He's a little blurry. He's very drunk. Oh wait, that's me.

I huff, and reach down for the champagne bottle at my feet. Who knows where the hell these cases of champagne came from and where the parental homeowners are? My friends and I live in McMansions in the suburbs of Atlanta, where booze is abundant and supervision is often lacking. Lots of parents went downtown to overnight at hotels for New Year's Eve. How considerate of them to leave their wine cellars unlocked at home.

Not that New Year's Eve is much different than most weekends. Since I started high school, parties have become fairly standard stuff. Kissing guys is also standard. Hounding my lifelong older neighbor to kiss me is not. What is wrong with me? Trace and I are friends, nothing more. We've always been friends.

I take a long swallow of the champagne. I don't usually drink this much, but for some reason alcohol mixes well with mixed emotions. The good news that Trace has shared with me tonight has me a little twisted.

Trace teases the bottle from me, turns it up briefly, but settles it on the ground to his left, far out of my reach. "Hey, that's my bottle," I protest. "Get your own."

"I'll give it back," he promises. "Just slow down. I don't want you passing out on me."

I tuck my arm beneath his and put my chin on his shoulder. "Oh, so you do want to have some fun, huh?"

He laughs and strums the opening to Everlong by the Foo Fighters. Trace band's, Soundcrush, is what music bloggers are calling the New Alt Revival, but he learned to play the guitar on the classics. "You know, I'm really going to have fun teasing you even more tomorrow. Drunk Kat is a handful."

I eye him, suddenly bold enough to ask what I've always wondered, what I'm afraid to have answered.

"Are you not into me because you've hooked up with my sister?"

He shoots me a dark look. "I have never hooked up with Ashlynn. We kissed one time, playing truth or dare at some party when we were younger than you are."