DANGEROUSKISS

ADANGEROUSNOISENOVEL

CRYSTALKASWELL

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O T H E R W O R K S B Y C R Y S T A L K A S W E L L

Dangerous Noise

Dangerous Kiss – Ethan

Dangerous Crush – Kit – coming Feb 2017

Dangerous Rock – Joel – coming spring 2017

Dangerous Touch – Mal – coming summer 2017

Sinful Serenade

- Miles

- Drew

- Tom

- Pete

– series sequel

C H A P T E R 1

IOLET

he manila envelope is thick. It's Violet Valentine, we are delighted to offer

you admission to the New York University master’s degree in mathematics program

thick.

For the first time in two months, my stomach isn't weighed down with dread.

It's light. Airy.

I take a deep breath then exhale slowly. I should call Ethan for this. He can share

in the moment. He needs the lift in mood as much as I do.

But my phone is up in my room and he's at practice. This is the band that is

going to launch him to the stratosphere. It's not a line he uses to get me on board. I

love the way he plays guitar.

I love the way Dangerous Noise sounds together.

Fuck it. I tear the envelope open. Shreds of manila flutter to the concrete path

that cuts through my parents' perfectly green lawn.

There's something with thick, heavy paper in here. It's got to be a welcome

booklet. It's got to be NYU enticing me to study in the middle of New York City, in a

glorious purple sweatshirt, surrounded by life and energy.

It's three thousand miles away from here, yeah, but the only thing I care about

here is Ethan and he's spending six of the next eight months on tour. What's it

matter if he visits me here or in New York City?

One more deep breath and I can look.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I press my heels against the ground until the concrete is boring into my bare

feet.

I'm ready for this.

I pull the papers out.

Ms. Valentine, we are excited to invite you to join our master’s degree in

mathematics program starting in the fall. Your financial aid and scholarship

information is enclosed.

I'm in.

I'm in and I have a partial scholarship. Between loans and a part-time job, I can

make this work.

For the first time in two months, life is full of possibilities. This is everything I

want. It's much better than the actuary job I have lined up. It's much better than

staying at my parents' house to save money while I commute from Huntington

Beach to Irvine for another few years.

It's the first piece of good news since Asher died.

I need to tell Ethan right away. I need to share my happiness with him. And I

need us celebrating properly after.

FRONT

DOOR

of Ethan's place is already open. I knock and step inside.

There's music coming from the practice room. I listen until I can pick out the

sound of Ethan on lead guitar. My smile gets wider.

He has everything he wants. Now, I'll have everything I want, too.

I listen until I can't take it anymore. The song is amazing but I need his arms

around me. I need him throwing me on the bed, peeling off my clothes, and

reminding me how well we fit together.

"Hey." I knock on the practice room's open door.

Ethan steps into the hallway, his smile already at his cheeks.

He slides his arms around me to scoop me up then he's spinning me around.

I squeal, holding onto his strong shoulders as tightly as I can. This is how things

are supposed to feel. And I haven't even told him yet. It can only get better.

Ethan and I are a team. It might be tough doing long distance, but a master’s is

only two years. That's nothing compared to us having the rest of our lives together.

"Let's go to your room." I press my lips to his. The peck isn't enough. My hands

go to his dark, wavy hair. I pull him closer and I suck on his lower lip until he's

groaning in my mouth.

"What the fuck did I do to deserve this, Vi?" He sets me down. His eyes are on

fire, that look that screams I need you naked immediately. "You look hot as hell in

that skirt."

"Do I?"

"You teasing me, honey? I'll get you back for that." His blue eyes light up as he

smiles. He slides his hands to my ass and pulls me closer.

Then his lips are on mine and his tongue is in my mouth. This is the first time

we've really kissed since it happened. This is the first time it's felt like everything

really is going to be okay.

I soak in the feeling of his tongue dancing with mine. Then his hands are under

my skirt. He presses his palm against my sex, over my panties.

His breath is heavy when he pulls back. "You're wet."

"Why do you think I want to go to your room?"

His smile widens. It's earnest. It's without defenses. The pain and distance of

the last two months is already melting.

It's all in his eyes. I'm back. Grief isn't drowning me any longer. It hurts, yeah,

but I can feel pleasure too.

God, the pleasure I can feel.

I take his hand and lead him to his room—Ethan lives with his parents too. He

has other options, but he prefers it this way. His parents are always out of town. He

and his older brother don't want their teenage sister stuck in the big house all by

herself.

His room is clean and bright. With the window open, the whole place smells like

the ocean.

Ethan slides his hands to my hips. "How about you come on my face before we

talk?"

"How about after?"

"How about you come on my hands then my face after?"

"You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Strong."

He smiles and presses his crotch into mine, so I can feel his erection. "You have

no fucking idea how badly I want you right now."

"Ethan…" I'm buzzing everywhere. I stare into Ethan's gorgeous blue eyes. This

is an important moment. I want to remember every second of it.

"You gonna tell me or you gonna give me blue balls?" he teases.

He has an excellent point. I need to tell him so we can move on to the

celebrating properly part.

"I got in." I pull my letter from my pocket, unfold it, and offer it to him. "I got

into the master’s program at NYU."

He's not smiling.

He's not scooping me into his arms and spinning me again.

He's not happy. His eyes are turned down and his brow is furrowed.

He takes the paper and reads it slowly. "You're moving to New York City?"

"It's only for two years." I reach for his bicep but he pulls his arm away. "I told

you I applied."

"You said there was no chance you'd get in."

"I thought there wasn't."

"You're supposed to tour with us all summer. You're supposed to start that job

here in November." His eyes fill with frustration.

But that doesn't make any sense.

I reach for him again. This time, he lets me touch him. But he stares at my hand

like it's doing him wrong.

What the fuck? I expect this shit from everyone else. I get that it's weird that I

love math. Everyone acts like it makes me a freak. Everyone except Ethan.

He gets it.

He always has.

Why isn't he happy for me?

Maybe he's still surprised. Maybe he doesn't realize that this is a beginning and

not an ending.

"Things will be the same as they are now. Only I'll be in New York." I stare into

his blue eyes. "You can stay with me when you aren't touring. I can fly out on

weekends."

His eyes bore into mine. "You already decided?"

What? This is what I want, what I've always wanted. He knows that.

"You're just leaving. Like that?" He takes a step backwards.

"School doesn't start until late August." I… I don't get it. I go to all his shows. I

do everything I can to support Ethan's band.

It's not an obligation.

We're a team.

Violet and Ethan against the world. That's our fucking motto.

He's still staring at me like I'm betraying him. "If you want to leave, then

leave."

"It's not like that."

"What's it like? You're leaving cause you're so crazy in love with me you need to

be three thousand miles away? You've been pushing me away since Asher… you

don't want to talk, fine. You don't want to be in the same state as me, fine. Go."

I grab the paper from his hands. "It's not like that, Ethan."

"Then explain what it's like."

"We're a team."

"Teams don't make unilateral decisions." He pulls his door open and takes a

step into the hallway. "You've already decided to leave. Why drag it out?"

"Ethan…"

"If you want to walk away, do it."

His eyes flare with frustration.

He…

This doesn't make any sense.

We need to talk later. We'll have cooler heads. He'll apologize. He'll realize that

this is for us.

I grab the paper from him, crumple it, and shove it back in my pocket. "Fine."

"That's it, Vi. You walk out that door, it's over between us."

He stares at me with those gorgeous blue eyes of his.

"Things don't have to change." I stare back at him. "I can still come on tour

with you this summer."

He shakes his head. "You've already decided to leave. Don't bullshit me about it

now."

But this isn't bullshit. Things can stay the same. Why can't he see that?

His expression gets intense. "If you want to leave, do it."

My brow furrows. I hate to leave things like this. But I don't see what other

choice I have. "Fine. I'm glad your dreams are more important than mine."

I stare back at him, waiting for a response.

Nothing. He just looks at me like I slapped him and told him I slept with his

friend.

I can't talk to him right now. Not like this.

I walk out the door, sit in my car until I'm calm enough to drive home, and wait

for him to apologize.

All night, I wait for him to apologize.

All week.

All month.

All fucking semester.

He never does.

C H A P T E R 2

THAN

he woman across the bar is staring at me with lust in her eyes. Is that oh God,

he's hot or damn, this is my chance to fuck a famous guy?

No way to tell from here.

I shoot her a maybe you can fuck me look.

She sighs with pleasure. Her tongue slides over her lips.

She's objectively hot. Tight dress. Big tits. Dark hair in carefully messy waves.

Violet always wore her hair like that, only hers was that gorgeous shade of

strawberry blond.

What the fuck? Violet's not getting space in my brain. Not tonight.

Nothing is knocking me out tonight. Not even that nagging feeling in my

stomach, reminding me that I always feel emptier after.

That I miss how intimate sex felt with Violet.

Coming to our old hangout spot was a mistake. But I'm here now. I'm not gonna

wallow. Either I take this woman around back and spend half an hour making sure

we both enjoy ourselves or I go home and practice the songs I need to master before

our show in San Francisco.

I run my hand through my dark hair—that always works—and shoot the woman

another smile.

She looks me up and down, licking her lips as her gaze settles on my crotch.

She's practically screaming I'd like to suck you off, anyplace that works for you.

At this point, I know the drill backwards and forwards.

She moves closer. Her expression gets nervous. Too nervous for I've never

picked up a guy before, especially given her age. Nothing wrong with an older

woman—she looks about thirty—but they don't usually get nervous picking up

guys.

Fifty bucks says she's about to ask if I'm really Ethan Strong.

A hundred bucks says she follows up with something about how she'd never

screw a stranger, but she feels like she already knows me.

Hell, a thousand bucks says she mentions something about my skill with my

hands.

It's true—I am fucking fantastic with my hands.

She shimmies her hips as she moves closer. Her eyes find mine. "I hate to ask,

but are you really Ethan Strong?"

Damn. So much for a night of anonymous sex. I'm about to become the story she

tells all her friends.

I smile my megawatt smile, the one I use to win over the crowd. "That's me.

What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Natasha." She laughs. "You're so funny in interviews. Do you get that all the

time?"

Yes. I smile back at her. "Not as often as I'd like."

"I normally don't do this kind of thing but I feel like I can trust you." She

squeezes my bicep over my leather jacket. "Oh listen to me, I forgot to start with

the best part. You're so good in Dangerous Noise. Your hands must be talented."

"You can be the judge of that, sweetheart." I try to hold my smile, but it's

getting difficult. This is such bullshit. She must realize it too.

There. I manage to smile wider. If I'm going for this, I have to hold up my end of

the rock star fucks groupie bargain.

She gets her fantasy. I get a few minutes out of my head. We both come. Yeah,

I'm using her, but she's using me too.

It's win-win.

Usually.

Right now, I'm having a hard time convincing my body to get in gear. This whole

place screams of Violet. And the contrast between the way Violet stared at me—she

saw every fucking inch of me—and the way this woman is looking at me, like I have

famous guy tattooed on my forehead, is underlining how much this is bullshit.

I have to move closer. I have to slide my hands to her ass and whisper in her ear I

shouldn't do this, sweetheart—to be honest, I've already forgotten her name—but

there's something special about you.

That's my usual move.

I shrug my shoulders to shake off my funk. It's been almost two years since

Violet left. Doesn't matter that no one compares to her. I'm not looking for a new

girlfriend. I'm not looking to fall in love.

I'm not interested in love. That's more bullshit.

"This bar is getting crowded, huh?" she asks. "How about we go back to your

place?"

Uh-uh. Nobody comes back to my place. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna leave

her wanting. I turn on the charm. "My sister's in town. How about we go back to

your place. Or-" I slide my arm around her waist "—we could go around back."

"Okay." She grabs at my shoulders.

"I like your dress, sweetheart." I play with the spaghetti strap going over her

shoulder. This is happening. And it's gonna feel good. Period. Violet doesn't enter

into the equation. "Have to apologize in advance for how I'm going to destroy it."

She lets out a needy sigh.

I lead her through the side door. No sense in wasting time. I need to stop

thinking.

I pin her to the wall.

She rises to her tiptoes to kiss me. I turn so she gets my cheek. From the sound

of her whine, it's not what she wants, but that's too bad.

Her lips go to my neck.

I close my eyes.

Need to get into this. But my head keeps filling with thoughts of Violet—of her

soft, red lips sucking on my neck as she climbs on top of me.

My cock springs to attention.

Uh-uh. I may be a manwhore, but I'm not tacky enough to think about my ex

when I'm fucking a stranger.

I pull back to take a long look at this woman. Whatever her name is.

Her tongue slides over her lips. She wants me. Badly. Usually, that's enough.

But right now…

Damn, what the hell is wrong with me? I close my eyes and force my thoughts

out of my brain.

She tugs at my t-shirt and runs her fingers over my chest.

There. Pleasure starts pushing everything else away.

I can do this.

Her hand goes to my jeans. She undoes my belt. Pulls down my zipper.

Then she's jumping back, hiding behind me. The side door is swinging open.

Someone is stepping into the alley.

Better call this now. Shit's not happening with her. I should go home and

practice those new songs. I should wait until I'm someplace that doesn't remind

me of my ex to pick up a one-night stand.

I rebutton my pants and fasten my belt.

There's a woman in front of the half-open side door. She's on her knees,

pressing her hand over her mouth.

Poor girl doesn't know her limits. It's been a long time since I drank enough to

throw up but I don't remember it fondly.

She's a champ. She coughs but she doesn't gag. It takes a minute, but she

manages to push herself up and brush off her dirty knees.

No-

I rub my eyes. There's no way in hell that's her.

I must be seeing things.

Violet blinks back at me. "Ethan?"

Fuck, that's her voice. I'd know it anywhere. Her hair is different—it's cut short,

a severe bob with neat bangs—but those green eyes give her away.

"Vi?" I ask.

Her eyes go wide. They're more red than green at the moment. She's been

crying. Or trying not to cry. Violet never was the type to cry in front of other people.

She grabs for the door but it's already shut.

"Fuck." She takes a step backwards.

Her makeup is the same—heavy enough to scream leave me alone, light enough

to show off the adorable freckles on her cheeks and nose.

The woman paws at my arm. "Ethan." She says my name like we're old lovers,

not strangers. "Do you know her?"

I swallow hard. Yeah. I know her. I know every inch of her.

Violet's eyes are as glassy as they are miserable. She's past buzzed and well into

drunk.

Of course she's drunk. It was two years ago that her brother… That was the day

her heart broke, the day she locked me out. Took a few months to make it official,

but it was two years ago I lost her.

Two years ago exactly.

I turn back to the woman. "Sorry, sweetheart, I'll have to take a rain check. I'll

see you around."

She pouts.

Violet takes another step backwards. Then she turns and hightails it out of the

alley.

There's nowhere for her to run. The parking lot is around the corner. She's far

too drunk to drive.

I run after her. Even in her heels, she's fast. I have to sprint to catch her.

Damn, those heels do things to her already long legs. Her crimson and black

dress is tight around her curves.

Every fucking inch of my body wakes up at the thought of pinning her to the

wall. Of her lips on my skin. Of her hands on my hips.

It's not like with the groupie. It's not like with any other woman.

Fuck knows I've tried finding another woman who feels like Violet. There's no

one.

I grab her wrist. She stumbles, so I pull her body against mine and hold her

steady.

My voice is dripping with frustration. "Vi, where the hell are you going?" No

matter how badly she hurt me, I'm not letting her hurt herself.

"Not planning on watching you screw a… I guess she's a 'groupie' now that

you're a rock star and not a guy playing at Chain Reaction."

"You upset about me being a rock star now?"

"Don't really care what you do, Ethan. Fuck as many sweethearts as you want. I

hope you enjoy it."

"I do."

"Good. You have something to say to me or you here to brag?"

"You're drunk."

"I'm aware of that." She pulls her arms free and spins on her heels.

"I'm not letting you drive anywhere."

Her eyes find mine. "I haven't heard a word from you in almost two years. You

don't get a say in what I do or don't do."

"You planning on driving drunk?"

She folds her arms, unwilling to admit I'm right.

"Didn't think so."

"Okay. You win. I'm calling a cab. You've done your civic duty and warned the

inebriated woman she shouldn't drive drunk. Public sex aside, you're an

upstanding citizen." She digs her cell phone from her purse.

"I'm not leaving you alone," I say. "Not with that hurt look on your face."

"Maybe I'm hurt because I'm not over you breaking my heart."

What the hell? She's the one who left. She got on a plane and moved three

thousand miles away. But we both know that's not why she's hurt. Not right now.

"I'm sorry about Asher."

"Thank you." Her eyes fill with pain. She opens her mouth to speak then she

shuts it and shakes her head. "I thought you were on tour."

"You follow Dangerous Noise?"

"I hear things."

"We're on a break. Tour starts up in two days." I take a step closer. I let my

fingers brush against her wrists. It feels impossible but this really is Violet.

She pulls her arms around her chest and rubs her bare arms.

"Here." I slide my leather jacket off my shoulders and offer it to her.

She shakes her head.

"We can stand here arguing all night. I'm not letting you drive anywhere and

I'm not leaving you alone. Not today."

She blinks and a tear catches on her lashes. Despite the I hate you, Ethan stare,

she takes my jacket.

"I thought you were in school," I say.

"It's spring break."

She looks small in my leather jacket, but she's not small. She's three or four

inches shorter than I am. In her heels, Violet is eye to eye with me.

Damn those long legs of hers…

My cock begs me to take over. She's got that look in her eyes. That please fuck

me out of my misery look.

Her eyes go to the ground. "Thanks for the jacket. I'll drop it off tomorrow. You

staying at your parents' place?"

"Yeah. With Piper."

"I'm going to call a cab." She tugs at her short dress but it does nothing to cover

her long legs.

Damn, it's getting hard saying no to the look in her eyes. Come home with me,

Vi. I'll wipe every bit of your pain away. I'll make you forget everything but your

body for the rest of the night.

That shit can't happen.

I shake my head. "I'll drive you home."

"You're sober?"

"Had one drink."

"Too busy sucking face to down a few shots?"

"Don't do shots anymore." Or suck face for that matter.

Her eyes flare with anger. She takes another step backwards. "Go back to your

groupie, Ethan. I can get around on my own."

Not like this, she can't. I grab her wrist a little harder than I should. But I'm not

letting her leave drunk. "You have two choices. You can stand around with me until

you're sober enough I believe you're gonna be okay or you can come with me."

She looks at me like she's looking into my soul. "I don't want to go home."

"Then you can come back to my place. Piper will be jazzed to see you." My little

sister adores Violet. I can't remember the last time she went a day without

reminding me I made a mistake letting her walk away.

Violet stares at me for a long time. Finally, she nods. "Fine. But I'm not going to

make polite conversation."

"How is that different than how things used to be?"

Her lips curl into the world's tiniest smile. It only stays for a moment but it's

still the best thing I've felt since that last time I stepped on stage.

C H A P T E R 3

THAN

iolet walks through the foyer and takes in the living room with familiarity.

Besides the matter of me and Mal—my brother is the lead singer in our band—

being several million dollars richer and several million times more famous, things

are mostly the same.

We still stay at our parents' place when we're in southern California. They still

spend most of their time pursuing research in tropical countries. Piper is nineteen

now, but I still don't feel right leaving her alone.

After she washes up in the downstairs bathroom, Violet takes a long look at the

couch. "I can sleep here."

"No."

"Tell me what to do again and I'm walking home."

"Take my bed."

She stares back at me.

"I'm gonna insist. You'll save the two of us a lot of arguing if you agree now."

She looks me up and down. It's not an I'm glad we're not together look. It's I

want the two of us on that bed, naked.

I lead her to my room anyway.

She closes the door and sits on the bed. Her eyes meet mine. She presses her lips

together, taking a deep breath.

I know that look too. I know every expression Violet can make. She's working up

her nerve to do something.

She exhales slowly. "Goddammit, Ethan. You know I haven't got any tact." She

crosses and uncrosses her legs. Then she's spreading them apart. "You want to

help me?"

"Wouldn't put it that way."

"If you really want me to feel better, then fuck me."

What the hell?

I pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming.

I'm not. Violet is in my bed, her legs spread, her lips parting with anticipation.

She's asking me to fuck her.

This is not how this fantasy goes. And I drift to it plenty of nights on the road.

I go to my dresser, grab a t-shirt and boxers for her to wear, and throw them to

her. "You're drunk."

"If I was drunk, I'd be numb and I wouldn't have to ask." She slides the leather

jacket off her arms and pushes herself off the bed. "Please, Ethan. You have any

idea how badly I hate myself for asking you this?"

"That line work on other guys?"

"I don't mean it like that."

"You have more game than this."

"Okay. Let me start over." She plays with the hem of my t-shirt. Then her

fingers are on my bare skin, sending heat to all my appendages. "It's not just that I

want to feel something else. You were good. The best I've ever had."

"You're fucking with me." I bite my tongue so I won't ask questions about these

other guys she's been fucking.

"No. I still think about you. About your calloused fingers between my legs." She

moves closer, until her breath is warming my skin. "I think about that night in the

lifeguard stand."

Goddammit, that's a fucking fantastic thought. I want to push that dress to her

waist and stroke her until she comes.

She looks up at me. Her eyes are on fire with confidence. "I think about the way

you screamed my name. About the way you pulled my hair when you came."

Fuck, I want her badly enough I'm considering this.

But I'm nobody's distraction. Especially not Violet's.

She presses her hips against mine. "You're hard."

Harder than I've been in a long time. "You're drunk."

She shakes her head. "I'm not." She brings her lips to my ear. "You were going

to fuck the slut in the cheap heels."

"And your heels?"

She takes a step backwards. "These are Aerosoles. Or maybe Naturalizers. I

forget, but they're good shit. Nice. Expensive."

I have to laugh. She laughs too. It breaks up the tension, sexual or otherwise. For

a second, it's like everything is normal, like before we broke up, before her brother

died.

Nobody else makes me feel like this.

I smile at Violet. "Aren't those shoes for soccer moms?"

She folds her arms. "I'm twenty-three."

"Twenty-four in two weeks."

She frowns, taken aback by me remembering her birthday. But that's ridiculous.

We were together for three years. I remember way more than her fucking birthday.

I remember every inch of her, every groan or moan or scream that fell off her lips.

Goddammit, I want to rip off her clothes and fuck her until she's screaming.

Thank God for self-respect or I'd already have my head between her legs.

Violet teases back. "If I'm twenty-three, then these shoes are obviously for

twenty-three year olds. I can't help it that most people my age don't appreciate

good arch support."

"I'm not gonna fuck you, Vi."

"I figured that out already."

"It won't help you turn off your brain. Your brain doesn't have an off switch."

She falls back on the bed. "I know."

"There are extra toothbrushes in the bathroom."

She looks up at me. "Okay."

"There's Advil too. Take one and drink a few glasses of water."

She stares back at me. "Good night, Ethan."

"You too."

I leave her in my bed and attempt to relax downstairs. It's not happening. My

body and my heart are at war. It's throw the woman on your bed and split her in

half vs. throw the woman out of your house before she hurts you again.

Violet may not be able to turn her brain off, but I can.

I go to our practice room and I play until I can't think or feel anything but the

strings of my guitar.

C H A P T E R 4

IOLET

h sweet baby Jesus it's bright. How can it be this bright this early in the

morning?

There's a loud noise downstairs. A pot clanging. My parents don't cook. Not on

weekdays. And there's no way I drove myself home last night. I never drink and

drive. Ever.

I take a deep breath and stretch my arms over my head. This isn't my bed. In my

just-woke-up fog, I'm not sure who's bed it is. My thighs aren't sore. It's been long

enough that I'd be sore if I spent the night screwing someone.

I catch sight of myself in the full length mirror. It's strategically placed above

the bed. For watching yourself have sex.

I know that mirror. I know this bed. I really, really know the smell of this t-

shirt. It smells like Ethan.

God damn, it smells good.

As if the smell of him and the sight of his incredibly hot sex mirror weren't

enough to remind me of everything I miss about Ethan, the t-shirt is plastered with

his band's name: Dangerous Noise.

Fuck…

I practically begged him to sleep with me. It's not that I don't get hot all over at

the thought of Ethan driving his cock inside me, his hands digging into my hair as

he groans my name—

Damn, it's getting hard to concentrate.

I drag myself to the bathroom, brush my teeth, shower, and try to ignore the

memories of last night.

The man is with a different woman in every tabloid picture—I have Ethan Strong

and Dangerous Noise Google alerts, sue me. He gives cocky interviews where he

plays cool the entire time. He gets caught trashing hotel rooms and telling other

musicians to go fuck themselves.

He's not the Ethan who taught me to play the Hole song Doll Parts. He's not the

Ethan who showed me monster movies then squeezed me when I spent the entire

film hiding behind my hands.

He's not the Ethan I fell in love with.

Hell, he was about to screw a strange woman when I ran into him—I should have

known better than to go to our old hangout spot.

The woman meant so little to him that he abandoned her the second he saw me.

Maybe that should flatter me, but instead it screams Ethan Strong is not the

sweet boy I loved. He's not even the asshole who broke my heart. He's a playboy

rock star. Just another famous asshole who thinks women exist to get him off.

After I dry off and take a few more Advil, I change into last night's clothes and

do what I can with the makeup I keep in my purse.

Out of excuses, I slink downstairs.

Ethan's older brother Mal is making eggs in the kitchen. He and Ethan have the

same piercing blue eyes but Ethan's hair is nearly black while Mal's is more of a

medium brown.

Joel, the Dangerous Noise drummer, is with him. Joel runs a hand through his

sandy blond hair and laughs.

He launches into a slow clap. "Damn, Violet, way to backslide."

Mal's eyes go wide. Damn, he must be surprised. Usually, Mal wears the world's

best poker face.

He nudges Joel and shoots him a shut the fuck up look.

Joel laughs. "Was it good, at least?"

Mal frowns. "If they'd fucked Ethan wouldn't have been in such a shit mood."

There’s a rainbow of canvas sneakers by the door. I recognize the shoes Ethan

was wearing last night. Either he's here or—

"He's at the gym." Mal shakes his head. "You want to tell me how you ended up

in Ethan's bed?"

"With as many details as you can spare, preferably." Joel's smile lights up his

grey-green eyes. "I was wondering why Ethan brought a girl home."

Huh?

Joel stares at me. "Damn, can't believe that's really you, Violet. I thought you

ate Ethan's heart for breakfast and used it as fuel to get your ass to New York."

God damn, is Ethan really selling our breakup as me destroying him? He's the

one who chose his dreams over mine.

It doesn't matter now. It's over. As much as I like seeing Mal (hell, it's nice

seeing Joel, even with his I'm gonna start shit attitude turned up to eleven), it's

time for me to go.

"It's spring break," I say.

Joel nods. "You find a new boy in New York?"

"Not at the moment. I'm more focused on school. How's the band?" I ask.

"Good. Our tour bus is a hell of a lot nicer. And you know Ethan." Joel shrugs.

Mal clears his throat. "Did you come all the way to Orange County to fuck with

Ethan's ex or did you come here to practice?"

"Mostly came to fuck with you and Ethan but Violet being here is a bonus," Joel

says.

Mal frowns.

"Okay, I got it. I should practice." Joel shoots me a knowing look. "Don't do

anything I wouldn't do."

"Does that leave anything?" I ask.

"Certainly wouldn't sleep with my ex," Joel says.

"You don't have any exes." Mal crosses his arms, adopting his papa bear stance.

"Okay, I got it. Tell Piper I said hi if I miss her." Joel shakes his head. He nods

goodbye to me on the way to the practice room.

The room feels quieter without Joel in it. Mal has that same protective stance but

I'm not sure who he's trying to protect—me or Ethan.

"I'd offer coffee but I gave it up. Bad for the vocal chords." He nods to a pot of

tea on the counter. "You want tea?"

"Yes please. Where is Piper?"

"Class. She's at UCI now." He pours me a cup and places it on the kitchen

island. "You want eggs too?"

"I should take a cab home."

"Stay for breakfast." He turns back to the pan on the stove and scrambles the

eggs. "Don't make me restrain you."

I'm not sure whether or not I should laugh. I'm not good with people, not even

with a guy who is practically my big brother.

Or was practically my big brother.

Mal and I aren't anything anymore. This isn't my life anymore and lingering in

it makes me feel like I'm stuck in some weird, slutty rock star version of A

Christmas Carol.

But the eggs smell good and I'm starving. I nod an okay.

Mal makes small talk. He has an entire plate of eggs, a dozen pieces of toast, and

several halved avocados ready by the time I finish my second cup of tea.

"Ethan hasn't been the same since you left." Mal slides a plate with eggs, toast,

and two halves of an avocado to me.

That's nice. Ethan had every chance to apologize. He clearly prefers fucking

strangers to what we had. Ethan isn't the same, Mal and I can agree on that point.

He's an obnoxious manwhore now.

"People change." I take a bite of my eggs and chew until they're mush. Anything

to keep from having to make conversation.

"He said you were too drunk to drive." He shakes his head, that signature Mal

this isn't good head shake.

That much is true. "Last night was two years since Asher…"

Mal nods. His eyes fill with sympathy. Or maybe pity. I'm not sure. It's hard to

tell sometimes, especially with Mal.

"I'm sorry about that. He was a great guy. And to find him like that-"

"Thanks." I interrupt him before he can properly remind me of the gory details.

This is far too much talking. I'm not good at talking.

I shove half a slice of toast in my mouth. Then I get to work on scooping avocado

over my eggs, adding sriracha, stirring until it's just right.

"Thanks Mal. Tastes great." I shove another bite of food in my mouth and offer

him a thumbs up.

He nods and we eat in silence. It's comfortable, familiar, like it's only been a few

days and not two years.

The front door opens. There are footsteps, shoes coming off, bare feet on tile.

"Hey, Ethan. You want eggs, come sit." Mal ignores the tension. He turns back

to me. "How is school? Math, right? You getting a master’s or a PhD?"

"A master’s. It's great. Can't wait to be back in—" I do the calculation in my

head. "Twelve days."

Ethan does not sit. He stays standing as he fills a plate for himself.

His eyes bore into me. It's like my existence is causing him pain.

Mal continues to ignore his little brother. "You're good with numbers?"

I nod.

"And you don't want to be home?" Mal asks.

"Is it that obvious?"

Mal nods. "I have a proposition for you." He turns to Ethan, then his eyes are

back on mine. "You go to NYU, right?"

I nod.

"We're leaving in two days. We stop by New York City in about eleven days.

We're playing Madison Square Garden." Mal smiles.

"Congrats," I say.

"Thanks." He passes the hot sauce to Ethan, then his eyes are on me. "I'm sure

Ethan agrees that we need somebody smart taking a second look at our numbers.

Our old manager was a fuckup and I don't trust his math."

"Okay…" This seems like the perfect time to scarf down another piece of toast.

Anything so I don't have to respond.

The look Ethan shoots Mal would kill a weaker man.

Mal doesn't blink. "Join us on tour. You can sightsee when we're stopped and

take a second look at our numbers while we're on the road. I'm not sure how much

this kind of thing runs, but I promise whatever we pay will be fair."

I clear my throat. "That's not really what I do. You'd be better off finding a

CPA."

"I don't like bringing new people into the band." Mal's voice is impossible to

read. "I'd rather it be you."

Ethan's blue eyes are fierce, determined. "Great idea."

What?

His eyes meet mine. It's like he's daring me to take the gig. You don't affect me

at all, Vi. I don't give a fuck if you're around or not, but we both know you can't

survive being around me for a week and a half.

Fuck, I practically begged him to fuck me last night.

I'm not that girl. I don't beg guys for sex. I don't beg anyone for anything.

Clearly, I can't handle being around Ethan.

My body has other ideas. It's already humming from the proximity of his body.

It's already begging me to take him up on his offer.

He's sweaty from his workout. His dark, wavy hair is sticking to his head. His

tattooed arms are slick. He only had one sleeve, the left, when things ended. Now

he has a right sleeve too. It's as bright and vibrant as his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, stretching his arms over his head. I can see inches of his

taught stomach. I can see that flash of pubic hair. The happy trail. God, that was a

happy place.

My body screams Ethan, please give me Ethan.

It's not a good idea being around him. Even if it will get me out of my parents'

house. Even if I need the cash.

Even if I miss him as much as I miss Asher.

I shake my head. "Thanks, Mal, but—"

"Think about it," Mal says.

I slide off my seat and take a step towards the door. "I'm going to call a cab."

And wait for it far, far away.

"I'll drive you home, Vi," Ethan says. "We need to talk."

Talk? Uh-uh. I don't have anything to say to Ethan besides fuck you for making

me feel like my dreams were worthless, or maybe fuck me in the backseat of your

car.

"Just need ten minutes to shower." Ethan nods to the kitchen island. "Have

another cup of tea."

I wouldn't mind another cup of tea.

I certainly don't mind the vivid mental images of pounding water dripping off

Ethan's naked body.

Still, I should say no.

When I open my mouth to speak, words refuse to fall. I don't say no, that's okay.

Or, actually, I'm going somewhere out of the way.

Instead, I press my lips together, and I nod yes.

C H A P T E R 5

IOLET

hug my seatbelt. Otherwise, my hands might get ideas about Ethan's arm. It's

awfully inviting by his side, his fingers trailing over the gearshift the same way

they glide over his guitar strings.

I want to trace all the lines of his new tattoos. I want to learn every shape, every

color, every hidden meaning behind the ink. Ethan always wore his heart on his

sleeve. Now it's literal.

Hugging the seatbelt isn't working. Better play with the radio instead. That's

safe enough. I tune it to KROQ 106.7, the Los Angeles alternative rock station. I still

remember the first time Ethan's band was played on KROQ—his eyes were lit up

like he had just won a trip to the moon. He scooped me into his arms and spun me

around and promised that we'd have the world together, that this was great for us.

It was supposed to be that we were a team. Ethan was the only person I ever

trusted, the only person I ever let into my heart.

My chest tightens. What's it matter now? Ethan is going to drop me off at my

car, I'm going to drive home, the last twelve hours are going to become a distant

memory.

That's how things should be.

"You want to get a coffee?" He slides his fingers over the steering wheel like

he's fretting his guitar. "Or tea."

This is the part where I say no, that's a bad idea. I should get back to my car and

drive home. You broke my heart once, I already begged you to sleep with me, do I

really need any more pain or humiliation?

I say none of that.

I nod. "I guess."

He smiles. I swear to God, every inch of my body can feel Ethan's smile. His

smile is the sun breaking through the clouds on a dreary New York day.

His smile makes me feel as good as it did when we were together.

"The usual place?" he asks.

"Huh?"

"The Peet's at UCI?"

Our old hangout spot. "It's twenty minutes out of the way." And it's full of

memories of when everything was perfect between us. I can't go thinking about the

old version of Ethan. I can't get confused.

"You have something better to do?" he asks.

I don't have much to do in the next twelve days besides getting ahead on school

work and keeping up with my karate training—strong body, strong mind, strong

ability to resist Ethan's smile and his expert guitarist hands.

My body is still buzzing from the proximity. I'm not sure if I'll be able to resist

him if he makes me laugh, then leans in for a soft, slow kiss. He always took his

time making sure I was ready, getting me off before he even stripped out of his

boxers.

The radio station goes from a Trader Joe's commercial to a Red Hot Chili Peppers

song. Everything about it feels like home.

I have to laugh.

Ethan laughs too. "Miss KROQ?"

"Always."

"What are you listening to these days?"

"Same riot girl stuff as always." I smooth my dress in the hopes of pulling it

farther down my legs. No luck. "I caught the new album when it came out last year.

It's good."

"I know."

There's the cocky Ethan who sleeps around and teases the press. I spend the rest

of the song taking him in, trying to find the sincerity in his brilliant blue eyes. It

does me no good. All I know is how much I want to swim in those eyes.

"You were good on it," I say. "But I guess you know that too."

He nods.

"You know everything now. Or… well, you always thought you knew

everything."

"You really don't have any tact."

"Some things never change."

His voice drops. "Yeah."

He sounds sad.

But why?

The station shifts to Good Riddance by Green Day. One of my favorite songs. It's

supposed to be easy on guitar. Ethan tried teaching me once, but I never did get the

hang of it. I have stupid fingers. And I can't keep a beat to save my life.

But I love music. I love it in my ears. I love when I can feel the bass in my bones.

I love letting it wash over me.

I close my eyes. Then there's wind rushing into the car. The windows are down.

And Ethan is singing along with the song.

I peel my eyes open to look at him. He's smiling, half his attention on the road,

the other half on the words. He's an amazing singer. Not as good as Mal but

amazing nonetheless.

He nudges me. "Don't make me do this alone."

That's too much like old times.

I shake my head. "I'm sure you're used to doing it alone by now."

He laughs and my heart skips a beat. But that's not right. I wasn't trying to

make him laugh. I was trying to push him away.

I let myself get lost in the music for the rest of the ride.

FIGHT

a shiver as I step out of the car. It's not that it's cold—we're enough into

morning that the sun is shining over the pavement. It's more the death glare from

the woman standing in front of the grocery store.

"Here." Ethan slides his leather jacket around my shoulders.

He smiles that trademarked Ethan Strong smile. I can't tell if it's real or if it's

his newfound player bullshit.

It doesn't matter. I'm not letting it get to my head either way.

For a second, his arm is around my waist. Then he pulls it away and looks at it

like it betrayed him.

I slide my hands into the pockets of the leather jacket so I won't give into the

impulse to touch him. Ethan looks too yummy to resist. His tight t-shirt hugs his

shoulders just so. His snug jeans are low around his narrow waist.

I pull the jacket tighter. Usually, I'm happy to throw out my resting bitch face

and be done with it, but I feel out of sorts next to him.

Ethan opens the door for me. The moment I step inside the coffee shop, I run

into a wave of memories. We spent a hundred afternoons here, me studying, him

working on polishing a track. I can hear his laugh in my ears, feel his arms around

my chest, taste his lips on mine.

He always tasted good.

I bet he tastes good now.

I bet every inch of him tastes good.

Shit. This isn't an appropriate direction for my thoughts. I check my phone for

something to do. There's a handful of spam and a text from Athena, my

roommate/best friend, checking in.

I reply that I'm fine but that isn't feeling accurate at the moment.

I wait in line with Ethan, my eyes on the brown-and-cream menu board. When

it's our turn, I order an unsweetened matcha latte with almond milk. Ethan orders

an iced coffee.

"With almond milk." He turns to me. "So you can have a taste."

"It's yours."

"When did that ever stop you?"

Never. But what's he doing hanging out on memory lane?

He turns back to the barista. "Better make that a large."

"I would never." I fold my arms over my chest in protest.

"If you insist." He shrugs and hands over his credit card.

Damn, I shouldn't let him pay, but I'm not sure how close I am to my credit

limit. Between my scholarship and loans, I have tuition covered, but New York City

is expensive. My job tutoring math undergrads isn't exactly a full-time gig. Even

with the money I have saved from my paid summer internship, I'm always

scrimping in order to come up with rent.

"Thanks." I unclench my teeth enough I'm not muttering.

Ethan nods. He moves to the pickup window and pours a splash of almond milk

in his iced coffee.

I clear my throat.

He laughs. "Needs more?"

"It's yours."

"Last I heard, Violet Valentine is the foremost expert on almond milk in cold

brew iced coffee."

This time, I laugh. "Well, in my expert opinion…" I take the carton and pour

until the drink is about to overflow. I take a sip to test the flavor. It's creamy

enough but it's not quite sweet. I pick up the simple syrup. "You need a dash of this

too."

"Not that you're going to drink half of this."

"Of course not."

I add a few splashes of simple syrup. Ethan is looking at me with that same

smile. And I can feel my cheeks at my ears.

My chest is light, easy. I put the simple syrup back. I grab a lid and a straw. Still,

he's looking at me with affection.

"Ethan…" I've got no clue how to finish the sentence. This feels like how things

used to be.

His fingers brush mine as he takes the drink. Then he wraps his lips around the

straw. My eyes refuse to leave those lips. My brain refuses to do anything but

remember how those lips felt wrapped around mine.

Or sucking on my nipple.

Or between my legs.

"Here." He offers me the iced coffee.

"It's yours."

"Tell me if it's perfect."

I cock a brow. "In my expert opinion?"

He nods. His smile widens.

"I do suffer for my research." Again, my fingers brush his. I rise to my tiptoes to

take a sip. It's perfect. I offer him a thumbs up.

The barista calls my order. I grab my drink and take a taste. It's exactly as I

remember it.

The familiarity is comforting.

And the drink itself is fucking fantastic.

I offer Ethan a sip.

He takes it then hands the tea latte back. "Still tastes like grass."

"It's good."

"If you insist."

There's foam all over his lip. I could lick it off. I could lick it off, then throw him

on the bench seat in the middle of the room, tear off his clothes, and lick every inch

of him.

My chest flushes. Then my cheeks. Dammit. My skin is burning. Judging from

the delight in his eyes, he can tell I'm blushing.

"Here." I reach up to wipe the foam from his mouth. His lips are soft against the

pad of my thumb. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to stick my thumb in

his mouth.

His eyes are wide with need. He wants the same thing.

Slowly, I pull my hand back to my side. But I don't move away.

We're close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.

My chest heaves with my inhale. My exhale sucks up every bit of breath in my

body. It's like this moment is frozen— me and Ethan staring at each other, on the

verge of our lips connecting.

A woman's shriek pulls me back to reality.

"AHHH! Ethan Strong… is that really you?" The college girl—she's wearing a

navy UCI hoodie— grabs onto Ethan's arm.

He frowns for a second, then he's back to celebrity smile. He turns on the

effortless charm. "Yeah, sweetheart, that's me. You go to school here?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

He runs his fingers over the neckline of her hoodie. "Something gave me a

clue."

It's a crew neck but it's still a gross player move. It shouldn't surprise me. I've

seen Ethan pull this stuff in pictures and videos but somehow I told myself that it

would be obvious it's a put-on in public.

The way he's smiling—he enjoys the attention.

"Uh." She groans with delight. "I always liked Dangerous Noise. I saw you in San

Diego. You were so good."

"Thanks, sweetheart. That means the world to me."

"Really?"

He shoots her a panty-melting smile. "It really does, sweetheart."

Ugh. This is disgusting. I'm not watching it any more.

I go to cut past Ethan but his fingers curl around my wrist.

He looks at me expectantly. "Where you going, Vi?"

The fangirl stares at me with a mix of envy and confusion.

"Excuse me. I need to sit down." I hide behind my drink so no one will see me

scowl. Ethan deserves it, but the poor fangirl is just expressing her love of music.

It's not her fault Ethan is a cocky player.

"It was great to meet you, sweetheart." Ethan nods goodbye to the fangirl.

"Good luck with school."

Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops. "Thank you."

Ethan slides his arm around my waist and leans in to whisper in my ear. "It's

crowded in here. Should we go outside?"

This is where I should say: how about we go straight to my car and part forever?

My mouth won't open at all. I'm too caught up in the feeling of his breath on my

skin. My eyelids press together. I replay the feeling of his body on top of mine, his

cock buried deep inside me.

"Vi?" he asks.

Fuck me, this isn't working. I clear my throat. And, dammit, I nod.

"You okay?"

"What was it you wanted to talk about?"

He presses his palm into my lower back, over my jacket—well, his jacket.

"Let's talk somewhere more private." He leads me out of the coffee shop and

around the corner, to the tables in front of the pizza place.

It's empty. The place doesn't open for another half an hour.

Ethan looks at the coffee shop, then his eyes are on me. "It's easy to forget how

much things have changed."

Yeah. It is.

I take deep breaths while I collect my thoughts. The silence should be heavy,

what with this whole we should talk thing hanging over our heads, but it's not.

It's easy and light. Like old times. He smiles when I steal sips of his iced coffee.

He moves closer when I shiver and zip my jacket.

His eyes meet mine with this look that begs me to spill my guts.

He waits to speak until his drink is melting ice. "I know you think Mal is pulling

strings to get us back together."

"Is there a reason why you don't object to this?"

"Mal doesn't listen to anybody but Mal. Besides, I've seen him stressing about

numbers. He doesn't have the expertise. And I'm not saying you do, but he's right.

You're somebody we trust." Ethan's eyes find mine. "If you want the gig, you

should take it."

His voice is even, effortless. Usually, Ethan wears his intentions on his face. But

not right now.

No. That was the old Ethan, the one I knew. This playboy rock star version of

Ethan… who knows what he does or why.

I take a long sip of my now lukewarm drink. "Won't that bother you?"

"No." His voice is shaky for a moment. "Just, well… I'm not gonna be celibate

just because you're around."

"Excuse me?"

"I get it. You think I'm a manwhore. I won't argue." He runs his hand through

his wavy hair. "You're right. I fuck a lot of women. That isn't going to change if you

join us on tour."

"Thanks for the update on your sex life."

"Don't want you to get upset if you see me with someone else." His voice is

clipped, his expression is frustrated.

But why? I stare back at him. "I don't give a fuck where you stick your dick."

"Good."

"Yeah, great. Is that it?"

"Pretty much."

I stare back at Ethan. I'm getting in the last word here. "Goes for you, too. I

didn't swear off sex when we broke up."

Okay, so I've only slept with one guy since Ethan and I broke up. Denny and I

dated for a few months. He was crazy about me—he wanted to move in together—

but I never felt the same. After we broke up, he nearly evaporated from my mind. It

still goes back to Ethan every time I pull out my rabbit-style vibrator (he did buy it

for me). Or every time I touch myself sans mechanical assistance.

I clear my throat and smile my most confident smile. "Don't get upset if you see

me with someone else."

"You're sleeping around?"

"That's not a crime, is it?" I chew on my lower lip. It's not the case either, but he

doesn't need to know that.

"No. Of course not. I'm glad. Anybody I know?"

"No."

"You coming often, at least?"

"Excuse me?"

"We're gonna be around each other. We should be friendly."

"Pretty sure you coming often goes past most people's idea of friendly."

"Of course, Vi. Would never want to make you uncomfortable." He smiles, the

look in his eyes screaming I guess that's a no.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm coming a lot. Every night." By my hand, but that's

a technicality. "Sometimes multiple times."

His expression flares with frustration. "Great."

"And you? Enjoy screwing strangers at bars?"

"Depends on the stranger."

I laugh-scoff. "I guess it would."

He smiles.

Even though we're hate-flirting, I fucking melt.

C H A P T E R 6

IOLET

ometimes people tell me that STEM students don't have enough creativity.

That's dead wrong. Math is all one plus one equals two at the lower levels. Once you

get into the stuff I study, it's not objective. It requires thinking outside the box. It

requires a hell of a lot of creativity.

At the moment, I can feel every drop of my incredibly vivid imagination. I can

practically feel Ethan's body on top of mine, can practically smell his sweat and

taste his lips.

I open the door and go to slide Ethan's jacket off my shoulders.

"Hold onto it," he says.

This time, I say the right thing. "No. It's yours." I hand over the jacket. "I'm

sure you get cold screwing strangers in alleys."

"Actually, the screwing keeps me pretty warm."

Dammit, I'm smiling. I let out a full-blown belly laugh. "Does it?"

He nods. "You really have to ask?"

No, I don't. But I don't like thinking about Ethan with other women.

Dammit, I'm hot. I need to leave before I do something I'll regret. "Thanks for

the tea." I dig my car key out of my wallet.

"Anytime." He nods goodbye.

I slam the car door shut but it doesn't shut out his presence. Even after I drive all

the way home, Ethan sticks around in my head and my heart.

Ethan Strong, rock star guitarist, does not want me. Not the way I need him to.

Guys like him, like the new Ethan, use girls like me.

No matter what happens, I can't fall for him again.

HOME

, I change into one of my favorite dresses and I perfect my makeup. Smokey

eye in warm shades of purple, a little concealer, blush, dark lipstick. I'm ready to go

out but I can't bring myself to leave the house.

I spend the afternoon hiding out in my bedroom with my e-reader. I'm not sure

who I'm hiding from. My parents are at work. Asher was my only sibling. No one

else is here.

When I get stir crazy, I move into the hallway. It's the same as it's always been

— beige walls, beige carpet, old hinges that creek far too much.

Asher's room is next to mine. The door is half open.

So much of that room is the same. It has the same movie posters—he loved

pretentious French films and he would go on and on about The 400 Blows and The

Bicycle Thief. He had the same taste in movies and books as Dad—this nihilistic

stuff about how life is awful and it's hard being a man. I can't say I ever got it,

though I did try.

His desk is still topped with the stack of books his favorite literature teacher

recommended. She was fresh out of getting her Teaching Credential and he had a

massive crush on her—not just because she was cute, though she was, but because

she was smart and deep. It was very teenager, falling for the insightful teacher.

