Free The Secrets of Attraction by Robin Constantine

releasing into the air. Nothing like the smell of our Mugshot brews, but it made me think of Madison. Madison? She drinks chai. Why would I dream about her telling me to give Duncan the song? Why would I dream about her at all?
    â€œAww, Tanner, I’m touched. Are you asking me to the dance?”
    â€œWe’re hoooome,” my dad announced, followed by quick little steps galloping into the kitchen.
    â€œTeeeee!”
    â€œTyyyyy!” Tanner said, opening his arms to my little brother. He crouched down and held up his hand.
    â€œSlap me high, little man.”
    Tyler reached up and whacked Tanner’s outstretched palm.
    â€œSlap me low, too slow,” T said, lowering his hand and then pulling it out before Tyler could slap it, sending Ty into a fit of hysterical laughter. In my little brother’s eyes, Tannerwas the bomb. Same mentality. Tyler wrestled out of his coat and left it on the kitchen floor as he ran out to haunt Daisy.
    â€œTo what do we owe this pleasure?” my dad asked T.
    â€œTanner asked Jesse to a dance,” Daisy yelled from the couch.
    â€œWell, good to see you two getting along,” my father said, crouching down to pick up Tyler’s coat. He put the bag of bagels on the table, and walked off to the closet.
    â€œFor a recon mission, Mr. McMann,” Tanner called after him. “Duncan is going to be playing with the new band.” He pulled out a chair from the table and rummaged through the bag, taking out a salt bagel. I grabbed some silverware and the cream cheese and slid it over to him.
    â€œButter?” he said.
    â€œYou did not come here to mooch a bagel,” I said, taking the butter out of the fridge and sitting across from him. “Is Plasma playing a dance something you couldn’t tell me at noon?
    â€œAh, checking out the competition, classic move.” Dad walked back into the kitchen, Tyler in tow. He settled Ty into his high chair and took the seat next to him.
    â€œI couldn’t sleep. I think we need to choose a drummer, today.”
    â€œWe’ve got time,” I said, cutting into my own salt bagel.
    â€œHow are the prospects?” Dad asked.
    â€œTwo guys . . . hard to choose . . .” Tanner said between bites.
    The guy who’d come in after Grayson was good too but he’d been the first drummer for Plasma, not the one that Duncan replaced—Kenny Ashe went through drummers pretty quickly. There was something that didn’t feel right about him, though. Technically he was incredible, and he had more experience than Grayson, but choosing him . . . I don’t know, it felt like it would just drag us down into weird band politics, which I hated. Like if we picked him we’d be saying: You have our drummer, now we have yours. I wanted to start something new, not recycle. On the other hand, if we went with him we might be able to play out sooner.
    â€œYou know who you want,” my father said, lifting his chin to me.
    â€œYou do?” Tanner asked, as if I was keeping a secret from him.
    I shook my head.
    â€œSure you do, it’s in the gut. Whenever we needed some fresh blood for Backtalk, it always ended up being a gut decision,” Dad said, spreading his sesame bagel with butter and tearing off a piece for Ty.
    â€œThe sooner we pick someone, the sooner we can play out. We could be doing dances and stuff—”
    â€œScrew dances, I want to play for people who want to hear a band, not slow dance,” I said.
    â€œCroooo dance,” Tyler said, raising his fistful of bagel.
    â€œIt’s basically money for practicing,” Tanner said.
    â€œHe has a point,” Dad said.
    â€œI’d rather play the Whiskey.”
    â€œYou want to be your best for Declan.” Declan was Dad’s old bandmate and the only one of them who had ended up doing anything remotely related to music. His bar, Whiskey Business, had been the place where Electric Hookah, a thrash