I move downstairs before I give into the temptation to go into his room and dig

through his things. My parents' house hasn't changed much in the last twenty-

three years. It's a cozy four-bedroom—we use the extra room as a den—with a

small dining area/living room/kitchen combo downstairs.

I take a seat on the leather piano bench. Asher lived in this house but, really, he

lived right here, his fingers dancing on the ivory and black keys.

Being here, near all the memories of my baby brother (we're twins but he was

eight minutes younger), is awful. It's not my parents' fault. They try to balance

remembering him with moving on. But everywhere I look, I see someplace I failed

him.

It's even worse than wanting Ethan and knowing I'll never have him, not the

way I need to have him.

I want to take the gig, but my parents aren't going to like me leaving a few days

into spring break.

There are keys jangling, then the doorknob turns. Mom steps inside, shifting the

takeout bag to her other hand so she can shut the door. She's in her suit, fresh from

work.

"Where were you last night, sweetie?" she asks.

I texted her that I was staying with a friend, but I was vague about the rest of the

details. "I met up with an old friend. We got to talking and it was so late I figured

I'd crash at their place."

"Anyone I know?" She sets the takeout bag on the table and moves into the

kitchen. "I got chicken tandoori and vegetable curry. What do you say we split it,

fifty-fifty."

"Okay." I help her set the table. "Dad working late?"

"It's that time of year."

She gets plates and silverware. I get drinks and napkins. The routine of it makes

me feel like I'm fifteen again. Lying about spending the night at a guy's place

doesn't hurt the feeling like a teenager front.

"Sorry, sweetie. Did I miss you saying who you were with?" Mom's green eyes

get curious. There's no accusation in her voice but the implication is clear. I know

you neglected to mention who you were with. She brushes her auburn hair behind

her ear and adjusts her tortoise-shell glasses. "Violet?"

Okay, she wants an answer.

I love my mom, but she can be a little judgmental about appearances. It's not

her fault, exactly. Her parents were the same way. The second she saw Ethan's

tattoos and his just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, she judged him as wannabe bad boy

loser who is wasting my studious daughter's time.

She never flat-out said he wasn't good enough for me. Hell, she tried to be

supportive of our relationship. But I could always tell she hoped I'd realize I could

do better.

I clear my throat. "Someone from college."

Mom raises a brow but she says nothing as she scoops food onto her plate.

I do the same. The chicken smells amazing but the vegetable curry calls my

name. I mix it with plenty of basmati rice and I take a bite. The carrots are sweet,

the green beans are crisp, the potatoes are soft. And it's spicy too.

"Thanks for getting dinner, Mom." I take another bite and chew it incredibly

slowly.

Mom nods you're welcome. She gives me a long once-over. "Is that a new

dress?"

Her tone is friendly but the implication is there. Why don't you buy some

normal clothes, Violet?

"It was on sale." And I like everything about the black and purple fit-and-flare

dress.

"Do you have a suit for job interviews? It's getting to be that time, isn't it?"

"It is." And I still haven't decided what field I want to go into after school.

Damn, she's looking at me expectantly. There's a softness in her eyes. This is

something Mom knows—she knows how to get jobs as a woman in STEM—and she

wants to help me.

Telling her I'm about to bail on spring break at home is going to crush her. It's

not personal, really. She and Dad are sweet, supportive parents, even if they never

really got my sense of humor, my style, or my taste in movies.

Okay, need to soften this blow. "I, uh, I was offered a gig for the next week and a

half, and I think I should take it. But it means I'm leaving." Okay, judging from the

way her eyes are turning down, there's the blow. Now to soften it. "But maybe we

could meet up to shop for suits tomorrow, before I leave."

"We can go on my lunch break." Her brows arch with confusion. "What kind of

gig?"

I can't tell her I'll be working with my rock star ex-boyfriend. I certainly can't

tell her I'll be sharing a bus with four men and, possibly, an assortment of roadies.

I try not to lie, but this is one of those times where it's the only option. "The

place in New York where I interned last summer. It's a really great opportunity, and

I need the cash."

She presses her lips together. "Dad and I can always help with money."

"I know." But I'd rather feel self-reliant. "If I really need help, I'll ask."

"Okay."

"You can pick out my suit," I say.

Mom chuckles. "Violet, you know I only bring up your unique style because I

worry about you."

I nod.

"Your makeup isn't my kind of thing, but you pull it off well."

I smile. "You really think so?"

She nods. "But you'll wash it off for job interviews?"

"I'll tone it down by ten percent."

"Twenty," she counters.

"Okay, twenty. And how about we watch a movie after dinner? Your pick?"

Mom lights up. "Of course, sweetie."

I can tell she isn't jazzed about me leaving, but I need to not be here.

I ask her questions about work until we're both lost in the web of office drama

and gossip.

FTER

FINISH

WAY

from Her, an incredibly depressing indie film about a man

watching his wife suffer through Alzheimer's, Mom goes to bed, and I go to my

room (Dad is still at work).

My walls are still deep purple—I painted them back in high school. My bed has

the same purple and black comforter I've had for years.

The same one I had when I was with Ethan.

My parents have always worked long hours. Ethan and I had so many afternoons

and evenings in this room.

When I close my eyes, I can feel the weight of his body sinking into mine. I can

feel his lips on my neck, his hands under my skirt, his hard cock pressing against

my pelvis.

I can see his eyes lighting up with desire as he touches me.

Worse, I can feel the affection, love, and trust that used to pour between us. I

can feel the way he looked at me like he understood me, like I meant everything to

him.

I don't want to be here. I want the money. Hell, I even want to see Mal, Joel, and

Kit—I don't know the bassist well but he's always been courteous to me—again.

But fuck, can I really handle being around Ethan?

There are a million reasons why I should take this gig. The only con is Ethan.

Logic dictates I take the gig.

I let myself sleep on it.

When I wake, I'm sure.

I text Mal.

Violet: I'm in.

C H A P T E R 7

THAN

take a deep breath, shrug my shoulders, and attempt to get through the song

again.

Fucking Drew. His shit is complicated. But then I knew that when I agreed to fill

in for the Sinful Serenade guitarist.

Sinful Serenade is headlining our current tour. I'm a convenient choice. But

Drew is too much of a perfectionist to go with convenience. He's trusting me with a

lot.

Can't fuck that up.

I agreed in a heartbeat. The man had just found out his fiancée was pregnant.

Just from our brief phone call, I could tell he was going to choose her over anything

else. Someone had to step in. I'm more than capable. It made sense.

I didn't consider how hard it is to master his songs. Certainly didn't consider

what a big deal it is filling in for the Drew Denton.

But then there's nothing that could have convinced me to decline the offer.

I don't back down from a challenge. Whether it's filling in for Drew or hanging

out around Violet without falling in love with her, I don't give in when shit is hard.

I take a few minutes to stretch my hands, get water, shake off all the doubt

creeping into my head. Not sure if it's about playing or about Violet. Doesn't

matter. Neither challenge is defeating me.

First, I play the Sinful Serenade song I know the best. Then the next. By song

four, I'm lost in the music.

This is where the world makes sense, when it's me and my guitar and nothing

else.

The door opens and Mal steps inside the room. He nods keep going.

I'm not his monkey, but, dammit, even at twenty-four, I still get giddy over my

big brother's approval.

I finish the song.

"I'm going to have to watch out or you'll become Drew's full-time

replacement." Mal hooks his mic up to his amp. "Mind if I join?"

"You gonna sing with moans every other word like Miles does?"

I'm not sure which is more disturbing—Mal moaning every other word the way

Miles Webb, the Sinful Serenade singer does, or Mal's usual breathy style. Either

way, he sounds like he's in the middle of a vigorous fuck.

Mal shrugs, playing coy.

I go on to the next song on the setlist. It's tough, with a killer guitar solo. Mal

does his usual breathy thing. As much as I hate to think of the implications of his

overly sensual voice, it sounds fucking good with the music.

I get lost in the feel of the song. Then we're playing another. Then we're

finishing the entire setlist.

We play for an hour before we break.

Mal nods his approval. "Vi agreed to take the gig."

"Great. Proud of yourself?"

He shrugs. "Not everything is about you, Ethan. Sometimes you gotta think

about other people."

As if Mal thinks about anything besides staying king of the Strong family and

king of Dangerous Noise.

Fuck, we even call him The King behind his back.

Mal's bright eyes get intense. "If you can't handle being around Violet, I get it.

Hard to resist a woman that fine."

He's baiting me but he's right.

Not many guys would resist Violet.

My blood goes cold at the thought of her coming screaming some other guy's

name.

She isn't mine anymore. I can't do anything about her moving on unless I'm

ready to make her mine again.

I swallow hard.

Mal shakes his head. I can hear his thoughts. You're hopeless, little bro.

"You're such a fucking know-it-all." I flip him off as playfully as I can.

"No. I just happen to know everything." He laughs and steps out the door.

BED

STILL

SMELLS

like Violet. It's driving me out of my mind.

This—thinking about her naked, under me, screaming my name—is not

productive. Opening for Sinful Serenade is the opportunity of a lifetime. Already,

our album sales are skyrocketing. Already, we're getting offers for all sorts of

commercial deals.

The only thing I've ever wanted, aside from Violet, is to make music that

matters to people. Can't let my feelings for Violet fuck with that.

I should text her a manifesto about how the two of us are never getting back

together.

My fingers refuse to cooperate. My fingers want her soft skin. They want her

cunt pulsing around them as she comes.

My fingers are awfully cooperative most of the time. If they refuse to tell Violet

to fuck off, fine. Violet and I can be friends.

Ethan: You okay at home?

Violet: I'll be away soon enough.

Ethan: You talk to your parents?

Violet: A little. I should pack. Anything I need to keep in mind?

Ethan: It will be cold in Portland, Seattle, and Chicago. Rainy too.

Violet: Thanks. I'm not planning on doing much sightseeing.

Ethan: Fuck that. I'll show you around.

Violet: Maybe.

Ethan: It's been a long time. I'm not holding shit against you. The two of us can

be friends.

Violet: We can?

Ethan: If you stop undressing me with your eyes.

Violet: Stop wearing tight t-shirts and jeans and we'll talk. And eyeliner—don't

even think about wearing eyeliner.

Ethan: You described my stage getup.

Violet: Did I?

Ethan: You know you did.

Violet: I described your old stage getup. How should I know what you wear now?

A lot of other things have changed. You could have grown out of eyeliner.

Ethan: Grown out of it?

Violet: Yeah.

Ethan: Cause it's for kids or some shit?

Violet: That's not what I meant.

Ethan: You always jumped me when I was wearing eyeliner.

Violet: Maybe.

Ethan: You really think you can sell this story about how it's something I'd grow

out of?

Violet: I looked hot when I wore a hot pink bra under my seethrough top. It was

still a phase I grew out of.

Ethan: Sorry I missed that.

Violet: I was 15, you perv!

Ethan: We're the same age.

Violet: Technicalities.

Ethan: You think I look hot in eyeliner.

Violet: Maybe.

Ethan: You afraid to admit it?

Violet: Okay, you look hot in eyeliner. You look hot in everything, Ethan. You're

a very attractive man.

Ethan: Why does that sound like an accusation?

Violet: Maybe I wish I could pull off that just-rolled-out-of-bed hairstyle.

Ethan: You always looked good when you rolled out of my bed.

Violet: With all of last night's makeup perfectly in place?

Ethan: I preferred when I got you sweaty enough your makeup smudged.

Violet: Are you flirting with me?

Ethan: Maybe.

Violet: Are you?

Ethan: You know I am. It's friendly. We'll be friends.

Violet: Just friends?

Ethan: Just friends.

Violet: You honestly believe we can do that?

Ethan: I can. Can you?

Violet: Remember that bit about you being an attractive man?

Ethan: You're still hot as fuck, Violet. Doesn't mean I can't be your friend.

Violet: Yeah. I guess you're right. I'll see you tomorrow.

Ethan: Sweet dreams.

Violet: You too.

C H A P T E R 8

IOLET

spend the morning having breakfast with my dad. He's not jazzed to see me

leave, but he's more excited about this potential opportunity than Mom was. It

takes a lot of effort to keep from blurting this is a load of bullshit, I'm doing work

that has nothing to do with my field but I manage.

Then it's coffee with Mom. By the time I get home, I only have an hour to pack. I

appreciate how much my parents want me around, I really do. And I know they love

me.

But I still want to be somewhere else.

I'm not sure that tagging along on my rock star ex-boyfriend's tour is where I

want to be, but at this point, I'm willing to try just about anything.

After I pack, I spend far too much time picking out the perfect outfit to make

Ethan regret throwing me away. High-waisted skinny jeans, a carefully cropped

Garbage top, and heeled boots are just the right mix of ordinary concert outfit and

I'm hot and I know it and I want to make sure you know it too.

I finish my makeup just as the doorbell rings. Piper, Ethan and Mal's little sister,

is driving me to the show. It's in Los Angeles, only an hour away without traffic.

This time of day, we should manage an hour and a half.

I take one last look around, I say goodbye to the memories that are haunting me

here, and I meet Piper downstairs.

, Violet, you look great!" Piper's dark blond hair bounces as she throws

her arms around me. "Your haircut is cute. And it's bold. I could never pull that

off."

"Thanks."

She grabs my rolling duffel.

"I can get that."

"No, I insist." She leads me to her car—a practical silver sedan-and opens the

passenger side door for me.

"Such a gentleman," I say. "Gentlewoman, I guess."

It's hard to believe Piper is such an adult. She must be nineteen and she really

does look like a woman and not a girl. She's wearing a snug navy dress and wedge

shoes and her makeup is pretty and subtle.

She gets into the car with a smile. "You have to tell me all about school and

about living in New York City. I love visiting."

I catch her up on all the interesting details while she gets onto the freeway, then

I take my turn asking about her life. She's a freshman at UCI now. She's not sure

what she's going to study. She's still stuck with Ethan and especially Mal being

annoying and overprotective, but I can tell she still adores both her brothers.

Well, almost.

"I swear." Piper squeezes the steering wheel. Her blue eyes—they're the same

shade as Ethan's—narrow. "I can't believe Ethan is so stupid. He never listens to

me. I told him that you wouldn't have left unless he pushed you. I told him that you

loved him and that he was never going to find anyone like you—God, you should

see the way he mows through cheap sluts. I know I shouldn't slut-shame and

everything but ugh! It's gross. He always looks at me like—" she mimics Ethan

"—'Aw, poor Pipes, she's so young that she doesn't understand grownup

relationships.'"

"That was a long time ago." I cross and uncross my legs. I appreciate that Piper

sees my side of things, but I don't want to talk about this with her. Hell, I don't

want to talk about it with anyone.

Ethan threw me away. If I give him the chance, he'll throw me away again.

"Yeah, that's true. And you know I get it if you want nothing to do with Ethan

romantically. But if you do… if you still love him… well, he still cares about you,

Violet. He's not happy without you," she says.

"He's a millionaire rock star now." It's not that I doubt people with money,

fame, and success can have problems. It's more that Ethan has always put music

ahead of everything. How can he have the success he's always dreamed of and still

be miserable?

"Hmmm." Piper takes a deep breath. "He's happy on stage, when he plays,

when he goes and talks to fans. But other times… I think he misses you."

Is that really possible? Ethan didn't say a single word to me after he dared me to

leave. Nearly two years passed.

He had a million chances to reach out. He had a million chances to get me back.

My stomach twists. This conversation is making me nauseous.

Need to change the subject. "Tell me more about your classes."

She looks at me with concern, but she still takes the bait.

ARRIVE

JUST

in time for the sound check. After greeting a few roadies—Piper

knows everyone and everyone adores her—we hang out by the side of the stage.

The stage lights are bright enough it's hard to see anything but Ethan on stage,

his guitar strap pulling his t-shirt down his chest. He looks good from behind,

especially in those tight jeans. The man has an ass to die for. His back is strong.

Those broad shoulders…

Damn. This isn't working. I fetch two water bottles—one for me and one for

Piper—and perfect my I don't give a fuck about you, Ethan face as I make my way

back to the stage.

Only when I catch a glimpse of my reflection, I can see every crack. My lips are

fighting a smile. Because there's Ethan with his guitar, looking at me between

songs.

The only solution is more eyeliner. And more lipstick. Hell, I'll add more blush

while I'm there. My hair is all natural at the moment, but I can grab a bottle of

Vampire Red and go from strawberry blond to the perfect crimson don't fuck with

me or I'll kick your ass shade.

Sure, changing my appearance isn't going to do anything to convince my mind

or my heart that all this is okay. But it will convince everyone I'm the kind of girl

who doesn't take shit.

His eyelids press together as his fingers glide over his guitar. He rocks his hips

and throws his body into his playing in this perfect mix of you want to fuck me sexy

and guy who can't believe he's actually standing on stage in a venue this big gleeful

energy.

He stays lost in his playing until his turn is over. Then he's handing his guitar to

a roadie. His eyes fix on mine. His lips curl into a smile.

Mine do the same. It's a reflex. There's no way to fight it.

Friends.

We're going to be friends.

I'm there. I can be friends with the guy who broke my heart when he was

supposed to paste it back together.

I'm not about to admit I can't handle it.

He takes a step towards me. His eyes go to something else.

Is that Tom Steele?

It is.

Tom saunters into the room like he owns the place. And, really, he does. Tom is

the Sinful Serenade drummer and he's the most famous guy any of us know. But he

doesn't need fame to own every room he steps into. He oozes playful charisma.

It's the same charisma that drew me to Ethan, though Ethan is more obvious

about wearing his heart on his sleeve. Or he was. Or I was particularly good at

seeing that side of him.

Fuck, this is confusing. But Tom was my friend or close to it, and I am happy to

see him.

"Okay, I'm here. You can start having fun now." Tom slides off his sunglasses

and flashes his million-dollar smile. He nods to Ethan and spins on his heels—he's

wearing fuchsia Converse—to face us. "Hey, Pipes. You miss me?"

"It's been three days since I last saw you," she says.

"Bet it's been miserable," he says.

She laughs. "Always miserable without you, Tom." She goes to hug him hello.

Ethan was in one of Tom's bands when the two of them (plus Tom's bassist

brother Pete) were in high school. The band broke up the way most high school

bands do, but Tom has always stayed in touch. He was already famous when Ethan

and I started dating, but he still made a point of coming to Dangerous Noise shows

and visiting the Strong family every time he was in Orange County.

His eyes go wide as he takes me in. "Fuck, Violet Valentine. Is that really you or

is Ethan into some fucked up I need a woman who looks like my ex shit?"

"It's me," I say.

Tom's eyes widen as he looks back to Ethan. "How the fuck did he get you

here?"

"Mal offered me a gig," I say.

Tom nods. He gives me a once-over. "You two fucking again or what?" His voice

is matter of fact. To Tom, this is a normal question.

Piper laughs.

Ethan shrugs as if he has absolutely no opinion on whether or not our bodies are

joining.

His voice tells a different story.

"No, we're not," Ethan mutters through clenched teeth.

"I'd be upset about that too if I were you." Tom motions to me. "Get your cute

ass over here and hug me hello."

He raises a brow—trust me.

Is he really trying to make Ethan jealous?

I look at Ethan for a split second. He's smiling through clenched teeth.

He is jealous.

Well, I'm not about to snub an old friend because my ex is jealous.

I hug Tom hello. "I don't flirt with married men."

He steps back and shows off his wedding band. "I don't flirt with anyone but my

wife."

I laugh. "I haven't seen you in forever."

"You look good. That's a nice top. Garbage is the shit." Tom leans in to stage

whisper. "Plus, you get to remind Ethan what he's missing with your tits on display

like that."

"Uh…" My cheeks are burning.

"Hey, if I had those tits, I'd show 'em off too. Do me a favor, Violet." Tom looks

me in the eyes.

"Depends what it is," I say.

"Fair. I'm a demanding man." Again, he leans in to stage whisper. "Keep

making Ethan's life hard."

"What do I get?" I shrug as if I'm not thinking about making Ethan hard.

"My undying devotion isn't enough?" He mimes being stabbed in the gut.

I laugh. "If you were single, maybe."

"I can throw in making Ethan miserable and horny," Tom says.

Dammit, I'm hot all over.

Tom laughs.

Ethan cuts in. "You want to play with Joel's drum kit or something?"

Tom laughs. "No, I'm playing exactly how I want to play. It's real good to see

you, Violet. Give him hell for me."

Tom winks at me, then at Ethan. He moves on to giving Joel a hard time,

grabbing one of his drum sticks and attempting to play half Joel's part.

Ethan steps closer. He's not wearing his frustration anymore. His blue eyes are

bright and his lips are curled into a half-smile.

"Let me take care of this." He motions to my suitcase. "I'll show you to the

bus." He looks to Piper, still hanging out by the sidelines. "You want to grab

dinner?"

"Have to talk to Mal," she says.

Her eyes tell a different story. Her eyes are fixed on a handsome guy dressed in a

black button-up, designer jeans, and motorcycle boots. Oh, that's Kit. The

Dangerous Noise bassist has a mass of curly black hair, dark eyes, and sculpted

features. He's also got an eyebrow piercing. The man is beautiful enough to grace

magazine covers. And he's got that whole tall, dark, mysterious thing going on too.

Rumor has it his tongue is pierced and said piercing is divine, but then I'm not

about to admit to reading celebrity gossip.

"Always going over my head," Ethan teases her.

She manages to pull her eyes away from the bassist. "He's the boss-man."

Ethan hugs his sister goodbye. "I know it's a school night, but say goodbye

before you leave, okay?"

She nods and whispers something in his ear.

He whispers back.

I try, hard, not to swoon over what a caring brother he is.

After Ethan releases her, he turns to me. "The four of us travel on our own bus.

Well, plus you and our driver. The rest of the crew, roadies, and our tour manager,

travel on their own bus."

I nod, but I'm not really thinking about these technicalities. I'm thinking about

how Ethan and I are going to be alone on that bus.

Ethan grabs my suitcase and guides me towards the sides of the room. Piper,

genius woman that she is, uses the opportunity to go up to Kit. They exchange

friendly-looking words and a hello hug.

But I can't consider the implications. Ethan's arm is around my waist. His body

is warm and he smells good, like sweat and like Ethan.

We move through the crowded backstage area and out through the side door.

Sure enough, there are several black, unmarked tour buses parked in the massive

lot.

Ethan leads me to the one on the far right. "Your drive okay?"

"Yeah, great. Piper seems really grown up."

"She is. I hate it."

"Overprotective older brother?" I ask.

He nods, pulls open the bus door, and leads me inside.

It's big. There's a seating area with a TV and a couch, a section of six bunks with

privacy curtains, and a small kitchenette.

Ethan places my suitcase on one of the bottom bunks. "This one is yours."

"Great. Thanks." I shift my weight between my legs. I'm still right at the bus's

entrance. He's all the way over there. Only the bus is small enough that all the way

over there is only five feet.

He moves closer.

Closer.

Closer enough to touch me, hug me, kiss me.

He looks down at me. His breath is steady. His blue eyes are filled with

something I can't place.

His lips look soft.

But I can't think like this. We have to be friends. He'll throw me away again, and

I won't survive that.

I take a step backwards. I need to say something, do something. "I… I'm

hungry."

I swallow hard.

God, I really have no tact.

"I was going to get tacos at a place down the street." He grabs an Angels cap

from one of the bottom bunks. "You want to come?"

"Won't you get recognized?"

"Not with this." He pulls on the baseball cap.

"Yeah, right. Go Angels. How are they doing?"

"Season hasn't started yet." His lips curl into a smile that lights up his eyes.

He's endeared by my nervousness. "Place has great guacamole."

Damn, my weakness.

Okay, dinner. I can do dinner. Friends have dinner, and Ethan and I are friends.

"Sure," I say.

He slides his arm around my waist and guides me off the bus.

We're friends.

Just friends.

But the way he's touching me doesn't feel remotely platonic.

C H A P T E R 9

IOLET

he Mexican restaurant down the block—it's more like half a mile—is a hole-

in-the-wall place. Its menu is scribbled in chalk above the counter, but then I don't

really need to look at the menu. I already know what I want.

Ethan and I get in line.

As usual, he is effortlessly cool. I'm a nervous wreck but I'm doing an all right

job keeping that to myself.

I press my lips together. "Your cap is really red."

His smile lights up his eyes. "That is the team color."

"Yeah, but won't it mess up your hair?"

"Lots of guys wear baseball caps on stage."

"Not the ones who bounce around and pull off their shirts mid-set."

Ethan cocks a brow. "Have you been coming to Dangerous Noise shows?"

I lean in to whisper in his ear. "You're more famous than you think you are."

My cheek brushes his neck as I pull away. He's warm and the skin-to-skin

contact is setting me on fire. I want more of it.

I want all of it.

Ethan takes off the cap and shakes his head. His hair falls back into that

effortless style.

"That isn't fair," I tease. It really isn't. I have to blow dry my hair to get it to

cooperate.

He shrugs, still effortless.

Ethan's voice drops to something low and serious. "Piper was happy to see you."

"She's sweet."

He holds up his buzzing cell phone. "She keeps texting to tell me not to fuck this

up."

I study the expression in his bright blue eyes. He seems sincere. But what does

that mean? It's almost like Ethan agrees with Piper that he fucked things up

between us.

It's almost like he wants me back.

But that's ridiculous.

Hell, it's impossible.

I try to say something, anything, but my tongue is stuck to the roof of my

mouth. What am I going to say? I'm not going to ask him if he wants me back. That

doesn't matter.

Ethan and I are over. Forever.

I'm not giving him the chance to break my heart again.

The person in front of us finishes ordering. Ah, finally.

I step forward and order. "Veggie and cheese enchiladas with green sauce."

"And a side of guacamole," Ethan adds.

"With chips?" the cashier asks.

"No," I say.

"But with extra corn tortillas." Ethan winks at me.

Is that a friendly ah, you're so predictable the way you always order the same

thing (which isn't true—sometimes I order tacos) wink?

It must be.

I can play that game too. "Four steak tacos with extra onions and chipotle

salsa."

Ethan laughs.

The cashier looks at us like we're crazy. He nods to the salsa bar at the end of the

counter. "Salsa and toppings are self-serve."

Ethan pulls out his wallet.

I grab his wrist. "Let me."

He shakes his head. "It's part of my per diem. It's the band's money, not mine."

"Okay." I chew on my bottom lip. It still doesn't feel right letting him pay for

me, but I can tell he's going to insist.

After Ethan pays, we get salsas and waters and take our seats in a cozy booth in

the corner. This place is cute. The orange walls are decorated with Day of the Dead

paintings. The furniture is all tan and brown and there are cacti on every table.

This really is a cozy booth. Ethan's feet are touching mine. When he shifts his

weight, his knees touch mine.

I pull my legs onto my bench seat and cross them. That doesn't do anything to

ease the nerves fluttering in my stomach.

Ethan's blue eyes are fixed on me. His expression isn't platonic. He's looking at

me the way he used to—like I mattered to him more than anything else.

His phone buzzes. It's loud enough I can hear it.

He pulls out his phone. "I'm turning this on silent."

"What is she saying?"

He glances at the phone then his eyes are on mine. "Piper doesn't get that the

two of us are just friends."

"Right. Yeah. We're friends. Just friends. I mean, we're not really friends yet,

but we're going to become better friends." I grab my water and chug. Ah, that stops

the babbling. But my throat still feels dry. My stomach is still twisting in a really

unpleasant way.

That look in Ethan's eyes is doing things to me.

My thoughts are interrupted by our food. I dive into my enchiladas before I can

say anything else. They're hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth but they're

also amazing. The tomatillo sauce is perfectly fresh and tangy.

The two of us being just friends is a good thing. It shouldn't make me feel empty

and achy.

His phone flashes. He glances at the screen and shakes his head.

"I… uh…" I take another bite and chew slowly. "How has the band been?"

He looks at me like he's judging my intentions. I guess he deems them

acceptable because he smiles. "Good. Mal and I had just joined when things ended

between you and me." His voice is even and matter of fact about our breakup. It's

like he's reciting a date in history class. "Fans really responded to us on that first

tour. People liked what I brought on guitar. And you know the way Mal sings all

breathy and needy. Women love it."

I nod. Mal does sound like he's in the middle of fucking a woman when he sings.

"He's hot."

Ethan laughs. "We waited until we had a fan base to sign a deal. Put out our first

record, toured more, put out our second record. We're finally at the point where we

can cut back to touring five months a year instead of eight."

"Yeah?"

He nods.

"Using any of that time to date?" Yet another tactless comment. Awesome.

Ethan laughs. "That was smooth, Vi. Really smooth."

"Thank you." My cheeks are burning.

"No, I don't date."

"No?"

"I fuck. Dating is too much commitment."

"Yeah, right, of course." Again, my stomach twists and my shoulders go tense.

What does it matter that Ethan doesn't date? I don't want to date him. I don't.

"What about you?"

"I was seeing someone last year. He wanted to get serious, but I wasn't ready for

that."

I study Ethan's expression. His brow twitches. His eyes fill with frustration.

He's jealous.

It's wrong and immature, but I want to make him more jealous. "He was crazy

about me. A great guy. A business student, stable, really willing to put me first."

Only I didn't feel anything when Denny kissed me. It was nice but that was it. I

never craved him. I never missed him. I never came close to loving him. He was a

great guy but he wasn't Ethan.

"That's great." Ethan tries not to clench his teeth but he doesn't quite pull it

off. "How is school?"

His brow stays furrowed.

He's really jealous.

But I'm going to take him at his word about this just friends thing. Even if it's

making me feel sick.

I tell him everything I can about my classes. School is going well, great actually.

I'm top of my class, I've done amazing internships. I'm graduating in a few

months.

My professional life is amazing. I spend most of my time studying.

Ethan seems happy for me, but that doesn't make sense either.

He stared at my acceptance letter like it was radioactive and now he's happy I'm

doing well in school?

I try to push it aside. I try to focus on keeping things platonic as I shift the

conversation to sci-fi TV and which of the guys in Dangerous Noise is most likely to

be a Cylon—a robot posing as a human (obviously Mal or Kit)—but I keep getting

lost in his soft lips and his gorgeous blue eyes.

My gaze keeps drifting to the chest-piece tattoo poking out from his v-neck.

My hands keep begging me to touch him.

FTER

DINNER

, we walk back to the venue and we hang out in an empty corner, alone,

until it's time for him to get ready. Just like old times, I hang out on the sidelines.

The band has gained an entourage, but no one pays me much attention. Except for

Piper hugging both of us goodbye, nobody talks to us.

I'm in my own universe. My problems feel far away. The weight of Asher's death

feels far away. Everything except Ethan’s smile feels far away.

The show starts in a flash. The amphitheater goes dark, the guys make their way

to the stage, then the lights are on. The crowd goes wild as the guitar intro starts.

It's Better Days, a song about loss and longing, Dangerous Noise's biggest hit to

date… not that I keep tabs on Ethan or anything.

Ethan is at the mic, teasing the crowd.

"You miss us, Los Angeles?" he asks.

The crowd screams.

"We missed you too. It's true what they say. There's no place like home."

The crowd screams louder.

"It's getting hot in here, huh?" Ethan tugs at his t-shirt, teasing the crowd.

Every girl in the place shrieks.

Ethan winks at Mal then at the crowd. "No, must not be that hot yet. Maybe

after a few more songs."

He strums his guitar, launching into their next song.

On stage, Ethan is in control. He's teasing the crowd and jumping around.

Damn, he's always been talented but he's full-on Rock God now. He's cool,

effortless, bursting with energy.

I melt when he smiles at the crowd—I’d know that smile anywhere. I’d know

that Ethan anywhere.

That's my Ethan, the one who loves sharing his music, the one who made me

feel like I was the most important person in the universe.

And, dammit, I want my Ethan back.

I want him to be my Ethan again.

SHOW

HOLDS

all my attention. The way Ethan moves, the sight of his muscles

flexing and relaxing as he plays, the sound of his guitar—it's impossible to do

anything but think about how I'd like to trade places with his guitar.

The last song fades. The lights go off. Then the crowd is screaming and

applauding.

I haven't got a clue how to react here. I move out of the way, to the hall. Every

fiber of my being is begging me to touch him. I need to get ahold of my senses

before I do something rash.

But there he is, in the hall across from me. He's now sans guitar. He's shirtless

too. Even in the dim light of the hallway, I can make out all the lines of his muscles.

"Enjoy the show?" His voice is a strange mix of cocky and curious.

"Not bad."

God, he looks good with sweat dripping off his chest. There's no pretense on his

face—just the afterglow of performance.

This is the Ethan I fell in love with.

I want to touch him. I want to kiss him. I want to throw him against the wall and

strip him out of those jeans.

Once his lips touch mine, there's no going back. My body will remember how

much it needs his. My heart will remember every time he made me float. That's one

hell of a dangerous kiss.

I'm not ready for it yet.

So I stare into his bright blue eyes. He is wearing eyeliner, navy eyeliner. It

makes his blue eyes look even bluer.

It's hot as hell.

He takes a step towards the back door. "You staying to watch the headliners or

you heading back to the bus?"

There isn't a single part of me that wants to stay. Not with the way Ethan is

looking at me like he wants to throw me against the tour bus, slide my jeans and

panties to my knees, and fuck me until I'm screaming his name.

Dammit, get ahold of yourself, Violet. The man threw you away. Are you really

going to throw yourself at him again?

The band is playing in San Francisco the day after tomorrow. We're leaving after

the show tonight and driving through the night to skip the traffic.

"I should start on that work." I slide my hands into the back pockets of my jeans

so I won't reach out and touch Ethan. "Mal said he left his laptop."

Ethan nods. "Sure. This way." He presses his palm to my lower back then he

leads me out the door.

The air outside is cool. The sky is dark. I take a deep breath and try my best to

exhale slowly.

I can't move forward with Ethan yet, even if he is acting like the Ethan I fell in

love with and not like the obnoxious playboy rock star who uses girls like me.

He nods to the roadies and various hangers-on smoking by the side door. They

nod back in an of course Ethan is bringing a girl back to the bus already, attaboy

kind of way.

The bus is only a few dozen feet away. There are metal barricades farther out. At

the moment, there are only a few fans hanging by them.

Ethan throws a wave in their direction, then he leads me onto the unmarked

black tour bus.

Ethan nods to a laptop on the kitchen table. He closes the door then leans

against a bunk bed. "You really come here to work, Vi?"

"What else would I be doing?"

"Getting me alone."

"I don't…"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you aren't thinking about unzipping my

jeans." His eyes bore into mine. "Tell me you aren't thinking about coming on my

fingers."

I am now. I swallow hard. "Aren't we trying to be friends?"

"Can't be friends with you if you're gonna look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm the only thing you've ever wanted."

There's no way I can stop looking at Ethan with lust in my eyes. "Same goes for

you."

"I can't." Ethan moves closer. "You look amazing with that haircut." His fingers

skim my bare shoulder. "It's like you're offering your neck to me."

I swallow hard.

"You still like being bitten?"

"Yes."

Every inch of my body is on fire. Ethan's breath is warm. His fingers are

calloused but his touch is soft. I want those lips everywhere. I want those fingers

everywhere.

Kissing Ethan is a bad idea. But my mind isn't working here.

My hand is already moving to his chest. Then my fingers are on his skin. I trace

the lines of his chest-piece tattoo.

He leans down and presses his forehead to mine. His eyes go wide with

intention.

I know that look.

He's going to kiss me.

Fuck, I want him to kiss me.

My body takes over. I nod a yes.

His hands go to my hips. In one swift movement, he presses me against the

bus's wall-slash-window. The glass is cold against the exposed skin on my lower

back.

Then my eyes are closed and his lips are on mine.

And he tastes good. He tastes like home. Right now, this instant, is the first time

I've felt home in a long time.

My hands go to his ass. I pull him closer.

He's hard. And he's grinding his crotch against mine.

Every inch of me wants every inch of him.

This is the best thing I've felt in a long, long time.

I'm about to beg him to throw me on the bed when the door opens.

Joel steps onto the bus. "Fuck, Violet, is that you?"

There's surprise written all over his grey-green eyes.

I take a step backwards. "I… I should go." Before I do something I regret.

Joel gives me an out. "Sinful Serenade just started. You won't miss much if you

go now."

"Yeah, great idea. Thanks."

I need to get out of here. My brain isn't working. It's mostly tuned to the Ethan

is a sex god, I need him inside me channel.

It's a very appealing channel.

I manage to switch to the Violet, you do have self-respect channel. I step off the

bus, return to the concert, and attempt to think about anything but Ethan's naked

body.

C H A P T E R 1 0

THAN

oel spares me the lecture. It's not like he can talk about screwing around. He

sleeps around more than I do. Or more than I did. Now that Violet is around,

casual sex doesn't hold any appeal.

I keep glancing at her. She's in the kitchenette, working at Mal's laptop,

headphones around her ears.

It's a normal night on the road. Mal is in his bunk with his earplugs in. Kit, Joel,

and I are playing some shooter video game on the couch. Usually, I kick ass at this

game.

Tonight, I don't give a fuck. I can still taste her lips. I can still feel her moan

vibrating against my skin. I need her moaning like that.

I need her screaming my name as she comes.

That kiss was enough to convince me. No fucking around. She's going to be

under me, digging her nails into my back as I thrust into her.

It's not stopping there.

Being around Violet, seeing her smile light up her gorgeous green eyes, hearing

her laugh in my ears… she's the only thing, besides getting my hands on a guitar,

that feels right.

Violet is going to be mine again.

All mine.

Forever.

"Shit, Ethan. Are the blue balls frying your brain or something?" Joel nudges me

then motions to the scores on screen—mine is pitiful compared to his. Joel looks to

Kit for confirmation.

Kit, our bassist, is intense, with dark eyes, piercings, and tattoos that make

panties drop. Girls go apeshit for the troubled bad boy vibes he gives off, but lately

he's been keeping to himself.

Which is good—Piper is one of the girls who wants her love to heal his broken

heart. She thinks I don't know she has a crush on him, but it's obvious to everyone,

including Kit.

The man is my friend, but he's also a heartbreaker. He's not getting anywhere

near Piper.

Nobody is breaking my baby sister's heart on my watch.

He and Joel are old friends—of course they are, they've both been in Dangerous

Noise since the beginning—and they share a language I can't begin to understand.

Kit raises his eyebrows suggestively.

Joel shakes his head.

Kit looks to Joel. "Maybe the man wants to save his dexterity for his guitar."

"Yeah, his guitar. Right." Joel looks to Violet and nods hello. After she nods

back, he turns to me. "You really going for this?"

Fuck yes, I'm going for this. But Joel doesn't need those details. My entire life,

I've had an older brother watching over my every move, telling me what I should or

shouldn't do. Now that I'm in Dangerous Noise, I have two extra older brothers. I

get that I'm younger than everyone else. I get that I've fucked up shit and let

people down in the past.

But I've been devoted to music since I turned shit around. I've been devoted to

this band since the day I joined. I never let anything get in the way of our future.

It's about time people stop looking at me like they're expecting me to let them

down.

Last thing I need is Joel and Kit getting involved.

They'll only fuck this up. It's better if I play cool.

"You really going to keep being obnoxious?" I tease.

"Of course," he says. "It's my favorite pastime. That a yes or a no?"

"Time will tell."

Joel laughs. "That's such a load." He looks to Kit. "You buying that?"

Kit shakes his head. "You're gonna fuck this up for him."

"No, he's gonna fuck it up for himself." Joel waves Violet over. "Hey, Violet. You

finished with work?"

She stops chewing on her pen to pull her headphones off her ears. "What?"

"Still working?" Joel looks to me, raises a brow as if to say watch this, and looks

back to Violet. "Get your sexy ass over here and take a break."

"You're the second drummer to compliment my ass today." Her voice is playful,

especially given the tension that hung in the air when Joel walked in on our kiss.

"Tom Steele was moving in on my territory?" Joel shakes his head.

"You'd have to ask him that." Violet pushes herself from her seat. She doesn't

move closer yet. She goes to the kitchen and grabs a water bottle from the fridge.

"You want anything?"

"Man's already got fame and fortune," Joel says. "And now he's trying to win

your favor too. That hurts me, Violet. That hurts me real bad."

She laughs. "You also have fame and fortune."

He smiles. "Glad you noticed."

"I've known Tom for longer than I've known you," she says.

"Are you telling me he's already won your favor?" Joel mocks outrage.

She laughs. "My favor is still unassigned."

"Will it help my case if I compliment your tits?" Joel asks.

"Can't hurt." Her eyes find mine. There's something in them—an invitation.

Every part of me—one in particular—wants to take that invitation.

But there's something else in her eyes. She's nervous.

I'm not doing anything that scares her off.

"Grab four cups and something you'd like to drink," Joel says. "Let's play Never

Have I Ever."

Violet raises a brow. "Why?"

"It's fun." Joel motions for her to come here. "You know Tom's married?"

"I know that. I also know that you're a slut. Or did you stop sleeping with a

different woman every night?"

"Please. It's every other night. I need time to play the drums," he says.

"I'm glad you have your priorities in order." She grabs a bottle of vodka and four

cups.

"Not that rubbing alcohol shit." Joel sticks his tongue out in distaste.

"You said what I like." Violet comes closer. She sets the bottle, and four cups, on

the ground and sits cross-legged behind it. "You should have been more specific."

Joel pushes off the couch to sit cross-legged next to Violet. He nudges me then

motions to the empty spot on Violet's other side. "And I'm sure Violet's got enough

dirt on Ethan to kill it."

The guy's already getting in my way. But I'm not about to waste this opportunity

— Violet is smiling. There's no tension in her expression. Her shoulders are

relaxed. Fuck, the way her top is falling off her shoulder, revealing her red bra, is

making it difficult to concentrate.

She must have worn that on purpose.

To get my attention.

Maybe she told herself she wore it to get me panting with desire then leave me

high and dry.

She still wore it for me.

Again, Violet's eyes catch mine. She smiles. It's a yeah, we'll be friends kind of

smile.

But the way her eyes fix on the low v of my v-neck—there's nothing platonic

about that.

She turns to Joel. "I'm too old to do shots. Besides, you'll die of alcohol

poisoning if you take a shot every time somebody calls out something you've

done."

He laughs. "Fair. How about we play the old-fashioned way? Ten fingers."

"Maybe you should take your shoes off, so you get ten toes too," Violet teases.

"That might make the playing field even."

Kit chuckles.

Joel opens the bottle of vodka. He pours three cups—one for him, one for me,

one for Violet. None for Kit. Violet's brow knits together the way it does when she's

working something out. Then it's relaxed. She says nothing about Kit skipping the

booze.

And she claims she's tactless.

Joel takes a long swig. He purses his lips in disgust. "You really drink this shit?"

She laughs.

"Try it. It's disgusting." He grimaces.

I've never been a fan of vodka and this cheap brand doesn't do the potato liquor

any favors. My throat burns as I swallow. I grimace the way Joel did.

"It can't be that bad." Violet shakes her head at us.

Joel motions to her: then try it.

She takes a long swig. Her lips purse. She sucks in her cheeks like she just tasted

something sour, but she doesn't admit defeat. "Not my favorite."

"Fuck, we must have orange juice or Coke or something." Joel jumps to his feet

and bounces to the fridge. Even after pounding his drums for an hour and a half,

the man is bursting with energy. He grabs a carton of juice, takes a swig, deems it

acceptable, and returns.

He's incredibly smooth about pouring Kit a glass of OJ and handing it over.

I stick with straight vodka. It's bad, but rubbing alcohol–flavored OJ is worse.

Violet looks to me. "If Ethan can handle it, I can."

Joel shakes his head and fills his glass to the brim. He takes a long sip. "Almost

decent." He looks to Violet. "You want to start, Valentine?"

Her eyes light up at him calling her by her last name like she's one of the guys.

Have to admit, I wasn't sure how Joel and Kit would act towards Violet. Maybe I

should be offended by the lack of loyalty, but I'm not. I'm glad they aren't giving

her shit about walking out on me.

What matters now is getting her under me.

"Hmm. Okay." She only barely grimaces as she takes a sip. Her brow knits with

concentration then her eyes light up. She's got something good. "Never have I ever

had a threesome with a bandmate."

"That's awfully specific," Joel says.

"Drop the finger, drummer boy." She sticks her tongue out.

Joel shakes his head. "Sorry. I have a strict 'no fraternizing within the band'

policy. But-" He motions to Kit then to me.

Both of us drop a finger.

Violet's jaw drops. Her eyes go to mine. "You and Kit?"

I swallow hard. Usually, I'm more than happy to flaunt my experience. At the

moment, I'm worried what Violet thinks of me. I was quite the slut before we got

together. She never cared but-

God dammit, what is wrong with me? I'm not fucking shy like this.

I clear my throat. "A few times."

"A few times!" She nearly spits out her drink. Her eyes go to Kit's. "How few we

talking?"

"Few dozen," Joel mumbles.

Kit shrugs without a hint of shame.

Violet nods, playing like it's fine. But I'm not buying that. There's trepidation in

her eyes.

"Wasn't a big deal," I say.

"Yeah. Of course. You think I haven't experimented since we broke up?" Her

voice is confident but her eyes are still apprehensive. She looks to Kit. "That was a

lucky girl. Or few girls. Or few dozen girls."

"Were they?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah, that's quite a man sandwich. And four masterful hands—

nobody calls bassists guitarists, but it's a bass guitar so wouldn't it be four

guitarist's hands? I mean, that's a great deal." She catches herself babbling and

takes a long sip of her drink.

Kit shakes his head. "Guitarists have no rhythm."

She laughs. "Is that right?"

Kit nods.

"Ethan lacking in rhythmic capabilities?" Joel asks. "I can keep a secret,

Valentine. My lips are sealed."

"Uh-huh." She clears her throat, shifting back into a poker face. "I believe it's,

well, it's someone's turn. How about we go in a circle?"

That means it's my turn. Need to get Violet thinking about how good I can make

her feel. There. That's it. I look into her gorgeous green eyes. "Never have I ever

had an orgasm in the ocean."

"Damn." She drops a finger.

Joel and Kit do the same.

I look to Joel. "When?"

"Private beach. I couldn't pass up that opportunity." He looks to Kit. "You?"

"Gentlemen don't kiss and tell." Kit sips his OJ, nonchalant.

"Yeah, and what the fuck difference does that make to you?" Joel shakes his

head. He looks to Violet. "You buying Kit as a gentleman?"

"More gentle than you are, Joel." Violet laughs.

Joel shakes his head with mock outrage. He turns to Kit. "It's the gentleman's

turn."

Kit chuckles. He brushes his mass of curly bangs from his eyes and watches Joel

refill his glass. "The King will kill you if you play hungover."

"If I play hungover and shitty. He'll just shake his head at me if I play hungover,

miserable, and well." Joel mimes Mal's signature, this is a bad idea head shake and

takes a long swig. "But your concern is noted."

"You call Mal The King?" Violet crinkles her nose. "Well, I guess that does sound

about right." She turns to Kit. "Out with the questions, Rhythmic One."

He chuckles. He shoots me a watch how much she's drinking look, then he's

back to his usual poker face. "Never have I ever insisted my adult friends play a

game for teenagers."

Joel keeps his eight fingers up. "You looking at me, what was it you called him,

Valentine?"

"Rhythmic One." Her eyes catch mine for a minute, then they're back on Joel's.

"Not my finest work."

"This is a perfectly acceptable game for adults," Joel says.

Kit shakes his head. "Let's call a vote."

"We know how I'm voting." Joel says. "And how you're voting, Rhythmic One.

What about you, Valentine? Strong?"

"We're adults," Violet says. "And we're playing. That makes it a game for

adults."

Same logic she used to explain her shoes. I have to admit, it holds up. And it's

pure Violet. God, there's something about her smile. She's still wearing all her

makeup. Her lips are still fuck-me red.

Can't get ahead of myself. Any sudden moves and I'll scare her off. I take a sip of

my drink but that only makes my cheeks and chest burn. This is shit vodka.

I fight a grimace. "Can't argue with Vi's logic."

"This is a failure of democracy." Kit shakes his head, but he accepts defeat.

Joel claps his hands together. His eyes light up as he pores over possibilities.

"Okay, I've got one. Never have I ever received or performed oral sex in a recording

studio."

Violet turns red, bright red. "Oh God. I thought the room was soundproof."

"The mic was still on," Kit says.

"They don't make rooms that soundproof." Joel laughs.

She hides behind her hands for a minute, then she looks to me. "Well, I believe I

was receiving and you were performing. So you better lose a finger, Ethan." She's

still blushing and nervous, but she's smiling too.

It takes a lot of self-control to keep from getting lost in the memory of Violet

coming on my face. It was my first time in a real studio, a nice one, and I wanted to

celebrate. She was wearing this short black skirt and those same knee-high boots.

Fuck, those long legs of hers-

Violet's fingers brush my knee. She looks up at me with an I've got you smile.

"Hmm. Never have I ever… had an orgasm in a dressing room."

I drop another finger.

I take back anything bad I ever said about Joel.

That man is a genius.

ITH

AND

Violet aiming at each other, Joel is the last man standing. Back in high

school, back when I a too-skinny kid overshadowed by my cool older brother, I was

always the last man standing. Of course, back then, being the last man standing

meant you were a loser with your v-card intact.

Joel's proud of his victory. Or maybe he's mystified as to how he, the sluttiest of

the four of us, won.

I'm mystified too.

We're well past night and into early morning. But I can't sleep. Not with Violet

this close. Not with that smile on her soft red lips.

I put on The Fly, the original, grab two pairs of headphones—the TV has

Bluetooth sound—and offer one to Violet.

She looks at the screen with recognition. "Is this the one where Jeff Goldblum

gets naked or the other one?" Her eyes light up.

"Itching to see a naked guy with dark, wavy hair?" I cock a brow.

She blushes. "Yeah, you think Kit will strip for me?"

"No."

"Me either." She takes the headphones and takes a seat on the couch. "It's the

other one, isn't it?"

"This is the original."

"Being first doesn't make it the best." Her eyes find mine. "Sometimes it's good

to redo things. You can make them better. Fix the mistakes."

"Yeah?"

She nods. Her lips press together. Her eyes go back to the screen. "Sometimes,

when I'm having trouble with a problem, I scrap what I'm doing. And I start over.

Sometimes, I'm going at it all wrong and I need a break before I can figure out how I

want to approach it again."

"I'm the same with songs."

"I remember."

I sit next to her. Close enough our knees are touching. "How about we watch the

remake after this?"

She looks around for a clock. When she finds none, she looks out the windows,

at the blue sky of dawn. "I don't think I'm going to make it through this one." Her

eyes find mine. "How about tomorrow?"

"I'll hold you to that."

She nods. "Tell me something I don't know."

MINUTES

INTO

THE

MOVIE

, Violet rests her head on my shoulder.

Twenty minutes in, she lets her eye close.

By minute thirty, she's fast asleep.

I can smell her hair, the same floral shampoo as always. When I close my eyes, I

see us in the shower, me pinning her to the hard tile wall. She's giggling at how

slippery we are. Then she's groaning at my hand on her clit. I have to put my other

hand over her mouth so we won't wake anybody up.

We were fucking amazing together.

Then Asher died and she locked me out and everything got fucked.

I scoop her into my arms and bring her to the bottom bunk across from mine.

She stirs as I lay her on the bed. Her eyelids flutter open and her eyes find mine.

She smiles. "Ethan." Then she's blinking and shaking her head. "I, uh, I think I

forgot pajama pants. Do you have boxers I can borrow? If… well, I'm not sure

they'll fit my ass. You have narrow hips."

"That a compliment?" I play incredulous.

Her eyes are on my hips right now. Her eyes are filled with desire. She's

thinking about taking off my jeans. She's thinking about taking me back to that

couch.

We used to practice staying quiet.

I can do that tonight.

Fuck, Mal and Kit have woken me up with sex enough times I don't feel bad

about repaying the favor. Joel really does avoid mixing business with pleasure. He

never picks up women at shows or brings them back to the bus.

"You know it's a compliment." She looks up at me. "My ass has gotten bigger."

"You can add a guitarist to your list of musicians complimenting your ass. You

look amazing, Vi."

She blushes. "Thanks. I've been doing martial arts."

"Yeah?"

"So don't cross me. I can kick your ass."

"You think so?"

She nods. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she looks me up and down. She

wants me. Badly. It's not like before, when she wanted someone to wipe away her

pain.

Right now, she wants me. Not a distraction. Not Ethan Strong, Dangerous Noise

guitarist. She wants me.

I press my palms to my thighs so I won't put them on hers. Need to take this

slow.

I go to my dresser drawer and pull out a clean pair of boxers, then I hand them to

her. "Here."

"Thanks." She climbs out of her bunk, grabs a few things from her suitcase, and

heads to the bathroom.

I can hear her brushing her teeth, washing her face. We never had the chance to

live together, but we shared a few hotel rooms. This is familiar.

She steps out of the bathroom in a tank-top and my boxers. The damn top is

clinging to her bare breasts. Her nipples are hard.

It's hot in here. She must want this as badly as I do.

She climbs into her bunk. Her eyes meet mine. "I owe you one."

Guess I'll have to get in her pants in exchange.

I kneel next to her. "Don't worry about it."

She looks up at me. "Goodnight, Ethan."

Damn, that look in her eyes. Need to restrain myself here. I lean down enough to

brush my lips against hers.

It's a peck.

A goodnight kiss.

Not platonic but not enough to scare her.

"Goodnight, Vi."

She smiles and slides under the covers.

I practically float into my bed.

C H A P T E R 1 1

IOLET

al's on top of shit. Well, somebody, the tour manager I guess, is on top of

shit. The hotel already has a room for me.

I'm running on three hours of sleep. Four, maybe. I need a bed. Then lunch and a

shower. Then it's me and Mal's laptop until I clean up the books.

Ethan slides his arm around my waist and motions to the elevator bank.

Kit shoots me a concerned look. Mal smiles like he's pleased with himself. Joel

watches with mild amusement.

We're entertainment for the three of them.

That's neat.

At the moment, I'm too tired to care. Or maybe I'm too high on the heat of

Ethan's palm against my side.

I grab my rolling duffel bag—Ethan bought it for me because its purple color was

labeled electric violet—by the handle and wheel it towards the elevator. Then I

shoot Mal a mind your own business look.

He raises his eyebrows, incredulous.

He can play as incredulous as he wants. I know what it's like to look after your

little brother.

I chew on my bottom lip. I can't go back to that. Not right now. I fight the desire

that wells up on my chest. I want someone to understand, to hold me and tell me

it's okay, that it wasn't my fault, that it will hurt less tomorrow, and even less the

day after that. And, if I keep going, it will keep hurting a little bit less every day,

and eventually it will be like an achy joint instead of a broken bone.

I want to believe that, but it's been two years now, and I still feel like the ground

is crumbling every time I think about Asher.

We step into the elevator. Ethan pushes the button for my floor. He's smiling,

his blue eyes bright. There's a real boyish charm to Ethan. Don't get me wrong—

he's a man in every sense of the word. But he lights up like a little kid on Christmas

morning when he's happy.

His smile is warm enough to melt glaciers.

Maybe even the one around my heart.

He was supposed to be that person—the one who held me and promised it would

be okay.

But now…

I want him, I do, but I need to be careful. My heart won't survive another

fracture.

Ding. The elevator doors slide open. I squeeze my suitcase handle and shove my

free hand into my back pocket.

He presses his palm into my lower back and guides me to my room at the end of

the hallway. I set my duffel bag down, take the key from him, and unlock the door.

I take a deep breath and look into Ethan's clear blue eyes. "Thanks. I, uh—"

"I'll let you get back to sleep." He smiles. "How about lunch?"

"I should work."

"We'll make it a late lunch. I know a place in the city that has fancy tea and food

pairings. Drew's fiancée, Kara, she's into tea too. She loves it."

"Okay." I've seen Drew before and he's all kinds of hot (or maybe I have a thing

for tattooed guitarists). The woman clearly has good taste.

Just like last night, Ethan moves closer. Then his lips are on mine. It's a quick

second, but that's enough to set my body on fire.

"Sweet dreams, Vi."

It takes every bit of restraint I have to resist inviting him in.

TAKE

LONG

, hot shower and collapse on the hotel bed. The room is cool and dark,

the bed is comfortable, the covers are encompassing but, still, I can't sleep.

My brain refuses to slow. It's fixed on the feeling of Ethan's hand on my side, of

his lips on my lips, of his hard chest against my palm.

I close my eyes and let my mind fill with beautiful mental images—Ethan

stripping out of his jeans and pressing his hard, sweaty body against mine. Ethan

undoing the buttons of my jeans, pushing them off my hips, and pressing his palm

against me. Ethan sliding his tongue into my mouth, pulling my panties aside, and

stroking me to an orgasm.

My body wakes up. Hell, it's on fire. Sleep, what sleep? This bed is no place for

sleep. This bed is a place for Ethan to strip off his clothes. Then mine. Then his

hands—those strong, nimble guitarist's hands—can be on every inch of my skin.

And my hands can be wrapped around his cock, and I can be the one making his

blue eyes fill with pleasure. And then he can be inside me, pinning me to the bed,

sinking his teeth into my neck, and the two of us can come together again and

again and again-

I push my boxers off my hips and slide my hand below my belly button. I think

of Ethan and me together, here, our bodies erasing all the hurt between us.

It only takes a few minutes for pleasure to fill my body. Tension knots inside me,

then it's unfurling. Every part of me feels good, but I'm not satisfied. I'm only

hungrier for him.

Maybe I should go again.

Maybe…

I contemplate the matter for long enough to drift into that half-asleep, half-

awake state.

A knock on the door pulls me out of my fantasies.

"Hey, Vi, you up?" Ethan's voice is soft.

Sleep isn't happening. But I can't invite him into my bed. Not yet. "Yeah. Give

me two minutes." I go to the bathroom to wash my hands and brush my teeth.

I'm not wearing any makeup. My hair is a mess. It's not that I'm vain. Makeup is

my shield. Without it, I feel naked and vulnerable. I'm not ready to feel like that

with Ethan. Not yet.

He knocks again.

"One more minute." I grab my concealer and apply it. Then eyeliner, mascara,

and lipstick. There. That's better. I go to the door and pull it open.

He's smiling that same I'm happy just to see you smile. He hands me a take-out

coffee cup. "Your unsweetened matcha latte."

I take it. "Thank you."

"Don't worry. It's with almond milk."

"I wasn't worried." Okay, my brow is a little furrowed. It's unsettling how well

Ethan remembers everything. It doesn't make sense—he remembers all these little

details about me, about us, but he also goes around nailing strangers every night.

Maybe that's his way of coping. Fine. I can live with that.

But he threw me away. How can he be so happy to see me now? How can he

remember my drink order?

Why is he looking at me like he's still in love with me?

I take a long sip to keep from touching him. It also spares me the trouble of

forming a response. I appreciate the drink but I'd rather have you in my mouth is

not what I want to say here.

"Thank you. It's perfect." I hold his gaze. Somehow, I manage to keep my feet

planted firmly on the ground too.

"I'll let you get to work." He takes a step backwards. "Unless you want to head

to lunch now?"

I look back into my room to check the time. Lunch is reasonable and my stomach

is growling at the thought of food. Say eggs with avocado, or a sandwich with extra

avocado, or a giant bowl of guacamole and a spoon.

Ethan laughs. "Let me guess—you want tacos with extra guacamole?"

I admit nothing. "We should try the tea place."

"They have an avocado sandwich."

"A wise menu addition."

"Meet me in the lobby in five? We can walk from here."

My knees go weak as his smile spreads across his cheeks. My body is still tuned

to the Ethan is a sex god channel.

I want to feel good. And his smile fills me with warm, gooey affection.

It's only lunch.

I can do lunch.

"Make it ten," I say.

"Need more eyeliner?"

I laugh. "Yes."

"Me too."

Lord help me.

C H A P T E R 1 2

IOLET

n downtown San Francisco, Ethan's navy hoodie and designer jeans are not

code for rock star hanging out on his day off but rather another young tech

millionaire. Nobody stops him or looks at him sideways.

We have the day off today. Tomorrow, the band is playing a sold-out show at

some big amphitheater. Then we head to Portland, then Seattle, then Chicago, then

New York.

There are a few days off and another few in transit. That gives me nine more

days in Ethan's company.

Nine days with my body screaming give me Ethan.

The back of his hand brushes against mine. Immediately, my body responds. My

stomach flutters. Heat spreads to my cheeks and chest. I allow myself a moment to

check him out—tight jeans, wide smile, navy eyeliner making his blue eyes look

bluer.

He's hotter than he was when we were together. How is that possible?

"It's right this way." He nods to a packed corner.

It's the middle of a work day. Downtown is packed with a mix of business types

in suits and tech types in hoodies, jeans, and canvas shoes. I try to cut through the

crowd but people don't part the way they do in New York. They stare at their

phones, bumping into me or shooting me dirty looks.

Then Ethan's arm is around my waist and he's leading me through the crowded

street. I should object to his arm out of principle, but it makes me feel warm and

safe.

I move closer, until I can smell his soap. It's the hotel soap, the same one I used.

And under that, it's Ethan. I can't explain it but the smell of him is familiar.

I get lost in the proximity of his body until we arrive. We're in a small, clean

park sandwiched between skyscrapers. It's an oasis in the middle of the city.

The restaurant isn't quite in the park. It's a level higher, outside a convention

hall.

It's a small place with a quaint vibe. The walls, tables, and chairs are shades of

bronze and copper.

We take seats at a corner table. Ethan glances at his menu then he sets it down.

He has that look on his face—he already knows what he wants. Still, he waits

patiently as I take my time poring over the menu.

"Are you happy you're in grad school?" he asks.

I stare back at him curiously. "You really want to know?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because… when I told you I was going, you…" I bite my lip. "You asked me to

choose between you and grad school."

His eyes turn down. "That's not how it went."

What the hell is he talking about? Maybe, technically, I left Ethan, but he didn't

give me a choice.

I spent our entire relationship supporting him. Hell, I was practically his

sidekick. Then the second I wanted something that wasn't easy for him, he pushed

me away.

Even through clenched teeth, my voice is irritated. "How did it go?"

He stares through me. "That doesn't matter anymore."

Of course it does.

I stare back at Ethan. His blue eyes give nothing away. I have no idea what he's

thinking, but he looks sincere.

He really believes what he's saying.

My lips are dry. I wet them with my tongue, but that only makes my mouth feel

drier.

Was our relationship that meaningless to him?

I don't know what to think here.

I hold his gaze. "It matters to me."

His expression gets intense. "It's not gonna be a quick conversation. Let's table

it. I want to know your life, Vi. I'm glad you're doing well. Are you doing well?"

"Yeah." I slide my fingers over the menu. It's coated with slick plastic. How can

he suggest we table the conversation? He must not think much of my feelings. "I

love New York City."

"Even the weather?" He raises a brow.

"No. I hate rain. And snow. And wind. And humidity." I chew on my bottom lip.

I want to have a nice lunch with Ethan. Maybe it is better to move on from the

subject of our breakup. We're stuck together for nine days. "We have two weeks in

the fall where the weather is perfect."

"I miss the sunshine when I'm away." He looks into my eyes. "I'm glad school is

good."

"Really?" I raise a brow.

"Yeah. You're the smartest person I've ever met, Vi. You're gonna go on to great

things. Hell, you're probably wasting your talent working on our books."

"It's a different skill set, but I don't mind. Accounting is mostly about

regulations and being organized."

"What's the verdict?"

"There's something off about your books. I'm not sure about the details yet, but

there's definitely something off. It could be that I'm doing something wrong-"

"I doubt that." His voice is confident. He really believes in me.

That doesn't make any sense.

I stare into Ethan's eyes, trying to find some sign he's full of shit. There's

nothing. He's hanging on every word. He trusts me.

He cares about me.

I clear my throat. "I should probably talk to Mal about it."

"Going over my head? That's low." He shakes his head with mock incredulity.

"Well." I lean closer and shoot him a look of faux suspicion. "Did you embezzle

money from your bandmates?"

"Not sure I should tell you."

"How can I convince you?"

"I'm sure you can think of something." He raises a brow, shifting into character.

"Hmmm." I miss playing this game with Ethan. It's always fun. I arch my back

to push my chest towards him. "There must be something I can offer you. In

exchange."

He leans back into his chair, spreads his legs wide. "Whatever do you mean, Ms.

Valentine?"

I shrug, feigning innocence. "I'm not sure, Mr. Strong. I'm new to this whole

bookkeeping thing. I'm sure a powerful, handsome man like you could point me in

the right direction."

He laughs, breaking character. "Keep this up and I'm getting you off in the

bathroom."

My cheeks flush. "Are you telling me to stop or telling me to keep going?"

"It's a data point. Do what you want with the information." His eyes go wide

with desire.

God, I can practically feel his hands on my skin, his breath on my neck. I want

his body pressed against mine. I want him getting me off in the bathroom.

But I'm not ready for that. Not yet.

I lean back on my seat and pull my legs onto my chair, so I'm sitting cross-

legged. "I don't think it was you. You would have no idea how to embezzle."

He laughs. "Vi, that hurts. I can't believe you doubt my knowledge of criminal

activities."

"Not all criminal activities. I know for a fact that you're quite experienced in

matters of public indecency."

His voice drops to something low and seductive. "Do you?"

Damn, I'm not steering the conversation back to platonic territory very well. But

then, I don't want the conversation in platonic territory. The look in his eyes is

making me hot all over. "I could be reminded."

He's about to say something when the waiter interrupts to drop off waters and

take our orders.

Ethan holds my gaze for a moment. Something passes between us. Something I

can't explain.

Then it's gone. He orders the Russian tea service.

I order a sencha tea and an avocado sandwich and hand the waiter our menus.

Then he's gone and it's me and Ethan alone.

"How about I remind you after lunch?" he asks.

I meet his gaze. "What do you have in mind?"

"That part is a surprise. Do you have a swimsuit?"

"Not with me, no."

"I'll buy you one."

"You're not buying me anything." Even if the thought of trying on swimsuits

with Ethan just outside the door is making me hot all over.

"It's a trade. I buy you a swimsuit. In exchange, you trust me to lead you right

for the rest of the day."

"Who's buying lunch?"

"Me."

"Dinner?"

"I have money now. You don't. I'll buy."

I chew on my lip.

"You can pay me back after Mal pays you for working on our books if it will make

you feel better."

It will. But I'm not sure I believe that he'll accept my money.

He smiles as he extends his hand. "We can get tacos for dinner."

The man knows my weakness.

I shake. "You have a deal."

C H A P T E R 1 3

IOLET

very wall of the swim shop is adorned with candy-colored bathing suits. I try to

pour my attention into a rack of white bikini separates but it's difficult to think

anything but I'm getting half-naked with Ethan.

He's sitting in the turquoise armchair placed across from the dressing room. He

looks from his phone screen to me and he raises a brow. It's a dare. A challenge.

Okay. We're going swimming. Something like that. I love swimming and I

certainly wouldn't mind a nice bikini—the one buried in my drawer in New York is

many years old. I certainly wouldn't mind Ethan's jaw dropping as he takes me in.

Or his cock hardening as he pins me to the wall and peels off my swimsuit.

I grab a few bikinis in solid shades and a few fun patterns and I step into a

dressing stall. It's easier to think without Ethan in my eyeline.

I want him, I do. But I'm not sure how I want him—as a friend, as a fling, as a

fuck buddy, as a boyfriend, as the one person who makes me feel whole? At the

moment, the only correct answer is all of the above.

I try to clear my head as I try on the first swimsuit. At the moment, Ethan and I

are friends who flirt. That works for me. In fact, I'm really enjoying it. And with the

way he's smiling as he flirts back—that must work for him too.

I'll take this one step at a time.

There are benefits to a flirty friendship. Namely the way he's going to sigh with

desire when he sees me in a bikini. I'm not exactly thin, but martial arts keeps me

in good shape. I have a nice figure.

Even so, I do not look hot in this swimsuit. The bottom is cut too high and it's

too tight on my round hips. The white is too plain. The black is too drab.

The turquoise suit is promising. The bra-style top is particularly flattering to my

bust. The bottoms sit low on my hips and cover just enough of my butt. I spin a few

times. It's skimpy, yes, but it's cute too. And I know turquoise is a good color on

me. Before she accepted that her only daughter was never going to grow out of her

goth style, Mom was always trying to get me to wear less black and more color.

Still, I need to make sure it looks good in the full-length mirrors. I cultivate all

the I don't care what Ethan thinks of me in a bikini I can (almost none) and step

into the main room.

My eyes catch his immediately. I try to play coy as I turn to the mirror and check

out my reflection, but I can feel his gaze passing over me. His expression is hungry

and determined.

"Fuck, Vi. Any way I can convince you to wear that everywhere?" He pushes

himself to his feet.

I spin around so we're face to face. "I'm sure you can think of something."

He takes a step towards me. Then another. Another. Then he's close enough to

touch me.

"Here." His fingers skim my shoulder. He adjusts my strap. Then the other.

Then his eyes are on mine. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you." I look up at him. Right now, I want to kiss him. I don't care

about anything that happens after I kiss him, only about how his lips will feel

against mine.

He drags his fingertips up my shoulder and over my neck. "You getting that

one?"

This is moving too fast. I take a step backwards. "Yeah. Don't you need a suit?"

"No, I have one."

"Where?"

"In my pocket."

"In the pocket of your incredibly tight skinny jeans?" Now, I have a perfectly

valid explanation for staring at his crotch.

"Yeah, right here." He pats his front right pocket. "You know, my eyes are up

here, Violet."

"I'm not sure about that. I might have to investigate."

"You're going to make me think you're using me for my body."

I throw him an uh-huh look. "I should change." Before I do something that will

get both of us arrested.

"Try not to spend the entire time thinking about me naked."

"That's a lost cause." I smile like I'm joking.

But from the way he smiles back, it's clear he knows I'm not.

THAN

TELLS

me nothing about where we're going. If it was anyone else, I'd be a

nervous wreck. But I don't feel a single hint of negative energy.

I really do trust him.

Fuck, this is dangerous.

His hand brushes mine as we walk. It's about twenty minutes of trekking

through a residential neighborhood until we stop in front of a several-story

apartment complex.

Ethan points to the pool on the roof of the building. It's as secluded as a pool

gets.

"You have access to this how?" I ask.

He smiles. "I'm capable of criminal activities besides public indecency."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He pulls something from his front pocket—a key. "Plus, a friend of

mine owns the building. It's empty. They're demolishing it in a few weeks to put up

fancy condos."

"Oh."

"You want to back out?"

I shake my head. This might technically be trespassing, but it doesn't sound like

there's much risk of getting in trouble.

Ethan opens the door to the lobby, slides his arm around my waist, and whisks

me inside. He looks at his arm for a second. "Sorry, habit."

But he doesn't move his arm. And I don't ask him to move it.

I don't want him to move it.

He leads me up the stairs and through the roof door. It's a cool day and the wind

is blowing. But that does nothing to convince me swimming at an abandoned pool

is a bad idea.

The pool is huge for an apartment complex and its water is a bright aqua.

I want in that water.

Ethan drags his fingertips over my lower back. I'm not sure what it means, but I

like the way it feels.

And I fucking love the way his smile lights me up inside.

I don't feel cold anymore. I don't feel heavy or achy or tired.

Ethan sets our shopping bag down on a lawn chair. I fish my swimsuit and a

towel out. He gives me a quick once-over. His eyes go wide with anticipation.

I'm tempted to strip right here. I'm tempted to do whatever it takes to make his

eyes fill with need.

I want him to need me. There's been a part of me missing since we broke up.

Nothing can replace it.

Maybe it's selfish or immature, but I want to hear him whisper I need you Violet.

Fuck, I've missed you. It's like I'm empty without you.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I wrap the towel around my shoulders. "Let's

see if I can still pull this off."

"You're a Cali girl. It's in your blood."

I laugh. "No one has ever called me a Cali girl with a straight face."

"Yeah, well, no one knows you like I do."

I swallow hard. He's right. But I want to keep things light for a little longer. "I'll

promise not to look if you will."

He gives me a long once over. "Deal."

I wait for him to turn. As much as I want to watch Ethan strip to nothing, I'm a

woman of my word. I turn and pull my t-shirt over my head. It catches on the wind

and floats right into the pool.

Ethan laughs. "You can wear my hoodie later."

Screw it. It's only a t-shirt. I'm more careful with how I place my jeans,

underwear, and bra. I pull the tags off the bikini then slide it on.

Deep breath. I'm still not sure what I'm doing here, what I'm after, but I do

know something: I've had more fun in the last twenty-four hours than in the last

two years.

I need to stop overthinking things.

Ethan doesn't do that. He does whatever he wants. He has fun.

"I'm ready," I say.

"Me too."

I turn to face Ethan.

There he is, standing on the concrete in a black thong speedo.

Uh…

I press my lips together so I won't go slack jawed. That thing is minuscule. I can

see those perfect v-lines, every inch of defined abs, his strong thighs.

He turns to show off his nearly bare ass.

God damn, my hands want on that ass.

He laughs. "I can get rid of it if you don't like it."

It's an invitation. If I tell him I don't like it, he'll take off the swimsuit.

God, I want him taking off the swimsuit.

But I'm not ready for that yet.

I smile. "It suits you." I'd still prefer it on the floor.

"It was a gift from Tom. He has the same one. But in navy."

"Of course he does."

Ethan nods. He takes my clothes and places them in the shopping bag. Then his

hands are my hips.

My skin burns from the touch.

He stares into my eyes, but he doesn't kiss me.

Ethan nods to the water. "Shall we?"

"You first."

"I have a strict policy." His voice drops to something low and seductive. "Ladies

first."

My body screams yes.

My head is still hesitant.

I dip a toe into the water. It's heated but it's still cool. Okay, I can do this, and I

can go first.

I press my hands together. "On three."

"Three, two-"

"You have to count up to three!"

He laughs. "Almost forgot who I was talking to. Okay. One, two, three."

No thinking here. I take a deep breath and I jump into the water.

The pool is deep enough for me to sink towards the bottom. It feels amazing

being submerged, like the water is enveloping me in a hug.

Damn, I almost forgot how much I love swimming.

I do a few somersaults and spins then I surface. "Your turn."

"Fair is fair." He rubs his hands together, getting ready, then he does a

cannonball. He laughs when he surfaces.

I grab my now soaking wet t-shirt and toss it onto the concrete.

"You're still part mermaid, huh?" he asks.

I nod.

He raises a brow. "Cali girl."

"Cali girls are blond and tan. I'm a pale-as-the-moon ginger."

"You're a gorgeous strawberry blond with a complexion to kill for." His breath

gets heavy. He shakes it off. "You know how to surf and you used to work at a Jamba

Juice. Cali girl."

"Agree to disagree."

He smiles as he shakes his head. "You owned Hollister jeans."

"That's a secret! You can't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation."

"You used to call everyone dude."

I squeal. "Ethan! Those are secrets. People won't think I'm cool anymore."

He laughs. "I'm sure you can convince me."

"Can I?"

He nods and splashes me.

I splash back. "You're going down."

"That can be arranged."

God, I want that to be arranged. But I'm taking this slow. I move to the shallow

end to do a few handstands and cartwheels. Ethan leans against the edge of the

pool, watching me with delight in his eyes.

Then he's joining me, copying my moves. He catches on quickly.

We swim around, laughing and splashing, until I'm too cold to keep swimming. I

pull my arms over my chest and rub my triceps

"Come here. I'll keep you warm," he says.

No thinking here. I nod.

He moves closer. Then his body is against mine, his arms are around my waist,

his breath is on my neck. "You look fucking amazing, Vi."

My chest flushes. I'm warm and cold at the same time. "You look amazing too."

"God, last night… I wanted you so bad. Almost dragged you back to the couch."

I press my forehead to his chin. "What stopped you?"

"I don't want to scare you away." He slides his hands to my ass. "Tell me you

want to fuck me."

"Here?"

"Anywhere."

"I do." I drag my fingertips over his side. He's wet and slippery but he's still so

damn warm. "But… I… you destroyed me, Ethan. I don't want my heart broken

again."

"Me either." He presses his palm into my ass and pulls my body against his.

He's hard.

"I want to fuck you, Vi. I want to bury my cock in you." His voice gets low, needy.

"But I want you to come on my hands more."

"Ethan…"

"Tell me you want me to get you off."

I shudder as his lips brush my neck.

I look into his eyes, trying to find his intention. I haven't got a clue. The only

thing I see is desire.

"What does it mean?" I ask.

"Been trying to take this slow, but I want you too badly for that." He presses his

forehead to mine. "It means I want to feel you come."

"But after that?"

"After that, I want to make you come again."

Yes. That sounds perfect. I dig my fingers into his back. "Okay."

"Turn around."

I do. I'm not cold anymore.

I'm on fire.

He slides my bikini bottoms off my hips. Then his palm is on my hip and it's

pinning my ass to his crotch. He's still hard. I want that. I want every inch of him.

He drags his lips over my neck. Then it's his teeth. Pleasure floods my body as

he bites me.

"Harder." I rock my hips to grind my ass against his crotch.

He bites harder. Harder. Hard enough I cry out with a mix of pleasure and pain.

My eyelids press together. "Don't stop."

He still knows every nook and cranny of my body. He keeps me pinned to him,

waiting for his touch as he plants kisses up and down my neck and shoulder. He

moves to the other side. Then he traces his steps with soft nibbles.

He uses his free hand to push the strap of my bikini top off my shoulder. He's

painfully slow about dragging his hand down my chest.

I grind against him as he traces the top of the demi-cup. Finally, he pushes it

aside. My breast spills out.

He toys with my nipple as he drags his teeth along my neck. Then his teeth are

sinking into my skin. It's hard enough it will leave a mark. It's hard enough my

neck will be dotted with hickies.

It should concern me that Mal, Joel, and Kit will offer their opinions on the

matter.

It should concern me that Ethan really is showing me how much he knows about

public indecency.

It should concern me that I'm about ready to offer him anything, literally

anything, if he'll just touch me.

But it doesn't.

Right now, I feel only two things—the pleasure of his touch and the prick of pain

as he sinks his teeth into my neck.

"Please." I reach back for his ass.

He groans and drags his fingertips over my chest. Then he's pushing my other

strap off my shoulder, pushing my bikini top to my waist, palming my breasts with

both hands.

He rubs my nipples with his thumbs. Then his forefinger, his middle finger, his

ring finger, even his pinkie.

My sex clenches. My body has missed those hands. His touch is the best thing

I've felt in the last two years.

But I need more.

"Please," I breathe. "Ethan… please, I need you."

"Say it again."

"I need you."

He groans with pleasure as he drags one hand down my stomach. His fingers are

that same amazing mix of soft skin and rough callouses.

The moment those fingers stroke my clit, I melt. I'm putty. My knees buckle. My

muscles go slack.

But he's got me. He slides his free hand around my waist and holds my body

against his.

Then his lips are on my neck and his hand is on me. The water makes his touch

slippery. It's a different kind of pressure, softer and harder at once.

He starts with long, slow strokes. Every one sends a wave of pleasure through

my torso. I hold onto his hips for balance, but it's not enough.

Ethan turns me around. It brings us face to face. There's more in his eyes than

desire. I'm not sure I believe that it's possible for this to be a one-time thing.

But I don't want it to be a one-time thing.

I need more of him.

All of him.

He presses his lips to mine. The kiss starts soft then gets harder. His tongue

slides into my mouth. One hand goes around my waist and holds me in place. The

other slides between my legs to stroke me.

He goes right to the spot that always gets me off.

Two years and he remembers.

We haven't had sex since before Asher-

Ethan groans into my mouth. He pulls my body closer as his touch gets more

insistent. I groan back and slide my hands around his neck.

Dammit, this feels so good.

I let go of my last conscious thought. My body takes over. My fingers dig into the

hard muscles of his back. My tongue dances with his.

He still tastes like home.

The tension in my core knots. Every stroke of his fingers pulls it tighter and

tighter. So tight I have to break free of his kiss to groan.

He drags his lips over my neck. His teeth scrape against my skin.

With his next stroke, I go over the edge. My sex pulses as I come. I can feel the

orgasm everywhere. Pleasure spreads all the way to the top of my head and the very

tips of my toes.

I should be asking myself what this means. I should be concerned by how much I

want my ex to make me come again.

But I'm not.

For once, I'm in the moment. And it's a great fucking moment.

Ethan pulls my bikini back in place. His lips brush my ear. "I love watching you

come."

I don't know what to say, so I kiss him.

I kiss him like I'll never get another chance to kiss him again.

C H A P T E R 1 4

THAN

aking it slow is fucking difficult. Especially with Violet in that tiny bikini, her

body soft and pliable in my arms.

Somehow, I manage to drag myself away from her. Somehow, I manage to get

back into my clothes for long enough to take her to dinner. The Mexican place we

stumble into is amazing. The steak tacos are chewy and juicy with plenty of tart

lime and sharp cilantro. I've been avoiding Mexican food since Violet left—a feat in

southern California, where not liking tacos is akin to not liking breathing. Eating

dripping street tacos with Violet is like coming home.

It feels right.

Feels comfortable the way my favorite pair of jeans does.

When we finish eating, we walk back to the hotel, hand in hand. It's like old

times, when we were together.

I walk her all the way to her hotel room.

She shifts her weight between her legs as she pulls her keycard from her jeans.

Her green eyes fill with desire but there's uncertainty in them too.

Not doing this until she's certain.

"Thanks, Ethan. I missed swimming." She brushes her hair behind her ears

then reaches up to do the same to me. Her fingertips skim my jaw. "I can't

remember the last time I had this much fun."

"Me either."

"Really?"

I nod. I love getting on stage. I do a lot of fun shit with the guys on tour. Do a lot

of anonymous women. But none of that compares to Violet. When she smiles… it's

like the sun is breaking over the horizon.

I've always liked to entertain. That's what drew me to the guitar in the first

place. I live to get people laughing, smiling, screaming, gasping.

Always feels good to cause a reaction but Violet's reactions are in a different

league.

"I… I'm glad we have these, what is it now, eight more days together?" She

drags her fingertips over the edges of her keycard. "Mind if I take a raincheck on

the remake of The Fly?"

"I should practice."

"Still a perfectionist."

Yes, but- "I'm filling in for Drew, the Sinful Serenade guitarist, tomorrow. His

fiancée is pregnant. He's going to a doctor's appointment with her. I'm his

backup."

Her lips curl into a smile. There's something in her eyes, something I can't

place. It's something good. Almost like pride.

"It's no big deal." I run my hand through my hair. "Just helping a friend."

She nods, but she's still looking at me like I'm a saint. She sees through me. It is

a big deal. It's a lot of work and a lot of pressure. Don't get me wrong. I can do it.

I'm glad to do it.

But it's a big fucking deal.

God damn, I want her looking at me like that forever.

Or at least until I start stripping her out of her clothes.

Fuck. Need to get out of here before I forget about taking it slow.

"I'll see you at the sound check tomorrow?" I ask.

"At the show. I have to catch up on school work after I finish with the books."

She looks up at me. "Don't work too hard."

"You either."

She laughs. "We're so full of it, huh?"

I raise a brow.

"About working. We're addicted."

"Yeah." But I know how to get her mind off her studies. I slide my hand around

her waist and pull her into a deep kiss.

Violet arches her back as she groans into my mouth. She wants more.

Every part of me, one in particular, wants more.

Somehow, I manage to pull back. I press my forehead to hers. "Goodnight, Vi."

"Goodnight, Ethan." She looks back at me as she steps inside her room.

It takes every bit of self-control I have, but I do manage to talk myself out of

knocking on her door and insisting she come on my hand again.

FILLED

in for Drew twice so far. Did all right both times. But all right isn't good

enough.

God damn, I'm sweating bullets here. It's three minutes until Sinful Serenade is

going on stage. I should be loose and relaxed with damn, Dangerous Noise killed it

energy.

But I'm not.

I go through my warm-up stretches. At this point, I'm already warm, but it gives

me something to do.

Mal pats me on the back. "You okay?"

I'm not okay and he knows it. I smile back at him. "Great, thanks."

He shakes his head: one day you'll get it. "If you want to back down, I know the

Sinful Serenade setlist as well as you do."

I stare daggers at Mal.

He chuckles. "Break a leg." He pats me on the back then makes his way to his

Bay Area fuck buddy, a brunette in jeans and a tight red sweater.

She lights up when he greets her. He leans in to whisper—I don't need to go

there.

Mal has half a dozen fuck buddies scattered around the country. He has a girl

everywhere except southern California. When we're home, Mal spends all his free

time with Piper.

Okay. Enough about my brother's habits.

Need my head in the game. We've got two minutes to show time. I start on

another round of stretches.

A familiar voice stops me. "I've never seen you this nervous." Violet squeezes

my hand. She looks up at me. "Anything I can do?"

There's a lot she can do but none of it gets my head in the game. "Wish me

luck."

"Good luck." She rises to her tiptoes and brushes her lips against mine. "If luck

isn't enough, take off your clothes. I guarantee that will win the crowd over."

I laugh. "Nothing to do with you wanting to see me naked?"

"Ethan, please. I'm only concerned about the artistry of your performance."

"One minute!" The stage manager, a short, balding guy named Jim with a

clipboard and a bad attitude, calls out. "Where the fuck is everybody?" He hightails

it to the Sinful Serenade dressing room.

Violet squeezes my hand and takes a step backwards. "I'll be watching."

That isn't helping get my head in the game either. I take a deep breath. There's

Miles, the Sinful Serenade singer, offering Jim a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

Poor Jim is a wreck. Miles is cool as a cucumber.

The stage lights turn off. The crowd claps and cheers. Then they're chanting.

Damn, must be nice to be that popular.

Miles winks at me. "Break a leg." He makes his way to the stage.

Then it's Tom and Pete. I've known the Steele brothers since forever. We were

all in a band together back in high school. Had to quit when my parents bailed to

study the gorillas in Africa. They're the same as they were then. Tom is a ball of

energy. Pete is stoic and quiet. When he talks, it's usually about sex. Or to fight

with Tom. They bicker like an old married couple.

Tom motions for me to follow him. I do. It was barely an hour ago that I stepped

onto this stage, but that can't compare to this.

I can feel the energy of the crowd in my bones. Their cheers echo around the

room.

I take my place on stage, guitar around my shoulders, feet in a boxer's shuffle.

The lights flicker on. That's my cue. I'm the one who starts this. The crowd

screams as I strum my guitar. My nerves make my fingers slow and stupid. Little by

little, I shake off everything but the music flowing from my instrument and the

energy flowing back from the crowd.

The crowd bursts into applause when we finish the first song.

Miles looks back to me and motions come here. Then he's blowing kisses to the

crowd. "I'm sure you all remember Mr. Ethan Strong, the lead guitarist of

Dangerous Noise."

The crowd cheers and claps for me the same way they do for Sinful Serenade.

Then people are chanting my name.

Miles laughs. "He's doing us a big favor filling in for Drew tonight." He waits

until the crowd stops screaming for Drew. "He wanted to be here, but his girl's

expecting and he's quite the committed baby daddy."

The cheers get the loudest they've been. I guess it figures that Sinful Serenade's

predominantly female fan base would swoon over a responsible rock star father-

to-be.

"I know you're crying your eyes out that I'm off the market." Miles winks at me.

He turns to the crowd as he holds up is left hand to show off his wedding ring. "But

Ethan here is single. So how about you let him know how badly you want him… to

play."

I know how to play my part. I'm the sexy manwhore guitarist. I find a girl in the

general admission and wink at her. She gasps and squeezes her friend's arm.

I look back to the side of the stage. Violet is standing there, watching me with a

smile spread across her face. When she catches my gaze she motions take it off.

Good advice. I tug at my t-shirt, teasing the crowd. The cheers get louder.

Louder. Fuck it. I pull the t-shirt over my head and toss it into the crowd.

The woman who catches it squeals with pleasure.

Miles laughs. He motions for me to hit my cue.

And I do. This time, my fingers find their footing by the third note.

CROWD

SCREAMS

as the lights go off.

My hands are aching and I'm so slick with sweat my guitar won't stay in place.

Instinct is the only thing that gets me off the stage. Then I'm backstage, being

ushered by Jim into a private room. It's nice for a dressing room. It's clean, bright,

and empty save for a couch and a table with snacks.

Miles pats me on the shoulder. "Good job. You killed it."

Tom nods. "Fucker, that's my line." He smiles at me then he turns to Miles.

"You gotta remind women I'm taken or they'll get disappointed."

"Yeah?" Miles raises a brow. "You think there's anybody alive who doesn't

know you're married when you post photo by my wife next to every naked pic on

your Instagram?"

"Want to show off her talent." Tom laughs. "We're a talented couple."

"Her name—" Miles motions to his hipbone "—is in half the shots. People get

it." Miles turns to Pete, the Sinful Serenade bassist. "Did take balls getting Willow

that close to his dick."

Pete chuckles. He brushes a long, dark bang from his face and makes eye contact

with me. "You did kill it, Ethan. We all owe you one."

"You guys would have done the same." I slide my hand into the back pocket of

my jeans.

Tom shakes his head. "Fuck no. You couldn't pay me to play for three hours

straight." He looks to Miles. "Would you?"

Miles shakes his head.

Pete too.

"Damn, we're all old and jaded." Tom winks at me. "When I first picked up a

pair of sticks, you had to pry me away from my drum kit. And Ethan jumped to fill

in for Drew. Fuck, I should bow or some shit."

"You should," Miles says.

Tom does bow.

I laugh. I appreciate the positive feedback, but I don't need another three guys

looking at me like I'm their little brother.

"You want to hit the town, Ethan? I know Miles is gonna say some shit about

how he has to catch up on his reading. And I know my brother's about to head to

his bunk for some way too loud phone sex." Tom sticks his tongue out in disgust.

Pete chuckles. "Don't listen if you don't like it."

"Don't have a fucking choice in the matter. You're loud on purpose," Tom says.

"That's how Jess likes it. Not about to leave her high and dry because you can't

bother to buy ear plugs." Pete feigns innocence.

Miles says, "At least he's creative. When you do it—"

"Like you're better." Tom folds his arms, indignant. He looks to me. "What do

you say, Ethan? You a boring old man like the three of us or you want to have some

fun?"

Miles laughs. He leans against the wall as he turns to me. "Didn't you see the

hot redhead who was staring at his ass?"

Tom nods. "I have eyes. And I know Violet. They were unstoppable together. I

was sure you were gonna put a ring on that."

"With a girl that fine—you gotta let her know you're committed," Miles says.

"Give him a break. He's just a kid," Tom says.

"How old are you, Ethan?" Miles asks.

"Twenty-four."

"You're only twenty-five." Miles shakes his head at Tom. "You think you're

more mature than him 'cause you convinced a nice girl to marry you?"

"Yeah. Means I'm doing something right." Tom looks to me. "You gonna make

that happen?"

Last thing I need is more people getting in my business. I shrug with as much

nonchalance as I can muster.

"Nobody's buying that," Tom says. "Especially not me. You looked at that girl

the way that pervert over there—" Tom nods to his brother, Pete "—looks at a bass

guitar."

"Why don't you say he looks at her the way Pete looks at his wife?" Miles asks.

"Because the way he looks at his wife is grosser than the way Ethan looks at

Violet. Ethan's not a disgusting pervert like you two," Tom says.

"Sounds like an insult to me. Don't take shit from Sticks," Pete says. "You can

be as much of a pervert as you want to be."

Miles turns to me. "Don't let the hand cramps stop you, Ethan. That's why man

invented the vibrator. It's a tool. Like an amp. Doesn't make you any less of a

man."

"I think the guy knows about the vibrator," Tom says.

"You're the one saying he's not a pervert," Miles says.

"Okay, sorry. Ethan's a pervert! Are you happy?" Tom asks.

"Peachy." Miles blows Tom a kiss.

Pete chuckles. He tosses me a spare Sinful Serenade t-shirt. "You gonna listen

to our bullshit, or you gonna go satisfy your girl?"

"She's not my girl," I say.

"Not with that attitude," Pete says.

The man has a point.

We have a few hours until we're due back on the bus. As much as I enjoy the

company of the Sinful guys, I want to spend that time with Violet.

I pull the t-shirt on.

Miles claps. "That's my boy."

I nod a thanks as I step into the hallway. It's crowded with crew and hangers-on.

But I can see Violet in the corner, chatting with Joel. God knows what the drummer

is telling her.

People offer congrats and good jobs as I cut through the crowd. Any other day,

I'd stop to soak in the admiration. Right now, I need to be near Violet.

Fuck, I need to be inside Violet.

"Excuse me for cutting in." I slide between her and Joel.

"Hey! Don't be rude. We were just gossiping about you," he says.

I keep my eyes on Violet's. "Is that right?"

She nods. "Debating whether or not your ego will get too big to fit through the

door. My money's on yes." Her voice is light. She's teasing and she's having fun

doing it.

"Mine too. Not a good debate really." Joel laughs. He leans in to whisper in my

ear. "I can keep Kit and Mal distracted for an hour tops if you want the bus to

yourself."

Fuck, when did Joel become such a genius? "Sounds good."

Violet arches a brow. "Have I become the subject of gossip?"

Joel shrugs. "Sorry, Valentine. No one is immune. You're still my favorite." He

blows her a kiss as he walks away.

She laughs. "He hasn't changed at all." Her fingers graze my bicep. Then she's

tracing the lettering on my t-shirt. "I like your taste. Hot pink is a bold choice for a

man."

"Thanks."

"Suits your complexion too." She looks up at me. "You know, I heard what Joel

said, about us being alone in the bus."

"Just Joel, being Joel."

"Oh." She presses her lips together with disappointment.

"Vi, every inch of me wants to fuck you." I lean close enough to press my

forehead to hers. "But I'm not in a rush. I want you to be sure you want it too."

She looks up at me. "I… I don't want to lead you on, Ethan. It will just be sex."

She's wrong about that. But we can start with it just being sex. "Okay." I press

my palm into her lower back and pull her body into mine.

She sighs with pleasure as she arches her back. "Fuck." She presses her cheek

against mine. "You're making it hard to think."

I rock my hips so she can feel my erection. "You have no fucking idea how badly

I want to pin you to that wall and fuck you until you're screaming my name."

"Why aren't you?"

"Don't want an audience." I run my fingers through her hair.

She leans into the gesture. "I don't want either of us to get hurt. How about

some ground rules?"

"Sounds reasonable."

"Good." She slides her hand under my t-shirt and drags her fingers over my side

and back. "This is just while I'm on tour with you. When I step off the bus in New

York, the two of us being friends with benefits is over."

Gives me eight days to convince her she wants to be mine again. I can do that.

"Okay."

"We'll be exclusive." She looks up at me with uncertainty.

"You really have to ask?"

She nods.

"You're the only person I want." I pin her to the wall. "I'm clean. Always use a

condom. Even for oral. You're the only person I've ever gone bareback with."

She groans with pleasure. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I am too. And I still have an IUD." She drags her lips over my neck. "Okay. No

condoms. I don't want anything in the way."

Damn, why did I wear such tight jeans?

I'm tempted to fuck her here. With the way she's arching her body into mine, I

know she'll say yes. But I don't want an audience. I don't want anything in the way

of her screaming my name.

I slide my arm around her waist and lead her to the side door.

C H A P T E R 1 5

THAN

o much for not having an audience. The barricades that form a perimeter

around the venue are packed with fans desperate for autographs and introductions.

A few women look ready to party. One flashes her bra when she spots me.

I stand in front of Violet instinctively. Her fingers dig into my sides, pressing my

t-shirt into my skin.

"You really are a rock star now." Her voice is nervous. She tugs at my t-shirt,

pulling my back into her chest.

"Yeah." I nod to the bus. It's a solid thirty feet from the crowd, but I can feel

Violet's fingers curling into my skin.

She's nervous.

"The windows are tinted. Nobody will see us," I say.

"Yeah it's just—"

"A mindfuck?"

She nods.

I squeeze her hand as I lead her to the bus.

Violet looks back to the crowd. There are plenty of women shooting her dirty

looks. Actual groupie-types get off on the envy. But Violet's not like that. She does

everything she can to deflect attention.

I pull the door to the bus open for her and lock it behind me.

The tinted windows keeping people from looking in but they do nothing to

obstruct our view.

Need to shut out the rest of the world. I close the blinds. That's enough to get

Violet's shoulders to drop from her ears.

Violet sits on the couch. Her eyes go to the floor. She crosses and uncrosses her

legs. "Are you used to all that?"

"Mostly."

She looks up at me. "You like the attention?"

"On stage, yeah. I'm there to entertain. If I have attention, I'm doing it right."

"Offstage?"

"Sometimes it makes me feel good, like I'm important. It's lonely on the road.

You've seen the way Mal, Kit, and Joel look at me like their fuck-up little brother."

"They don't look at you like a fuck-up." Her eyes meet mine. "You're not a

fuck-up, Ethan."

"Lost you, didn't I?"

"I guess I can't argue with that." She plays with the hem of her short black

dress. "Do you tell women you love them?"

"No, but I have plenty of player bullshit lines, if that's your next question." I

kneel on the ground in front of her. "No worse than when we met."

Some of the apprehension drops off her face. "I really thought you were this

generous guy who loved giving back scratches."

"Who says I'm not?"

"You offered to get my bra off."

"You'd already decided you were gonna fuck me that night. I saw it in your

eyes."

"Did you?"

I nod as I unzip her boot and peel it off her leg. "You have the same look in your

eyes right now." I peel her other boot off her leg. Then the socks. Then my hands

are on her smooth skin. Damn, those legs. I could die between those legs.

She lets out a heavy sigh as I slide my hands behind her knees and spread her

legs. "Ethan… I… I've missed you a lot."

"You say that to all the guys who are about to dive between your legs?"

"No. I…" She slides her hand into my hair and cups the back of my head. "Fuck,

how are you so smooth? I don't know how to say suave shit the way you do."

"You don't have to say anything. You just have to come on my face."

She groans with pleasure. "I want to do that. God, I want to do that." She

swallows hard. "But I have to say this first. I don't want to hurt you. And I don't

want you to hurt me either. No bullshit, okay. It scares me that you're famous now.

It scares me that you're rich. That there are a hundred women outside this bus who

are ready to drop to their knees to suck you off."

"I'm only sleeping with you."

"I know… but I don't know if you're the guy I fell in love with or if you're some

rock star playboy douchebag, like you are in the tabloids."

She looks me up. I nod like the revelation is no big deal.

"But the way you played for your friend, even though you were nervous, even

though it was hard, and you kept acting like it was nothing— that's the guy I

loved." She presses her lips together. "God, why am I talking? All I can possibly do

is talk you out of going down on me."

I shake my head. "You can't talk me out of going down on you."

She lets out a nervous laugh. "I guess since I'm still talking this must be

important. I just want to say that I'm not using you, Ethan. This isn't like the other

night, after the bar. This is casual, but you do matter to me. And I want to matter to

you too. I don't want to be another groupie you fucked on the tour bus."

"Vi, you have no fucking idea how much you matter to me." I drag my lips over

the inside of her thigh. Need to stop talking before I start saying shit that scares

her. "Now, I'm gonna make you come until you beg me to stop or until one of the

guys is banging on the door for us to stop."

She nods, but she's still nervous.

That's okay. I'll help her relax.

I drag my lips over the inside of her knee until her fingers knot in my hair. Then

I go higher, higher.

I push her dress to her waist.

Her hands slide around the back of my neck. "Can you get the zipper?"

She's still shaking.

I need to slow down.

I push myself onto the couch and plant my body next to hers.

Violet turns so her back is to me. I drag my lips over her neck as I pull the zipper

down.

She groans with pleasure.

Damn, that sound is music.

Violet peels her dress off her shoulders. She lifts her ass to push it off her hips.

She's wearing matching underwear—a black lacy bra and thong.

Fuck, she looks amazing.

I suck on her earlobe as I trace the outline of her bra. "You wear that for me?"

"Yes." She shifts onto my lap so my erection is pressed against the flesh of her

ass. "Do you think about me?"

"All the time." I slide my fingers into her bra to tease her nipples.

She groans and grinds her ass against my crotch. "When you touch yourself?"

"All the fucking time." I play with her nipple until her groans are heavy with

need.

"Ethan…"

The way my name falls off her lips makes it hard to keep this slow. Not sure

how, but I manage.

I do away with her bra. "Say that again."

"Ethan." She presses her neck against my mouth.

I nibble on her neck as I tease her. My hands are spent. I have to keep my touch

light, but that only makes her needier.

It feels so fucking good having Violet in my hands, making her moan and scream

my name.

I tease her until I can't take it anymore then I place her on the couch and shift

onto the floor.

I want a good fucking look at her.

I want to taste every fucking inch of her.

She looks down at me. There's a hint of apprehension in her eyes but it's

overwhelmed by desire.

She wants this.

Badly.

I slide my hands around her hips and pull her to the edge of the couch. "Spread

your legs for me."

She does. She looks at me with all the trust in the world.

Maybe Violet doesn't trust me with her heart, but she sure as hell trusts me with

her body.

Need to prove I'm worth trusting.

I drag my lips up her leg, from the inside of her knee to the apex of her inner

thigh.

She squirms, pressing her legs against my shoulders, beckoning me to continue.

Her hands knot in my hair.

"Ethan, please," she groans.

Fuck yes. I lick her from top to bottom. I do it slowly, reacquainting myself with

every inch of her. She smells amazing. Tastes better. I suck on her lips, the right,

then the left, then the right again.

She pants, rocking into my mouth.

Right now, Violet is mine. Right now, she needs me more than she's ever needed

anything.

Fuck, do I need her.

I take my time teasing and tasting her. Her groans get lower, needier. She tugs at

my hair to hold my head against her.

She doesn't have to ask twice.

I flick my tongue against her clit.

She gasps with pleasure. One hand goes to my shoulder. Her thighs quiver.

I do it again. Again. Again. Until her thighs are shaking with pleasure and her

nails are digging into my skin.

She's almost there. I go faster, harder. Her hips buck. Her thighs press against

my ears.

The way her body responds to my touch makes me harder. But she comes first.

A few more licks and she's there. She tugs at my hair. "Ethan, fuck." She gets

louder. "Ethan. God, Ethan." She presses her heel into my back as she comes.

I can feel her pulsing. Fuck, that's the best feeling in the world.

I need it again.

I bring my hands to her hips and I hold her in place as I lick her to another

orgasm. She groans with a mix of pleasure and pain. Then it's all pleasure and she's

pressing her thighs against my cheeks, coming on my lips, screaming my name

again and again.

Violet tugs at my hair. "I missed this."

"This or me?"

"Both."

I sit on the couch next to her and slide my arm around her waist. "I missed you

too."

I pull her body onto mine, so she's straddling me. My cock strains against her.

One inch at a time, I enter her. I can feel her stretching to take me.

Violet sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. Her hands go to my shoulders and

squeeze tight.

She presses her eyelids together. "Fuck, Ethan."

God damn, she feels good. I bring my hands to her hips and I guide her body over

mine. I go slow, until her nerves are gone, until the look in her eyes is nothing but

desire.

Then I go faster. I pull her body closer to take her breast into my mouth. She

groans with pleasure, rocking her hips as I suck on her nipple.

Fuck, the way Violet's moan echoes around the bus, the taste of her skin, the

feeling of her folds enveloping me…

This isn't like with anyone else.

This is everything.

Her thighs squeeze against my hips. Her nails dig into my shoulders.

I let my body lead. I thrust into her, sucking on one nipple then the other. I go

harder. Faster. Until she's panting and shaking with pleasure.

"Come on my cock, Vi," I groan.

She rocks her hips to match my movements. A few more thrusts and she's

there. I watch the orgasm spread over her face. Her eyes close. Her lips part with a

long, heavy sigh.

Her cunt pulses around me.

God damn.

I give her a moment to catch her breath, then I lay her flat on her back, and I

thrust hard and deep. She wraps her legs around my waist, rocking her hips to meet

my movements.

Right now, her body is mine. And my body is hers. The two of us are exactly

where we belong.

I move harder. Faster. Deeper. She sucks on my neck. Her groans vibrate over

my shoulders and chest.

Fuck. I tug at her hair as an orgasm overtakes me.

She groans with pleasure, watching my expression contort as I come.

I don't stop until I've spilled every drop.

After I come down, I collapse behind her, wrap my arms around her, and hold

her body against mine until we've both caught our breath.

C H A P T E R 1 6

IOLET

fter Ethan and I clean off the couch, we squeeze into the much too small tour

bus shower. He laughs over my inability to slip past him to reach the shampoo, the

bastard.

"Here, I've got it." He pulls the showerhead from its stand—the thing is

detachable—and uses it to rinse my hair.

"That must come in handy."

"Getting ideas?" He slides his hand down my torso.

Yes, but I'm exhausted and I'm pretty sure we've gone well past an hour. Ethan

and I had plenty of loud semi-public sex when we were together, but that was when

I felt like a part of the band family.

Joel is going out of his way to make me feel welcome, but Kit keeps staring at me

like I'm holding a hand grenade to Ethan's chest. I don't need to wear out my

welcome.

Ethan shampoos and rinses my hair. "You don't have to think about me naked,

Vi. I'm naked right here."

"I'm not." I lean into his touch as he conditions and rinses my hair. "Thinking

about Mal and Kit-"

"Violet, don't do this to me."

"Not like that." I turn so I'm face to face with Ethan. "What are we going to tell

them about us?"

"The truth."

Okay… I stare into his blue eyes. He looks earnest. Ethan always looks earnest.

There's no reason why I should doubt his intentions.

"We're having fun." He raises a brow. "Why do you look so worried?"

I don't know. Something about this feels off. But it's very difficult to think with

Ethan's naked, sopping wet body pressed against mine. "Just not looking forward

to the third degree."

"Yeah. It's annoying. Like having two extra older brothers." He shampoos and

rinses his hair. "But everyone's glad your here."

"Are they?"

"Yeah." He slides his arms around my waist. "Not as glad as I am." He lets out a

sigh of pleasure as he pulls me into a close hug.

God, I could die right here in his arms and that would be okay. I can't remember

the last time I felt this safe or whole.

This is dangerous. If I'm not careful, I'm going to fall back in love with Ethan.

But I do want to have fun. I want to feel good.

I tell my thoughts to take a hike, then I close my eyes and soak in the feeling of

his hands on my skin as he soaps and rinses my body. I explore every inch of his

defined body as I soap him. His back is strong. His shoulders are broad. His ass and

thighs are muscular.

"Whatever you're doing, it's working." I drag my fingers over his back.

He laughs. "I know. You too." He presses his palm against my ass and pulls my

body into his. "Fuck, I'm going to have to have you again at this rate."

Right on cue, there's a pounding knock. It's coming from outside the bus.

Then Joel's voice booms through the walls. "Hope you two are decent, 'cause I'm

coming in. And I have company."

"I thought he didn't screw girls in the bus?" I whisper.

"He doesn't." Ethan turns the shower off and steps out of the stall. He grabs the

towel that's hanging on the wall and offers it to me. "Shit. Forgot to grab a second

towel." He looks me up and down. "As much as I'd like to watch you walk around

the bus naked, you can keep that one."

"What if I want to walk around naked?"

"Too dangerous. If one of the guys touches you, I'll have to kill him. And then

I'll get arrested, you'll be called in for questioning. It will be a mess."

"Better to keep the towel on," I agree.

He nods.

My lips curl into a smile. He's protective of me. I shouldn't find that thrilling

what with our this is just for fun agreement.

But I do.

I dry off the best I can in the tiny space and offer Ethan the towel.

He shakes his head. "I'm good. You decent?"

I wrap the towel around my chest and knot it tightly. "Yeah. Why?"

"No reason." He pulls the bathroom door open and steps onto the bus.

"Oh fuck, put that thing away," Joel calls out. "Hope that's you in there, Violet?"

"Violet?" Tom's voice flows into the bathroom. "I guess that answers that

question. And this answers the how did you get Violet to agree to fuck you

question."

Despite the blush forming on my cheeks, I step into the main room. Ethan is

still naked. There's no sign he intends to put on clothing.

Not that I'm complaining. But it is strange.

Tom nods hello. Joel does the same.

"Is this a drummer's convention or are you two here to gossip?" I ask.

Tom looks at Ethan. Not so much at Ethan as at Ethan's cock. It is a marvelous

sight, even without the hard-on.

He looks to me. "Nice going, Violet."

"Oh God." I hide behind my palm.

Joel looks around the room. "So we're all okay with this?"

"I'm enjoying it," I say.

"Doesn't bother me," Tom says.

Joel shakes his head. He grabs the blanket off the couch and tosses it to Ethan.

"You're washing that next time we stop."

Ethan laughs but he still gets back into his jeans and t-shirt. Well, the Sinful

Serenade t-shirt that no doubt belongs to someone else.

He's not wearing anything under his jeans.

How am I supposed to think for the rest of the night?

"Shit, if you'd told me you were gonna be a free walking billboard, I would have

insisted you put on clothes." Tom looks to me. "How was it?"

"You don't have to answer that." Ethan steps behind me. He slides his arms

around me and pulls my body into his.

Tom and Joel share a look. I have no idea what it means. Maybe it's drummer

code? Ah, it's so much fun being out of the loop.

Tom turns to me. "What's the verdict?"

"Don't you have a wife to talk to?" I ask.

"She's on an assignment. I'm not to disturb her." He raises a brow. "So?"

"It was amazing. Now both of you, go. At least for five minutes. I need to get

dressed and there's no privacy in here," I say.

"There's a bathroom," Joel says.

"Now!" I fold my arms over my chest.

He chuckles but he still leaves. Tom too. He winks on his way out the door.

I turn back to Ethan. "Are they always like this?"

"Not with women. But otherwise, yeah." He plants a kiss on my neck. "You

should get dressed. Joel's not going to give you a second over five minutes."

There's something in his eyes, something he wants to say, but his lips stay

zipped.

I want to drag him into one of those tiny bunks and hold him until he pours his

heart out. I try to shake off the urge. That's not part of our just having sex

arrangement. And I'm pretty sure I'm down to sixty seconds at this point.

I dig through my dresser drawer— it is nice that I have a drawer— as quickly as I

can. Boxers, done. But I can't find my tank top anywhere.

"Here." Ethan throws me a Dangerous Noise t-shirt.

I pull it on. "What do you think? Does my taste in my music make my ass look

big?"

"Yes and I mean that as a compliment."

My cheeks flush.

"We're wheels up in half an hour. Want to cash in that rain check?"

"Huh?"

"The Fly." He pulls me onto the couch, onto his lap. "Don't tell me you forgot."

"Of course not. This is the one where Jeff Goldbum gets naked, right?"

He laughs. "Right."

"Can we watch Jurassic Park after?"

"Should have figured you'd have a crush on the guy who studies chaos theory."

"My feelings for Dr. Ian Malcolm are purely professional. I respect him as a

potential colleague."

"Uh-huh." Ethan shakes his head like he finds me ridiculous. His lips curl into a

smile.

The bus door swings open and Joel steps inside. This time, Mal and Kit are in

tow.

"You two want to get this out of the way now?" Joel asks.

And I thought I was tactless.

Ethan pulls me closer. "Violet and I are having sex. Any questions?"

Kit shoots him a good luck with that blowing up in your face look.

Mal looks at us protectively. I'm not sure which of us he's protecting. But,

really, I don't care.

Ethan and I are having fun. Period. There's no way I'm going to open my heart to

him. Not if he really believes our breakup was entirely my fault.

If he apologizes and explains why he threw me away… maybe I'll give him

another shot.

Maybe.

I smile my best leave me the fuck alone smile. "We're just having fun. Just until

I leave the tour."

"Long as you're on the same page." Mal nods and motions to the bunk.

"No loud sex after midnight. That's a known rule. I'm looking at you,

Valentine," Joel says.

"Your shows don't end until midnight," I say.

Joel shrugs. "I don't make the rules. I just enforce them."

"Consider me warned," I say.

Joel plops on the couch next to Ethan. "What are we watching?"

Ethan shoots him a dirty look. "Vi and I are watching The Fly."

"The original or the remake?" Joel asks.

"The remake," Ethan says.

"Thank fuck. That one's way better." Joel grabs three pairs of Bluetooth

headphones. He shoots Ethan a shit-eating grin as he pulls his headphones onto

his ears.

As much as I hate Joel interrupting our moment, I have to laugh. The guy is a

character.

I slide my headphones on and settle into Ethan's lap. He slides his arms around

me and boots up the movie.

The three of us fall silent as the film starts.

Even with our audience, it feels good watching a movie in Ethan's arms. It feels

like old times. Like when I was happy.

I want to be happy with him again.

But that's a dangerous thought.

C H A P T E R 1 7

IOLET

n the morning, we check into a hotel in downtown Portland. Once I'm semi-

unpacked, I get to studying. There are still question marks about the

Dangerous Noise books, but I can't answer any of them until I talk to Mal.

Catching up on my coursework makes this whole tagging along on my rock star

ex-boyfriend's tour thing feel almost normal. Studying in a quiet hotel room while

Ethan is off playing live on some morning radio show is a lot like studying in

Ethan's living room while he's off playing in the soundproofed practice room

downstairs.

I work on linear algebra until my brain is jelly then I walk to the Peet's Coffee

around the corner, drink tea until my brain is solid, and I study some more.

This—me and my textbook and a steaming hot unsweetened matcha latte—this

is where I belong. I don't have to play down my interest in math. I can get as

excited over solving problems as I want. I can clap with joy when I figure out a

tricky answer. I can chew the ends of my pen when I'm stuck on a problem.

I can let my I love math freak flag fly.

I finish my matcha latte and order another. My stomach growls. It wants food—

not pastries, nuts, or candies, actual food—but my brain wants more math first. I

spend another two hours finishing my work, then I grab lunch at a taco truck and

head back to the hotel.

Mal is in the lobby, greeting a pretty woman with short black hair. One of his

fuck buddies, I guess.

He nods hello. She eyes me curiously. After he whispers in her ear, she relaxes

and waves me over.

Uh… I'm glad that Mal enjoys his different girl in every town thing (at least

that's how Ethan describes it) but I'm not particularly interested in the details. The

man is objectively hot— tall, blue eyes, brown hair, ripped arms and chest covered

in black ink—but he doesn't stoke my embers. He really feels like an older brother.

"Sharon, this is Violet." Mal shoots her a knowing look. "Ethan's… friend."

"Oh, Violet." She shakes my hand with a friendly smile. "It's nice to finally

meet you."

I'm gossip for Mal and his fuck buddy. That's fun.

"Ethan used to talk about you all the time. The poor guy couldn't admit how

much he—"

Mal cuts her off. "Vi's helping with the books." He looks to me. "We're gonna

be busy for a while, but I want to talk to you about this today. You coming to the

show?"

"I can," I say.

"Should only take an hour. You can grab a ride with Sharon." He turns to

Sharon. "You don't mind waiting, do you, baby?"

She giggles. "Every time you're in town, it's the same."

The way she's looking at him… I don't need those details. I clear my throat.

"Just knock on my door when you're ready." I turn and hightail it to the elevator

bank before I have time to get jealous of Mal's ability to separate sex and love.

MEAN

to go to my room, but my feet are drawn to Ethan's room. My hand is drawn

to his door. My heart is drawn to his.

I knock lightly. "It's me."

There are footsteps then he's pulling the door open. "Hey."

"Hey." I shift my messenger bag off my shoulders and drop it on the ground in

front of me. That's better. There's less weighing me down.

"You want to come in?" He nods to his mostly clean room.

"I have to catch up on work."

"Do it here." He picks up my messenger bag, slides his arm around my waist,

and whisks me into the room.

Damn, he smells good. He looks effortless in his skinny jeans and t-shirt. I wrap

my arms around him to soak in the warmth of his body.

"You're dangerous to my productivity," I mumble.

"Isn't it spring break?"

"I'm trying to get ahead of schedule."

He laughs. "Of course you are." He takes a step backwards and nods to the guitar

and amp in the corner. "I'm gonna practice. You can use the desk."

"You lugged that amp all the way up here?"

"This is nothing." He picks up the amp with one hand and holds it over his head

to make his point. "You're giving me a look."

"What look?"

"Not sure, but I like it." He sits on the bed and pulls his guitar into his lap. "You

keep looking at me like that and I'm gonna destroy your productivity for the rest of

the afternoon."

"I'll keep my eyes on my textbook."

"I hope you don't." He pulls a guitar pick from his pocket and strums. First, he

plays a scale. Then another. Another. It's the same order as always. He looks to me.

"Is this the major or the minor?" He plays another scale.

It's familiar. But I'm not sure.

He plays it again. This time, the notes are higher.

I shake my head. "I don't know."

He plays it again, higher, lower, lower. He jumps up a few octaves then jumps

back down, then he's improvising a guitar solo.

I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Music is the only thing I ever

feel. I can't explain music. I don't know anything about it. But I can feel the

patterns, the rhythm, the melody. It's in my bones.

He gives me a half-bow when he finishes. "How's the homework?"

"Delayed."

"But besides that?"

"Good. I'm learning this new concept in differential geometry-"

"Differential geometry?"

I laugh. "It looks at three dimensional shapes in space." I launch into an

explanation of my current class. Mostly, it focuses on control theory, how to model

variables in a non-linear way. It's sort of like chaos theory. I try to channel Michael

Crichton to explain it in the simplest possible terms. "So it's really not that

complicated."

Ethan laughs. "Not even a little."

"Just a bit harder than calculus." I pull my textbook, notebook, and pen from my

messenger bag. The way Ethan is looking at me with affection in his eyes is making

me nervous. I chew on the cap of my pen. That helps.

"I love the way you light up when you talk about math. I'm glad you get to do

what you love." He spins his guitar pick. "I'm going to stop distracting you

eventually."

"You can distract me a little."

"Let me make it up to you." He stretches his fingers then places them on his

guitar. He starts to play a familiar song, Can't Seem to Make You Mine by Garbage.

Does the choice mean anything? Does he even know the title? I try not to think

about it. Instead, I close my eyes and let the music wash over me. Ethan goes

through a dozen alternative rock hits—all songs I love, but is that a coincidence or

does he remember?—before he starts practicing Dangerous Noise songs.

The whole time, I pretend like I'm studying. But really, I'm thinking about how

much this feels like old times.

I fucking miss old times.

AFTERNOON

a blur of studying. First with Ethan. Then in my room. I barely have

time to change, fix my hair, and do my makeup before Sharon pops by to whisk me

to the venue. She talks my ear off about how impressive it is that I'm helping with

the band's books at such a young age, and about how she actually works for a

software company that always has room for smart people in software design,

especially people with master's degrees from NYU.

She assures me that Portland's gorgeous sunny summers are worth the six

months of rain and grey. Sharon seems nice, but I'm glad when we arrive backstage

and find Mal. He plants a deep kiss on her lips, whispers sweet nothings in her ear,

and sends her away.

I bite my lip to keep from commenting on his player moves.

He chuckles but says nothing about my resting bitch face.

Our workspace is a dressing room. Its locked door is labeled Private. Seems Mal

is the only person who has the key.

He locks the door behind us and sets up his laptop at a table in the corner. The

room is small but it's clean and the table has two chairs. It's a fine place to work.

I double-check my findings then I go over them with Mal. He nods as I explain,

only occasionally interjecting to ask for clarification. Mostly, he nods or shakes his

head, holding his usual Mal Strong it's hard being in charge but someone's got to

do it poker face.

When I've explained everything I can, I do my best to summarize. "It's possible

this is an accounting error, but that's unlikely. Twenty grand goes missing then it

shows up two months later. You haven't lost any money, but all signs point to

someone 'borrowing' it and replacing it secretly."

"Hmmm."

"Should I do anything about this?"

"No. The money is here. Twenty grand isn't anything to fuss over."

That must be nice. "What do you want me to tell Ethan?"

Mal pushes up from the table. "Mind if I ask you something personal?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He raises a brow.

I push myself up too. I try to copy his cool and composed gesture, but it's not

happening.

I pace.

He stares.

I pace faster.

"That a no?" he asks.

"Just ask."

"You and Ethan—is that really no strings attached?" His voice drops low enough

to convince me he's concerned.

I wish I had an answer. I fold my arms and hold Mal's steady stare. "I'm trying

to work on living in the moment."

He chuckles. "That's bullshit."

"Maybe, but it's true. I haven't had any fun since Asher died."

"Any?"

"Not the kind you have with Sharon. Or when you step on stage every night. I

know that's hard work, but I see the four of you after. Even you look exhilarated."

"Hmm…" He gives me a paternal once-over.

I'm sure Mal means well, but he's not going to convince me his loyalties lie

anywhere other than with Ethan. "It's really none of your business."

"I know."

"Then how about we stay on task?"

"I have an idea about where the money is. If Ethan asks, tell him that."

"That you won't tell me?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." I try to hold a confident posture, but Mal's stare is intense. Within

moments, I'm back to pacing.

"Maybe it's none of my business, but do me a favor, Violet. Don't break his heart

again."

Anger flares in my chest. Who the fuck does Mal think he is, looking at me with

that concerned big brother expression, like I maliciously tore out Ethan's heart and

threw it to the wolves?

Doesn't anybody care that he broke my heart?

Doesn't anybody care that Ethan destroyed me?

Obviously not. Mal thinks I destroyed Ethan. Kit thinks I destroyed Ethan. Joel

thinks I destroyed Ethan. Piper is on my side, but she's not here to defend me.

Ethan used to be the person who understood me, but this…

Fuck this.

I tap my toe against the carpet. Mal is waiting for a response.

I open my mouth to tell him to go fuck himself. But those words don't fall.

I pace faster.

He stares.

Fine. I need to say something. I offer Mal my best smile. "We're just having

fun."

He shakes his head no, you're not.

I shake my head back yes, we are.

He stares.

I clear my throat. "Is there anything else?"

"Whatever Ethan said about you two being casual is bullshit. He cares about

you."

Maybe. I press my lips together. "I've seen him in a hundred pictures with a

hundred different women. Ethan doesn't have trouble separating love and sex."

"Hmmm."

I can't take it anymore. "I loved Ethan more than I've ever loved anyone."

"Then don't hurt him again." Mal's deep eyes get intense and protective.

He really believes I'm careless with Ethan's feelings.

Fuck him.

I stare back at Mal. "I didn't want to hurt Ethan when we broke up the first time.

I didn't want to leave. He didn't give me another choice. He had nearly two years to

get me back, but he never did as much as send me a text."

Mal says nothing.

"Maybe I did hurt Ethan. Maybe I destroyed him. But you know what? He

destroyed me too."

Mal, that fucking asshole, just stares back at me, his deep blue eyes mysterious

and impenetrable.

"I'll keep your fucking advice in mind though, Mal. I'll try not to break his heart.

But why don't you warn him to be careful with my heart?"

Right on cue, there's a knock on the door. Probably Mal's fuck buddy. He gets to

enjoy his casual sex without the third degree. He gets to win over a few thousand

people when he steps on stage. He gets his pick of conversation, dance, or fuck

partners wherever he goes after the show.

He doesn't have to deal with any of this don't break Ethan's heart bullshit.

"Yeah?" Mal calls to the door.

"You in there, Vi?" Ethan taps his fingers against the door. "Want to warm up

my hands the fun way."

Mal cringes. Ah, thank goodness for minor victories.

He opens the door for Ethan. His eyes go to mine. "You're right. But think about

what I said anyway."

I clench my teeth and dig my nails into my thighs. My a-line cotton skirt is thin

enough it stings. Fucking asshole.

Ethan looks from Mal to me. "What'd he say?"

There's nothing but earnest affection in Ethan's blue eyes. He wants to know

why I'm hurting. I want to tell him. I want to collapse in his arms and show him

every place I hurt.

Hell, I want to rip open my chest, hand him my broken heart, and beg him to

sew it back together.

But I can't.

He's the reason I'm suffering this third degree.

He doesn't understand that he forced me to leave. He doesn't understand that

he pushed me away when I needed him to pull me closer. Until he understands

that, this is staying casual. Even if that kills me.

"Vi, what did he say?" Ethan kicks the door closed and slides his arms around

my waist.

"That the two of you should talk about the missing money. Mal knows where it

went. He won't tell me. But he wants to talk it over with you." I fold my arms and

offer Mal my sweetest fuck you smile. This is his problem now. "Don't worry. The

money is back. You're on budget for the tour. And you have a lot of extra royalties

coming in." I press my lips together. With my access to the books, I know Ethan's

Dangerous Noise earnings, down to the penny. "You're still a multi-millionaire. I

should let you two talk. I'll see you after the show." I make my way to the door.

Ethan pulls me into a tight embrace. His lips hover over my ear. "You sure that's

it?"

I nod.

He drags his lips over my neck. "You owe me one, Vi. You're coming on my

hands later."

God yes. I kiss him hard then I offer him my best coy smile. "I'll find a way to fit

you into my schedule."

C H A P T E R 1 8

IOLET

want to tell Mal to go fuck himself for his presumptions, but I can't bring

myself to say anything close to that.

I understand his impulse. If I could go back in time and protect Asher from all

the hurt that destroyed him, I'd do it. And I certainly wouldn't let anyone get in my

way.

I hang out by the stage and watch the show. It takes three songs for my thoughts

to drift away. Ethan is amazing. He commands the stage as well as he commands

his guitar. Every time he blows kisses to the audience, a few hundred girls scream

with glee. All of them want to bring the guitarist home.

They don't get him.

He's mine.

Not forever. Not even for a while. But for the next week, he's mine.

Ethan is sure of that too. As soon as the band is backstage, he slides his arms

around my waist. He pins me to the wall and drags his lips over my neck.

"You look good enough to eat in that skirt." He sucks on my earlobe. "Let's go

out, just me and you."

And nobody giving me shit about how I broke Ethan's heart. Sounds great.

"Where?"

"For donuts."

"It's ten-thirty."

"Place is open all night."

"Okay." Honestly, at the moment, I'll go anywhere. I very much want to be not

here.

I very much want to be wherever Ethan is.

Ethan grabs his leather jacket and leads me out the side door. It opens into an

alley. There's noise to our right.

Uh-uh. No more interruptions. I squeeze his hand and lead him to the left.

"That's the wrong way," he says.

"So?" I step onto the sidewalk and check to see if the coast is clear. We're a

block away from the venue. No one is waiting for a rock star sighting or, worse, the

chance to invite herself into a rock star's bed.

I shake off the thought of Ethan plowing through groupies. The two of us are

having fun. Doesn't matter what came before. Doesn't matter what comes after.

Right now, us having fun tonight—that's what matters.

Ethan laughs. "Which way is it, Master Navigator Violet Valentine?"

I have no clue. But I'm not admitting that. "This way." I point towards the

direction of a busy street. Despite the misty rain, the sidewalk is packed with

people. Some wear rain coats. Others brave the cool air in cocktail dresses and

heels.

Shit, it's cold. I'm not used to doing things on the fly. I keep forgetting my coat.

I'm about to pull my arms across my chest when Ethan slides his leather jacket

over my shoulders.

"You still on track?" he asks.

"Yes, of course. I'm an expert in Portland geography."

"Yeah? Have all sorts of crazy visits to the City of Roses?"

"Do people call it that?"

"You're the expert."

"Uh… No, they don't."

He smiles at me: you're cute when you're making shit up.

I smile back at him.

I stop at a busy intersection. There's a bridge to our right and a dive bar to our

left. In front of us is the Chinatown arch and a whole lot of booming bass. There

must be a dozen clubs across the street. "I don't want donuts."

"You don't?"

The light changes. The walk signal turns on. I pull Ethan into the crosswalk. My

voice gets low, needy. "I want to dance with you."

I want his body pressed against mine in some sweaty, loud club. I can have fun. I

can even come up with the idea myself.

He waits until we're back on the sidewalk to speak. "I want to get you off in the

club."

So I'm a beginner and he's advanced. All the better. I can spend the next week

learning how to have fun. I knew how to do it once. I can figure it out again.

"Vi? You there?" Ethan slides his arm around me, stepping back into the lead.

"Or are you too busy thinking about coming on my hand?"

"I'm here."

"Good."

He shoots me a panty-melting look. Fuck. Ethan is way beyond advanced at this

too. Right now, I'm not letting that flummox me. Right now, I'm enjoying the ride.

He stops in front of one of the clubs and nods hello to the bouncer. The guy

shoots Ethan a sideways glance. Despite the recognition in his eyes, he stays

professional.

"IDs please," the bouncer says.

Ethan flashes his ID to the bouncer.

I dig my ID out from my back pocket and hand it to the bouncer.

The bouncer steps out of the way. He offers Ethan a nod. "I love that one song,

Better Days. Dangerous Noise is all right."

Ethan laughs. "That means a lot, thanks." He shakes the guy's hand then takes

mine and whisks me into the club.

House music bounces off the walls. I let my body take over. My hips sway from

side to side. My arms go around Ethan's shoulders. Then I'm the one pulling him

closer. I'm the one pressing my lips to his, sliding my tongue into his mouth. He

tastes good and there's something amazing about kissing him. It makes me

hungrier and needier, yes, but it also satisfies something deep inside me.

I grind my hips against Ethan's until my thoughts slip away. His body moves in

time with mine. One hand goes to my ass to guide me. The other slides under my

blouse.

I moan into his mouth as he cups my breast. Then his thumb is in my bra,

playing with my nipple. It feels so good I can barely take it.

I kiss him harder. I grab his ass and hold his body against mine. He's hard. I

want that. I want him as needy as I am.

I want him screaming my name as he comes. I need that sound in my ears. I

need to know that, right now, he's mine.

He slides his arm around my waist and leads me through the dance floor. "You

want a drink?"

I nod.

"Vodka soda?"

"Thanks."

He cuts through the crowd to the bar. It's harder perfecting the whole I'm great

at fun thing on my own. Fuck it. I throw my arms over my head and I dance like it's

going out of style.

My hips sway in time with the beat. I shift my weight between my legs, then I

lean down low.

When Ethan returns, he guides me to an empty booth in the corner. It has a high

back and we're facing the wall. It's a modicum of privacy. But I don't want privacy.

I don't want to sit at all.

I want to move. I want to feel the rhythm in my bones.

"Come on." I take a long sip to down half my drink. "Let's dance."

He gives me a long, slow once-over. His eyes light up. "Take off the leather

jacket."

I slide it off my shoulders and toss it on the table.

He downs his usual drink—whiskey on the rocks—in one long swig and pushes

himself to his feet.

I follow his lead and finish my cocktail. It's a good drink—clean, crisp vodka and

enough of it my head is swimming.

Ethan takes my glass and places it on the table. Then his hands are on my hips

and he's pulling my body against his.

He's such a good dancer.

I look up at him. His bright blue eyes are filled with this mix of affection and

desire.

It's intoxicating.

I slip my hands under his t-shirt and press my palms against his lower back.

"This the kind of place where you'd go to pick up women?"

"What's that matter?"

"It doesn't." I shift my weight between my legs. "Are you going to go back to

sleeping around after I leave?"

"Not thinking about what happens after you leave." He drags his fingers

through my hair. His palm cups the back of my neck. "Don't want to think about

you leaving." He brings his other hand to my hip and pulls me closer. "Let's think

about right now."

I want that. I want to be good at it. I hold Ethan close and I match his

movements. Kit is dead wrong— guitarists have masterful rhythm. Ethan doesn't

miss a beat.

My body against his…

Fuck, I'm on fire. I can't remember the last time I wanted anything this much. I

don't think I've ever wanted anything this much.

I reach up to my tiptoes. My lips hover over his ear. "I've been lonely without

you."

He presses his cheek against mine as he moves in to whisper. "You could find

another guy in a hot second."

"I know. I started dating that guy, Denny, a few months after school started. He

was all right on paper— smart, professional, serious, the kind of guy my mom

would like. He loved me. He wanted to marry me, but I turned him down." My

cheeks flush. I guess I'm tipsy already, because my inhibitions aren't slowing this

down. "He never made my heart flutter the way you did."

He drags his fingers down my chest until they're over my heart. "Is it fluttering

now?"

"You can't tell?"

He shakes his head.

"It is." I look into his eyes. I'm not sure what I want to say. I'm not sure I want

to say anything. Mostly, I want to get lost in all the affection in his blue eyes.

"Even though I'm a shallow celebrity asshole now?"

"You're not."

"Yeah. I am. I live for the attention."

"On stage." I press my lips together. "You're good on stage. You belong there."

He nods. "But that's not all it is. I screw fans. I talk shit in the tabloids. I pose

for Instagram pics with lingerie models. Partly, it's the image. I have to play the

bad boy rock star. I know the attention and the adoration is fake, but there's always

a split second where it feels real."

"Yeah?"

"Then it's gone and I feel like a shallow asshole. But sometimes I can ride that

second into an hour, a day, a week. I get to feel as important as I do when you give

me that look."

"What look?"

"Like I'm the only person who understands you." He presses his forehead to

mine. "I miss that so bad."

"You're a millionaire." I dig my fingers into his back. I soak in all the heat of his

breath on my skin.

"Two-point one million dollars, yeah. You saw the numbers."

"You're famous."

"I know."

"You're a fucking rock star, Ethan. I'm a math grad student. You're the one

who's important."

"No. You're important." He drags his lips over my cheek. "You're the only

person who makes me feel important."

"I…"

"This." He drags his lips over my neck until I'm groaning. "Is important."

"What is this?"

"Filling you with pleasure."

"You say that to all the girls you get off in crowded clubs?"

"No, I don't. I say it to you." He slides his hand between my legs. "Not gonna lie

to you, Vi. Even after everything, I'd never lie to you."

I nod.

"I've fucked a lot of women. I'm always generous. Always make sure a woman

comes. But it's not like with you. It doesn't mean anything. It's routine. A way to

get out of my head. A way to forget about you."

"Ethan…"

"I need to feel you come on my hand now." He presses his lips to mine. "Tell me

you want that too."

"Someone will see."

"Do you care?"

"No."

"You still like feeling dirty, Vi?"

"Yes," I breathe.

From the hungry look in his eyes, it's clear we're done talking. That should

bother me—the stuff we're saying does not in any way imply this is casual—but it

doesn't.

Right now, nothing bothers me. I'm light. I'm free. I'm a fucking cloud.

And I want to feel dirty. I want to feel all the pleasure Ethan can give me.

He strokes me over my panties. I look up at him, watching the wonder spread

over his face as he watches me back.

Goddammit, he looks so sexy in control.

He strokes me harder. He pulls me closer. He brings his lips to my neck. Then

his teeth are sinking into my skin.

I gasp much louder than I should. But I don't care about that either. Knowing we

have an audience makes me hotter. Knowing we can get in trouble makes me

hotter. The truth is, I trust Ethan to wipe away any complications.

I trust him to erase everything that hurts, to turn all the pain in my life into

pleasure.

This—us bringing each other pleasure—is the only thing, besides math, that has

ever made sense to me.

I let my eyes flutter closed as his teeth sink into my neck. The hint of pain calls

all my attention. It wakes up all my nerves so that the next time he strokes me, I

feel more pleasure.

I feel more, period.

"Harder," I groan into his ear.

I need more of him.

I need all of him.

He pushes my panties aside. I suck in a shallow breath and look into his eyes.

I'm buzzing with anticipation. I need him more than I've ever needed anything.

"Please." I dig my fingers into his skin.

He nods, his eyes glued to mine, and he stokes me with his thumb. He teases me

with one finger. Two.

He slides his fingers inside me.

Pleasure pools in my pelvis.

With the next motion of his fingers, I forget about everything but how badly I

want to come.

Tension in my core knots. Those strong, calloused fingers are magic. The friction

is driving me out of my mind.

I suck on his neck as he fucks me with his fingers. There. I'm at the edge.

Everything that isn't pleasure fades away. The music blurs together. The lights of

the club blur together. I feel only the pressure of his fingers.

I taste only his skin.

There. With the next thrust of his fingers, I come. I groan into his mouth. That's

not enough. I have to break free of it. I have to bring my lips to his ear so I can

groan his name.

The orgasm is heavy and intense. I shake as my sex pulses. Pleasure spreads

through my torso.

Every part of me is awake and alive and every part of me feels good.

But that isn't enough.

He needs to feel good too.

I guide Ethan's hand to my chest and I press my hips against his.

He's hard.

I cup him over his jeans. "I want you too."

"Later."

I shake my head. My eyes find his. "I want you in my mouth."

Hunger fills his eyes.

Damn, the way he's looking at me with this mix of need and adoration makes

me want to go again.

"Saw an empty room." He slides his hand around my waist and guides me

through the dance floor.

There's a private room in the corner. At least, the small window in the door

makes it look private. The window offers a pretty nice view. We'll be on display if

anyone wants to look.

This is dangerous. Not as dangerous as the feelings stirring in my stomach but

dangerous none the less.

His eyes find mine as his fingers curl around the door handle. There's an offer in

his eyes. He's checking to make sure I'm still game.

God damn, the affection in his eyes makes me warm all over. It's not the same

heat as the sex, but it feels just as good.

I nod.

He pulls the door open.

I step inside. Then he's inside and the door is shut. This room is big, for private

parties, or maybe just for busy nights. It's the middle of the week. The main room

is plenty packed, but there's nowhere near enough people to spill into here.

I muster up all the confidence I can manage, look him dead in the eyes, place my

hands against his shoulders, and pin him to the wall.

His eyes fix on mine. They're equal parts hungry and needy.

I rub him over his jeans as I drag my lips over his neck.

He groans, his hips bucking. Right now, he's at my mercy.

I'm drunk on the power of it.

I drag my lips over his collarbone. I tug his t-shirt out of the way enough to plant

kisses on his chest. My hands go to his belt— it's the same one he always wore, my

hands remember it well—and unbuckle it. I slide my hand into his jeans so I can

cup him over his boxers. There's barely any fabric between my hand and his cock. I

can feel how hard he is, how warm he is, how big he is.

His hand goes to the back of my head. Gently, he pushes me onto my knees.

I tug his jeans off his hips. Then the boxers. Then I'm face to face with Ethan's

cock.

Damn, I missed this.

I brush my lips against his tip. He shudders and tugs at my hair.

Goddammit, I really, really missed this.

I tease him with my lips again and again. Then I tease him with my tongue. He

shudders and groans, but he does nothing to spur me on.

I flick my tongue against him until his palm presses into the back of my head.

He looks down at me and pushes my blouse off my shoulders. He tugs at my bra

until my breasts spill out.

His fingers go to my nipple, teasing me the way I'm teasing him.

Dammit, that feels good.

Slowly, I take him into my mouth.

His lips part with a needy sigh. He keeps one hand on the back of my head,

guiding me gently. The other stays on my breast. His fingers take their turns

teasing me.

It feels dirty kneeling in front of him in some empty private room at some

anonymous club.

Dirty, I like, but I don't want to feel like a throwaway groupie.

I look up at Ethan as I take him deeper.

He tugs at my hair, his eyes filling with pleasure. "Fuck, Violet."

My name rolls off his tongue like poetry. It wipes away all the doubts lingering in

my mind. I'm not cheap or anonymous.

I'm important to him.

I run my tongue over him as I suck him from base to tip.

His hands go to the back of my head. He guides my movements, so they're

faster, deeper. Then he's groaning as he's thrusting into my mouth.

I relax my throat to take him deeper. My eyes find his. I watch the pleasure

spreading over his face. His teeth sink into his lips. His lips part with a groan.

Another. Another.

His eyes close. His brows knit then soften.

"Fuck, Violet. I'm gonna come."

He moves harder and faster. I do the same. I suck hard as he thrusts into my

mouth.

He tugs at my hair as he fills my mouth. He tastes good. Sweet, salty, and so

fucking familiar. I wait until I have every drop of him then I swallow hard.

He pulls me to my feet and presses his lips to mine. "Fuck, you're amazing."

"You say that to all the girls who go down on you in clubs?"

"No. Only you." He tucks his cock back into his boxers and zips his jeans. His

touch is soft and gentle as he puts my bra and blouse back into their proper place.

"Only you, Vi."

He kisses me like my lips are oxygen.

C H A P T E R 1 9

THAN

he cell phone alarm is a rude awakening. I swear Mal arranges the tour

schedule just to fuck with us. Who plans on leaving at eight A.M. after playing until

eleven the night before?

My head is heavy from the lack of sleep. I need coffee, a lot of coffee.

Then my eyes pass over Violet and I don't need shit. Violet naked in my bed is a

better wake-up call than all the coffee in the world.

I drag my fingertips over her hips, side, chest, shoulders. She stirs as my fingers

find her neck.

Her green eyes blink open. "Don't tell me I'm supposed to wake up right now."

"You don't. You can stick around here all day and take the train to Seattle

tonight."

"Tempting."

"Then you'll miss exploring Seattle with me."

"What's there to see in Seattle?" She lifts her arms over her head as she yawns.

"The original Starbucks?"

"I don't like chains."

"You go to Peet's Coffee all the time."

"Because it's not in New York City."

"The Space Needle."

"I don't like needles."

I laugh. "It's not that kind of needle."

"I've seen pictures. It's long and pointy at the top." She pushes herself up. Her

hands go to my bare chest. "How did you get so many tattoos?"

"Don't mind needles."

"Still. They must hurt." She traces the lines of my chest-piece—a winged heart

with an ornate lock. "This one is new." There's a clear implication in her voice. Did

you get it because of me?

Can't answer with a clear no. None of my tattoos were analytical decisions. I'm

not the analytical type. With all of them, I felt the need to mark my body with an

image. So I did.

This one too.

She looks up at me. "When did you get it?"

"The summer after you left." The day she started school in New York. Yeah, I'm

a creepy stalker for knowing that, but it's not like I had to go out of my way. She

posted it all over her social media.

It doesn't take a detective to put the pieces together. I didn't think now that I've

lost Violet forever, I better get a tattoo proclaiming that my heart is locked forever.

But, deep down, I knew it was for her.

She presses her lips to my chest. "I like it. It's sexy. But I'm sure you get that a

lot."

"Mostly I get oh, baby, do you think I have the key to your heart?"

"And that makes you rock hard?" she teases.

"Exactly." I run my fingers through her hair. This—Violet in my arms—this

feels right. Need to keep her here.

She rests her head on my chest. Her fingers go to my right arm. She traces the

lines of my ink—an ocean-themed sleeve. "When did you get this?"

"When I got my first five-figure royalty check."

She laughs. "Sounds like you. At this point, you probably laugh at five-figure

checks."

"Barely worth the pain in my hand from endorsing them."

"Well, when you get that many of them." She smiles as her eyes find mine. "Do

we have time for breakfast?"

"Not if you want to grab a matcha latte."

She blushes. "That's not even a decision."

"I'll make you eggs on the bus."

"You cook now?"

"I can make eggs, pasta, and grilled cheese."

She smiles. "Learn to make guacamole and you can feed me forever."

Fuck, I'd like to. I smile back. "Teach me."

"We're on the bus all day tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then tomorrow." She drags herself out of bed. Her eyes rake over me. She

takes me in slowly, like she's savoring every second of it. Her tongue slides over her

lips. "How much time do we have?"

"Half hour."

"Oh." She finds her underwear and bra on the ground. "I guess I better change."

"We can fuck on the bus if you want."

Her cheeks flush. "That's not going to endear me to Mal or Kit."

"They fuck on the bus all the time."

"Still." She changes into her clothes and zips her boots. "I'll grab you a coffee.

Still dark roast, splash of milk?"

I fight my urge to smile. She remembers. "Almond milk so you can drink half."

Her cheeks flush, but she admits nothing about her coffee-stealing tendencies.

"Iced or hot?"

"Hot."

She leans down to press her lips to my forehead. "Morning breath. Meet you in

front of the hotel?"

"I'll be there." I stare at her ass as she leaves.

IOLET

ARRIVES

JUST

in time to step onto the bus. As promised, she has a coffee for me.

There's enough almond milk and sugar it's clear the drink is half for her, but I need

the caffeine too much to mind.

Most of the time, I drink my coffee black, but not because I prefer the flavor. It's

because drinking it like this—sweet and creamy—makes me think of her.

She steals half the coffee as we hang out in the small kitchenette.

Mal and Kit hang out on the couch, speaking in hushed voices. Joel hides behind

his sunglasses, occasionally groaning about how loud or bright it is in here.

Mal and Kit take turns laughing at his hangover.

For me, this is normal. It's normal enough it feels like home. But Violet looks

nervous. She alternates between shooting Mal frustrated glances and watching me

make breakfast.

I wait until I'm done constructing our scrambled eggs, with vegetables and one

avocado for each of us, to ask about it. "You want me to tell Mal to go fuck

himself?"

"No. He's just…" She scoops eggs with her fork and takes a long, slow bite.

"These are really good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She takes another bite, chewing and swallowing for longer than should

be humanly possible. "It's not important." She looks up at me with a smile. "Try

these. They're amazing."

Maybe it's not important. I squeeze into the seat across from her and try the

eggs. They're as good as any eggs I've ever had.

"See." She plays with her fork. "You're good at lots of things."

No. I'm good at a few things. Not at the one thing that matters to me at the

moment—getting Violet to open up to me.

I steer the conversation to her favorite topic—sci-fi TV shows—and get lost in

the way her green eyes light up with enthusiasm. Violet spends most of her time

trying to convince people she's tough. She is tough, but she's soft too. She's full of

passion, enthusiasm, and understanding.

We hit enough traffic that the drive to Seattle takes four and a half hours. Sitting

across from Violet makes the time fly by.

After we check in to our separate hotel rooms, I lead her to the first stop on our

afternoon of sightseeing.

The Sky View Observatory is at the top of a downtown skyscraper. At lunchtime

on a weekday, the building is packed. Violet sticks by my side in the crowded

elevator. She slides her arms around my waist and rests her head against my chest.

Holding her body against mine makes me warm all over.

The elevator arrives at the forty-somethingth floor. We walk around the corner

to the second elevator, the one that goes all the way to the top.

This time, we're alone. Violet sighs with relief.

Her lips curl into a smile as she looks up at me. "Think we have time for

anything fun?" She hooks her leg around my hip, grinding her pelvis against mine.

"I'm game to find out."

She shakes her head and unlocks our bodies. Her eyes go to the elevator's

control panel. "We only have ten floors to go."

It's a shame. She looks hot as fuck in her tight black and red dress. I want to tug

at the corset lacing until her breasts spill out. I want to push that short skirt to her

waist and dive between her legs. I want to pin her to the elevator wall and drive my

cock deep inside her.

The elevator ding pulls me out of my thoughts.

She claps her hands together. "Let's go."

I take her hand and lead her through the admissions counter—she doesn't fight

me about paying. She walks straight to the window looking out on the bay. She gets

close enough to press her nose to the glass.

Her eyes go wide. Her smile spreads to her cheeks. I get why Violet tries to

convince everyone she's a stone cold bitch, but I'm surprised she's as good at it as

she is.

This—the girl squealing with joy over the fantastic view—is the Violet only I

know. But this is Violet. Her guard is down. She's utterly without pretenses.

She's mine now as much as she was mine when she was coming on my hand last

night.

My hands are itching to be between her legs again. I shove them in my pockets

to keep them in line. This isn't the time or the place.

She locks arms with me and guides me through the exhibit. Every angle of the

view fascinates her. It's a hell of a view. Seattle has everything— miles and miles of

suburbs, a smattering of skyscrapers, puffy white clouds and a gloomy grey sky,

deep blue water in every direction.

Hell, we can even see the Space Needle from here.

Once we've seen every angle the observatory has to offer, we start at the

beginning and do it all over again.

Violet takes in the view of the pristine suburbs. "You think I'd like it in Seattle?"

"Cali girls need the sunshine."

She laughs. "You have got to stop with the Cali girl thing. It's ridiculous."

"Worried about your reputation?"

She shoots me a please look. "My reputation is doing just fine." She tugs at the

flared skirt of her corset-top dress. Her eyes go to the grey sky. "It is gloomy here."

Her voice drops. "I miss the sun when I'm in New York."

"You know where you want to go after school?"

"No." She turns to look at me. "I like New York. And Los Angeles. But I'm not

sure what I want to do yet. I thought about staying in school to get a PhD, but I'm

sick of academia. I want to be in the real world."

"You could stay our tour accountant."

"You don't need someone full time."

I stare into her green eyes. "What if I want you full time?"

Her brow furrows the way it always does when she's working something out. Her

voice gets soft. "That wouldn't work out. I'm not studying anything like

accounting. You're better off with someone who knows the ropes."

"What if I don't care? What if I want you?"

She stammers. "Well, I… um… the field that interests me the most is genetics.

It has a lot of different real world math applications. A lot of models of probability.

And it's becoming a bigger industry. I did an internship at a genetics lab last

summer and I liked it a lot. But that could really put me in any major city."

"Orange County?"

She sticks her tongue out. "Hopefully not."

"Nothing you like about home?"

"There were some things. It's clean."

"Safe."

She nods. "We have great beaches."

"Important to a Cali girl who loves to surf."

Her laugh shakes off all the tension in her expression. "You're ridiculous."

"Orange County has a lot going for it," I say. "They keep adding to the

Spectrum."

"Ah yes, the ever-expanding strip mall mecca. How could I forget?"

"They have a Nordstrom now."

"Don't tell me I look like I shop at Nordstrom!" Her cheeks flush.

"Just remember you gushing about it." I lean in to whisper. "We both know you

do most of your shopping at Hot Topic."

"Ethan!" She squeals. "I do not."

"Yeah? Let me see the tag of that dress."

She jumps backwards. "That doesn't prove anything."

"Doesn't prove that you love Hot Topic?"

"Oh my God! Someone will hear you." Her blush spreads to her chest but she's

laughing too. "I have a reputation to maintain."

I let my voice get loud enough that anyone can hear. "There's nothing wrong

with buying half your wardrobe at Hot Topic. It has a lot of great stuff."

"Shut up!"

"Why? What's wrong with-"

She jumps into my arms and presses her lips to mine. It starts as a shut the hell

up kiss. Then her lips are parting to make way for my tongue. Her hands go to my

hair. She arches her back to grind her crotch against mine.

She moans into my mouth.

Fuck, that sound is music.

When she breaks the kiss, she stares into my eyes. Her expression is light,

happy. "How long until the sound check?"

"Three hours."

"How far to our hotel?"

"Ten minutes."

"I like that math."

"Me too." I take her hand and lead her to the elevator.

GUESS

there are perks to being a rock star." Violet throws herself onto the bed on

her back and rolls to her side. Her eyes find mine. "This is huge."

I shrug, playing cool.

"What a load!" She pats the spot on the bed in front of her. "You look like a kid

at Disneyland."

"I hate Disneyland."

"Because your parents always took you then went off on their own, leaving Mal

in charge. And he liked to go to the island in the middle instead of on the rides."

She pats the spot again. "I remember."

Violet spread out over the bed is inviting as hell, but I have other ideas. I lean

down to scoop her into my arms.

She squeals, her grip around my shoulders tightening. "Ethan!"

I slide one hand under her ass and hold her body against mine as I carry her into

the bathroom.

"Damn, this is just ridiculous." She drags her fingers over the ornate marble

counter.

"Yeah. Let's be ridiculous." I sit on the edge of the big-enough-for-two bathtub

and run the water.

She shifts her weight between her heels. "You want to take a bath together?"

I nod.

"Oh." She chews on her bottom lip. "Yeah, a bath. Oh and there are bubbles

over there. It's all very romantic. Very sexy."

She's doing a terrible job convincing me she's excited. Her smile is even less

convincing than her voice.

I stare into her green eyes, trying to figure her out. Something is wrong. But

what?

"Really, it looks great." She smiles. "Here." She sits next to me, grabs the

bubble bath, and squeezes half the bottle into the running water.

"Vi, you're—"

"Just surprised. It's very romantic. And we're not… you know, this is casual and

I mean, you're important to me, and I do care about you, but we're both on the

same page about this being no strings attached, so a bubble bath catches me a little

off guard. You know, it's just romantic and I was more expecting you to peel off my

panties and pin me to the wall."

That's tempting as fuck. I cock a brow. "More than happy to."

She smiles. "After. This… this is nice. Any normal person would think it's nice."

Her voice is dripping with apprehension. She smiles again. It's more convincing,

this time.

Okay, I guess I'll take her at her word here.

I pull my t-shirt over my head. She traces the lines of my chest-pieces then

drags her hands down my torso. She undoes my belt and unbuttons my jeans.

I take her hands as I stand. She pushes my jeans off my hips. I find the zipper on

the side of her dress and pull it down. She looks up at me with a mix of trust and

trepidation.

What is it she's afraid of and why is she trying to pretend like it's nothing?

Dammit, I know Violet pulls this shit with everyone else. I keep forgetting she

pulls it with me too.

We're not together. She's not mine. She doesn't trust me.

But she will. I'm making sure of that.

I push the straps of her dress off her shoulders. She reaches behind her back to

unhook her bra. Slowly, she peels it off her shoulders. Her eyes stay glued to mine

as she drops the bra on the floor in front of me.

She pushes her dress and underwear off her hips and steps out of it. Her hands

go to my hips. She shoves my jeans to my knees. I know she's trying to distract me

from whatever it is she's hiding, but I can't exactly complain about her tactics.

Violet is the first to step into the water. She bites her lip. Her eyes find mine.

"It's hot." She kneels down to turn the faucet off.

I kick off my jeans and boxers and step into the bathtub. We lower ourselves into

the water together. It is hot. But good hot.

She presses her back into my chest and stretches her legs out in front of her.

"This is a ridiculously large bathtub."

"Enough room for four."

"Have you tried that?"

"No."

"Never done three girls at once?"

"No." I turn so I can look into her eyes. "What are you getting at?"

"Nothing. Thinking. Or trying not to think."

"I don't do stuff like this with other women."

"All wham, bam, thank you ma'am?"

It's not the most flattering description, but I'm not shy about the truth. I nod.

"If there's anything you want to get out, let's do it now. I've been a slut. Most of

the time, I don't remember women's names. I don't kiss them. I don't think about

them after. Any other questions?"

Her voice wavers. "You don't kiss other women?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't want to." I pull her closer. "That's not what's bothering you."

"What's bothering me?"

"Why don't you tell me."

Her shoulders and back tense. "It's nothing… It shouldn't… I shouldn't…" She

takes a deep breath. She runs her hands over the edges of the bathtub.

"Talk to me, honey."

"I'm not your honey anymore." A sob breaks up her words. She pushes her body

away from mine and pulls her arms over her chest. "It's not about you being a slut.

Or about anything to do with us. It's nothing."

"It's something."

She turns to me. There are tears rolling down her cheeks. Still, she shakes her

head.

Tears catch on her lashes as she blinks. She splashes her face with water. That

does nothing to hide the redness forming in her eyes.

Something is hurting her.

I take her hand. "Talk to me, Violet."

She shakes her head.

"What is it?"

She pulls her hand into her chest. Her eyes go to her hand, then to me. There are

six inches of bubbles on the surface of the water. She scoops a handful and blows

them over the room.

Her lips press together. Her eyes close. She's trying to fight the tears, but it's

not happening.

"I should go," she whispers.

I grab her harder than I should. "No."

"What do you mean no?"

"You're not leaving naked and crying."

"I'm putting on clothes first." She shakes me off and pushes herself out of the

bathtub. She pulls her dress over her head and marches out of the bathroom.

What the hell?

There are footsteps as she grabs her purse in the bedroom.

"I'll see you later. After the show." Her voice breaks. "On the bus. I don't know.

Just later."

The door slams shut behind her.

It's just like before.

She's locking me out.

She's walking away from me.

Not this time.

This time, I'm going after her.

C H A P T E R 2 0

IOLET

od dammit, I'm covered in soapy bubbles. My dress is sticking to my skin. My

bra and underwear are lost somewhere in Ethan's room.

I dig through my purse for my room key. My fingers are too slick. I can barely get

a grip. There. I've got it.

Beep, beep. The door unlocks. I shove it open and let it swing shut on its own.

I need out of this dress. I need out of my entire fucking body. Everything hurts

again. This isn't what baths with my… whatever I should call Ethan, whatever I call

our relationship, this isn't how it's supposed to go.

My eyes sting. Tears or soap, I'm not sure. I can do something about the latter.

The former is a lost cause.

I step into the bathroom, throw my dress over my head, and turn on the shower.

No waiting for the water to heat up. I need every bit of that bath washed off my

skin.

Fuck, it's cold. But that's how it should feel. The water pounds into my chest

and face. It hurts but that's nothing compared to how much my heart aches.

Memories flood my mind.

That's how I found him, in that bathtub. His eyes were closed. The expression on

his face was serene, like he was finally at peace. But the rest of it… the gashes on

his wrists… the blood.

There was so much blood.

He was already cold.

He was already gone.

I sink to my heels and let the water pound my back. Asher was my twin brother.

I should have known he needed help. I should have listened. I should have seen the

signs.

How could I fail him like that?

How could he do that to me? He knew our parents were away that weekend. He

knew I'd be the one to find him.

A sob rises up in my throat. But it's okay. There's no one here. I can cry until my

tear ducts are empty.

I pull my legs into my chest and bury my head between my knees.

There's a voice in my room. The water is muffling it but there's no doubt that's a

voice.

Shit.

"Violet."

That's Ethan.

I pull my knees closer. He shouldn't see me like this. No one should see me like

this. I should tell him to go away. I should throw the nearest object at the door to

scare him off.

But I don't want to.

I don't want him to go.

I want him here. I want the comfort of his arms around me. I want to spill all the

messy details until someone understands.

No, until Ethan understands.

He pushes the bathroom door open. His eye corners turn down. His expression

fills with concern.

"Vi." He pulls the shower door open and steps inside. Water pounds his head

and chest, soaking his t-shirt. He kneels next to me.

"You should go," I whisper.

He pulls me into his arms.

"You're getting wet."

"I like getting wet with you." He cups the back of my head with his hand.

I rest my head on his chest. "I don't want you to go."

"I know." He runs his fingers through my wet hair and pulls me closer. "Asher?"

I nod. "I… I found him in the bathtub. He'd slit his wrists. There was all this

blood. I didn't know the human body had that much blood." Tears roll down my

cheeks. "I should have known he was hurting like that… I was supposed to protect

him."

"It's okay, Vi." He wipes the tears from my cheeks. "You couldn't have stopped

him."

I shake my head. "I should have known he was hurting. He was always so

exhausted. He was always talking about how he didn't know how he'd keep up his

practice schedule. I should have done something."

He pulls me closer.

"I was supposed to protect him."

"I know it hurts, honey. I know it feels like it was your fault, but it wasn't. He

was an adult. He knew he could give up piano. He was a smart guy. He had options.

Your parents would have supported him. And I know you'd have helped him too.

You'd have done anything for Asher." His blue eyes fill with understanding. "I

know it doesn't help, me telling you it wasn't your fault. But it wasn't, Vi. You were

a good sister."

I shake my head. "I got so jealous of him. He had all of Mom and Dad's

attention. Since I was fourteen. They tried to keep things even, they tried to keep

up the family events, they tried to include me in all of Asher's piano stuff, but he

always ended up with more attention. He always needed something— a ride to his

piano lessons, time for his recitals, someone to calm him down when he worked

himself into a tizzy. I knew he was troubled and that I shouldn't have been jealous,

but I was. I was jealous of his abilities too. I never could get the hang of piano. I was

never as good at anything as he was at playing the piano."

He runs his fingers through my hair.

"I hated him as much as I loved him. He must have known. He didn't trust me…

that's why he didn't tell me."

"Everybody hates their siblings sometimes. Fuck, I hate Mal all the time." Ethan

intertwines his fingers with mine. "I know it hurts. I know there's nothing I can say

to make it hurt less. But it wasn't your fault that Asher killed himself. You don't

have to throw yourself on his funeral pyre. You deserve to be happy again. You

deserve to have fun."

The words are convincing on his lips. I want to believe it. God how I want to

believe it.

"It's gonna be okay, honey. I know it doesn't feel like that now, but one day it's

gonna hurt less."

"How do you know?"

"I know every inch of you. You're strong enough to survive anything." He

presses his lips to my forehead and he wraps his arms around me.

We sit there in that shower, water pounding against our heads and shoulders. He

holds me until I haven't got a single tear left.

With Ethan's arms around me, I really do feel like I'm strong enough.

I really do believe it will hurt less tomorrow.

C H A P T E R 2 1

IOLET

barely have the energy to stand, much less finish washing up. Ethan keeps his

arms around my waist. His touch is sweet and affectionate as he shampoos and

conditions my hair, runs soap over every inch of my body, and rinses me off.

This, Ethan holding me with all the affection in the world, is everything I

wanted.

No, it's still everything I want.

I try to push my thoughts out of my mind. I'm too tired to think. I want to feel.

Ethan wraps a towel around my chest, finishes stripping to nothing, and leads

me to the bed. He nestles into the spot behind me, his hard body warm against

mine.

His arm goes to my waist. He pulls me closer. My towel is in the way of our

torsos connecting, but I can feel his hands, his chest, his legs, his breath on my

neck, his lips brushing my ears.

I can feel his heartbeat.

It's steady.

His breath too.

My heart is in overdrive. I take a long, slow breath, hold it for as long as I can,

exhale as slowly as I can. He's calm, at peace, like he's exactly where he belongs.

Something stirs in my chest. It's not lust. It's not fun. It's not even close to

platonic.

I remind myself about our arrangement—one week of fun, then we both walk. I

can't get mixed up. I can't fall for Ethan. He's here with me now, yeah, but he's not

going to stick around when I'm back in school. He's not going to rearrange his life

for me.

He's going to do what he did last time. He's going to throw me away as soon as

I'm inconvenient.

Damn, I can't do this. I can't fall in love with Ethan. I can't hand him my heart.

This needs to stay fun.

I take another deep breath, but that does nothing to soothe me. It feels good

being in his arms. It's everything I ever wanted. Everything I still want.

My eyes go to the clock. We're into evening now. That buys me something. I try

to keep my voice steady, so I won't give away how terrified I am of my feelings for

him. "Don't you have to go to the sound check?"

"Mal's going to fill in for me."

"At the show?"

"No." He runs his fingers through my hair. "He would, but he can't play rhythm

and lead at the same time."

"Oh." My attempts to breathe steadily aren't working. Ethan is staying with me

instead of going to the sound check. That's not like him.

No, it's only a sound check. It's not like he's skipping the show or even practice.

There's no reason why he has to be at the sound check.

It doesn't mean anything.

He presses his palm against my shoulder. "I have another few hours." His lips

hover over my ear. "I can go if you want to be alone."

I play with the threads of the towel. I don't want to be alone. Not now, not later,

not when I get back to New York.

But I only get Ethan now. I can't get ideas about later.

Later isn't happening.

I need to move this back to sex and fun or my ideas about later are going to build

to engagement rings, ivory dresses, and frolicking on the beach in Hawaii.

"No, stay." I peel my towel off and toss it aside. "I want you here." I take his

hand and place it on my stomach.

A soft groan escapes his lips. He pulls me closer. He shifts his hips to press his

crotch against my ass.

I grind against him until I feel him hardening.

He's hesitant. Hard to blame him. This really isn't the time. He should be

holding me, stroking my hair, and whispering that it's going to be okay.

My eyelids press together. I want Ethan holding me, stroking my hair, and

whispering that it's going to be okay. I want him whispering I love you, Violet. I

want him making plans with me. I want us making plans together. I want us to be a

team again.

I can't have that.

But I can have this.

He slides his arms around my shoulders to turn me around. He stares into my

eyes, picking apart my intentions. Is it obvious that I'm running from my feelings

again?

It must be.

He runs his fingers over my cheek and jaw. "Vi…" He presses his forehead

against mine.

"Please." I run my fingers through his hair. "I need you."

His stare is a challenge. Do you need me or do you need me to fuck you?

I wish I only needed sex. I wish I only wanted his body.

I'd never lie to Ethan. Never. Every word of this is the truth. "I need you, Ethan.

I need you like I need oxygen."

"Vi…" He plants a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

Damn, he tastes good. He's mercilessly slow about sliding his tongue into my

mouth. He's still hesitant.

I do need him like I need oxygen.

All of him.

Dammit, this whole have sex with Ethan in the hopes of forgetting I'm falling in

love with Ethan thing isn't working. It's a stupid plan, now that I think about it. It

sounded better in my head.

It's still sounding really fucking appealing.

His hand goes to my leg and hooks it around his. Thoughts of a plan slip away.

All my intentions of pulling back to protect my heart fall away.

When our kiss breaks, I press my forehead to his. I mean to say something dirty

and demanding. Make me come on your face, baby. But those words won't get

anywhere near my lips.

My gaze meets Ethan's. "You make me feel alive. Not just my body. Every part of

me feels alive around you. Like it's okay to feel good." So I'm terrible at dirty talk.

I'll work on it. From the softness in his eyes and the hardness between his legs, I

think it's working. "Make me feel good."

"Vi…"

"Don't make me beg."

The look in his eyes screams I want you to beg.

God, when he looks at me like that, I want to beg.

We're both naked. There isn't much I can do in terms of stripping seductively.

I hold Ethan's gaze as I slide my hand down his torso. My fingers brush that soft

tuft of pubic hair. Then they're on his cock.

His eyelids press together as he groans.

"Fuck me, Ethan. Please. I want you inside me." I stroke him. "I want to come

on your cock."

He groans. When his eyes open, they connect with mine. Something in his

expression shifts. He's still concerned about me, but he's also ravenous with

desire.

He needs this too.

I press my lips to his. He kisses back hard and deep. His hands go to my hips and

hold my body in place against his.

His cock strains against me. I pull back as I wince. Ethan is huge and I'm not

warmed up yet.

He pushes himself to his forearms. His eyes lock with mine. "Look me in the

eyes, Vi."

I do.

"Tell me you want to feel pleasure."

"I do."

"That you deserve every fucking ounce of pleasure in the world."

That's harder. I take a deep breath to fight the anxiety spreading to my limbs.

"I… I don't know."

"You do." He drags his lips over my neck. "You don't believe it yet. But you

will." His tongue flicks against my nipple. "This is for me." He teases me again and

again. "Because I want to watch you writhe under me. Because I want to hear you

scream my name. Because I want you more than I've ever wanted anything."

"Ethan, please."

"Beg me."

"Please fuck me. Please make me feel good."

His voice is heavy, breathy. "Fuck, Vi." He looks up at me, his eyes filled with all

the desire in the world, then his lips are on my chest. He plays with one nipple.

Then the other.

His tongue is hot and wet and it feels so fucking good. Every flick of his tongue

sends pleasure racing to my core. I do need him. All of him.

I only get his body, but right now that doesn't matter. Right now, I want to give

all of myself to him. Right now, I really do believe I deserve all the pleasure he

wants to give me.

His hands go to my hips and pin me to the bed. He takes his time dragging his

lips down my torso. He plants a kiss just below my belly button. Then lower. Lower.

His tongue slides over my clit. My body screams with pleasure. That voice in my

head, the one that believes I deserve only pain after the way I failed Asher, nags at

me.

I try to shake it off, but that doesn't work. My hands go to Ethan's hair. "Bite

me, Ethan." I press my thigh against his cheek.

He drags his mouth to my thigh. His teeth scrape against my skin. It's light.

Barely hurts. He bites harder. Harder. Hard enough it stings.

"Fuck." I tug at his hair. "Don't stop."

He bites me again. Again. It hurts but in a way that feels fucking good. There's

something soothing about the pain. It opens me up. It makes me believe I've

earned the pleasure he's going to give me.

He drags his lips back to me. His mouth consumes me.

My eyelids flutter closed. I cup the back of his head, arching my hips to match

his movements. He's fucking good at this.

Pleasure spreads through my pelvis. It pools between my legs. He licks me

everywhere then he focuses right where I need him the most.

My sex clenches with tension. Almost.

Almost.

With the next flick of his tongue, I go over the edge. Pleasure spreads through

my torso as my sex pulses with an orgasm.

I scream his name. It encourages him. It keeps his mouth on me.

He licks me again, again, again. Within moments, that tension is building again.

It's intense and hard. It aches in the best possible way.

His grip tightens against my hips. His movements get harder, faster.

"Fuck, Ethan." I dig into his hair. I shift my hips against him.

Pleasure overtakes me. I lose my ability to form a conscious thought. My orgasm

is heavy, intense, amazing. I scream his name again and again.

He moves faster. His body plants on top of mine. His lips find mine. He kisses

hard and deep. Then he's straining against me.

Ethan's eyes meet mine.

It's there in his eyes— he needs my heart and my mind as much as he needs my

body.

I spread my legs wider. I'm not sure what I'm offering him— my body, my heart,

my mind, all of the above.

At the moment, I don't care. I need him, whatever I can get.

He holds my gaze as he enters me. I'm wet enough to take every inch of him.

Damn, he feels good.

Not like this is a fling.

Like I'm finally whole.

I wrap my legs around his hips. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. And I kiss

him.

I kiss him like his lips are the only thing I've ever wanted.

He kisses back as he thrusts into me. My hips move with his. My lips move with

his. My tongue dances with his.

We stay locked together, hearts pounding together. I can feel the pleasure

building in his body in the way his fingers dig into my skin, in the way he kisses

harder and groans against my lips.

He's almost there.

He brings his hand to my clit and strokes me.

Fuck, that feels good. My entire body is humming with pleasure. It's almost too

much to take.

Ethan pulls away to bring his lips to my ear. "Come with me, Vi." His teeth

scrape against my neck.

"Please," I breathe.

He groans against my skin as he bites me. The hint of pain is what I need to push

me over the edge. My sex pulses as I come. It pulls him closer, deeper.

Then he's there too. He groans against my skin, rocking his hips harder and

faster. His cock pulses as he fills me.

Once he catches his breath, Ethan positions his body next to mine. He pulls me

into a tight embrace. I can hear his breath. I can feel his heartbeat.

God, the things I can feel.

He looks down at me with all the affection in the world.

I melt.

C H A P T E R 2 2

IOLET

ou'd think I'd be tired of watching Ethan perform by now, but I'm not. If

anything, I enjoy watching his performance more every time.

He really does command the stage. He really is in his element with his guitar

strap around his shoulders, his eyes on the crowd, his lips curled into a cocky smile.

This is where Ethan belongs.

He doesn't belong with me.

Don't get me wrong. I'm selfish enough I'd take him.

But we both know he would never choose me over music.

It doesn't have to be all or nothing. It only has to be a compromise. A little less

of music for a little more of me. That was all I wanted. I wanted him to care about

my dreams as much as I cared about his.

But he didn't.

He threw me away.

I can't take him throwing me away again.

I have to pull back.

Only my feet won't move. My gaze refuses to budge. I hang out backstage, lost in

the band's performance, until the lights go down.

In the blink of an eye, Ethan is here. He slides his arms around my waist and

pulls me closer. His lips brush against my neck as they make their way to my ear.

"We're leaving first thing tomorrow." He nips at my earlobe. "Means we have

the whole night to ourselves."

He pulls back enough to smile.

It's that megawatt Ethan Strong smile, the one that melts glaciers.

I should say no.

I really should.

But that damn smile is melting my reservations.

I nod yes and let him lead me back to the hotel.

I brush my teeth, change into a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts, and I

fall asleep in his bed, in his arms.

CHIRP

of the alarm is loud. The light of morning is streaming through the

curtains.

There's Ethan, lying next to me, his eyes still closed, his dark, wavy hair hanging

over his face.

I don't want to leave.

I don't want to pull back.

But I don't have a choice. If I stay, if I keep up this level of intimacy, I'm going to

fall hard and fast and I'm going to break when he doesn't catch me.

Ethan blinks his eyes open. His gaze goes to the alarm clock. He stares at it like

it did him wrong then sighs with pleasure as his slap silences the alarm.

He turns to me.

A smile spreads over his lips as his eyes meet mine. The way he looks at me is

the exact opposite of the way he looked at that alarm clock. It's like I've done him

right, like he wants more of me for every second of every day forever.

Damn, I'm already melting.

"Come back to bed. We have another hour." His fingers brush my thigh, my

arm, my hand. The touch is affectionate, like we're old lovers.

I guess in a way we are.

Sitting in his bed, watching the morning light illuminate his chiseled features, I

might as well be his wife. He might as well be my husband. We might as well have

promised each other happily ever after.

But we haven't.

We won't.

I need to go before I get lost in this fantasy.

I plant a kiss on his forehead. "I have to catch up on work. I'll meet you on the

bus."

He looks at me with all the affection in the world. He nods then his eyelids press

together and he falls back onto the bed.

It takes all the strength I have to leave.

FTER

LONG

RUN

, a few sets of bodyweight exercises, and a shower, I pack and head to

the tour bus.

I get set up in the kitchenette with my headphones, my textbook, and my

armada of gel roller pens. I should use pencils like most of my classmates. I should

at least buy cheaper pens if I'm going to chew the cap off them. But I can’t. I love

the smooth line these leave.

It makes math feel as grand and important as it is.

I'm so lost in work I barely notice Kit's arrival. He nods then plops on the couch

with a video game.

Two problems later, Mal steps onto the bus. He and Kit share a particularly

strained look. It's strange. I'm pretty sure Mal spent the night with yet another

fuck buddy. He should be rested and relaxed, but he looks frustrated and unhappy.

I'm sure the man is frustrated often—it is hard being in charge—but he usually

hides it well.

He stops by my alcove to say hello. "Hey, Vi. Where's Ethan?" His eyes bore into

mine. Abandoning him already? I thought we talked about this.

I chew the cap off my pen. "He's catching up on sleep."

"Hmmm."

Okay. I'll set the record straight for everyone involved. "Our relationship is

casual." Something I'm sure Mal understands. "I don't have him on a leash. As

long as he's not screwing other women, he's free to do anything he wants."

Mal opens his mouth to say something but he's interrupted by Joel stepping

onto the bus. Joel has two modes in the morning—bursting with caffeinated energy

and miserable with a hangover.

He's in the former mode today.

He takes a quick look around the bus. "Damn, Valentine, wasn't it bad enough

you needed Ethan's hands during the sound check? Did you have to fuck him so

hard he couldn't drag his ass to the bus?"

"Of course I had to. Have you ever looked at Ethan?" I tease back. Joel is a bit of a

handful, but he's fun.

"More than I wanted to, yes. Thank you for orchestrating that, by the way." Joel

shoots Kit an incredulous look, no doubt some reminder that Kit and Ethan had a

threesome.

Kit shrugs, unmoved.

Honestly, I don't care what Ethan did or with whom. I believe that he was

sleeping around to forget me. But that's confusing. If he wanted me he could have

apologized. He could have called. He could have had me again.

He could still have me.

All he has to do is promise he won't let me leave again.

Mal makes a pot of coffee and another of tea. Without a word, he places a cup of

green tea on the table.

I nod thank you.

He nods back don't mention it.

Joel and Kit take turns fixing coffee. Joel really doesn't need more caffeine, but I

have enough tact to keep that to myself.

I shift back into work mode. This time, I finish three problems before I’m

interrupted. Ethan steps onto the bus. He's in tight jeans and a snug v-neck. His

hoodie is hanging around his shoulders, unzipped.

He looks sleepy. Even so, he doesn't stop for coffee. He goes straight to me.

Ethan slides into the seat across from mine. "Hey."

"Hey." I'm already melting from his smile. I force my gaze back to my textbook.

Work will wash away all the confusing feelings stirring in my stomach. Somehow.

"I'll let you study." He leans in to kiss me.

I should pull back. I really should.

But I don't. I lean in to kiss him back. His lips are soft and he tastes good, like

mint toothpaste and like Ethan. His lips are expert.

He doesn't kiss other women.

Only me.

That must mean something, but I don't know what it is.

I sigh as he releases the kiss.

I don't know what to think. Hell, I don't know which way is up and which way is

down.

Joel interrupts my train of thought. "Damn, Strong, didn't you get enough of

that shit last night? Or… don't tell me Valentine is selfish." Joel shoots me a faux

accusatory look. "Think we all know Ethan spends a lot of time buried between your

legs."

"Jealous?" I ask.

Joel shrugs. "You're not my type."

"You have a type?" I ask.

"News to me," Mal says.

"Me too," Ethan says.

"You want to chime in with your thoughts, Rhythmic One?" Joel shoots Kit a

knowing look.

Kit shakes his head. "Did you just ask Violet if she sucks Ethan off?"

"Didn't use those words," Joel says.

Again, Kit shakes his head.

"What?" Joel shrugs. "What's the big deal?"

Kit laughs.

Then Mal.

Fuck, even I laugh. Ethan's eyes catch mine. He raises his brows like we're

sharing a secret. I'm not sure what the secret is, but I like sharing it with Ethan.

He leans in to whisper. "You want to answer this one?"

I shake my head. "Let him wonder." My cheeks are still at my ears. I have to

admit, I love being part of the band family. They can be intense, moody, or bossy

and annoying and insensitive a la Malcolm Strong, but they mean well, and they're

fun.

"Shit, this must be juicy with the way they're whispering," Joel says.

Mal shoots Joel a cut it out look. "You're on your own if Ethan hits you."

"He's the guitarist," Joel says.

"Got two days till our next show," Mal says. "And Drew owes him one. Bet he'd

fill in for Ethan, especially if Ethan punched you for pissing off his girl. Drew

understands that kind of thing."

Joel folds his arms. "She's not his girl. They're having fun. They practically

wrote it on their foreheads."

"What do you say?" Ethan takes my hand and rubs the space between my thumb

and my forefinger. "Want me to kick Joel's ass?"

"Maybe later." I take a long sip of my tea. The beverage is hot, but that's not

why I feel warm all over. I want Ethan protecting me. I want Ethan defending my

honor, even playfully. That's no good. Need to focus again. I look back to my

textbook. "I appreciate the concern about whether or not I'm getting enough cock

in my mouth, but I have to work. It's something people who aren't rock stars have

to do. I… Well, I don't want to ruin the surprise."

Joel shakes his head with mock outrage. "That hurts me, Valentine. You think I

don't work hard?" He pulls his t-shirt up enough to show off his defined abs. "You

think this body comes easy?"

"I try not to think about your body coming," I say.

"I can offer some vivid details if that will help," Joel teases.

"Shit, I might punch you at this rate." Mal shakes his head.

Ethan laughs. "Watch yourself, Drummer Boy."

Joel shrugs. "Everybody knows guitarists hit for shit."

"Sure, but Violet does karate. She can kick your ass." Ethan nudges me playfully.

I nod. "I have a purple belt."

Joel takes a step backwards. "Violet doing karate. Now that is scary." He winks

at me.

I wink back.

Ethan laughs. The way his laugh lights up his face makes me warm and gooey.

He leans down to plant another kiss on my lips.

That, too, makes me warm and gooey.

"I'll make sure everyone else lets you work too," he whispers.

"Thank you." I bite my lip so I won't add how about I answer Joel's question

about whether or not I suck you off right now, in that bunk over there? Who cares

about the audience?

Ethan smiles that same megawatt smile then he turns, pours himself a cup of

coffee, and joins the video game action on the couch.

Ethan, Kit, and Joel shift into senseless teasing and smack talk. Mal hangs out in

his bunk on his laptop. I'm not sure if he's working or playing. Either way, he

manages to shoot me I really hope you know what you're doing looks every twenty

minutes.

I keep my headphones on and my eyes on my textbook. At this point, I'm too far

ahead of the lesson plan. I don't have much left to study in here.

That's no good. I need something concrete and easy to understand. I need

numbers.

There's only one thing in the world I'm really good at and it's numbers.

Beautiful, tangible, concrete numbers.

If I really want to excel, I need to get serious about what field I want to specialize

in. I start looking at genetics jobs in New York City.

Just for the hell of it, I start looking at jobs in Orange County too.

It's not for Ethan.

It's for me.

In case I want to be near home.

I'm not going to be around Ethan unless he's willing to meet me halfway.

If he is…

It's always good to have options.

C H A P T E R 2 3

THAN

iolet works all morning and afternoon. She only gets up to make tea, grab a

snack from the fridge, or to use the bathroom.

Long days on the bus always make me stir crazy. They always make my body

crave motion.

Today is worse. I want to be the fuck away from everything else with her. I want

to take some long walk on the beach, or swim after her in the pool, or throw her

against my bed and fuck her until she's screaming my name.

I settle for stretching on the couch with my eyes on Violet.

It's not that I'm watching her. It's more that she's ten feet away. She's close

enough I can see her brow furrow with concentration. I can see her chewing the cap

off one of her pens. I can see her eyes light up when she works something out.

Damn, I could get lost staring in those green eyes.

I manage to pay attention to the game we're playing when it's my turn. Yeah,

we're taking turns, the same way Piper and I did when we were kids.

When it's not my turn, it's hard keeping my eyes on the TV. They want to be on

Violet. Can't blame them. The woman is gorgeous and her sweater is tight on her

curves.

Already, I want her body against mine, under mine, on top of mine… doesn't

matter as long as I can get her eyes rolling back in her head.

Can't rush this. She's still hurting over Asher's death. As much as I'd like to use

my mouth to make her come, she needs me using it to reassure her this is okay.

I can't sit here and watch her hurt. I'm not making the same mistakes. This

time, I'm doing something to help.

I let my mind wander as I take my turn. By the time I hand the controller over to

Kit, I've got it. This might not be what Violet wants, but it's something she needs to

do. She needs someone to push her to do it. She needs someone there, holding her

hand.

Fuck, I want to be that person.

I arrange everything on my phone. It takes half an hour and a few favors, but I

work it out. Perfect. This will be a surprise.

"Earth to Ethan." Joel taps me on the shoulder.

"What?" I ask.

"It's your turn." Joel waves the controller.

"Skip me this time." I push myself off the couch. I'm about to take a step

towards Violet.

"Ahem. A word, Ethan." Joel grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me onto

the couch.

"Didn't realize you felt this way about me." I look to Kit for backup.

"With those strict 'no fraternization' rules, he can't express his attraction." Kit

chuckles.

Joel rolls his eyes. He moves between us, close enough to whisper. "What do you

think you're doing?"

"Was gonna talk to Violet," I say. "Do you object to that?"

"Fuck yeah, I object to that. Look at her." He motions to Violet.

I've been looking at her. Her eyes are on her laptop. Her brow is furrowed with

concentration.

That's how she always looks when she's working.

Except that her shoulders are tense and she's tapping her fingers against the

table.

She's nervous about something.

All the more reason to talk to her. Whatever this is, we can work it out.

"Kit and I know that you and Violet ever being casual is a pipe dream." Joel

lowers his voice. "Does she know that?"

"She's the one insisting." I'm playing by her rules.

"You skipped the sound check," he says. "You've never done that before."

"It's just a sound check," I say.

Joel shoots me a you aren't convincing me with that bullshit look. "I get it.

Violet is fun, she's smart, she's hot. If she wasn't your ex-girlfriend, I'd be the first

in line to fuck her. But she wouldn't look at me the way she looks at you. And I

certainly wouldn't look at her the way you do."

What's his point?

"You're going to hurt her. You really want that on your conscience?" Joel asks.

No, I don't. Biting aside, the last thing I want is to hurt Violet. But there's no

reason to tell Joel that.

He's only gonna fuck this up.

"We're on the same page." I try to keep my voice light but I'm not selling this

story.

From the look on Joel's face, it's clear he's not believing it either.

Doesn't matter what Joel thinks. I'm tired of everybody looking at me like I'm

about to screw shit up. I deserved it once upon a time—when Mom and Dad bailed, I

used the freedom to drink and screw around. Flunked out of high school, lost my

part-time job, lost my friends.

But that was six years ago now.

I turned shit around. I got my GED. I got a better job. I channeled my energy into

the thing that mattered—making music.

Wish I could object and tell Joel to go fuck himself, but the drummer has a point.

I'll never forgive myself if I hurt Violet again.

Sitting here with Joel isn't doing shit for me. I nod goodbye and move into the

kitchen.

Violet looks up at me. She pulls her headphones off her ears. "Did you need

something?"

"This." I open the fridge and pull out a bowl of strawberries. "You want some?"

"Yeah, that would be great." Her lips curl into a tiny smile.

I set the fruit on the table and slide into the other seat. It's a small enough space

that my knees bump Violet's. "What are you working on?"

"I need to start applying for jobs. Most people at school lined something up

months ago."

"Genetics?"

"Yeah." She takes a small bite of a strawberry. "There are a lot of openings in

New York, Los Angeles, even Orange County." She looks up at me. "I haven't

decided where I want to be."

I can hear the question in her voice. Where do you want me to be?

She presses her lips together. "The field is growing but it's still small. I want to

make sure it's some place I can see myself for a long time."

"You can see yourself in Orange County?"

"I don't know. Maybe." She gnaws on her strawberry until her lips are red. "If

Asher was still here or if you and I were together, it would be no question." Her

words run together. "I mean, as much as I can't stand the whole Orange County

superficiality, hair extensions and fake tits everywhere, I do love being in

Huntington Beach. If I could live a few blocks from the ocean, that would really be

amazing."

"Cali girl," I tease.

"Maybe I am." Her cheeks flush. Her eyes flare with nervousness as they catch

mine. She stuffs a strawberry into her mouth and takes her time chewing it.

She's scared. I need to do something to fix that.

I make my voice soft. "I think about where I should be too."

"Yeah?"

"Only reason why I'm still in Orange County is 'cause Piper is there. Joel and Mal

live in Los Angeles. It would make sense to move closer to them. I'll have to be in

LA when we record, have to tour half the year, but the rest of the time…" I look

Violet in the eyes. "I can be anywhere."

"Would you really move away to be with… with someone?"

"Would depend on the someone. And if she asked."

"Right, yeah. That's um, well, you know, it can be good to change things up. I

like New York a lot. It's really alive and vibrant. You don't need a car. People don't

give a fuck if you wear a black tutu or if you dye your hair purple, not that I've tried

either, but I have seen it. You're so friendly. You could get to know people

anywhere. But then your family is in southern California, so it might be a good idea

to stay there." She catches herself babbling and shoves another strawberry into her

mouth. When she's finally finished chewing, she speaks with a soft voice. "I… I

think I'm going to take a nap. I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah."

She nods to the fruit bowl. "You can finish these." She scoops her things into

her arms, slides into her bunk, and pulls her privacy curtain closed.

Joel clears his throat. "You want your turn, Ethan?"

I run my hand through my hair.

"You want it or not." He waves the controller.

"Yeah. Sure." It's four steps back to the couch. I take the controller, plop in the

corner, and attempt to concentrate on the game.

FTER

ANOTHER

ROUND

, Joel retires to his bunk to read.

Thankfully, Kit appreciates a good monster movie as much as I do. We watch The

Thing, the remake. Violet would love this movie—it's all about people going crazy

with suspicion and mistrust, like her favorite TV show, Battlestar Galactica.

I want to share it with her. I want to share everything with her. But now isn't the

time. Something is bothering her. As much as I hate it, I have to give her space.

Violet stays in her bunk until well after sunset. She's quiet as she steps into the

kitchenette and rifles through the fridge for something to eat. The thing is full of

premade meals— Mal is the only one of us who can cook for shit. She grabs one and

sticks it in the microwave.

Her eyes meet mine. She looks at me like she's searching for something.

Whatever it is she wants, I want to give it to her.

But she doesn't want that. Her expression gets strained and awkward. She grabs

her takeout container the second it's ready and slips back to her bunk.

She's avoiding me.

But why?

I give her time to finish her food, then I make my way to her bunk. She's

propped up with a pillow behind her back and her e-reader in her hands.

"Hey." I kneel on the ground in front of her.

Her voice is unsteady. "Hey."

"We have a guacamole date."

"Oh. Yeah." She presses her lips together. Then her fingertips. "Do we have

everything? We need avocados, limes, cilantro, salt, and onions."

"I'll check."

Her eyes stay on me as I make my way to the fridge. It's clear Mal is in charge of

the kitchen. Everything is organized in its proper place. It only takes a minute to

find all the ingredients.

Violet slips out of her bunk. Her steps are unsteady as she joins me in the

kitchen. Something is off. Something is wrong.

I'm going to find out what it is.

She examines our ingredients. "We need a bowl, a knife, and a cutting board."

One by one, I get everything we need. There's not much counter space in the

bus. I have to put the coffeemaker away.

"Joel won't let you hear the end of that." Violet's voice lifts.

"Joel can kiss my ass."

"Not until I leave in New York. Until then, that's my ass, and I'm protective of

my property." She smiles, but there's a sadness in her eyes.

I want to scoop Violet into my arms and pin her to the wall, but that's not the

right move here.

Not if I want her mine again.

Not if I want her forever.

I tease back. "Always nice to feel protected."

"Yeah, it is." This time, her smile wipes away all the frustration in her

expression. "I'll lead, but you're the one with your hands on the controls. Okay?"

I nod. "Where do I start, Master Guacamole Chef Violet Valentine?"

She laughs. "Onions first. Do you know how to peel an onion?"

I nod.

"Okay. Let's wash and peel this one." She picks up a red onion. Her fingers

brush mine as she hands it to me. "We should only need half of it."

I wash and peel the onion, then I cut it into tiny pieces.

Violet watches with a nervous expression. "Be careful. I don't want to be

responsible for knocking your fingers out of commission."

"Because you need them or because I won't be able to play?"

"No comment."

I'm extra careful with the knife as I cut the avocados, lime, and cilantro. Still,

Violet sighs with relief when I put the thing away in the dishwasher. She takes a

more hands-on approach, stirring the ingredients with a spoon and taking frequent

tastes.

Bit by bit, the tension in her shoulders eases. Things are light and easy again.

That's how they should be. I get that life is tough, there's all this shit that hurts. I

don't want her running from that. But I don't want her wallowing in it easier.

I want Violet light and free.

I want her happy.

"Voila." She scoops guacamole into the spoon and offers me a taste. "Better

than anything from the grocery store."

I hold her gaze as I slide my lips around the spoon. The guacamole is great but

it's nothing compared to being with her like this.

"Much better." I take the spoon and offer her a scoop.

She moans as she licks the silverware clean.

"Am I missing something good?" Joel steps into the kitchen. He shoots me an

incredulous look then his eyes fix on Violet.

Violet holds up the bowl of dip. "You want some?"

"No, that's okay."

She takes a step backwards. All the tension spreads back to her shoulders. "I'll

get out of your way."

"It's fine. Just wanted to check with the driver." Joel calls out to our driver.

"What time are we stopping in Montana?"

"Another hour or two," the driver calls back.

Joel pulls out his phone to check the time. "Damn, getting in late. I have plans."

"Oh yeah?" Violet asks.

"Yes, Valentine. Not all of us travel with our sexual partners," he says.

"Not all of us have a strict one-and-done rule," Mal calls from his bunk.

Joel flips him off.

"Oh, going to the clubs, picking up some babes?" Violet asks.

"Wouldn't use those words," Joel says. "And I don't think there are any clubs

where we're stopping."

"Can I come?" she asks.

"Only if I can watch you with the babe you're picking up," he says.

"No." Violet blushes. "To be your wingman. Ethan and I are exclusive. Until I

leave. Then I'm free to screw as many babes or fellas as I want." Her voice is

unsteady, like she's reminding herself.

Joel looks to me and raises a brow. When I shrug, he looks back to Violet. "All

right, but you have to do what I say. We're not stopping in Los Angeles. This town

has three bars and it's a weekday. You understand me?"

"You've only got ten babes to pick from and you want to nail the hottest one?"

Violet takes another lick of guacamole.

"It's not about looks, Valentine. It's about attitude. I need somebody who's

game." Joel turns back to his bunk.

"I'll come too." I'm going to be wherever Violet is until I figure this out.

"Great, two sidekicks." Joel shakes his head.

"Make that three. We need to talk," Mal chimes in from his bunk.

"You too, Rhythmic One?" Joel asks.

"No." Kit pulls the privacy curtain on his bunk closed.

"Guess spending the entire day on a tiny bus isn't enough. Now we have to go

out together too. Awesome." Joel plops in his bunk with a what the fuck sigh.

Violet presses her lips together. She pulls her arms over her chest. "I should get

back to work."

"Sure. Thanks for the cooking lesson." I study her body language. As much as I

want to kiss her, it's not the time. I press my lips to her forehead instead. "Really,

thanks Vi."

"Anytime." She returns to her bunk.

The words linger in my mind. Anytime. That's what I want. I want Violet around

anytime I need her. I want to be around anytime she needs me.

Just need to figure out how to make that happen.

C H A P T E R 2 4

IOLET

n my head, I make a list with two columns. The first is Things Violet is Good

At. It includes math, making guacamole, karate, convincing people to back off,

avoiding parents, cohabitation in a very small apartment with another human

being.

Then there's the other column: Things Violet is Terrible At. It includes

communicating with family members, dirty talk, staying close to the

aforementioned human being (I've been ignoring Athena's texts for days), and,

most importantly, pulling back from a relationship with Ethan.

Here I am, in a dark dive bar in a tiny city in Montana, with Ethan's arm around

my waist. Mal and Joel are already at the bar, but Ethan and I are lingering by the

jukebox.

I could easily tell him to move his arm. I could even use the little tact I have to do

it.

But I don't want him moving his arm. I want his other arm around me. I want

his lips on mine. I want his naked body pressed against mine, his cock driving deep

inside me.

Ahem. I fiddle with my purse until I find change for the jukebox. There. I slide

four quarters into the machine and pick the proper song. I Love Rock and Roll by

Joan Jett.

Ethan laughs. "I'm taking that as a compliment."

"Take it however you want." I shift my hips in time with the beat. God, Ethan

has such nice eyes. No matter what I do, I want to swim in them. No matter what I

do, I want to make him smile.

He slides his arms around my waist and pulls my body against his. I hook my

arms around his neck and dance like we're a clumsy couple at prom. Or like we're

dancing at our wedding.

My heartbeat picks up. My breath quickens. Every fiber of my being wants to be

here, dancing with Ethan at some random bar in some random town in Montana.

I don't care that I'm overdressed in my heeled boots and my miniskirt. I don't

care that all twenty people in the bar are gawking at the dancing weirdos. Right

now, I don't even care that falling for Ethan is going to break my heart.

Being with him feels so fucking good.

I rest my head against his chest. This isn't a slow song. We shouldn't be dancing

like this. But that's another thing that doesn't bother me.

He holds me until the song stops. I can feel Mal and Joel's stares, but I can't

bring myself to care. Let them stare. Let them gossip.

Ethan plants a deep, slow kiss on my lips. When he pulls back, he nods to the

table. "Meet you there."

I nod back then I float to the table. Mal is still holding his usual poker face. Joel

is amused.

He motions to the pitcher of beer on the table. "Want a glass?"

"No thanks. I hate beer." I slide onto the bench opposite Mal and Joel.

"You prefer acetone to barley?" Joel raises a brow.

"Yes, I do. How else could I change my nail polish once a week?" I show off my

red nails.

My eyes go to Ethan. He's still standing at the bar. He always looks good,

especially with his jeans snug around his perfect ass, his tattoos poking out from

the v of his v-neck and the sleeves of his t-shirt, but there's something about him

today… It must be my body fighting with my mind. My hands want to trace all his

tattoos. Fuck, my tongue wants to trace all of those tattoos.

Joel is looking at me. I can feel his eyes on me even though my gaze is still on

Ethan.

He gets our drinks and moves closer.

Then he's sitting next to me.

His body is warm and hard. And there's my drink, my vodka soda. I take a long

sip and set it down.

I'm supposed to be sparring with Joel.

I'm supposed to be pulling back from my relationship with Ethan.

Fuck, I really am terrible at this.

Okay, need a second to think. I'm here as a wingwoman. I can do that.

The bar is mostly men. But there is a cute blond sitting by herself. I motion to

her then to Joel. "What do you think?"

"You a pimp, Valentine?" he asks.

"I've never been a wingwoman before."

He laughs and shoots me a tell me something I don't know look.

Ethan laughs too. It's a damn, you're adorable laugh. It's an I think I'm falling

in love with you laugh.

The flutter in my stomach turns to something ugly. I keep up my smile enough

to push past Ethan. "Come on, Joel, let's do this."

Joel shakes his head but he still gets out of the booth.

He leans in to whisper in my ear. "You okay?"

I nod but from the expression in his grey-green eyes, I'm pretty sure he doesn't

believe me.

Joel steps in front of me. "Follow my lead, okay?"

"Okay."

He shakes his head to say you're hopeless at this but he still moves forward. He

goes up to the bar, one seat away from the blond, and he hails the bartender.

He looks back to me. "All right, sis, time to get you drunk enough you forget that

bitch."

The blond makes an aww, poor girl face.

Okay, I'm Joel's sister apparently. And I'm forgetting some bitch. Oh—

"I know you wanted to marry her. But she never deserved you." He calls out to

the bartender. "Two shots of whiskey."

"How about I get those?" The blond moves over. She offers me a look of

solidarity. "My ex didn't even have the decency to get a hotel room. I caught him

with his secretary."

I nod at her. What can I say about my fictional lesbian ex? My gaze drifts back to

Ethan. He and Mal are watching us. Ethan looks charmed. Mal looks slightly

irritated.

I'm supposed to be selling this story…

Uh…

The blond introduces herself to Joel.

Then he's introducing me and telling her an incredibly detailed, sordid story

about my bitch of a cheating ex-girlfriend.

But I'm not paying attention to Joel's words. My eyes are locked with Ethan's

and the way he's smiling is melting every bit of sense in my heart.

"Excuse me, ladies room," I say.

"You're not calling her, are you?" Joel asks, still in character.

"Of course not." I ignore my whiskey shot and spin on my heels.

"You sure you're okay, Violet?" Joel's breaking character.

"I will be." Maybe. One day. I walk away before anyone else can ask about it.

The women's bathroom is right around the corner. It's a small, two-stall

restroom and it's mercifully empty. I catch my reflection as I pace. The dark

makeup does wonders to hide my anxiety.

Okay, I'm not calling my fictional ex. I'm not calling my real ex, either. But I am

calling Athena.

She answers right away. "You are alive."

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you," I mumble.

"Mhmm."

"I'll do the dishes for a week."

Her voice brightens. "I'm listening."

"How is everything at home?"

She makes a noise that means terrible. "You know my sister. She borrowed my

dress, I got pissed, all of a sudden we're calling each other names. It wasn't about

the dress but… I'm back in the apartment."

"You want to talk about it?"

"Sweetie, I know you didn't call me after four days of radio silence to ask me

about my sister." Athena's voice is a mix of take-no-shit and caring. "What

happened?"

I run my fingertip over the back of my phone. "That's a complicated question."

"That's a bullshit answer." She clears her throat. "If you don't want to talk, I

have books to read. Smutty books."

"Promise you won't be mad I haven't told you this yet."

Her voice takes on a serious tone. "I don't make promises I can't keep."

"I'm with Ethan."

"Ethan as in your rock star ex-boyfriend Ethan? As in the guy you've been

pining over for the last two years Ethan?"

"I have not."

"Yeah, you barely even looked at Mr. Boring. The whole time, you were thinking

about Ethan."

"Denny was nice."

She scoffs.

I can't exactly argue. Denny was nice but that was it.

I take a deep breath and I give Athena the short version of events. Mal offered

me a job, I took it, Ethan and I decided to sleep together, just sex. Athena uh-huhs

and yeah rights at all the appropriate places.

The woman sees through me like I'm made out of glass.

"I'm not going to give you hell about holding a candle for a guy who is hot, rich,

and famous and… hot. God, he's so hot in pictures. Is he really that hot?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Good in bed?"

"You have no idea."

"I have a lot of ideas, but sharing them would be weird." She laughs. "I'd hate

you if I didn't love you."

"I'm starting to freak out." I take a deep breath, but that only helps so much. "I

don't want to use the l-word but—"

"Violet, you're twenty-three."

"Yes."

"You can say you love a guy."

I clear my throat.

"Go talk to him."

"But—"

"Like you're about to finish grad school or something."

"But—"

She gets stern. "Not like you're about to finish high school."

"You know, one day, you're going to care about someone, and it's going to drive

you crazy, and you're going to feel like an asshole for giving me this shit."

"Yeah, but you're so sweet, you'll console me anyway."

"I hate you." Mostly for being right.

"I hate you too. Now go talk to him. And at least text me in the morning so I

know you're alive."

She's right.

After I agree to take her advice, we say our goodbyes, and I slide my phone back

into my purse.

Talking to Ethan sounds reasonable and easy, but contemplating the matter is

making my stomach twist.

I take a few deep breaths and march back to the bar.

Joel is back at the table, chatting with Mal and Ethan. They look friendly. Well,

not exactly friendly. They're more like family. They fight, they make up, they fight

some more.

Ethan spots me and smiles. Immediately, I feel warm all over. I'm not sure how I

manage to get back to the table without melting, but I do.

I slide into the seat next to Ethan.

Mal turns to me. His expression gets parental. "We need to talk."

"In front of Violet?" Joel nods to me. "No offense, Valentine."

"What happened to the blond?" I ask.

"You think I'm about to abandon my heartbroken sister?" he asks, but from his

tone of voice, it's clear he's worried about me.

Mal continues. "This involves all of us."

"It's really none of my business." I drink until my face is warm. I do not want to

be a part of this conversation.

From the way Mal is staring, I'm not getting the feeling it's a choice.

Mal looks to Joel. "Six months ago, twenty grand went missing from the band's

account. One week after Kit got out of rehab, the money was replaced."

Joel's eyes flare with frustration.

Mal stares.

"Bullshit," Joel says."

It's the most likely scenario," Mal says.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Mal says nothing.

"You have proof?" Joel asks.

Mal holds steady. "Not yet." He looks to me like he's expecting me to explain.

Under the table, Ethan squeezes my hand.

"I… I didn't say it was Kit. I just saw that the money went missing. It was in a

few withdrawals, small enough to avoid attention. It came back the same way. I had

no idea who took it, if it even was one of you, and Mal didn't tell me. So don't pin

this on me." I press my palm against Ethan's.

Anger creeps over Joel's face as he turns to Mal. "Kit and I may not be blood, but

he's my family as much as Ethan is yours. He wouldn't fuck me over."

Mal ignores his claims. "We need to discuss what we're going to do."

"Oh, it's not The King's orders? You're actually going to treat this band like a

fucking democracy?"

Mal says nothing.

"Fuck you, Malcolm." Joel pushes himself up. He takes a step backwards. "Sorry

you got dragged into this bullshit, Valentine. If my date asks where I went, make up

something entertaining. I can't stand to be in the same fucking city as this

asshole."

"Where are you going?" My voice is meek. I'm not good with conflict, not when I

have to stick around.

"I'll be at the show in Chicago. Until then." He nods goodbye to me and to

Ethan, then he turns and hightails it out of the bar.

Ethan and Mal stay planted in their seats. Neither one of them is going after

him. Is that good sense to let Joel cool off, is it cowardice, is it something else

entirely?

I don't know and I don't feel right being part of this conversation. It's like I'm a

member of the family. Like everyone expects me to stick around. Like everyone

expects me and Ethan to be together forever.

That isn't going to happen.

Fuck, I'm so fucking bad at this whole pulling back thing. I need to move. Now.

"Excuse me." With my next swig, I finish my drink. "This isn't any of my

business. I'll leave you two to talk about it. Alone."

Ethan's blue eyes meet mine. He strokes the space between my thumb and

forefinger with his thumb. "Stay."

I shake my head. I have about one minute of calm left in me. I'm terrified of the

intensity of my feelings for him. "It's really none of my business. You two should

work it out." Thankfully, this is a wide booth. I barely manage to squeeze past

Ethan. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later." Mal nods goodbye before Ethan has a chance to respond.

If I look into Ethan's eyes, I'm going to stay. I'm going to melt and do whatever

it takes to make him smile.

Deep breath.

As quickly as I can, I turn and make my way to the exit.

C H A P T E R 2 5

IOLET

he hotel is around the corner from the bar, but I don't want to be there. After

spending twelve hours on a bus, I want to be outside.

I take in the quiet conversations as I walk. There's a family celebrating a

birthday at a diner. There are two women at a coffee shop, trading gossip over

oversized mugs of tea. There's another bar with country music blaring.

The empty grass field just past the church calls my name. Even though it's

freezing, I lay on my back and stare up at the dark sky. The silver moon hangs low.

The stars shine bright. There are so many stars, more than I've ever seen before.

In New York, there's so much light pollution that I can't see the stars. Here,

they're bright and brilliant. I catch a shooting star, press my eyelids together, and

wish for clarity.

It's quiet here. The only sound is the breeze rustling the grass and the roar of a

TV across the street. Every few minutes, I can hear footsteps or a passing car.

There are footsteps now. And they're getting louder, getting closer.

I don't have to look up to know that's Ethan. I can feel it in the way the air gets

sharp and electric.

He lays on the ground next to me. "Hey."

"Hey."

"You're avoiding me, aren't you?"

Yes, but I'm not ready to admit it. "Did you and Mal talk?"

"Not really. There's no talking sense to Mal. He's wants to protect the band."

"And you."

"Yeah." Ethan runs his fingers over the back of my hand. "Big brother thing, I

guess."

"Yeah." I soak in the warmth of Ethan's touch. It feels good, just being near

him. I want more of him, more of this. "Do you think Kit took the money?"

"Maybe. He wasn't a good version of himself when he was using."

"Oh." I press my lips together. "Is it going to be okay, the band?"

"It will be."

"Good. I… I'm glad. You're really good in it. And you're really good together."

His touch gets harder. "Why are you avoiding me, Vi?"

I turn enough to look into Ethan's eyes. His expression is demanding.

I'm hurting him.

My inhale is sharp. My exhale is heavy. Shit. I can't dodge this conversation

anymore. Not with the feelings stirring in my stomach. "I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm falling in love with you again."

"That doesn't have to be a problem."

I shake my head. I wish that was true, but it's not.

"It doesn't."

I keep my eyes on the shining stars. "You broke my heart, Ethan. I was ecstatic

when I got into the master's program. That was the first happiness I'd felt in

months. The only thing I wanted to do was share it with you." My throat is sore, but

I need to get this out. "It was supposed to be our happiness, but you looked at my

acceptance letter like it was radioactive. I don't know why… All I can figure out is

that my dreams never mattered to you."

He slides his hand around my neck. His palm cups the back of my head. Gently,

he tilts my head until we're eye to eye. "That wasn't it."

My gaze goes to the grass. "Then what was it?"

"I shouldn't have dared you to leave. Fuck, Vi, the only thing I regret in my

entire life is letting you walk away."

"But…"

"I'm not losing you again."

"But, I… I don't understand."

"I was an ass that day. I should have called, should have apologized. I thought

about doing it a million times, but I couldn't forgive you for locking me out after

Asher died. It was like our three years together meant nothing. It was like you were

throwing away all the trust and intimacy we shared. All I wanted to do was hold you

and promise everything would be okay. All I wanted to do was take care of you—"

"Why didn't you?"

"I tried. I tried a million times, but you kept pulling away. You kept dodging my

calls and making excuses not to see me. And when you did see me, it was like you

weren't there. No matter what I did, you wouldn't let me in. You wouldn't let me

help. It was like you were done with me."

I shake my head. "No, I wanted you to be there. I felt so empty."

"I know, Vi. I was stupid then. I didn't get that grief was swallowing you whole. I

didn't get that you couldn't bring yourself to ask for help. It took me a long time to

figure that out. By the time I did, I couldn't forgive myself for all that time I sat

there watching you hurt."

I soak in the warmth of his skin.

"I tried to convince myself I didn't want you anymore. Tried to forget you." He

presses his forehead to mine. "I'll never be able to forget you. I'll never want

anyone the way I want you."

"Ethan…"

He leans closer. "I want to fix this."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Me either. But I'm willing to try."

I take a deep breath and look into Ethan's eyes. "What happens if I need you like

that again."

"Then I'll be there. I would have waited for you to finish grieving. If you'd asked,

I would have waited forever."

I slide my hands under his t-shirt. He's warm and hard and my hands want

more of his skin. "What if I ask now?"

"For what?"

"I'm not sure." I chew on my bottom lip. I want a lot from Ethan, but I'm not

sure I can ask for it. There's a part of me that believes I don't deserve happiness

anymore, that believes I don't deserve Ethan.

He runs his fingers through my hair. It's a patient, gentle touch.

I look up at him. "Wait for me to believe I deserve this. Wait for me to figure out

where I want to live and what I want to do with my life. Wait for me to be ready to

fall in love with you again."

His voice is sweet and steady. "I will."

"You will?"

"Yeah. Tell me what you need me to do, and it's done."

"Really?" I press my lips together as I stare into his blue eyes.

He nods. He presses his palm against my lower back and pulls my body closer. "I

want you around, Vi, and I want to be around."

"I want you around."

"I want to erase all the pain in your life. I want to fill you with pleasure and I

want to convince you that you deserve it." He presses his lips to mine.

I kiss him back. In this moment, I'm exactly where I need to be.

I'm whole.

When the kiss breaks, he stares into my eyes. "Tell me you want that too."

"I do." I run my fingers through his messy, dark hair. "Can we start now, in your

hotel room?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

C H A P T E R 2 6

IOLET

his is the nicest room in the nicest hotel in town. In a sleepy Montana town

that equates to a motel setup with beige carpet, white walls decked with paintings

of horses, and one king bed.

Ethan strips the bed to only the white cotton sheets. He double-checks the door

—it's locked—then scoops me into his arms and pins me to the wall.

His breath is warm on my shoulders, my neck, my ear. "Tell me you need me."

"I do. I need you so badly, Ethan."

He plants a long kiss on my neck. Then his teeth are scraping against my skin. "I

need you, but I need to watch you come first."

His voice is low and demanding. It makes me hot all over. I need to be out of this

skirt and blouse. I need to be out of all my clothes.

Ethan drags his fingers up my inner thigh. My skin tingles from his touch. All

that heat pools below my belly. I'm already achy and desperate.

He's far too good at this, but I'm not complaining.

He sinks his teeth into my skin. It's a tiny hint of pain, only enough to wake up

my senses.

His fingers slide under my skirt. He presses his palm against me, over my

panties. I can feel all the heat of his hand. I can feel the callouses on his fingers. I

need these panties gone. I need those fingers on me.

He rubs me over my panties. I gasp, my knees knocking together out of pure

reflex.

"Take off your clothes." His blue eyes get intense and demanding as he takes a

step backwards.

I slide his leather jacket off my shoulders and drop it on the floor. Slowly, I unzip

my blouse and pull it over my head.

His eyes get wider. His expression gets hungrier. Still, he stays put.

My skin burns from the intensity of his gaze. It's like I'm the best thing he's

ever seen.

Slowly, I unzip my miniskirt and slide it off my hips. I let my breasts spill as I

bend over to remove my boots. Then it's just me in my bra and panties.

Ethan's tongue slides over his lips. He presses his palms against his outer

thighs. He wants to touch me—I can tell—but he's waiting.

I want him touching me.

His eyes stay glued to mine. "All your clothes."

Heat pools in my core as I do away with my bra and panties. I've been naked in

front of Ethan plenty of times, but this feels different.

He gives me a long, slow once-over. "Sit on the bed."

My stomach flutters with nervous energy. I practically float to the bed. My knees

knock together. I place my palms on my thighs to steady myself and I meet his

gaze.

Ethan takes a few steps towards me. "You think about me when you touch

yourself?"

"All the time."

"Because you want me?"

For a second, my inhibitions kick in. This is too revealing, too scary. But the look

in his eyes spurs me on. "Yes."

"Because you want the pleasure?"

"Yes."

"You deserve that pleasure." He gives me another long, slow once-over. "Spread

your legs."

I do. It's like my body is moving of its own accord. It has no interest in my

inhibitions.

Between the bulge in his jeans and the desire in his eyes, he's making a

compelling argument against inhibitions.

"I want to make you come every day. When I can't make that happen, I need to

know you will." He moves closer. "Show me. Show me how you touch yourself."

He wants to watch me come from my own hand.

My entire body flushes. No doubt my cheeks and chest are as red as my hair.

There are nerves racing through my stomach, but there isn't a single part of me

that wants to deny him.

I want to show him how I touch myself.

I spread my legs a little wider as I slide my hand below my belly button. His blue

eyes stay glued to me. His expression stays intense and wanting.

He wants me that much.

Pleasure spreads through my torso as my fingers skim my clit. It's strange being

on display for Ethan—we never did this—but it's strange in an amazing, hot as hell

kind of way.

I hold his gaze as I stroke myself. There's all this desire in his blue eyes. His

breath is heavy and needy. That's for me. He's wrecked with desire because he's

watching me.

The intimacy is intense, but that feels right. I want to be exposed to him. I want

him seeing all of me—my body, my heart, my soul.

The tension in my core knots. I hold Ethan's gaze until I can't manage it

anymore. My eyelids flutter closed. I fall onto the bed, on my back.

Still, I stay on display for him.

I spread my legs wider.

With a few more brushes of my fingers, I'm at the edge. Then I'm there. I groan

and shake as I come. My toes squeeze the sheets. My sex pulses with aftershocks. It

takes a full minute for me to catch my breath.

I should feel shy, embarrassed, exposed. I don't. I'm exhilarated.

Ethan takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. His lips find my ear. "You're

fucking amazing, Vi."

He kisses me, hard. I slide my tongue into his mouth. I dig my hands into his

hair. Right now, it really feels like I'm his. I need more of that. I need all of that.

I only break the kiss to tug his t-shirt over his head. He kicks off his shoes and

socks and shimmies out of his jeans.

Only the boxers now. Usually, I'd take my time exploring every nook and cranny

of his body. Today, I'm impatient. I trace the lines of the lock tattoo on his chest.

Girls always ask if they have the key to his heart.

I want that key.

I want to unlock all of him.

He slides his arms around my waist and guides me to a spot in front of the closet

and its mirrored sliding door. "I want to watch you come again. Want you to watch

it too." He turns my body so I'm parallel to the mirror then he takes my hands and

places them on the wall. "Tell me you want that."

"I do." I arch my back to press my ass against his crotch.

Ethan does away with his boxers. Then it's just him. Being across from the

mirror gives me a hell of a view. I soak in the sight of his naked body—defined

muscles, miles of tattoos, that soft tuft of pubic hair.

His cock, hard and ready for me.

Damn, I need that.

"Please." I rub my ass against him.

Through the mirror, his eyes meet mine. He grabs onto my hips and pulls my

body onto his. He teases me again and again. He teases me until I'm dizzy with lust.

It feels so fucking good. And the look on his face—the mix of desire, control, and

pure affection—fills me with utter satisfaction.

Through the mirror, I watch him enter me. Every inch of it is ecstasy. I feel more

awake, more alive, more at home.

Ethan's fingers dig into my hips to hold me in place as he thrusts into me. I grip

the wall the best I can. It keeps me steady enough to watch our bodies move

together.

To watch the pleasure spread over my face.

I've never watched myself come before. Even when Ethan and I would have sex

below his super-hot mirror on the ceiling, I watched him, watched his body.

It's strange watching myself. I can feel all the pleasure in my core when he

thrusts into me. I can feel the pangs of need that shoot through me when he plays

with my nipples. I can feel the tension knotting inside me as it gets closer.

But watching my body stretching to take him, watching my nipples redden

between his fingers, watching my lips part with a sigh of desire—it's intense.

It's fucking hot.

"Come with me, Vi." Ethan brings his hand between my legs to rub me.

God yes.

I arch my back to match his movements. I watch him through the mirror. His

eyes flutter closed. His teeth sink into his lips. He moves harder and faster.

Then he's there. And I have to close my eyes because I'm there too. I groan his

name as my orgasm knots tighter and tighter. My fingers dig into the wall as I go

over the edge. I come in torrents, my sex pulsing so hard I'm afraid I'm going to

push him out of my body.

He only moves harder, deeper. His thighs shake as he comes. His nails scrape

against my skin. My name rolls off his tongue as he fills me.

When he's spilled every drop, Ethan scoops me into his arms and takes me to

the bed. He positions his body next to mine, his forehead pressed against mine, his

chest pressed against mine.

He's still looking at me like I'm the best thing he's ever seen.

Right now, I feel like the best thing in the world.

Right now, I really believe I deserve all the pleasure and happiness in the world. I

really believe I deserve to keep him.

C H A P T E R 2 7

THAN

oel arrives just in time for the show in Chicago. He kills it the way he always

does.

After we finish, I spend an hour hanging out with fans. I've been skipping my

usual autographs, conversations, and pictures thing in favor of hanging out with

Violet.

Occasionally, fans get a little too grabby or rude. Otherwise, they're great and I

love chatting with them. I can talk about Dangerous Noise music all night and I

know how to make people feel special without pulling out all sorts of bullshit.

Still, I'm relieved when I finish mingling and make my way backstage. There's

no sign of Mal, Joel, or Kit in the hallway, but I can still feel the tension in the air.

Fuck, this is stupid. Mal has always been bossy, but this time he's out of line.

I'm not sure it's possible to talk sense into my older brother, but I'm going to try.

This band is too important for petty shit. It's not just that we're on the cusp of

being the next big thing. We're a family.

We need to move past the stupid fight to the part where we forgive each other.

It's not happening right now. There's no sign of Mal in the hall or in either of

the dressing rooms. No doubt he's locked in his hotel room with one of his fuck

buddies. Mal has an M.O. Once he closes the hotel room door, he's not opening it

unless it's an emergency.

Shit. There isn't much time before Violet and I have to leave. I go back to the

strangely empty dressing room to look for Kit.

He's not here but Joel and Violet are. The two of them are sitting on the couch.

He plays with her e-reader. "How do you read this sci-fi shit?"

"It's a sci-fi romance." She grabs the device. "And it's good." She nods hello as

her eyes meet mine. "Hey Ethan."

"Ethan, hey, don't tell me you've got a few groupies lined up." Joel slurs his

words.

"You drunk?" I ask.

"Yeah, must be pretty motivated to be drunk this fast after a show, huh?" He

shakes his dirty-blond hair. "Okay, I get that look. I'll stop cock-blocking you."

Her voice gets soft. "No, stay, Joel. We should go out, the three of us. Kit too. But

then he doesn't drink so does he go out?"

"Sometimes, but I'm not sticking around. And Ethan's got a surprise for you."

Joel winks at me. "He thinks I don't know, but word travels fast around here."

Violet looks up at me. "You have a surprise?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"What is it?" she asks.

"Valentine, it's a surprise. He can't tell you." Joel pushes himself off the couch.

He scans the room. When he sees no sign of Kit, he takes a step backwards. "You

seen Rhythmic One?"

"He was watching the Sinful Serenade set. Haven't seen him since they

finished." Violet's eyes flare with frustration. "Joel, I'm sorry. I was just looking at

numbers. I didn't want something like this to happen."

"Not your fault, sweetheart." Joel's eyes flare with frustration. "Really, Violet,

it's nice that you're around. I'm glad Ethan's happy for once. You're not the reason

I'm about to get on a fucking train." He shakes off his frustration to shoot her a

playful look. "Even with all that loud sex you two are having on the couch."

Violet blushes. "Who told you?"

"Fuck, I knew it!" Joel claps his hands together. "You should never fall for an

accusation unless there's evidence. That's a tip for you. Though I'm sure you prefer

a tip from Ethan."

She laughs. "Where's the train station?"

"Have to ask Google that," he says.

"How about I walk you? Or take a cab with you?" She looks to me for my

blessing. Once I nod, she turns back to Joel. "Just the two of us. You can fill me in

on all the gossip."

"Yeah. Okay." He nods. "But uh, I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I know

I'm all kinds of sexy. And Valentine, if you weren't Ethan's girl, I'd already have

your panties off."

"Is that your technique?" she asks.

"I don't have a technique, Valentine. I read body language. Do what feels right in

the moment. But you're my bandmate's girl. I'm not gonna fraternize with you.

Loyalty means something to me."

She laughs, trying to keep it light. "Damn, I was hoping for a threesome."

He laughs but it doesn't wipe the frustration from his eyes. "I figured. I get that

a lot."

She pushes herself off the couch and wraps her arms around me. "Is this going

to ruin your surprise?"

"No. We'll be okay." I run my fingers through her short hair. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Talking to Joel. It's sweet you want to help him."

She shrugs. "He's a friend." She presses her lips to mine. "Besides, I don't think

Kit took the money either."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "But that's above my paygrade." She plants another soft, slow kiss on

my lips. "Meet you back here?"

"At the hotel."

"Done."

ACK

THE

HOTEL

, I go straight to Kit's room and knock on his door. I haven't got a

clue what the guy does for fun. He's always kept to himself but since rehab, he's

doubled down on that trait.

He answers right away. He says nothing, just peers out at me from behind his

mass of curly hair.

Fuck, no sense beating around the bush.

I stare back at him. "You know all this shit Mal's been saying about the stolen

money?"

"You here to accuse me?"

"No. I don't think you took it."

He holds a poker face. "I didn't."

"You know anything about it?"

"From what Joel said, I figured it was that asshole manager we fired, Aiden. He's

gone, the money's back. What's it matter?"

Damn, I wish Mal thought like that. But there's no wishing here. I'm fixing this.

"You know Joel's taking this bullet for you."

"Tried to talk him out of that." Kit pulls the door open and motions come in.

I do.

We take seats in the plush armchairs lining the wall.

Kit leans back in his chair. His expression stays intense and mysterious. "I did a

lot of bad shit when I was using. I don't blame Mal for assuming I took that

money." His voice gets low and serious. "I get that he's trying to protect you, but

running around behind my back is an asshole move."

"Yeah, it is."

Kit's curly hair falls over his face as he shakes his head. "Ethan, I'm only putting

up with you being here because Mal is your older brother and everybody knows you

look up to him."

Is it that obvious?

"I get wanting to impress somebody and never feeling like you can do it. And

I've always liked working with you. You're a good guy, a good brother, and a hell of

a guitarist. Fuck, I like Mal most of the time. But I'm not going to put up with this

shit."

"One of you has to break the silence."

"I'll think about it."

"For whatever it's worth, I trust you, Kit. I wouldn't be able to step on stage with

you every night if I didn't."

Kit chuckles. "You're a sweet kid."

"You're only two years older than I am."

He shrugs. "And you're a romantic about music."

"You aren't?"

"Haven't been a romantic about anything in a long time."

"Violet's talking to Joel. I'm not sure what she's saying, but I can tell she feels

awful."

Kit nods. "He likes her."

I raise a brow.

"Not like that." Kit chuckles. "Like a sister."

"Yeah."

"I know Joel acts like he doesn't give a fuck about anyone but himself, but he's

been pulling for you two. You should have heard the shit he said when you let her

walk away the first time."

"Yeah?"

Kit nods. "Wasn't the most complimentary." He pushes his hair out of his eyes.

"Don't worry about shit with me and Mal. Fix you and Violet. The way that girl

looks at you—nobody's ever looked at me like that."

C H A P T E R 2 8

THAN

t this time of night, the hotel lobby is mostly empty.

Violet is sitting on one of the plush couches. Her legs are crossed. She's playing

with the zipper of her boots. Not the heeled fuck-me boots, but a more sensible

pair of black riding boots.

She's not by herself. She's sitting across from the Sinful Serenade guitarist

Drew and his fiancée Kara. The happy couple is pressed together on the couch. He

has his arm around her and he's whispering in her ear.

Violet's eyes catch mine. She waves me over.

"Hey." She smiles and pats her seat.

Kara's dark eyes light up. "Ethan, hey. Hold on."

She starts to push herself up. Immediately, Drew is out of his chair to help her.

"I'm not that pregnant, Denton. I can handle this." She places her hand on her

belly. "At five months people are still looking at me like they aren't sure if I'm

knocked up or if it's all the grilled cheese."

Violet laughs. "You have that glow."

Kara smiles. "Mostly, I have heartburn." She looks up at Drew. "Alexandra is

almost as difficult as you are."

Drew smiles. "Not possible."

"She's a girl?" Violet asks.

Kara nods. "Yeah, but I would have painted the nursery pink either way."

"We rent, we can't paint the extra room," Drew says.

"He's so uptight for a rock star, huh?" Kara rises to her tiptoes to plant a kiss on

Drew's lips.

He murmurs into her cheeks. "You look fucking divine in that dress."

She sighs as she wraps her arms around him.

"I'll make this fast. I want to make you come right away." He kisses her again.

"You know they heard that, right?" she asks.

Drew nods then he leans in close enough that his whisper is only audible to Kara.

It's funny. Everything I've heard about Drew from Joel—back when Drew was

the Dangerous Noise guitarist, he made everyone's lives miserable with his diva-

like ways and his fights with his ex-girlfriend—paints the guitarist as a truly

miserable guy.

But I'm not sure I've seen anyone as happy as he is.

As in love as he is.

I've worked with him enough to know two things—he's a perfectionist and he

loves his fiancée as much as anyone has ever loved another person.

Drew nods to me. "Let's talk."

"Sure." I kiss Violet on the cheek and follow Drew to an empty spot in the corner

of the room.

His dark eyes get serious. "Fuck, Ethan, I don't think it's possible for me to

thank you enough for filling in for me." His smile widens as he watches Kara and

Violet chat. "I couldn't have made this work without you."

"It was nothing."

"Fuck that. It was a lot. I know my shit is hard."

"It is. That on purpose?"

"More fun that way."

His gaze drifts to his fiancée. His eyes light up. He lets out a wistful sigh.

He's happy as a fucking clam.

This is none of my business. I should keep it to myself.

But I gotta ask. "Would you really have quit the band for Kara?"

"For Kara? No. Kara made me promise not to quit the band. If she asked? Yeah,

in a heartbeat." He laughs. "You know what it's like when you love someone. That

always comes first."

"Yeah, right." My words are hollow.

I'm not sure I can put anything ahead of music. Ever. I loved Violet when we

were together. I want to be with her but I've been working on music since I was

fifteen. I can't fuck up again. Not for anything.

Drew's voice is still dreamy. "I loved the guitar as much as anyone could, but

music will never compare to family. Kara's always been my family. It's more

obvious to other people now that she's pregnant, but she's always been my home.

Wherever she is, that's where I want to be."

His dark eyes light up as he watches her.

He knows exactly where shit stands. Kara comes first. Their family comes first.

"Seriously, Ethan, anything you need, let me know. Can't offer much besides my

skill on guitar but I'm more than happy to fill in for you."

"I'll think about that."

Drew looks to me and raises a brow. "You alright?"

Maybe. I offer Drew my hand.

He shakes his head and pulls me into a hug.

He steps back with a smile and returns to his fiancée.

I follow.

Kara is complimenting Violet's makeup and commiserating about graduate

school. She's about to graduate with her Teaching Credential. She found a job that

was willing to defer her employment for a year, what with her being due right when

the school year starts.

Violet leans in to whisper something to her.

Kara laughs. "Aren't they always?" She turns to me. "Thank you, Ethan. I… I

don't know what to say." She pulls me into a hug then plants a kiss on my cheek.

"You're really a great guy. Thank you."

Fuck, I'm blushing now.

Kara steps back and whispers something to Drew.

He shakes Violet's hand. "It was nice to finally meet you officially."

She smiles. "You too."

We exchange goodbyes then the happy couple hurries to the elevator bank.

Violet moves close enough to whisper. "I think the two of them might be in love

with you."

"They're thankful."

"It's sweet how you helped them." She pulls me into a hug and rests her head

on my chest. "Kara's right. You are a great guy."

My cheeks burn hotter. I don't blush over anything. Fuck, this sucks.

She lets out a long, deep sigh of pleasure as she pulls me closer. "So why are you

taking me to LAX?"

I have to laugh. "Damn, gossip travels fast."

"It does."

"What do you know?"

"I heard something about a private jet, but that can't be right."

"It is."

She jolts upright. "No fucking way."

I nod. "Drew flew in today. It's already here, scheduled to go back to Los Angeles

tonight."

Delight spreads over her face. "We're going on a private jet?"

"Just the two of us."

"No fucking way!!!"

God, I love seeing her like this. I soak in all the excitement in her green eyes.

"We get in sometime about four A.M. I already have your stuff packed. It's in the

limo."

"We're taking a limo?"

I nod.

"Fuck, Ethan, that's amazing! And you got everything?"

"Everything except underwear. That went missing somehow."

"Ethan!" She squeals with glee. "It did not."

"No, it didn't." I press my forehead to hers. "It's packed in your duffel.

Everything's in there."

"What are we doing in LA?"

"I'll tell you." I drag my lips over her neck. "After we join the mile high club."

She giggles. "Deal."

IOLET

EYES

go wide as she steps onto the private jet. "No fucking way!" She runs

her fingers over the plush leather couch. "This must cost twenty grand. This is

ridiculous."

"The perks of working with a big label."

"The perks of being a rock star." She throws herself on the couch and spreads

out like a starfish. "Is it too late to give up math and pick up a guitar?"

"No. But you won't be happy if you give up math."

"And I have stupid fingers." She wiggles said fingers. "Really, all they can do is

hold a pencil."

I lift her feet so I can slide next to her. "We've both seen them do more than

that."

Violet's cheeks flush. She laughs. "That too." She sits up enough to rest her

head on my shoulder. "So why are we flying into LAX?"

"Let me check." I put my finger to my chin to mime thinking. "Have we joined

the mile high club yet?"

"We haven't taken off yet."

"Then I can't tell you."

"You're a difficult man, Mr. Strong." She plants a kiss on my lips, then she

pushes herself up to explore the plane.

Violet looks over every nook and cranny—both plush couches, the half a dozen

equally plush seats, the TV, the minibar. She barely notices the pilot and co-pilot

enter the plan and announce thirty minutes to take off.

I have to grab her and strap her into a seatbelt for takeoff.

She reaches over the wide aisle to take my hand—Violet's always been nervous

during takeoff and landing. I squeeze tightly until the pilot announces that we're at

cruising altitude.

Violet undoes her seatbelt, then mine. She slides into my lap, hooking her arm

around my neck. Her fingers play with my hair.

She tugs my t-shirt down enough to trace the lines of my tattoo. "Baby, do I

have the key to your heart?"

I nod.

Her green eyes go wide. Her voice gets soft. "Really?"

"You always have."

"You never talk about yourself, Ethan. About the things that hurt you. Even back

in college, well, when I was in college." She runs her fingertips over my neck. "Tell

me about something that hurt you. Something that didn't involve me."

My heartbeat picks up. I don't like talking about myself. Not the real shit. There

are too many ugly things.

"Please," she whispers.

"Anything that hurt me?"

She nods.

"If you'll go second."

"Okay." She curls up against my chest like it's her favorite place in the world.

I run my fingers through her hair. Nobody has ever asked me to talk about

something that hurt me. I have no idea where to start.

I go with the first thing that comes to mind. "I started playing guitar when I was

twelve. Wrote my first song as soon as I could figure it out. I played it for Mal a

hundred times. I played it for Piper two hundred times. Both of them loved it,

though you know Mal, even then, at fifteen, he was nonchalant about his

encouragement."

"I can imagine."

"He made a point about getting our parents to sit down to listen one night after

dinner. I was excited to play it for them. As soon as I got home from school, I

practiced all afternoon. Then after dinner, they said they had to work. They didn't

have time to hear it. I was still excited to play for them, to make them proud. But

they had to work the next night. Then they had a two-week trip to study the

gorillas. I wrote another three songs, even a duet with Mal. Our babysitter loved

them, but when Mom and Dad got back, they didn't remember about the song. They

didn't care."

"That must have hurt."

"Yeah. I held out hope for a long time. A few times, Mal got them to sit still long

enough to listen to one of my songs or our songs, as we started writing together,

but they never really listened. They never came to our talent shows or, once we

really started performing, our actual shows. Fuck, I guess I'm still holding onto

hope. Sometimes, I expect them to show up backstage to tell us they're proud.

Something."

"I'm sorry." She rests her head on my chest. "For whatever it's worth, I'm

proud of you."

"Yeah?"

She nods. "You're amazing on stage. Not just the way you play—though you play

very well—but the way you engage with the crowd. I'm sure you remember all the

other bands I saw at your shows, the openers or the headliners. So many of them

looked at their feet or each other. But you… you're really there, in that moment,

playing your heart out."

Now I'm smiling.

She presses her forehead to mine. "I want to be that good at something one

day."

"What about, what was it called?"

"Differential geometry? I'm good, but not that good." She looks up at me. "I

guess it's my turn, huh?"

"Yeah. Something that hurt you, besides me."

"Damn, you take up a lot of that space." Her eyes go to the window. She watches

the night sky for a minute, then her eyes are back on mine. "When I was in high

school, I got suspended for telling a teacher to go fuck himself."

"Which teacher?"

"English. I asked him why we didn't read any female authors and he started

going off on how they only wrote about women's stories, and I just lost it."

I can see a teenage Violet cursing out a teacher. In fact, I can see twenty-three-

year-old Violet doing the same thing.

She continues. "That was fine. I was proud. But my parents had to come from

one of Asher's piano recitals. Both of them left, right before he performed. When

Asher got home, he told me I was a bitch for screwing up his performance. He

looked out and he didn't see Mom and Dad and he missed a bunch of notes, and

then he didn't get into the right college. He had to go to Cal State Fullerton. It has a

good program but it was his third choice. It was this whole thing and it was my

fault."

I pull her closer.

"It was supposed to be us versus our parents. It wasn't that they'd done

anything wrong. It was the usual high school why do my parents have rules I have

to follow thing. But after that day, it became him versus me. And we never went

back to being on the same team." Her eyes go to the floor. "It wasn't just him. It

was me, too. I pushed him away. If I hadn't…"

"You couldn't have saved him, Vi."

"Maybe." She lets out a heavy sigh. "I know you're right, but I don't feel it yet."

"You will."

"You promise?"

"I do." I cup the back of her neck and tilt her head so we're eye to eye. "You

want to know why we're flying to Los Angeles?"

She nods.

"It's because we can't fly into John Wayne. No arrivals between eleven P.M. and

seven A.M."

Her eyes flare with curiosity.

"The night of Asher's funeral, I sat in your bed and I played all the songs he

would have liked. You told me he would have hated being stuck in an urn in your

parents' living room. You told me he would have wanted to be someplace where he

could feel free, like in the Pacific Ocean."

"I did say that."

"You said he'd want to float away from the Huntington Pier."

"Ethan—"

"What do you say, Vi? You game to break the law?"

"Yeah."

"Gonna make you get your parents' blessing first."

"You're no fun."

"I can prove you wrong about that right now."

She smiles and slings her leg over my hips. "Ethan, this is—" She presses her

lips to mine in a deep, slow kiss. "This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done

for me."

"It's nothing."

"No, it's everything." She kisses me hard and deep. "Is it fucked up that I'm

wet?"

"A little." I slide my hand under her skirt and press my palm against her

panties. "But normal for a goth babe."

"Am I goth or am I a Cali girl?"

"You're a goth Cali girl."

She shakes her head. "Ethan, I… I…" She leans down and kisses me again. It's

harder this time. Needier. "Please."

I pull her panties to her knees as I kiss her back.

This—making Violet happy, making Violet come—means the fucking world to

me.

But if I had a gun to my head and I had to choose between her and music…

Her lips crash into mine. She groans into my mouth as she shimmies out of her

panties.

I stare into Violet's gorgeous green eyes.

She needs to be mine forever. But will I really be able to keep her if I can't put

her leagues ahead of everything else?

My thoughts evaporate as her hands go to my jeans. She rubs me with her palm

then she undoes my belt and pulls down my zipper.

I lift my hips so she can push my jeans to my knees.

Right now, Violet is mine.

Right now, everything in my life is where it's supposed to be.

I need to keep things like this.

I bring my hands to her hips and I kiss her with everything I've got. Violet

groans as I pull her body onto mine. She's already wet. Fuck, she still feels like

heaven. I take my time entering her. I drag my fingers through her hair. I drag my

lips to her cheek, her neck.

"Ethan," she groans as I bite her. "Please."

I tease her with a few scrapes of my teeth, then I bite her.

Violet plants her hands on my shoulders. She grinds her hips against mine. It's

slow circles at first. Then it's harder. Faster. More.

Pleasure starts to overtake me. Right now, I need Violet screaming my name.

Right now, her feeling good is the only thing that matters to me.

I dig my hands into her hips to guide her movements. Once she's panting and

groaning I bite her again and again.

Fuck, she feels good and the way she groans and writhes and screams my name

only urges me on. Everything blurs together until my world is Violet's pleasure.

The desire in her eyes.

The groans falling from her lips.

The soft skin on her neck.

The sharp pain of her nails digging into my skin as I bite her.

"Fuck, Ethan." She tugs at my hair. Her hips buck against mine as she goes to

the edge.

Everything else falls away as I watch her come. The way she pulses around me,

pulling me closer and deeper, wracks my body with pleasure.

My eyelids press together. "Fuck, Violet."

I groan through my thrusts. I kiss her hard, my tongue claiming her mouth, my

cock claiming her cunt. She's mine.

She needs to be mine forever.

I pull her closer as I thrust through my orgasm. Fuck, she feels so good.

Violet kisses back, groaning into my mouth like she'll never get enough of this,

never get enough of me.

I don't slow until I'm empty.

Still, my lips stay pressed to hers.

C H A P T E R 2 9

THAN

e get to my place, technically my parents' place, in Huntington Beach, around

sunrise. We go straight to my room and fall asleep together in my bed.

It's like heaven sleeping next to Violet.

Even so, I wake up tired and achy. I've spent most of my time traveling for the

last two years, but skipping around time zones isn't the kind of thing your body

gets used to.

I need coffee, a long workout, and a longer shower.

First, I need to soak in waking up next to Violet. I need to soak in how fucking

good it feels that she's here.

That she's mine.

After a long moment taking in Violet in my bed, I go through my usual morning

routine and I head downstairs. It's early enough the sky is white—mornings by the

beach are always dreary. Still, Piper is sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee

and staring at her cell phone.

Who is she talking to?

She jumps to her feet when she sees me. "Those are Violet's shoes by the door."

She pulls me into a tight hug. "Tell me you're back together." When I say nothing,

she drops her voice to something serious. "I swear to God, Ethan, if you tell me

some bullshit, I'm going to throw this coffee in your face."

I step back and cock an eyebrow.

"It's not hot enough to scar." She offers me a sip to prove my point.

"I believe you."

She pours a cup for me and pats the seat next to hers. "So…"

"It's not official yet."

"How old are you again?"

"You the expert on relationships now?" I ask.

"Would you really want to know if I was?"

No, I wouldn't.

"I've dated."

I clear my throat.

She rolls her eyes. "You're worse than Mal."

"No, I'm more obvious about it than Mal."

She shakes her head no fucking way, picks up her phone, and replies to a text.

"Someone you'd rather talk to?"

"Violet." She laughs. "She getting up anytime soon?"

"Not sure, we got in late."

Piper polishes off her coffee and gets up to pour another cup. "You want to go to

breakfast or should I make oatmeal?"

"Make the oatmeal."

She nods and gets to fixing her beloved hot cereal. I don't know how she eats the

stuff. It tastes like paste.

Piper's phone buzzes with another text. Then another. I try to keep my attention

on my coffee—really, I do want to respect my sister's privacy—but her phone keeps

buzzing.

The screen lights up.

That looks like it says Kit. But there's no fucking way she's stupid enough to just

put his number in her phone like that.

She'd hide it, wouldn't she?

I try to play cool as she reaches for the phone. Her cheeks flush pink. She smiles

as she taps a reply and sets her phone back on the counter.

Seconds later, it buzzes again. This time, I look closely enough I'm sure.

Kit: Sorry I missed that.

No.

He is not sorry he missed shit with Piper.

No fucking way.

Piper's hand comes down hard on the counter. She grabs her phone and slides it

into her pajama pants pocket—her Hello Kitty pajama pants pocket.

She's a kid.

He's twenty-six.

She stares at me with accusation.

I stare back with the same accusation.

Neither one of us blinks until the microwave beeps. Piper turns back to her

breakfast.

"Don't fucking tell me that's Kit Lockhart," I say.

"I'm not planning on telling you anything." Piper taps cinnamon into her

oatmeal with a serene fuck you smile.

"He's twenty-six."

"I'm aware."

"You're nineteen."

"I'm aware of that as well."

"You have any idea how many women he's slept with?"

Piper rolls her eyes. "Less than you."

That's debatable.

Kit's fucked and thrown away enough women for me to be sure he's no good for

Piper.

Kit is not getting within thirty feet of my little sister. Not unless me or Mal is

around to keep them apart.

"You know, a lot of the women you slept with had older brothers."

My eyes narrow. "You're not dating Kit."

She shrugs, playing cool. "Who said anything about dating? Maybe it's just a

hookup. Maybe it's just one night of crazy sex."

I fold my arms. "That's not funny."

"Your eyes are about to bug out of your head."

"No fucking way, Piper."

She glares at me. "I'm an adult, and I'll do whatever I want." Piper presses her

lips together. Frustration flares in her blue eyes. "But you're right. Kit and I are just

friends. Every time I see him, he mentions how I'm like a sister to him. I get that

he'll never see me that way."

I'm not sure about that, but it's best if Piper believes it. It's best if she gets over

this crush right away so she can move on to a guy who won't break her heart.

If Kit does break her heart, I'll have to kill him, and that will be a fucking mess

for all of us.

There's noise upstairs then the water is running.

Violet is up.

I try to change the subject to Piper's classes, but every time her phone buzzes, I

have to fight my desire to threaten to smash the thing then to smash Kit's face.

Not letting him break her heart.

No fucking way.

Piper lights up as Violet walks down the stairs. "You want me to make some

tea?"

"I can do it." Violet hugs Piper hello then she turns to me. "Why the tension?"

"Ethan's an idiot." Piper smiles at me. "But I know he means well, so I won't

make his life miserable."

"That sums it up." Violet pulls me into a tight embrace.

Piper swoons. She mouths don't fuck it up to me.

"You sleep okay?" I ask.

"Perfect," she says. "I think I'm actually ready to do this today."

"You know we have to talk to your parents first?"

"Yeah, I know." She runs her fingers through my hair. "I'm hoping they're on

board, because I have no idea how to convince them if they're not."

"What are you guys doing?" Piper asks.

"We're going to scatter my brother's ashes off the pier," Violet says. "It was

Ethan's idea."

Piper swoons. Out of view of Violet, she shoots me a thumbs up. "That's the first

smart thing he's done since he lost you."

Violet smiles. "He has his moments."

IOLET

PRESSES

her palm into mine as she knocks and unlocks the door to her parents'

house. Her hand is clammy and she's trembling. I can't remember the last time I

saw her this nervous.

I squeeze her hand. It calms her enough she stops shaking, but her expression

stays fraught.

She squeezes back as she steps inside the door. "Hey, it's me."

I follow her into the living room and shut the door behind me. Her parents are

sitting at the dining table with a pot of tea between them and tablets in hand.

Both of them look at Violet with confusion. Her mom, Mary, gives me the same

concerned once over she always does. I'm not sure if it's the tattoos or the whole

musician thing, but Mary has never been my biggest fan.

Violet's dad, Dan, gives me a friendly nod. "Is that you, Ethan?"

"Yeah, nice to see you again Mr. and Mrs. Valentine." I shoot Mary my sweetest

smile. "Your hair looks great."

She smiles as she smooths her auburn hair. "Violet, sweetie, what are you doing

here? And why is your ex… uh, what's Ethan doing here?"

Violet chews on her lower lip. "I've been with Ethan the last few days. Not just

Ethan. I’ve been with Mal too. He's Ethan's older brother. Do you remembers

him?" After her parents nod, Violet continues. "Well, he offered me the job I was

talking about. I may have exaggerated a few things, but he's paying really well."

"Is he?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah. It's very generous. A few months' rent at least." She shifts her

weight between her legs. "Um, Ethan and I, we uh… well it was his idea, and I think

it's a good one. You know how Asher was always a little morbid, especially after

he'd watch those violent war movies about men dying for just causes. Once he said

that if he died, he'd want his ashes scattered in the Pacific Ocean, so I was thinking

it's about time to do that. You know, off the pier maybe. I think he'd like that."

I squeeze Violet's hand.

Her nails dig into the back of my hand as she squeezes back. "But only if it's

okay with you."

Mary looks us over slowly. "How about some tea first?"

"That sounds great, thank you." I pull a seat out for Violet.

"Thank you." She sits then crosses and uncrosses her legs a dozen times.

Mary goes into the kitchen to make another pot of tea. Dan asks Violet about the

job Mal offered her. She's careful to stick to the facts, just the facts.

When Mary returns with the tea, Violet nearly jumps to get it. She buries her

face behind her mug.

"You could have done this earlier, sweetie," Mary says. "If you'd wanted."

"Yeah. Uh, I just, I wasn't thinking about it." Violet chews on her lower lip.

"Does that mean you're okay with it?"

Mary and Dan exchange the kind of look that only couples who have been

married for thirty years can exchange. The two of them communicate everything

with their eyes and no one else is privy to it.

Mary looks back to us. "Yes, Violet, I think it's a nice idea. We have our stones."

Huh?

"They had stones made from the ashes," Violet says. "It's a thing."

Mary places her hand over the small gem pendant hanging around her neck. "It

wasn't cheap, but it… it's nice to know I always have him close." She turns to me.

"You know, Asher told me that he wanted to play keyboard in a band. At first, I

discouraged him. He was already stressed all the time from his piano performances

but that was a mistake. It would have been good for him. I thought I was helping

but… thank you for giving him that chance."

I shove my hand in my pocket. "He was great. Didn't fit our sound but it would

have been fun."

She smiles. "Yes, but if he wanted to do it, he wouldn't have listened to me."

That is true. Asher wasn't as strong as Violet was and he certainly didn't have

her propensity for telling people to fuck off, but he was just as stubborn as she was.

Mary nods to Violet. "Let me help you with the urn, sweetie." Her expression

screams and we'll also talk about your deception.

Violet swallows hard. "Okay. Did you, um, did you want to come? Because that

would be fine. No, it would be great. But we can also do it alone."

"No, I don't think I have the stomach for that." She leads Violet into the

kitchen.

Then it's just me and Dan.

He looks at me the way Mal looks at everybody. I get it—he wants to protect his

daughter.

I'd look at me the same way if I were him.

"We haven't had many chances to talk," he says.

I nod. Violet fights with her parents—who doesn't?—but she cares about them

and she respects their feelings.

She doesn't always take their advice, but she does listen to it.

"Violet never talked about what happened between the two of you," he says. "I

know Mary used to give you a hard time. It wasn't personal, son. She was worried

about how much time Violet spent with you and your band. Violet had always kept

to work and books until she met you. She dated other guys—she thought she kept

that a secret but kids are never as good at keeping secrets as they think they are."

"She was a supportive girlfriend." I run my hand through my hair. "I care about

her a lot. I want the best for her." Not that I can defend myself with my past

actions. I forced her to choose between me and school. I was hurt, yeah, but that

doesn't make it right.

I was an asshole.

I deserved her leaving.

Not going to make that mistake again.

Dan continues. "I know. I can tell she means a lot to you. And I can tell you're a

good man, even with the tattoos."

I have to laugh.

"But I've known a lot of men your age with ambition and they don't always

realize what they're asking of the people they love. We both know Violet won't

listen to my feelings about your relationship with her. But I want you to promise

me you'll take care of her."

"I will."

Violet and Mary are back before we have time to discuss matters further. Violet

is holding a blue Trader Joe's tote bag. She still looks like she's about to faint.

She nods goodbye to her parents and whispers in my ear, "I think I'm finally

ready to do this."

IOLET

free hand stays glued to mine. She's wearing her nervous expression all

over her face, but she still manages to walk with a steady gait.

We stop at Pacific Coast Highway to wait for the light. Violet squeezes my hand.

She looks out at the horizon then her eyes meet mine.

The light changes. I lead the way across the still empty highway, over the

concrete, onto the pier. It gets windier and colder the closer we get towards the

edge. For once, Violet has her coat. She breaks free of my hand to pull it tighter.

I slide my hand around her waist and pull her closer. She's still shaking. She's

still walking with a steady, strong gait.

Her footsteps slow as we pass the chain diner at the end of the pier. There are

two fishermen on the left, so I lead us to the right. We're fighting the wind, but

we'll make it work.

She kneels to set the tote bag on the deck. Her eyes meet mine. "Do you want to

say a few words?"

"You should."

"I will. But maybe you should go first. If you have anything to say."

Asher was my friend too. It hurt me too. Not the way it hurt her, not even close,

but it did sting.

"Okay." I take the urn from the tote bag and hold it to my chest. It feels like the

right thing to do here. "Asher, I'll never forget the first time I saw you on the keys

in our practice room. You fucking killed it. And I'll never forget the look of horror

on your face when I asked if Violet was single." I take a deep breath. "I don't blame

you for thinking I was no good for your sister. Even though you two had your issues,

I know you always wanted to protect her. I feel the same way."

Waves lap against the pier. The tide is steady. The ocean seems to go forever.

This is where Asher would want to be.

I squeeze Violet's hand then I press on. "Wherever you are, I hope you have

some way to look after Vi. But if you don't, then I hope to pick up the mantle. You

were an amazing pianist, but that's not what I'll remember about you. It's the dry

sense of humor, the stubborn unwillingness to give up or back down, the way you

challenged me to a fight when you found out I slept with Violet, then the way we

laughed over how we'd be willing to risk breaking our hands over her honor. I wish

I could have helped you, so you'd still be here."

A weight lifts off my shoulders as I hand the urn to Violet. I can't imagine how

heavy it feels for her.

Her lashes are heavy with tears. Happy or sad, I'm not sure. She's smiling but

she's choking back a sob too.

I wipe her tears with my thumbs.

"Thank you." She holds the urn to her chest. Her eyes find mine. "That was

beautiful. Did he really try to fight you?"

I nod.

"What did you do?"

"Asher was scrappy but he was tiny. I could have broken him in half. Told him I

wasn't willing to risk being put out of commission."

"Were you?"

"For you, yeah."

She smiles. Her gaze goes to the ocean. She takes a deep breath. Another.

Another dozen.

Her expression softens as she speaks. "You know, Mom and Dad didn't want me

speaking at the funeral. They said I was so distraught I shouldn't have to worry

about it. At the time, I thought they were worried I'd burst out the fucks, but now I

realize they were right. I would have lost it." She takes a slow, steady breath. "But

I'm still going to let the fucks fly."

I can't help but laugh.

"I've never been good with words. Or music. Or anything but numbers. I always

admired your talent, Asher. I have to admit I was jealous. But it wasn't just your

talent."

She looks to me with unsteady eyes.

I run my fingers through her hair. "More fucks might help."

She laughs. "Yeah they might." Her gaze goes back to the ocean. "I was so

fucking jealous of you, Asher. I was jealous of your perfect French accent. I was

jealous that you had such strong convictions about movies and books. I gave you a

lot of shit about being pretentious or boring or only liking stuff for old white guys,

but I really admired that you stuck to your guns about Moby-Dick. I admired that

you dressed up as gunshot Abraham Lincoln for Halloween that one year, and I was

really, really jealous when you got sent home with a suspension."

"Did he really?" I ask.

She nods. "Yeah, it was gruesome and disgusting. Mom and Dad were horrified

but they just smiled and went oh honey, you're so creative. Our poor parents were

stuck with two weird kids, but they always treated us like we were normal and they

always loved each other like Morticia and Gomez Addams. I think The Addams

Family was the only TV show both of us liked." She looks down at the urn. "Though

I know you liked My Chemical Romance, even though you wouldn't admit it."

I laugh. "Yeah?"

"And Evanescence." She laughs. "You know, I never told anyone that until now.

So I guess I owe you one for spilling your secret." Violet hugs the urn to her chest.

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. "I wish I had been less jealous of you,

Asher. I wish we had been closer. Looking back, I can see the cost of it all. You killed

yourself trying to keep Mom and Dad happy. You killed yourself trying to be the

best pianist in California. And then you killed yourself because you couldn't keep it

up anymore. You were a great pianist but you were more than that. You were funny,

and smart, and a little pretentious, and sometimes an asshole. And you were a

supportive brother. I know you would have done anything for me. And I do wish

you'd have told me you were hurting, because I would have done anything for you

too."

Violet lifts the lid off the urn and places it on the pier. She looks at me as if to

say you ready?

I nod.

Her fingers dig into the slick silver surface. "For a while, I hated you for leaving

me with the aftermath of this, but I know you did it because you didn't see another

way to stop hurting. Wherever you are, I hope you've found that peace. I hope you

don't hurt anymore." She tilts the urn and watches as the wind blows the ashes

into the ocean. "I love you. I always will."

Violet stares out at the deep blue ocean for a long, long time. Slowly, her eyes go

to the horizon, then to the sand, and then she turns and they're on me.

She leans in to whisper. "Thank you for being here. For thinking of this. For

everything."

I want to thank her for a million things—for letting me in, for caring about

where I hurt, for looking at me like a guy and not an idea, for being the person who

turns the universe into a place that isn't ugly.

But my lips don't want to talk. My lips want on her lips.

I kiss her until I'm out of breath.

C H A P T E R 3 0

IOLET

e walk the three blocks to Ethan's place hand in hand. The sounds of the surf

get quieter with each of our footsteps, but the silence is comfortable.

Ethan's company is all I need.

He smiles as he leads me inside. "Piper's car isn't in the driveway."

"Oh." I squeal as he scoops me into his arms and spins me. "Ethan!"

"I still owe you one." He carries me up the stairs and into his room—he has to

kick the door open. "When you were here two years ago, I should have said fuck,

Violet, that's amazing. And I should have thrown you on the bed and made you

come until you passed out."

God, it's hot in here. I slide my arms around his shoulders and squeeze tight. "In

that case you owe me three or four."

"That's what I was thinking." He tosses me onto the bed, on my back. He drags

his fingers up my inner thigh until he's tracing the seam of my jeans.

I crane my neck to catch the time on the alarm clock. I have an appointment

later this afternoon, but I have more than enough time for this.

"Something you want to say, honey?" Ethan asks.

I have a timer set for an hour before my appointment. There's no risk I'll be late.

I relax into the bed. My hand goes to Ethan's hair. "You still have a mirror on

your ceiling."

"Yeah."

"You use it with other girls?"

"No." He unzips my jeans and peels them off. Slowly, he drags his fingertips up

my bare legs. "You're the only person I've ever brought home."

"But you—"

"You're the only person I've ever cared about, Vi." He drags his lips up my calf,

over the inside of my knee, up my inner thigh. "What was the deal? You come on

my hands then on my face?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm going change the order around." He pushes my panties aside. "If that's

alright with you."

"Ethan…"

His breath is warm on my skin. His lips are soft and wet. He does owe me this,

but I'm not concerned about an orgasm count— there's no way I'll ever catch up to

him on that.

It's the celebration I want.

The happiness.

His happiness has always been my happiness. I want the same from him.

I want-

My thoughts drift away as he flicks his tongue against me. Right now, I want

this.

God, I want this.

Ethan's fingers dig into my inner thighs as he licks me. I melt into the bed. I

melt into his touch.

There isn't a solid part of me left.

My pleasure builds quickly. I run my fingers through Ethan's hair. I press my

thighs into his cheeks. I groan his name.

He's giving me all this pleasure and I'm giving him all of me. This is how it

should be. Not just Ethan between my legs—though I certainly can't complain

about that—but the two of us without defenses.

Without pretenses.

Without fucking clothes, even.

I pull my top over my head and do away with my bra. My hands go back to

Ethan's hair. My hips buck as his tongue gets more aggressive.

Almost.

There.

With the next flick of his tongue, all the tension in my core unfurls in a hell of

an orgasm.

"Fuck, Ethan." I tug at his hair.

I look up at Ethan's mirror and watch his movements. He's still got his head

between my legs. He's still licking and sucking on me.

God, he's good at this.

I watch him until I can't take it anymore. I have to close my eyes as I go over the

edge again. My orgasm is intense enough to hurt but it's in a fucking amazing way.

"Ethan." I tug at his t-shirt. "You're still dressed."

He pulls his t-shirt over his head as he climbs on top of me. I drag my hand

down his torso, taking my time to explore all the nooks and crannies of his body.

I wanted this with him that day twenty-two months ago. But I'm not sure I was

ready for it. I wasn't ready to let go of my grief. I wasn't ready to meet Ethan

halfway.

Now, I am.

Now, we're both grown up enough to do this right.

Ethan unzips his jeans and kicks them off. He looks down at me and runs his

fingers through my hair. His blue eyes are brimming with affection.

He does away with his boxers.

I wrestle him for control, flipping him over onto his back. My hands go to his

shoulders. I use the leverage to bring my body onto his.

"Watch yourself," I say. "And me."

I watch our bodies join.

God, he feels so good inside me.

Like that's where both of us belong.

My thoughts drift away until all I feel is the pleasure building inside me and all

the affection in the world pouring from me to him, from him to me.

When we come together, it's much more than sex.

It's fucking everything.

LAY

TOGETHER

on Ethan's bed for a long time. I can feel his heart beating against

my chest. I can feel his breath on my neck.

Right now, there are no walls between us. I really do feel like I have the key to

his heart.

He smiles as I look up at him.

He brushes my hair from my eyes. "I love your haircut." He runs his fingers over

the edges of my blunt cut. "It suits you."

"You just like that it doesn't cover my neck."

He smiles. "Can't complain about that."

I press my forehead to his chest. "I guess I should tell you what we're doing after

this."

"Besides having dinner with your parents?"

"Yeah."

"I have an appointment to get a tattoo."

He slides his hand under my chin and tilts it so we're eye to eye. "No fucking

way."

"Yeah, I asked Joel for a recommendation."

Ethan laughs. "That hurts, Vi. You like his ink better than mine?"

"No." I drag my fingers over the tattoo on Ethan's chest then I start tracing the

sleeve on his right shoulder for good measure. "It's up in Los Angeles."

"Hate to say it but you better get dressed." He presses his palm to my lower

back. "Getting Ethan with a few butterflies."

"In your dreams."

"You want it right here." He drags his fingertips over the swell of my breast.

I shake my head.

He drags his fingertips up my inner thigh. "If you lived here you'd be home

now."

"Ew." I stick out my tongue. "Tacky."

He smiles. "Guitarists do it with their hands?"

Again, I shake my head. Admitting this makes me feel even more naked, but I'm

running out of time for shyness.

I'm getting this tattoo in a few hours.

I lock eyes with Ethan. "An ash tree with the dates… an in memoriam for Asher.

Is it stupid?"

He presses his forehead to mine. "No, Vi, it's perfect."

C H A P T E R 3 1

IOLET

y heart thuds against my chest as I pull the tattoo parlor's door open. The

shop's bell sounds with a gentle ring. It's much too gentle for the location. Needles

jamming into skin deserves a louder, angrier bell. It deserves cymbals clanging. It

deserves noise.

I squeeze my cell phone between my palms. I can do this. I can absolutely do

this. Brendon, the guy who owns the shop, has a great reputation and he comes

highly recommended by Joel. As little as I wish to think about Joel's body—he feels

like a brother or at least a cousin—I have to admit he has nice ink.

He knows his shit.

And Brendon seems to know his shit too, at least if our email chain is any

indication. He squeezed me in last minute and he busted his ass doing this mock

up.

He steps out of the back room with a nod. At least he looks like the photo on the

shop's website. He's tall and broad enough that his presence is imposing. The short

dark hair, dark eyes, and eyebrow piercings don't hurt. Nor does the fact that every

inch of him—save above the neck and past the wrists—is covered in ink.

Ethan is one step behind me. He runs his calloused fingertips over the skin on

the inside of my wrist. His touch calms me. Not enough to get my heartbeat back to

double digits. Not enough to make breathing easy.

But enough to keep me from throwing up.

There's a tattoo artist working on a gruff-looking biker dude's calf. The artist

seems to be an expert. He's got the gloves and the technique and the laser focus.

God, that needle is huge.

And it's jamming into the large man's muscular calf again and again and again.

The man grimaces with unspeakable agony.

"Violet, right?" Brendon steps up to the front desk. He extends his hand. "I'm

Brendon. It's nice to meet you."

Somehow, I peel my eyes away from the horror of the needle attacking the large

man's skin enough to give Brendon a proper hello. "Yeah, thanks for squeezing me

in."

Despite his imposing presence, he has a friendly smile. "Anytime. Wouldn't

have heard the end of it from Joel if I hadn't."

"That's Joel," I say.

Brendon looks to Ethan. "You're Joel's friend, right?"

Ethan nods. "Ethan."

Brendon's eyes light up with recognition. "The guitarist, right?"

Ethan nods.

"Got to admit, I don't listen to your band. What's it called?"

"Don't worry about it. Nice to be a normal person for once," Ethan says.

Brendon gives Ethan a long once-over. Mostly, he studies Ethan's sleeve

tattoos. "That's nice work." He looks to me. "Don't worry. Yours will be just as

nice."

"Uh…" Don't worry? Is he seriously telling me not to worry about a needle

jamming into my skin several thousand times? I try to say something, anything,

sensible but all I manage is a slack-jawed stare.

"This is your first tat, huh?" Brendon asks.

That needle is still buzzing, still attacking the biker guy.

Ethan laughs. "Yeah, it's her first. She's afraid of needles." He rubs my shoulder

and leans in to whisper. "You don't have to do this."

I shake my head. I do have to do it. And more— "I want to." I take a deep breath.

Somehow, I manage to look Brendon in the eyes again. "Is it going to hurt?"

He nods. "Yeah, but it's not as bad as it looks. And it's worth it. Can you think of

anything else guaranteed to last forever?"

"Technically, a tattoo lasts only as long as you have skin," I say.

Brendon chuckles. He taps a few keys on the shop's computer then the printer

whirs with a new design. "This is a stencil. We'll play around with where it goes and

how it looks until it's perfect." He grabs the stencil from the printer and hands it to

me. "It's a mirror image, but you'll get the idea."

It looks exactly like the image he sent me. It's an ash tree. The branches are

shaded black. The leaves are green. At the top, birds fly into the heavens. Below the

tree are roots and the dates of Asher's life.

A tear stings my eye. It's perfect.

I hand the stencil back to Brendon. He talks me through the application of the

stencil, but I'm barely listening. I'm too caught up in the sound of the buzzing

needle.

Thankfully, I came prepared in a low-back tanktop, no bra. All I have to do is

push the strap of my top off my shoulder to make room for the stencil.

Once it's applied, he motions wait a minute to Ethan and guides me to a

secluded suite in the back, right between two mirrors. "How does that look?"

I stare back at my reflection. It looks like a real tattoo and it's right there on my

shoulder blade.

In a few hours, it will be there forever.

It takes me almost a minute to muster up enough breath to speak. "It's perfect."

"You sure? We can play around with the placement?"

"I'm sure."

"It's normal you're scared, especially for your first tat. But I want you to know:

I've had people regret a lot of ink. Straightedge tattoos, ex's names, bands or sports

teams. But nobody has ever regretted a tribute. This one is touching."

I barely manage to nod.

"You want your boyfriend in here or you want him to wait outside?"

I'm about to say here when I bite my tongue. Ethan isn't my boyfriend yet. We

haven't really talked about what happens after we get to New York.

Not that I need to tell Brendon my life story.

I play as casual as I can while surrounded by needles (not very casual). "He's not

my boyfriend."

Brendon cocks a brow. "Guy holding your hand while you get ink isn't your

boyfriend?"

"Yeah, well, he was my boyfriend, but we broke up a while back. Now we're…

It's complicated."

Brendon shakes his head. "It's never complicated. If you want someone in your

life, you make it happen."

Ah, so he's a wise tattoo artist. Normally, I'd come back with something smart

and sassy. At the moment, I'm a little distracted by thoughts of needles.

It is good advice.

I wish I could see things that black and white. If you want someone in your life,

you make it happen. Period. End of story. The end.

The wise tattoo artist calls Ethan into the suite. Then he closes the door and sets

up the bench seat so I can sit backwards with my chest against the back. "Take a

seat."

Ethan's blue eyes are filled with concern. "You okay?"

I nod. I'm okay. But okay is good. Okay is the best it's going to get until I'm away

from all the needles.

I keep my eyes on the wall in front of me. It's covered in framed images of tattoo

designs. They're nice, traditional designs—mermaids, tigers, skulls and

crossbones, hearts devoted to Mom or Dad.

"I'll take this slow. You breathing, Violet?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah. Barely."

He addresses Ethan. "Give her your hand."

Ethan presses his palm against mine. He rubs the space between my thumb and

forefinger with his thumb. It calms me enough I can take a deep breath.

"Squeeze his hand as tight as you want. If that's not enough, tell me to stop."

Brendon's voice is equal parts soothing and authoritative. "Okay?"

My voice is equal parts terrified and nervous. "Okay."

Nerves flutter in my stomach and chest as he finishes pouring ink and setting up

needles.

My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when the needle turns on. The buzz is

much louder when it's this close.

Am I breathing?

Is it possible to breathe?

Ethan squeezes my hand. "You're okay, Vi."

I'm okay. He's right. I'm okay. I look up at him, at his clear blue eyes, at his

boyish smile, at the dimple on his cheek.

His presence calms me. It really does.

"You're going to feel a prick," Brendon says.

I squeeze Ethan's hand until I can't feel my fingers. Words barely make it to my

lips. "Okay."

The needle hits my skin. It's more than a prick. It's like a flu shot. Actually, it's

like several flu shots every second.

It fucking hurts.

I chew on my bottom lip. I dig my nails into the back of Ethan's hand. My

heartbeat slows. My breath steadies. It hurts, yes, but at least now I know what I'm

dealing with. I'm not trembling with anticipation.

"You're got this, Vi." Ethan rubs my hand with his thumb.

I've got this.

Not enough to respond, but I do have it.

I let my eyelids press together. Slowly, my endorphins kick in. The needle hurts

like hell but it's exhilarating too.

I'm marking my body forever.

Hell, that's scary.

This pain is the last pain I'm going to force myself to suffer over Asher. After

this, I'm done punishing myself. I'm done wallowing.

I'm ready to feel good again.

I'm ready to be happy.

Ethan's palm is warm against mine. His eyes are glued to me and they're filled

with this amazing mix of concern and excitement.

The tattoo takes an hour and a half. The entire time, Ethan stays next to me, his

palm pressed against mine, his eyes glued to mine.

When I'm done, Brendon steps away. He gives me a minute to take in my new

ink.

It's just like the stencil, only it's forever.

It's perfect.

I push myself to my feet, but I'm not steady yet. I stumble. I stumble right into

Ethan's arms.

"Careful, Vi." He holds my body against his. "What do you think?"

I look into his clear blue eyes. "It's perfect."

"Yeah, it is."

This moment, him staring at me with all that care and affection, is perfect too.

Ethan releases me so Brendon can tend to my fresh ink. The tattoo artist applies

a balm and plastic wrap. He's explaining how I take care of the ink, how I need to

stay away from swimming for a few weeks.

And Ethan is smiling and making a joke about how I'll barely survive two weeks,

being such a Cali girl.

And I'm lost in his eyes and his smile. But more than that, I'm lost in the

feelings bursting through my chest. They're stronger than nerves, stronger than

grief, stronger than adrenaline.

I'm in love with Ethan.

I'm madly, passionately, desperately in love with Ethan.

"Vi, you okay?" Ethan slides his arm around my waist. He looks to Brendon.

"It's been an intense few days. I'll make sure she takes care of her ink."

Brendon nods. "It was nice to meet you two." He shakes my hand. "Hope things

get less complicated."

Maybe they just did.

Or maybe they got a whole lot more complicated.

I'm not sure. My legs are still jelly. My tongue is still stuck to the roof of my

mouth.

Ethan laughs. "What am I going to do with you?"

Love me.

That's what I want him to do with me. I want him to love me as much as I love

him.

But I'm not ready to say that yet. Instead, I exhale all my nervous energy. "I

should pay for the tattoo."

Brendon shakes his head. "Sorry, Joel already paid."

"At least let me tip," I say.

"He left a generous tip and he made me swear not to let you pay a dime. Can't go

back on my word." Brendon looks from me to Ethan. "You have enough to worry

about."

I nod. "Thank you."

He nods back then steps out of the way.

Then it's just me and Ethan and the feelings that are ready to burst out of my

chest.

"Damn, I was gonna pay," Ethan mumbles. "Joel's making me look bad."

I want to scream out the words, but I'm not ready yet. I swallow hard. "You can

buy me a matcha latte."

He smiles. "Deal."

C H A P T E R 3 2

IOLET

y parents are surprisingly friendly with Ethan over dinner. It helps that Piper

chimes in to sing his praises every thirty to sixty seconds.

We spend the evening with her in the Strong living room. She gushes over my

tattoo, listens with rapt attention as I explain my current project, and fills us in on

all the entertainment news gossip about the band.

Just like old times, I fall asleep in Ethan's bed, in his arms, and I wake up to the

smell of coffee and a very sweaty, post-gym Ethan making me tea.

My jaw nearly drops to the floor as he runs his hand through his hair. I've seen

the gesture a thousand times. Turns out time a thousand and one is just as good.

"Hey." He smiles.

"Hey." I smile back. The sun is pouring through the deck's sliding door. The

ocean breeze too. It smells like salt. I can hear the faint roar of waves crashing.

And Ethan is smiling at me as he makes breakfast.

It's not our kitchen, but it could be. This could be our life. There are

practicalities in the way. At the moment, I don't care. I don't care about tomorrow

or what happens after Ethan's show in New York. I don't even care about my

birthday next week.

This moment is what I care about.

I nearly squeal with glee when he slides a plate of scrambled eggs and a halved

avocado in front of me.

"Rock god, sex god, avocado god." I stare into Ethan's gorgeous blue eyes.

"That's a dangerous combination."

He grabs the hot sauce and slides into the seat across from mine. "Shouldn't it

be an avocado goddess? They're an awfully feminine fruit." He traces the outline of

a halved avocado. "It's got a shape to it."

"Pervert!"

He laughs. "Not in a sexual way. In an all life springs from the womb kind of

way."

I stick out my tongue in distaste. "Did you become a hippie when I wasn't

looking?"

"No. Still a rock star."

"You really are." I scoop avocado onto my eggs. Then hot sauce. "Don't you get

recognized at the gym?"

"There's a fancy gym at the mall next to main street now. I get is that him

stares, but people know better than to interrupt."

"Rich people would never want to seem uncouth."

"Or admit to liking the commoners' music." He digs into his eggs. "These are

good."

"You made them."

"Still, didn't expect them to turn out this good."

I reach over to run my fingers through his hair. "You're good at lots of things."

He looks me in the eyes. "Do I make you happy?"

"Yeah, you do."

"Then I'm good at the two things that matter to me."

"Making eggs and making me happy?" I tease.

"Music and you." He takes another bite. This time, he chews slowly. His voice

gets soft, cautious. "We have to leave in a few hours. The show tonight is in Albany.

They're three hours ahead of us."

"Sure." I take a few bites. The eggs really are good. And I really do appreciate

Ethan cooking and making tea. He's really taking care of me.

Right now, life really is perfect.

FEW

days with Ethan are a blur of afternoons on the bus, evenings at shows,

and nights in his room.

Joel is no longer arranging his own transport but he isn't talking to Mal either.

The two of them seem content to give each other the cold shoulder indefinitely.

Between studying and job applications, I stay busy enough to stay out of the fray.

One of the genetics labs in Orange County wants to hire me, based entirely on my

published articles, resume, and cover letter. Ethan will be home all summer. He'll

be home whenever he's not on tour.

We could be together.

It's a great lab too. On paper, it's perfect.

I should wait to hear back from the labs in other parts of the country. They

might offer better salaries or more responsibilities. They might be better for my

future career.

None of that seems as important as being someplace that feels like home. My

parents' place has plenty of room to grow on that front, but being with Ethan, that

feels like home.

I force myself to arrange a Skype interview, to make sure it's a good fit, but deep

down, I know I want to take the job.

This time, I'm ready to bend.

I just hope Ethan is ready to meet me halfway.

SHOW

at Madison Square Garden is like something out of a dream, even from my

spot on the side of the stage. That's Ethan, the man I love, the guy who grew up

dreaming about performing on the famous stage, playing to ten thousand

screaming fans. This show is huge, at least twice the size of any of the previous tour

stops.

I force myself to take in all the Dangerous Noise guys. Mal and Ethan have a fun

stage dynamic. They riff off each other's energy, tease each other, even swap places

and guitars mid song. The singer stays coy and untouchable. Ethan stays energetic

and welcoming.

Joel shows no signs of his frustration with Mal. He's an animal on his drum kit

and he captivates the crowd every time he pauses to wipe his sweat with his shirt or

blow kisses.

Kit is in his corner of the stage, rocking his bass guitar, inviting the crowd to

look but not touch. Every time he brushes his mass of curly hair from his eyes or

waves at the crowd, a thousand women scream his name.

Right now, there's no doubt in my mind that the four of them belong here.

There's no doubt that the frost between Joel and Mal will fade. There's no doubt

that they'll go on to record platinum albums and win Grammys.

After Mal and Ethan take turns teasing the headliners, the lights go down, the

crowd screams, and Ethan goes straight to me.

His strong arms envelop me. His heart is beating so hard I can feel it against my

chest. This is what he wants, everything he's ever wanted.

Can I really ask him to give up any of it?

My thoughts evaporate as he presses his lips to mine.

When the kiss breaks, he looks into my eyes. "Stick around. I have a surprise for

you after the show."

"Oh yeah?"

He nods. "You'll love it." He kisses me again. It's hungrier this time. "It will be

a while."

"That's okay." I brush a strand of dark hair from his gorgeous blue eyes. "Go

tend to your fans."

"You can come with."

I shake my head. "I don't need to incite the rage of the jealous fangirls who want

you to themselves."

He cocks a brow. "You wouldn't defend my honor?"

"What honor?"

He laughs. "Vi, I…" His eyes go to the floor, then they're on mine. "I'm glad

you're here." He pulls me into another tight embrace. "Now stay here. Or at least

stay around."

"I will."

I kiss him goodbye then watch as a dozen people stop to offer congrats or

support. Sinful Serenade is halfway through their set when Ethan finally clears

backstage.

After their show—they're as amazing as always—I hang out with Joel, then Kit,

then Mal. They take turns chatting with fans, entertaining me, and avoiding each

other.

It's well past midnight when Ethan scoops me into his arms. "Come on." He

nods goodbye to Mal and leads me out to the stage.

The room is cleared out except for staff. The stage is empty except for the mic

stand, a few amps, and a guitar. Not just any guitar but Ethan's guitar.

His blue eyes light up. "You want to be a rock star?"

I shake my head, but my feet have other ideas. I walk straight to the mic stand

and look out at the empty auditorium. The place looked massive from backstage but

this goes beyond massive.

This is insane.

How does he play when the room is packed? I can barely manage to stare at the

empty seats without trembling.

Ethan slings his guitar over his shoulder. He motions to someone in the sound

booth. His lips curl into a smile. "I know you know this one."

The lights go on. They're shades of blue and purple and there's a spotlight on

me.

Familiar notes fill the room as Ethan strums his guitar. He's playing the intro to

my favorite song, I'm Only Happy When it Rains, by Garbage.

His eyes meet mine as he starts the first verse.

Oh God, he wants me to sing it.

I shake my head. I can't sing on stage. I don't care that the venue is almost

empty. The mic is still hooked up to the amp. Someone is going to hear me.

Ethan laughs as he starts the song over. He moves up to the backing vocals mic.

"Vi, I've got all night."

"Doesn't New York City have quiet hours?"

"Volume is turned down low enough nobody outside can hear." His eyes light up

as he smiles. "If you don't play rock star now, I'm gonna have to drag you on stage

at our next show."

That sounds mortifying.

He raises a brow as he restarts the intro. All the joy in his expression flows into

me.

I close my eyes as I let out the first line. Nerves rise up in my chest then settle.

My voice gets louder. I pour my feelings into my performance.

This song deserves everything I've got.

By the second verse, I have my eyes open. I stare out at the empty seats with as

much confidence as I can muster. I shift my hips, wrap my hands around the mic,

and sing like I'm a fucking rock star.

When the song fades into the outro, Ethan looks at me. He speaks into the mic.

"Crowd is demanding an encore after that." He cocks a brow. You game?

I nod. I am. This is fun.

He plays another Garbage song, I Think I'm Paranoid. I relax enough to sing

every word with passion. Then he's playing another one of my favorite songs.

Another. Another.

He plays and I sing until the stage manager, Jim, is motioning for us to cut the

lights.

Ethan holds up his guitar and bows to the non-existent crowd. "Show's got to

end sometime." He throws his guitar pic into the stands then he pulls another from

his pocket and presses it into my palm. "You make a good rock star."

"No, I don't." I intertwine my fingers with his. "But it's fun pretending."

DAY

, I show Ethan around all my favorite touristy landmarks—the mecca of

commercialism that is Times Square, the tranquil sanctuary of Central Park, the

gorgeous views from the Empire State Building—then I move on to secluded spots

—the Strand bookstore, real New York bagels, the view from the top of the NYU

student center.

In his heavy coat and a Yankees cap, Ethan blends in enough he isn't recognized.

It's a rainy, grey day, but my heart is floating on blue skies and sunshine.

Everything, even getting caught in the pouring rain on our way back to the subway

(I'm too stubborn to take a cab), is fun with Ethan.

Life is fun when he's around.

I'm alive when he's around.

The four-block walk from the subway to my apartment is cold and windy, but

with his arm around my waist and his smile lighting up my heart, I don't feel the

chill.

My hands are wet. I fumble over my keys. Ah, there.

I look back to Ethan as I press the key between my palms. "We haven't talked

about what happens tomorrow."

"Something you want to say?"

I nod. "Stay here with me. Until your next show."

"The show is Monday. You sure you want me here all weekend?"

I nod. "I need you here all weekend." I press my forehead to his. "Promise you'll

stay."

His voice is sweet, earnest. "You need me here?"

"Yes."

"Then I promise I'll be here." He presses his lips to mine.

I sigh as I pull back. Ethan will be here, in my apartment, all weekend. We have a

whole weekend to explore New York City and to christen my bed as ours.

This is good.

No, this is great.

I turn the lock, open the door for Ethan, and step inside.

Athena is sitting in our tiny living room on the couch. Her long hair is in a

ponytail. She's wearing makeup—something she never does when she's home

alone.

She takes us in with a knowing look. "You were right. He is hotter in person.

Especially as a Yankees fan."

Ethan laughs as he takes his baseball cap off. "Afraid I prefer the Angels."

"That's okay. Different leagues. Besides, we could kick your ass any day of the

week."

"Those are fighting words," he says.

"Bring it on." She holds up her hands as fists in a playful let's go stance. "I'm

not a guitarist. I don't have to worry about my hands." She winks at me. "Though, I

guess Violet worries about your hands too so—"

"Oh God." My cheeks turn red. I hide behind my hands for a moment then I

collect my senses. "Athena, this is Ethan. Ethan, this is Athena. She lives right

there." I point to her door. "She goes to NYU too, but undergrad."

They shake hands and exchange hellos.

She turns to me. Her voice shifts to that tone that means she's up to something.

"You know, Violet, it's rude to ignore your best friend." Athena looks to Ethan with

approval. "I understand your reasons, but I can't excuse them. I just want you to

know that you earned the embarrassment you're about to receive."

Oh God.

Ethan's eyes light up. "Did she?"

"Oh, she did." Athena leans against the wall. Her eyes meet Ethan's. "The first

time we talked about you, it was because I caught sight of Violet's 'Dangerous

Noise' Google alert. I was gushing about how hot your lead singer is—"

Ethan laughs. "We get that a lot."

"The way he sings all breathy and groaning. It's—" She fans herself. "I know

he's your brother, but you must realize it."

Again, Ethan laughs.

"Violet let me go on and on. She sat there nodding, until she blurted out that the

two of you used to date."

Ethan laughs. "Did she?"

"Turns out, she also has a Google alert just for you."

Ethan looks at me. He raises a brow to say is this true?

I keep my lips zipped. It's bad enough my cheeks are burning.

"I had to talk her down a few times after she saw you photographed with a

lingerie model." Athena laughs. "She was so jealous I thought she'd turn green."

"You were jealous?" Ethan's voice is earnest.

I clear my throat. "Well, it's only natural—"

"Don't play dumb. You probably hoped she'd get jealous. Didn't you?" Athena

folds her arms.

"Did you?" I ask.

"Honestly, Vi, I assumed you were over me."

"Really?" I ask.

He nods.

"I wasn't," I say.

"You should have seen the way she tried to tell herself she liked that Denny

guy." Athena shakes her head. "He was more boring than plain toast."

"Oh yeah?" Ethan asks.

"Yeah, total white bread, no butter, nothing," Athena says.

"He was nice." I fold my arms. That's really all he was.

"She could have done better you know." Athena looks at Ethan. "Whenever we

go out, Violet has to turn down at least a dozen guys. They love that hot goth chick

who won't take your shit thing."

"I'm sure you do alright on that front," Ethan says.

"Alright?" Athena looks to me and winks. "He better be as good in bed as you

say he is to treat your friends this way."

"Oh God." Hiding behind my hands does nothing to help me here.

Ethan smiles.

My break from mockery is short lived. Athena blows me a kiss and goes right

back to embarrassing me.

"Once, she scribbled out a model's face on a tabloid page. It was really tacky."

Athena mouths I love you to me.

My blush spreads to my chest. I have to hide behind my hands. "I got that

magazine at the dentist."

"That doesn't make it right," she says.

"I hate you," I mutter.

"I hate you too." She moves in for a hug and squeezes tight. Her voice drops to a

whisper. "You really okay with him here?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

She pulls back and shoots Ethan a knowing smile. "I'll get out of your hair for a

few hours. This project is kicking my ass. I'll concentrate better at the library." She

packs her laptop in her messenger back and steps into her boots.

"Thanks," Ethan says. "Owe you one."

"You could send us tickets to a show. Your band is just okay, but Sinful Serenade

is fucking awesome. And their drummer is so…" Athena fans her face.

"You know he's got a cock piercing," Ethan says.

Her eyes bug out of her face. "I thought that was just a rumor."

"Rumor's true," Ethan says.

Athena blushes.

Ah, at least she's suffering embarrassment too.

"Damn." She winks at me then looks at Ethan. "Drummers are the hottest."

He laughs. "Are they?"

"Oh yeah. But guitarists aren't bad either. And Violet speaks very highly of your

skill with your hands," she says.

Ethan looks to me and smiles.

I'm blushing so hard my entire body is burning.

She pulls him into a close hug and whispers something I can't hear. He whispers

back.

Athena nods goodbye as she steps out the door. "Be good or be discreet!"

"You too."

The door slams shut behind her. It's one of those doors that always slams.

Ethan gives me a long once over. "We have a few hours."

"We do."

"You want to eat first?"

"No."

He smiles. "Me either."

C H A P T E R 3 3

THAN

he tiny bedroom is pure Violet. Black bedspread and sheets, glittery rose

decals on the walls, stacks of sci-fi DVDs piled high on her dresser.

Four math posters hang over her desk. One has a triangle with a hippo lying on

the hypotenuse. Another has a pi symbol telling the square root of negative one to

get real. Honestly, I'd have no idea what it meant if didn't own a t-shirt with the

same design.

She catches me looking at her posters and blushes. "I'm still a math geek."

"I love that you're a math geek." I love that she has a place where she can be

herself.

I love that she's inviting me into it.

It's difficult to resist pinning her to the wall immediately. I do it for long enough

Violet can explain the jokes on her other math posters and show off her sci-fi

collection.

I unbutton her coat and slide it over her shoulders. She does the same to me. Her

lips find mine.

I kiss her with every ounce of hunger in my body. Being in her room is making

me dizzy. It's a good dizzy. A this is intimate enough to last forever dizzy.

She digs her fingers into my hair as she moans into my mouth. Violet has always

been a hell of a kisser, but she's more passionate now. She's giving more of herself.

I scoop her into my arms and lay her on the bed. Her groans vibrate down my

throat. She rocks her hips against mine.

I peel off her boots, her jeans, her socks. I drag my hands up her calves and over

the smooth skin of her thighs.

Her eyes get heavy with lust. "Ethan." She pulls me into a deep kiss. "You need

to be naked now."

"You first."

She pulls her sweater over her head. There's Violet, lying on her bed with only a

thin white tanktop covering her black bra and panties. Her breath is heavy enough

to compete with the rain pounding the concrete outside.

There isn't a hint of apprehension in her eyes. Violet doesn't just trust me with

her body. She trusts me with her heart too.

I lose track of my thoughts as she does away with her tank top. Slowly, she

unhooks her bra and slides it off her shoulders. Slowly, she pushes her panties off

her hips.

They land on the floor.

She's inviting me into her bed and into her life.

Her voice is heavy, breathy. "You're supposed to be getting naked."

Can't argue with that.

I take in every soft, curvy inch of her body as I strip to my boxers. Her expression

gets needy as I climb into bed next to her. She runs her fingers through my hair.

Her lips meet mine. She kisses hard, sucking on my lips then my tongue.

I go to pull her closer but my hand hits something hard. Not hard exactly, but

certainly harder than her skin. The feel of it is familiar. The shape too.

"You still have this?" I pull her rabbit-style vibrator from under the covers.

Violet turns every shade of red. "It still works."

I hold the power button until the device starts buzzing. "So it does."

She hides behind her hands.

I peel one hand off her face. Then the other. I use my free hand to hold her

wrists over her head.

Her back arches. A sigh of pleasure falls off her lips. "Ethan…"

"You ever come until you pass out?"

She shakes her head.

"You want to?"

"You're going to kill me."

"I'll play I'm Only Happy When it Rains at your funeral."

"You'll have me forever if you play that song for me in public." She looks up at

me through heavy lids. "You aren't naked yet."

"Help me with that." I loosen my grip on her wrists.

She traces the lines of the locked heart tattoo on my chest. Slowly, she rakes her

hands down my torso and slides my boxers off my hips.

Her arms go right back over my head. Her wrists go right to my palm.

She wants to give herself to me.

She wants to be mine.

I plant a hard, deep kiss on her lips as I press the vibrator to her clit. She groans

as she kisses back. I can feel her need pouring into me, my need pouring into her.

This is where we're supposed to be, with each other.

I tease her until she's squirming. Her lips stay glued to mine. Her arms stay

above her head.

Slowly, I slide the device inside her. When the rabbit ears hit her clit, she bites

my bottom lip.

She breaks free of our kiss to groan. "Ethan." Pleasure spills over her face. Her

nipples tighten. Her skin flushes.

I fuck her with the toy. Slowly at first. Then faster. Harder. Deeper. She writhes.

Her toes squeeze the sheets. Her nails dig into her palms.

Her breath catches in her throat. I lean down to suck on her nipple. Then she's

there, groaning my name as she comes on the toy. I look up to watch her eyes roll

back in her head.

Violet lost in pleasure is the best thing I've ever seen.

She pulls her arms to her sides and plants her hands next to my shoulders. "You

have to come too." She drags her lips over my chest. "You have to come in my

mouth."

"Vi…"

"Don't stop." She drags her lips down my torso. Her hips stay in place, but they

turn as she guides herself into position.

My fingers brush against her as I fuck her with the toy. I've fucked a woman

while she was sucking off another guy, and I've been sucked off while another guy

was fucking a woman, but I've never done both at once.

She flicks her tongue against my cock. Pleasure surges through my body. There

is no other woman. There's never going to be another woman. There's never going

to be another experience that compares to Violet.

There isn't a doubt in my mind.

Then her mouth is on me and there isn't a thought in my mind either.

"Fuck, Violet." I fuck her with the toy. My free hand knots in her hair. I guide

her over my cock.

She envelops me with her mouth. Her tongue explores every inch of my cock,

then it settles on the spot on the bottom of my tip. She torments me with hard

flicks of her tongue. Then soft. Then hard again.

My body takes over. I tug at her hair. I fuck her with the toy. I groan her name.

I can feel her orgasm in the way her thighs shake and her fingers dig into my

skin. Her groans vibrate over my cock. It's an intense sensation. It's driving me out

of my fucking mind.

She groans again and I lose control. I hold her head in place as I come in her

mouth. She swallows hard. She groans like my pleasure is her pleasure.

Maybe it is. Her pleasure is certainly my pleasure.

She pushes herself up and reaches down to turn off the toy. Her eyes are still

heavy but now it's with satisfaction.

"I think you might have got me this time." She flops onto the bed next to me. "I

think I might really die from this."

With one hand, I pull her closer. With the other, I stroke her hair. "Any

regrets?"

"Only one." She rests her head on my chest. Her heavy lids fall together. She

lets out a long, deep sigh of pleasure.

I hold her body against mine. The sound of our breath mixes with the rain

pounding the window.

Violet's voice is a murmur. "There's this job in Orange County. I think I'm

gonna take it. I still have an interview, but it's more of a formality." She traces the

lines of the tattoo on my chest. "Your tour ends three weeks before the semester

does… we can be together all summer."

I'm warm all over.

"Are you happy?" she whispers.

"Yeah."

"You have to promise," she whispers.

"Promise what, Vi?"

"You have to promise. I have to know you mean it." She looks up at me with all

this intention in her green eyes. "Will you promise?"

"Promise what?"

"I want to be with you, Ethan. You have to promise you'll be with me too." Her

voice gets sleepy. "You have to promise you'll be mine. Promise…"

"I promise."

Her breath slows. Her muscles go slack.

Violet is asleep in my arms.

She's mine.

WHITE

LIGHT

of a cloudy morning is streaming through the curtains. The bed is

warm. Warmer than it should be.

That's not the bed. It's Violet.

She's burning up.

She blinks her eyes open and looks at me. Then her eyes are closed as she lets

out a deep cough.

I press the back of my hand against her forehead.

"Your skin is so cool." She turns to cough into her shoulder. "Shit."

"You have a thermometer?" I ask.

"No."

"You're hot."

She groans. "My head hurts too much for me to make a joke about that." She

falls back into bed and pulls the covers to her chest. "Do I sound as congested as I

feel?"

She does, but I'm not going to tease her when she looks this miserable.

I plant a kiss on her forehead. "I'll check if you have cough medicine."

Her lips curl into a tiny smile. "Thanks, Ethan." She rolls over in the bed. "I

hope I don't have to spend our weekend in bed."

"That was my plan."

She laughs. "But not the fun way."

"It's fun if I'm with you."

"You're cheesy."

"You like it."

I pull on my boxers—don't want to scare Violet's roommate—and head to the

bathroom. The medicine cabinet and counters are packed to the brim with makeup

and hair products, but the only medicine in here is ibuprofen.

After I do my usual morning routine, I head back to Violet's room.

She pulls the covers down to look at me. "It's not good, huh?"

"Want me to pick something up?"

She looks out the window at the misty white sky. "Ugly out there."

I nod.

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not." I like taking care of Violet. Want to spend my life taking care of

Violet.

She pushes herself up in bed and pats the spot next to her.

I get my jeans and t-shirt on, then I take a seat next to her and pull her into a

deep hug.

She brings her lips to my ear. "I… I… Ethan I… I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here." I kiss her forehead again.

"Don't take too long." She falls back into bed. "Please."

on the way back to Violet's place when my phone rings.

Huh? It's barely eight A.M. No one calls this early. No one on the west coast is

even awake.

It's Mal.

That can't be good.

I bring the phone to my ear. "Tell me this isn't bad news."

"It's good news."

Still don't have a good feeling about it.

"You with Violet?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"Then never mind. I'll decline this."

"At least tell me what it is."

Mal's voice is as even as always. "We got offered a spot on a late night show

tonight. Their original band got food poisoning. Kit and Joel are in."

"You and Joel are communicating?"

"More or less."

That's Mal for less.

"It's a good opportunity but…" His implication is clear. But so is being with

Violet. "It's your call, Ethan."

"Let me think about it."

"Hate to rush you, but they want to know immediately."

Shit.

"I can buy you twenty minutes. If I don't hear from you by then, I'll decline."

"Thanks."

"Hmmm."

The phone clicks. I press the thing between my palms. A late night show means

millions of people watching us perform. That's mainstream success. That's the

kind of thing bands dream about.

I've been working for opportunities like this for the last three years.

Promised Violet I'd stick around. I want to, but I can't turn this down.

She'll understand.

I text Mal.

Ethan: I'm in.

It only takes a minute for him to reply.

Mal: Rehearsal starts at nine-thirty. Don't be late.

C H A P T E R 3 4

IOLET

verything hurts.

Dammit, I can't remember the last time I was sick. Is getting caught in the rain

really that bad? It's happened plenty of times, but only for the distance from the

subway to school or the subway to my apartment. Yesterday was the first time I

spent the entire day in the pouring rain.

I get myself into my pajamas, wrap a blanket around my shoulders, and put on a

pot of tea. The sky is still white. It's still pouring outside.

It's an ugly day.

Then the door opens and Ethan steps inside and it's not ugly anymore. His blue

eyes really brighten every room.

But there's something in his expression…

Something is wrong.

He pulls the cough medicine from the paper bag in his hands. "You want a full

dose?"

"Please."

He says nothing as he pours orange liquid into the dosing container and hands it

to me.

I swig the thing in one sip. Artificial orange flavor. It's not awful.

My apartment is small—all New York City apartments are small, even the ones

this far out in Brooklyn—but somehow it feels like Ethan is far away.

I nod to the couch. "Got Netflix queued up to Battlestar Galactica but there are a

whole bunch of monster movies we could watch instead."

He runs his hand through his hair.

"You're wet."

"It's raining."

"You're not taking off your shoes."

His eyes turn down.

"Or your coat."

He says nothing.

"I know you always drink coffee first thing, but we have coffee here. Athena is

into dark roast. She taught me how to make a pour over. I can get that for you."

"Vi—"

There must be some reason why he isn't settling in. I have to figure it out before

I start to panic. "Don't tell me your rich people gym chain is nearby."

But I know there's no chance of that. No one who lives this far out in Brooklyn

could possibly afford Ethan's gym.

Why does it look like he's leaving?

He promised he'd stay all weekend.

He promised and he's…

"Ethan…"

His voice is low, apologetic. "Dangerous Noise got invited to perform on a late

night show. Their guest canceled. Rehearsal starts in an hour and a half."

"And you're leaving to go to rehearsal?"

"Yeah."

"You're leaving now?"

He swallows hard. "That's the plan."

My words are hollow, an echo. "That's the plan… right. Because you're Ethan

Strong, the Dangerous Noise guitarist, and music is everything to you. I get it. Yeah.

Right."

"Vi-"

"You promised."

"This is a great opportunity."

It is. I know it is. And I want that for Ethan. But he fucking promised.

I want that to be enough for him. I can't compete with the millions of people

who will watch that show. I can't compete with thousands of fans screaming his

name.

I don't want to.

I want him promising me he'll be here to be enough to convince him to do it.

I want to matter that much to him.

I blink back a tear. I feel dizzy. I'm not sure if it's the head cold or if it's all the

feelings stirring in my stomach.

I take a step towards the couch, but I trip on my blanket.

Ethan catches me. He pulls me into a tight hug. God, I want to absorb all the

comfort of his arms.

But I can't.

"You're going to be late," I whisper.

He holds my body against his. "I can come back as soon as it's over."

"Right. Yeah. When is that?"

"Later tonight."

He promised me this day together and now he's leaving like it's nothing.

"And tomorrow, when you get a chance to play some corporate gig?" I pull away

from his touch and plant on the couch.

Ethan turns to look at me. "No, I…"

He can't even promise he'll be here tomorrow.

"I thought things were going to be different. Why would they be different?" My

voice gets soft. "I must be the stupidest person in the entire world."

He sits next to me on the couch.

I shake my head. "I guess it doesn't matter that I love you, does it?"

"Violet, I love—"

"Don't finish that sentence. It's only going to make this worse."

I believe that he loves me, even without him saying the words.

I thought that was enough.

But it's not.

I pull my blanket tighter. "I… I love you so much, Ethan. I was watching you at

the show and my heart was so full it was ready to burst out of my chest. I could see

all that happiness on your face. I could see that you were finally where you

belonged. You love the stage. You love the guitar. You love Dangerous Noise. Don't

you?"

"Yeah."

"I thought I was okay with that coming first. I thought I was okay knowing that

music would always matter more to you than I did. But I'm not. I want you to look

at me the way your friend Drew looks at his fiancée Kara. I want to trust you to keep

your promises. I want to know that if you ever have to choose, you'll choose me."

He stares at me with all this hurt in his deep blue eyes.

The kettle whistles.

"I'll get that." Ethan pushes himself off the couch. He moves to the stovetop

and makes me a cup of tea. He turns and presses his back against the counter. His

eyes meet mine. They're still wracked with hurt.

But he says nothing.

I can only barely get the words out. "You're going to be late."

"Vi, I…"

He wants to fix this, but he can't. Neither of us can. He's got the love of his life

and I'll never be able to compete with his guitar.

His eyes turn to the floor. "I'm sorry."

Then he goes to the door.

And the door is closed.

And he's gone.

C H A P T E R 3 5

IOLET

ime slows to a crawl. The sheets smell like Ethan. The whole room smells like

Ethan.

It's not fair that he occupies this much space in my mind. Dammit, I really

thought things were different this time. He promised he'd make this work. He held

me while I cried. He planned that whole trip back home, just to ease my pain.

Fuck, he held my hand while I got a tattoo.

I thought I wanted him to stitch together my broken heart. And he did. But then

he tore it in half again.

I shower so I won't smell like him. The water is hot and it's pounding my back

and the only thing I can think about is him holding me while I cried.

The tile wall is slick against my palm. I can't get a grip. All my ideas about

spending a glorious half an hour in here with Ethan get ugly. I think about him in

another shower, with another woman, stroking her and pinning her to the wall and

driving his cock deep inside her.

Do I mean that little to him?

Right now, I don't know.

Right now, I don't know anything.

I scrub until my skin is raw and red. I wash and condition my hair three times.

When I step out of the shower, I no longer smell like Ethan.

Turns out that doesn't do shit to erase him from my mind.

I can't sit here wallowing. No matter how frozen I feel, I need to do something.

My body hurts as much as my heart does. I take another dose of cold medicine, I

take a seat at my desk, and I pour myself into my work.

C H A P T E R 3 6

THAN

laying Better Days on a famous sound stage, even at rehearsal, is the kind of

thing that should light me up inside. I don't hold back, not at rehearsals, not on

stage, not offstage. Not anywhere.

But right now…

Muscle memory is the only thing that gets me through the song. My fingers

know the way around my guitar better than they know anything. This is what I'm

good at.

This is where I belong.

Even Violet thinks so.

I should be happy about this opportunity. I should at least be taking it in. My

eyes are clear. I can see everything. I can hear every note from my guitar, from

Mal's guitar, from Kit's bass, from Joel's drum kit. I can hear every bit of my

brother's breathy voice.

I can hear the orders from the crew and from Mal, and I can even sense the

continuing frost between Joel and Mal—the two of them hold grudges better than

anyone in the universe.

It's all here. It's all happening around me. But I'm not here. I'm off some other

place, stuck in how badly I fucked everything up again.

Mal's New York fuck buddy is sitting in the front row, half watching our

rehearsal, half looking at her phone. She's waiting for him. She's at his beck and

call.

It's the same with all his fuck buddies in every city. They jump to meet his

terms. They jump to do what he wants to do, wherever he is, whenever he wants to

be there.

No doubt he makes it up to them with his hands, mouth, or cock, but I'm not

entertaining those thoughts.

They really are sidekicks. He cares about them, yeah, but he always makes it

clear it's only when things are convenient for him.

If that's what I was doing to Violet, she was right to let me walk away.

Fuck, I'm an asshole.

It's possible she's better off without me. But there's no way in hell I'm better

off without her.

DAY

, I stay off some other place. We finish rehearsal, wait around in separate

rooms, and perform for a live studio audience. I can see people cheering and

clapping and screaming out our lyrics, but it doesn't stir me the way it usually does.

After we finish, a production assistant shepherds us to a dressing room. We're

to wait until the producers look over the footage to make sure it's usable.

The room is an average dressing room. It's got a vanity, four hair and makeup

chairs, and a table piled with snacks and beverages. It's a nice size but it's far too

small for the hostility between Mal and Joel.

Joel grabs a bottle of water and rubs his temples. Another hangover. You'd think

he'd know his limits by now.

Most days, I'd throw out a joke about it. Right now, it doesn't feel worth the

effort.

Joel takes a seat in one of the makeup chairs. Kit does the same, only he directs

his attention to his e-reader.

Mal reaches for the door. "I'm gonna grab Stacey."

Joel's eyes narrow. He shakes it off. "Valentine with your fuck buddy?"

Mal shakes his head.

Joel rubs his temples. "Where is Valentine?" He looks to me. "Strong, don't

fucking tell me she's not here."

I say nothing.

Joel stares daggers at Mal. "Oh, was she getting in the way, too?"

"Violet is like a sister to me," Mal says.

"Never see your sister around. That's not helping your case," Joel says.

"Don't need you falling on this sword for me," Kit mutters.

"Yeah, well I'm not doing shit for you, Rhythmic One. This is fucking personal."

Joel looks at me. "You gonna fucking say anything?"

"You're doing a bang-up job speaking for me." My shoulders clench up, but this

isn't Joel's fault. Or Mal's fault. It's my fault. Should say as much. "Mal left it up to

me. I choose to be here."

Joel's brow screws with confusion.

"Mal didn't do shit. This was all me," I say. "I fucked everything up."

"Why the fuck would you choose this over the woman you've been pining over

for the last two years?" Joel asks.

Because music is all I'm good at. Music is what makes me happy. Music is

everything.

It feels like nothing right now.

Feels empty if I can't share it with Violet.

Despite my insistence Mal isn't at fault, Joel continues staring daggers at my

brother. Mal stares back with the same don't fuck with me attitude.

Might not know how to fix shit with Violet, but I can do something to fix this.

"Enough of this fucking animosity," I say. "Joel, Kit, you're family as much as

Mal is. I trust both of you with my life. Let's stop this bullshit."

Joel and Mal hold their stares.

Kit pushes himself up from his chair. He looks at Mal. "I get why you don't trust

me. Don't blame you for that. But fuck you for sneaking around behind my back."

Mal nods. "You're right. Don't have a good excuse. I'm sorry."

"Good," Kit says.

"It was the ex-manager. Shouldn't have jumped to conclusions about you, Kit. I

know you wouldn't fuck us over." He offers Kit his hand.

Kit shakes.

Like that, they're cool.

Joel looks between them. "That's it?"

Kit nods. "This is where I want to be. If I wanted to be somewhere else, I'd

leave."

Joel tosses his empty water bottle in the trash and grabs another. Discomfort

spreads over his face as he paces. He looks at Mal. "Democracy from now on. We

discuss everything. If we can't agree, we vote."

"What breaks ties?" Mal asks.

"Flip a coin," Joel says.

Mal nods.

They shake.

This feels way too fucking easy, but it's not like they're best friends now.

They're ready to work together again. They're ready to occupy the same space.

That's the best it's going to get for a while.

Joel chugs his new water bottle and tosses it in the trash. He turns to me. "You

got a plan for fixing shit with Valentine?"

"Not yet," I say.

Joel's brow furrows. "That girl is fucking mad about you. You'd have to try to

fuck it up."

Kit nods. "She lights up around you."

It's not like I threw her away. I want Violet around, but I keep fucking it up.

"What did she say?" Joel asks.

A lot, but one thing stands out. "She wants to come first."

Joel cocks a brow. "Ethan, don't tell me you're too fast on the trigger."

I have to laugh. It's the first thing I've felt since I walked out of Violet's door.

It's another thing I want to share with her. She'd crack up over the bad joke.

"No, I always get her off first," I say.

"Good man." Joel laughs.

"She wants to be a priority," I say.

Joel's brow screws. "Isn't she?"

"Evidence speaks for itself," Kit says. "He chose this over her. Bet it's not the

first time he chose the band over her."

Joel jumps in. "Ethan, you're an amazing guitarist. As good as Drew—but don't

tell him I said that. And you've got more stage presence than he does. You belong

here, with the band, but you don't have to throw away everything else. We made

shit work with Kit's recovery. We'll make shit work so you and Violet can last. All

due respect, but you're a miserable little shit when she's not around. You act all

happy, but it drops fast and you don't seem to get much out of drinking or sleeping

with groupies."

"Still Joel's favorite pastimes," Kit teases.

Joel flips him off playfully.

Kit returns the gesture.

My shoulders relax as I sigh. Shit is still fucked up with Violet, but this is getting

back to normal.

The band really is going to be okay.

"The woman spent the last week with the three of us on a tiny bus because she

wants to be with you. She gave up her break to be with you," Joel says. "Back when

you two were together, she was always around. She didn't miss a single fucking

show. Not one."

He's right. Fuck… I've been making Violet a priority, but only when it works for

me. Chose music over her the first time we broke up.

Did it again today.

I get that she doesn't want to feel like one of Mal's fuck buddies, like I expect

her to say how high when I ask her to jump.

"What the fuck are you doing to be with her?" he asks.

Nothing. Fuck. "She's taking a job in Orange County."

Joel throws his arms into the air in a damn, this man is helpless gesture.

"She's meeting you halfway," Kit says. "You need to do the same. You need to

prove you'll make her a priority."

He's right.

They're all right.

Violet's always been there for me. Always.

If I really want her to be mine forever, I have to prove I can do the same.

The how is the tricky part.

But— "I have an idea. I'll need your help. All three of you."

In unison, the three of them say, "I'm in."

Sometimes, it's not so bad having three older brothers.

C H A P T E R 3 7

IOLET

he next day, Saturday, is miserable. Athena checks up on me every five to

fifteen minutes. It's sweet that she's concerned, but mostly I want to curl up into a

ball and disappear until this hurts a little less.

Thankfully, she has a meeting for her group project on Sunday. I get the

apartment to myself and I use the time to chain drink homemade matcha lattes

while binge-watching Battlestar Galactica. This must be the tenth time I've seen

the show, but it's as good as the first. There's something about the distrust and the

suspicion and the way traitors backstab the people they've been pretending to love

and support for years.

It would be easier if Ethan really had stabbed me in the back, but he didn't. He

can't help how he feels. He can't help that music matters more to him than I do.

He can't help that he's unwilling to put me first.

The heart wants what it wants.

I know that, because my heart has wanted Ethan since the day he tried to teach

me how to play I'm Only Happy When It Rains on his prized Les Paul guitar. He

never lets anyone else touch that guitar. Only me.

He was patient with me that day. No matter how many times I missed the same

notes, no matter how horribly I failed to get my fingers to form chords, no matter

how many times I let the guitar pick slip from my fingers, he started at the

beginning.

He looked at me like he'd wait for me forever.

Maybe he would have waited for me to throw away everything in my life to be his

sidekick. But I'll never be happy like that.

I'm still on the couch, turning everything over, when Athena gets home from

her group project. She's soaked wet from the rain.

Still, her eyes go straight to me. She hangs her coat on the rack, plops on the

couch next to me, and slides her arm around me.

"You hanging in there?" she asks.

I nod. "Tell me I'll stop missing him eventually."

"You will, but it might take a while."

"You didn't have to add the part at the end."

She laughs. "You'll stop missing him eventually."

"When is eventually?"

"Just before never."

PULL

my shit together enough to get through school all day Monday, then my Skype

interview Monday evening. The lab is in Newport Beach, a twenty-minute drive

from my parents' place. The drive takes a hell of a lot longer on busy summer days,

but it's right across from the beach.

That's practically paradise.

The woman who will be my supervisor, if I take the job, is smart, dedicated, and

funny as hell. I can tell I'll learn a lot from her. I can tell I'll enjoy working with her.

It's a perfect opportunity. It should be a great fit. Still, when she offers me the

job, I ask for a week to decide. I'm not ready to make any major life decisions right

now, not with my heart this broken.

Tuesday is a wonderful blur of school.

Wednesday is my birthday. The words Happy Birthday mock me as I scroll

through my text messages on my phone. It's worse on social media. There must be

a hundred people I haven't spoken to in years wishing me a happy day.

There are a few old friends I miss. I have to smile when I see a text from Joel.

Joel: Happy Birthday, Valentine. I recommend spending the day in your birthday

suit with an attractive man in his birthday suit. Or in a business suit if you're into

that kind of thing. Might make a nice change from the tattooed rock star type.

Don't open the present I sent with company. I couldn't torture anyone enough to

find out your preferred mode of sex toy, so I sent a mélange of options. Don't do

anything I wouldn't do.

There's a text from Ethan too. Just Happy Birthday, Violet. No details, no

embellishment, no promises to fix this.

I'm not sure if I should be flattered or annoyed. I'm not sure what to say in

response.

Before I can figure it out, the fire alarm starts beeping. I smell smoke.

"It's okay, I swear," Athena calls out from the kitchen. There are footsteps, then

she's pulling open my bedroom door. "So it turns out I don't know how to make

pancakes properly." She grabs a notebook and fans the fire alarm.

"Here." I open the window in my bedroom then push past her to open the

window in the living room. The kitchen is a verifiable mess of batter and charred

pans. "You've never been much of a chef."

"Everyone starts from zero." She takes a pot and puts it in the sink. "I'll clean

this, I swear, but later. Let's go to breakfast. I'll buy you pancakes."

"I'm gonna grab a bagel on the way to class." I step into my bedroom to change

into my clothes.

"No class. It's your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way." She comes into my

room, waits until I'm dressed in black jeans and a black corset top, and throws her

arms around me. "Yes, you're coming with me."

"I am?"

"You don't go to class in those look at my boobs tops." She steps back with a

smile. "Oh, makeup, right? I'll give you fifteen minutes, then I'm dragging you to

breakfast."

"Not sure I'm in the mood."

"The place has matcha green tea pancakes."

"Twenty minutes. This is a smoky eye and red lips kind of day."

"Violet, do you have other days?"

"Sometimes I do a purple smoky eye and sometimes more grey."

She laughs. "I don't mess with perfection." She lingers in my doorframe. "You

gonna be okay?"

"Maybe." I grab my concealer and dab under my eyes. "Ethan texted Happy

Birthday."

"Oh." Her voice drops. "That's um… that's all?"

I blend the concealer with my fingers then move on to the primer potion and

shadow. It's a purple smoky eye kind of day. That means crimson lips and cheeks

and maybe even big fake lashes. I need a massive shield. "That's all."

"The nerve of that guy. I guess when you're famous, you put your head up your

ass."

I throw her some serious side eye.

She laughs. "Get him back. Tell him to break a leg. Actually—" She grabs my

phone. "How about I tell him then I hide this from you for the rest of the day?"

"That seems wise."

She taps a few buttons on my phone. "This will show him. The bastard, wishing

you a happy birthday."

"You're the worst."

"I know."

MATCHA

green tea pancakes are fucking fantastic. After breakfast, we take the

subway to midtown and wander up from Times Square to Central Park. It's a

beautiful day. The sun is bright, the sky is blue, the air is chilly but not cold. My

coat is enough to keep me warm, even wearing only my low-cut corset top under it.

It's not a crime wanting to look hot. It doesn't ease heartbreak but it doesn't

hurt.

Guys give me plenty of attention on our walk and during our late lunch at a

mediocre chain Mexican restaurant. But none of them look at me the way Ethan

does, like I fix some broken part of them, like I'm the only thing they've ever

wanted.

I try to push thoughts of him aside on our subway ride back to somewhere

(Athena is in charge and she isn't giving me any details), but it only works so well.

My mind keeps going back to his smile, his eyes, the locked heart tattooed on his

chest.

There's life on the subway. A woman is coming home from the park with her

daughter. Two nannies with babies in strollers are trading gossip. A few

businessmen and women are heading back to the office post lunch break.

Even in the sleepiest part of town, late in the afternoon, New York City is alive

with energy.

Even at its best and most beautiful, New York City doesn't feel like home.

I miss the beach, I miss the temperate afternoons, I even miss the deep purple

walls in my bedroom.

And my parents.

And everyplace I ever went with Ethan.

Athena squeezes me. "Guys are the worst, huh?"

"After you."

She nods. "Well, after me then you."

I laugh but it doesn't break up the tension in my shoulders. Athena is a great

friend but friendship isn't going to soothe my broken heart.

We joke about a mutual professor (turns out marketing majors take tons of math

classes) for the rest of the ride. When we get off the subway downtown, I focus on

the spectacular skyscrapers, the yellow taxicabs, the crisp smell of the air, the deep

blue of the Hudson River.

It's beautiful here too, but it will never feel like home.

Despite everything I hate about Orange County—the superficiality, the

commercialism, the strip malls on every corner—it feels like home.

Maybe even without Ethan.

My thoughts fall aside as Athena grabs my wrist. "Careful, that cab almost

mowed you down"

Sure enough, there's a honking horn echoing through the air. I take a better look

at my surroundings. It's too early for rush hour.

Still, I pay attention to my steps as Athena leads me. After a few more blocks, we

enter a totally nondescript bar.

It's just as average inside. The walls and furnishings are all wood. There's a

small stage set up with cheap-looking instruments for a four- or five-piece band.

"Please tell me we aren't watching a live show," I say. "I'm not in the mood for

a concert."

"There may be music, yes." She points me to a seat in front of the stage. "There

may be men taking off their clothes. There may be revelations. There may be

secrets."

I throw her some serious side eye as I take my seat.

She smiles. "If you don't like it, I'll buy you an entire cake."

"From that place across the street?"

"Let me guess: matcha and lemon?"

"What else?"

She nods. "Hope you like it. Those cakes are nearly a hundred bucks." She

motions for me to sit. When I do, she goes to the bar and orders drinks.

I rest my elbows on the table. Then my arms, my hands, my head. I'm tired and I

still have a million and one emotions running through me.

It's going to hurt less one day. I'm going to not miss him one day. But I'm not

sure that I'm ever going to love anyone the way I love Ethan. Not any day. Not ever.

Athena returns with a vodka soda for me and a whiskey sour for her. "Ethan said

Thanks. If you're wondering about his texts. To be more exact he said: Thanks, I'm

going to do my best to win over the audience."

"He doesn't need any help with that."

"I suggested he strip if he has trouble."

I glare at her. "You did not."

"All the way to buck naked." She smiles. "He seemed on board."

"Athena, you did not!"

She laughs. "I did not."

There's something about the look on her face. She's got something up her

sleeve. I'm not sure what it is. I trust her, but I don't like surprises.

I take a long sip of my vodka soda. It's the top shelf stuff, clean and crisp. With

my next two sips, I finish the drink.

"You want another?" she asks. "Drinks are on me today."

"No. This is enough. If I get drunk, I'll start crying and I'll call him and God

knows what I'll say."

"I won't let you have your phone back."

"I'll find a way." I push myself up and nod to the ladies' room. "You're a good

friend. I know I never say that stuff, but you are."

"Thanks, Violet." She smiles, but she's got all this excitement in her eyes.

Strange.

Very strange.

My bladder won't allow me to contemplate the matter any further. I make my

way through the room—has the light been this purple the whole time?—and find

the bathroom, which is also quite purple.

What a weird dive bar in a weird location.

I wash my hands five more times than is necessary. I smooth every stray strand

of hair. I touch up my makeup. I only mean to add a little lipstick, but once I get my

hands in my mini makeup bag, I can't help myself.

This is a day that requires quite a shield.

But I think I'm tired of screaming fuck off to the world. I'm tired of pushing

people away. Yeah, Ethan broke my heart again, but he opened me up to joy too. He

helped ease my pain too.

All this agony fucking sucks, but missing out on all the pleasure he brought me

would be worse.

I apply extra eyeshadow anyway.

LIGHTS

ARE

off in the main room.

All the lights. It's dark.

This really is a weird little dive bar.

Guitar notes fill the air. They're live and they're coming from the stage. They're

familiar too.

It's Stupid Girl by Garbage. And it's not just a guitar. There's the bass, the

drums, the vocals-

No.

That sounds like Ethan. And it sounds like he's singing a gender swapped

version of the song about a stupid boy who doesn't believe in anything, who lied to

himself and wasted everything he had.

That must be a coincidence or a loneliness-inspired delusion. Ethan's show is in

Baltimore in three hours. That means he's in Baltimore now.

He's not here.

It's just some guy who sounds like Ethan.

Then he's singing the next song, I Think I'm Paranoid, and I'm even more

certain that it's Ethan singing. I've heard his voice a million times, a million

different ways.

That must be him.

How could it be anyone but him?

The lights are still off. Nobody seems to mind but then I guess there are only a

dozen people in this bar.

I know the next song the moment I hear the first note—lord knows I played that

note enough times. It's I'm Only Happy When It Rains.

The spotlight turns on.

And there's Ethan, on the stage, in a Garbage t-shirt and jeans, singing his heart

out.

I blink a few times.

It's still Ethan.

But… what… how?

The spotlight spreads until it's illuminating the entire stage. That's not just

Ethan. That's all of Dangerous Noise. What the hell are they doing here?

From the mild reactions of the people here, it's safe to say no one recognizes

them.

Ethan smiles as he finishes the song. He looks out at the dark room. "Thank

you, I'm Ethan Strong. And we are Dangerous Garbage, the best Garbage cover band

in all of Orange County. Orange County, California. I know you have one here too."

"And in Jersey," someone calls out.

"Could never forget about Jersey," Ethan says. "Let's hear it for the singer of the

real Garbage, Shirley Manson, huh?"

No one applauds.

Fuck it, Shirley Manson deserves better than that. I applaud.

Then the spotlight is on me.

Joel jumps up from his drum kit to nod hello. Mal and Kit shoot me the same

hellos but they stay in their places.

Ethan's eyes light up as they meet mine. "Maybe it's just me. I do have a thing

for redheads who don't take shit from anyone."

Kit steps up to Ethan's mic. "Or maybe just one redhead in particular." He nods

to me. "He's miserable without you."

"It's true," Ethan says. "I am miserable without you."

"Seriously, he's intolerable," Joel adds. "But I won't blame you if you want to

get rid of his intolerable ass."

"You're supposed to be helping," Kit says.

"Who says I'm helping Ethan?" Joel winks at me. "I like Valentine better. Any

chance you can play guitar, Valentine?"

I shake my head.

"I can teach you," Ethan says.

Athena screams.

God, this is mortifying. My cheeks are burning.

It's sweet too… but mostly mortifying.

"There's a special birthday here today. One Ms. Violet Valentine. Now, I know

she hates attention, but it's her birthday. We have to embarrass her. It's tradition."

He smiles. "Want to help get her up here, Athena?"

I glare at my clearly traitorous roommate.

She mouths sorry, I had to.

Ethan moves closer to the edge of the stage. His cheeks flush. He's sweating too.

He's nervous.

More nervous than before he filled in for Drew in front of four thousand people.

"Fuck, Violet, you coming up here? I don't mind going down." He stays

confident despite the blush. "Joel's gonna ask if you used the sex toys he bought

you soon."

Now I'm blushing. I shake my head. "Not yet."

"You've got ten seconds till I come down there," he says.

I stay put. "Aren't you playing in Baltimore tonight?"

"Dangerous Noise is, yeah. These guys have to leave in about twenty minutes,

but I'll be here playing Garbage songs until I get kicked off the stage."

"You know enough?"

"I know enough to play all night."

"You're skipping the show?"

Ethan nods. "Turns out there's some place I'd rather be."

My heart melts. He's skipping the show for me. I want to jump into his arms. I

want to jump into his arms hard enough to knock him on stage then I want to order

him to go down until I am coming up there.

But it's just one show. It doesn't necessarily mean anything.

He plants his Converse-clad foot on the edge of the stage. "The New York City

bug bit me. I've got a hotel around the corner."

Athena screams, "Yeah, baby."

Ethan laughs.

My cheeks burn.

He motions come here. Even though I stay put, he continues. "I'm staying a

week and a half. We have three shows across the eastern seabord. I'm gonna be at

all three of them, but I'm only leaving for the day. Got a car hired to take me there

and bring me back."

My breath catches in my throat. "You're going to be here for a week and a half?"

"This is where I want to be." He jumps off the stage and takes a few steps

towards me. "I want to be where you are, Violet. The other day, I wanted to stay. I

wanted to choose you over an opportunity. I wanted to choose you over music, and

that fucking terrified me. Ever since I got my shit back together, I've put music

first. I thought I was giving up some part of myself if I let it fall to second." He

moves closer. "But when I walked out of your apartment, I left a part of myself

there. And I fucking need that part back, Violet. I want to meet you halfway. I want

to be in your life, where you need me, when you need me, how you need me."

I run my fingers over the back of his hand. This is really Ethan. He's really

saying this. He's really staring at me with all that affection in his deep blue eyes.

"I know you don't think I'm a fuck-up, and I'm starting to come around to

believing that. But I did fuck this up. I fucked us up. And I can't live with that, not

without trying as hard as I can to fix it." He takes my hand. "I love you, Violet. I'd

rather lose my left hand than lose you again."

"Really?"

He nods.

"You can't." I lean in to whisper. "I need it."

Ethan laughs. He presses his cheek against mine as he pulls me into a tight

embrace. "If you ask me to get lost, I will. Otherwise, I'm going to be around until

you're ready to invite me back into your life."

"I…" I dig my fingertips into his back, over his t-shirt. His body is warm and

hard. His strong arms make me feel safe. There's no doubt, I want to be here. When

I pull back and stare into his eyes, there's no doubt that I want him here too.

"Okay."

His smile spreads to his ears. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Remember that question girls ask me about my tattoo?"

I tug his t-shirt down his chest and trace the heart's ornate lock. "Baby, do I

have the key to your heart?"

He nods as he pulls his shirt lower. "Yeah, you do." He points to a fresh piece of

ink just below the winged heart.

It's a skeleton key with Violet written on the shaft.

I trace the design with my fingers. It's a real tattoo. It's really there, on his skin,

forever.

"Ethan." I look up into his blue eyes. "You're that sure this is forever?"

"More."

My last bit of resistance melts. My entire heart melts. I slide my hand around his

neck and press my body against his. "Say it again."

"Which part?"

"Give me a highlight reel."

He smiles. "I've been selfish. I've brought you into my life but it's been what

works for me. I like you in my life, Vi, but I want to be in your life too. I want to do

what works for you."

"I want that too."

"I love you." He presses his forehead against mine. "I love you more than I love

my Les Paul."

"Is that even possible?"

"Yeah, it is."

"I love you too."

Then I kiss him like his lips are everything I want. Because, really, they are.

E P I L O G U E

THAN

t's a rainy, cold day, but you wouldn't know that from the warm yellow lights

and the body heat in this amphitheater. I've played a lot of packed rooms in

my life, but I've never been this excited.

Been in the crowd at a lot of shows, but this is my favorite by a landslide.

There's a long line of students in purple robes and caps, but it's still easy to pick

out Violet. Her short strawberry blond hair catches all the light in the room. Her

heeled boots peek out from under her robe.

She's getting her master's degree.

Then she's done with school.

It was hell touring without her by my side, wanting my arms around her,

wanting her in my bunk every night. I missed her like I miss my guitar when it's

getting restrung.

But it was heaven too, knowing I'd call her before my head hit the pillow. Most

nights we were so tired we only managed to say good night, I love you, but that's

more than enough.

I've been in New York since the tour ended. We've packed all of Violet's things

and shipped most of them home.

She's back in southern California indefinitely.

She doesn't start her job until July.

That leaves us a month and a half together, to do whatever the fuck we want,

wherever the fuck we want.

Have a lot of ideas about where and how I want to fuck Vi.

At the moment, I can't consider them in detail. Her parents are next to me and,

somehow, they're even prouder of her than I am.

The dean calls her name. "Violet Valentine, Master’s in Mathematics."

Even from all the way up here, I can tell nerves are taking hold of her body. She

moves across the stage slowly. Then she's shaking the dean's hand, taking her

diploma, smiling as wide as she's ever smiled before.

We went through a hell of a lot of pain to get to this moment. We made a lot of

mistakes, me especially.

Right now, none of that matters.

The only thing that matters is the joy in her expression.

Vi has what she wants.

And I have her.

And that matters more than the band, more than music, more than anything.

FTER

DINNER

, we walk Violet's parents back to their hotel. They give her a thousand

hugs before they finally drag themselves to the elevator.

I don't blame them for lingering in their goodbyes.

But that doesn't change that Violet is mine for the rest of the night.

We walk outside hand in hand. It's not raining anymore but the air is still damp.

The sky is a deep royal blue, brightened by all the lights of the city.

New York really is a hell of a city. I've been here a dozen times, but I've never

appreciated it the way I do when I'm with Violet.

I don't appreciate anything the way I do when I'm with Violet.

I slide my arms around her waist and pull her body into mine. "You did it."

"I did."

"Violet Valentine, Master of Mathematics."

"Master of smoky eye." She points to her cocoa eye makeup. "I think Mom was

happy I toned it down."

"Your mom is happy you got your master's degree."

She smiles. "Yeah?"

"You really doubt that?"

She shakes her head. "No, I know she is. It's overwhelming how supportive they

are." She looks up at me. "And you being here… Thank you, Ethan. I… God, we

really fucked this up last time I was graduating."

"Yeah, we did. Me especially."

"But me too. Both of us. I'm glad we got past it. I love you so much. I don't know

what I'd do without you."

"I love you too."

I press my lips to hers. I mean it to be a sweet kiss, but my body has other ideas.

I dig my fingers into her hips and hold her body against mine. She's soft and

pliable, and her kiss is hungry.

She needs this as much as I do.

More even.

Her mouth parts for my tongue. Her hands dig into my hair.

She wants to give herself to me.

Fuck, how I want to take her.

Need to move this somewhere private or I'm going to take her right here,

against the hotel's marble wall.

Violet pulls back with a sigh. "It's a million miles back to the apartment."

"Ever come in a taxicab?"

She blushes.

"A limo?"

She shakes her head.

"Good thing we have a room." I point to the hotel next door.

Her eyes light up. She drags her hand to my palm and squeezes tight. "Okay, I'm

not smooth. Hurry up. I need to fuck you." With her free hand, she tugs at my tie.

"It's wrong how hot you look in your suit."

"Is it?"

She nods. "You look like the kind of guy I'd bring home to meet my parents."

"We just had dinner with your parents."

"And you were perfect, and sweet, and you didn't even blink at Mom dropping

all those hints about how it would be okay if I moved out." Her brow furrows the

way it does when she's making a decision. Then she shakes her head. "Less talk,

more sex."

I'm not arguing with that.

I pull our room key from the pocket of my slacks, slide my arm around her waist,

and lead her through the lobby. It's a nice hotel, but I can't say I notice anything

about the decor.

The only thing I see is Violet—

The need in her green eyes.

The flush spreading over her cheeks and chest.

The way her tight purple dress— the exact shade of her graduation robe—hugs

her curves.

The elevator doors open.

I whisk her inside and pin her to the wall. I don't even check to make sure we're

alone.

My tongue claims her mouth. My hand slides under her skirt and over the curve

of her ass.

Violet groans, shifting her hips against mine.

Nobody is coughing or telling us to get the fuck off each other. We must be

alone.

Either way—

I pull her closer as she grinds against me. Fuck, the friction is divine. My cock is

screaming to be inside her.

Not yet.

Not until she's begging me for it.

The elevator dings and she pulls back.

We are alone in here.

Violet lets out a needy sigh. "Ethan…" Her expression is a plea.

She is begging.

But I have to get to the fucking hotel room before I give her what we both want.

It's hard to walk with the way my cock is turning my slacks into a tent. I manage

to do it long enough to whisk Violet inside our room.

Again, I pin her to the wall. I don't even look at the room. I've already got my

eyes closed and my lips glued to hers.

Violet's moans vibrate against my cheeks and chest. She spreads her legs then

hooks one around my hips. Her back arches. Her lips part.

I lost her once.

Almost did it a second time.

Right now, there isn't a doubt in my mind. Violet is mine.

Fuck, I'm the luckiest guy in the universe.

Violet tugs at the knot of my tie. She pulls back with a heavy sigh. "How the fuck

does this work?"

"Your dad tied this for me."

"He did not."

I nod. "I haven't worn a suit since Piper's graduation."

"Before that?"

"Not sure I ever wore a suit before that."

She runs her fingers over my suit jacket. Her eyes meet mine. "You bought this

for me?"

I nod.

"Really?"

"I'd do a lot more than that for you, Vi." I undo the knot of my tie—I do know

that much—and pull it off. Then I lose the jacket.

Violet's eyes light up. She undoes my belt and pushes my slacks off my hips.

I take my time with my shirt. Her eyes go wider with every button I undo. Fuck.

I'll never get tired of the way she looks at me like she wants me more than she's

ever wanted anything.

There. I kick off my shoes and socks and step out of my slacks.

I'm in only my boxers and Violet's still dressed.

Can't have that.

She hugs her chest. Her lips press together.

She's nervous.

But why?

"Ethan, I… I have to show you something." She takes a deep breath and exhales

slowly. "It's good."

"It involve you taking off that dress?"

She nods. "And my bra."

"Then it's fucking great." The promise of her naked makes it hard to focus on

whatever this surprise is.

But I can tell this is important. I focus on her gorgeous green eyes.

She takes another deep breath then she does away with her dress.

She's in a matching bra and panty set. It's lacy and red. Pretty sure it's designed

to drive me out of my fucking mind.

The way it hugs her chest and hips…

My tongue slides over my lips. She needs to be naked. She needs to be on that

bed with her legs spread, screaming my name as she comes on my face.

She exhales slowly.

Okay, one thing at a time.

I meet her gaze. She's still nervous but she's excited, too.

Her cheeks flush red as she undoes her bra and lets it fall off her chest. She

turns and pulls her arm away from her side.

There, on her ribs, is a tattoo of a skeleton key. The same one I have tattooed on

my chest, only with my name instead of hers.

My name is on her body.

Fuck.

"Vi…" I run my fingers over the ink. "When did you—"

"Yesterday." She turns to look at me. Her voice is needy. "Do you like it."

"I love it."

"Yeah?"

"I love it more than I love my guitar."

"Really?"

"Not sure there are words to express how much I love it." I scoop her into my

arms. "Gonna have to use my body to express how much I love it."

She giggles as she slides her arms around my shoulders. Her legs hook around

my waist.

This is a nice hotel room—a suite with all the amenities—but right now I only

care about the bed.

It takes a dozen steps to get there. Violet squeals with glee as I lay her on her

back. She looks up at me with all the trust in the world.

There's no more nervous energy on her face.

Just desire.

I tug her panties to her feet then watch as they fall on the ground. I take my time

dragging my fingertips up her thighs. Her skin is soft and every brush of my hands

makes her tremble.

God, I could tease her all night.

Well, almost all night.

I plant my body between her legs. Her skin tastes even better than it feels. And

the way she groans when I nip at the flesh of her inner thighs.

Fuck.

Violet's hand digs into my hair. Her hips buck. "Ethan… Please…"

I bite her inner thigh.

She groans with an equal mix of pleasure and pain.

I do it again, again, again. Until her thighs are shaking.

Until I can't stand teasing her anymore.

My mouth closes over her. She tastes so fucking good. And the way her thighs

press against my ears.

She marked her body for me.

The thought of it spurs me on. My mouth is greedy.

I taste every inch of her.

Tease every inch of her.

Then I suck on her clit until she's screaming and tugging at my hair.

"Ethan, fuck. Oh God…" She screams my name again and again as she comes.

That's not enough.

I need to hear it again.

I give her a few moments to catch her breath then I lick her.

She groans with a delicious mix of agony and ecstasy.

I lick Violet again and again. Her thighs are glued to my head. She screams my

name.

I don't stop until she's tugging at my hair.

"You need to be inside me," she breathes.

Yes, I do.

I plant my body on top of hers. She's not patient. She reaches down to wrap her

hands around my cock. That's enough to drive me out of my mind.

She guides our bodies together.

Fuck, she's soft. Warm. Wet.

But this is more than physical.

It's me and Vi.

It's fucking everything.

I hold her gaze as I drive into her with deep, steady strokes. She reaches up to

run her fingers through my hair. Her gaze is as soft and affectionate as her touch.

Fuck, she feels so good.

But I can't come until she does.

I unhook our bodies to flip Violet over. She laughs as she stumbles and falls flat

on her face.

I help her into position on her hands and knees. Her ass lifts as she spreads her

knees.

She's opening herself for me.

Offering herself to me.

My hands go to her hips. In one swift movement, I thrust into her. Once I've got

my rhythm, I bring my hand to her clit and I stroke her.

"Come for me, Vi," I order.

She lets out a low, deep groan. "Fuck. Ethan…"

I stroke her until I can feel her pulsing around me.

Her contractions pull me deeper. I bring my hands back to her hips and I soak in

the sight of her body in front of me.

A few more thrusts and I'm there. Pleasure grabs hold of me. Everything feels so

fucking good.

I let out a deep animal groan as I come.

Violet rocks her hips against mine. She moans louder. Deeper.

She tugs at the soft cotton sheets.

Every muscle in my body relaxes as pleasure spreads to my limbs. Fuck, I needed

that, needed her.

Violet collapses on the bed. She rolls over onto her side and peeks one eye open.

Her lips curl into a smile.

I lay next to her. I can't help myself. I have to kiss her.

All of my love pours into her.

All of her love pours into me.

This is fucking heaven.

Slowly, Violet blinks her eyes open. She runs her fingers through my hair.

Her lips curl into a smile.

"I should shower before I fall asleep," she whispers.

"You're not sleeping until you come again."

"Then you're racing against time." She pushes herself up. "I'm going to drop

next time my face hits the pillow."

"Guess I'll have to pin you to the wall."

She blushes. "I guess you will." She moves to the bathroom but she lingers in

the door frame.

I shift off the bed. "I have a present for you."

"Yeah?" Her eyes light up. She tries to play cool but fails miserably. "What could

it be?" She jumps forward. "Can I see?"

I find the present in the dresser drawer. There it is, under my pajamas.

Fuck, it's my turn to be nervous.

I fight a blush as I hand the small gift box over to Violet.

She looks up at me, then her green eyes are back on the gift. She pulls the top

off.

Slowly, she pulls the key from the box.

"I got a place in Newport Beach. It's five minutes from your office." I move

closer. Close enough to take her into my arms. "A two-bedroom. That's your key."

"My key?"

I nod. "It's our place if you want it to be."

"You're asking me to move in with you?"

"Yeah."

Her smile spreads over her cheeks. "Really?"

"About time we stop living with our parents."

She laughs. "What about Piper being alone?"

"She has Mal."

"Gonna be easier for her to get in Kit's pants without you around to stop it."

"Not funny."

"Then why are you smiling?" She drags her fingertips over my cheeks. "Can I

paint the walls black?"

"Do you even want to paint the walls black?"

She shrugs, playing coy. "Can I?"

"Black's a little much."

"How about purple?"

"How about I throw you against the wall and make you come?"

"Is that a yes?"

"You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Valentine."

She smiles.

"I can drive a hard bargain too." I slide my hand around her hips to pull her

against my erection.

She looks up at me with a needy sigh.

I nod. "Are you saying yes?"

She nods. "Yes, I'd love to move in with you."

"You can paint the walls rainbow for all I care, Vi. As long as I can come home to

you every night, I don't give a fuck what color the walls are." I press my lips to hers.

When the kiss breaks, she lets out a heavy sigh. "What was that about a hard

bargain?"

I can't help but laugh. Violet really isn't smooth.

But that's one of the eight million things I love about her.

I scoop her into my arms and pin her to the wall.

I am a man of my word.

W A N T M O R E D A N G E R O U S N O I S E ?

Dangerous Crush

, Kit and Piper’s story, will be here early 2017.

to get an exclusive Dangerous Kiss

extended epilogue. You’ll also get bonus scenes from the Sinful Serenade series.

Want to learn more about the hard-headed alpha heroes of Sinful Serenade?

Miles, Drew, Tom, and Pete each have their own standalone novel. But be warned:

the Sinful Serenade series is known to cause sleepless nights.

Turn the page for an excerpt from

Sinful Serenade

- Miles

- Drew

- Tom

- Pete

– series sequel

- Excerpt

Between the throbbing house music and the dance floor full of beautiful people

grinding, it's difficult to move. It's harder to think.

I need to pee. Now. Waiting in the line snaking around the corner is not an

option.

How can there only be one bathroom downstairs? One hundred people plus one

bathroom equals far too many tortured bladders.

Kara must know where the bathroom is. Wherever she is.

I push through the crowd, but there's no sign of my best friend.

Someone bumps into me, her hip pressing firmly against my pelvis. Dammit,

my bladder is going to explode at this rate.

Screw upstairs being off-limits. This isn't a church. It's some up-and-coming

band's Hollywood mansion. I'm not about to pee my pants respecting the sanctity

of rock stars' bedrooms.

There's a couple making out on the curving staircase. I step past them and make

my way to the second floor. The sounds of music and conversation fade to a

murmur. I'm tempted to hang out here until Kara is ready to go home.

Parties are not my scene. Even my bladder hates them.

I scan the wall, trying to figure out which of the five doors is attached to the

smallest room. There. Second on the left. That must be it.

I turn the knob and push the door open.

Not a bathroom.

Definitely not a bathroom.

There are two people on a bed. The woman is on all fours. The man is kneeling

behind her.

They're naked.

They're having sex.

Then they're not. The grunting stops. Flesh ceases to smack together.

The man looks at me. There's no sign of embarrassment or awkwardness on his

face. He's totally unmoved.

The woman shrieks. She scrambles off the bed, pulling a sheet over her chest.

"Miles, you fucker. I told you I don't do threesomes!"

Miles. There's something familiar about him. I try to place him but my thinking

abilities are back to zero.

He's tall, broad shoulders and chest, sculpted abs, and below his bellybutton...

He's hard.

He's hard and he's huge.

Save for the condom, he's completely and utterly naked.

A blush spreads across my cheeks. I stammer, attempting and failing to speak.

I've never seen that before. Not in person. In movies, sure. Textbooks, of course.

But never in person.

I can't look away.

The guy, Miles, makes eye contact. His voice is even. Calm. "You mind?"

I take a step backwards. My foot sinks into the plush carpet. I only barely

manage to hold my balance. "Excuse me. I thought this was the bathroom."

"Next door on the left."

I know I'm red. Beet red. "Thanks."

I pull the door closed so I'm alone in the hallway. Next door on the left.

I step into the bathroom, lock the door, and die of embarrassment.

It takes twenty minutes for my cheeks to return to a normal color. I slink back to

the sprawling main room and do my best to blend in amongst the partygoers.

Every inch of the hardwood floor is packed with beautiful people talking,

flirting, or making out.

It's like the up-and-coming models, actors, and musicians are attracted to each

other. They have a certain glow that mere mortals lack. And here I thought this was

a normal college-students-with-a-keg-and-cheap-vodka kind of shindig.

Kara's friend invited us. He's in a band. Are they really this popular? I can't

remember their name, but then it's hard to think of anything but Miles naked on

the bed, hard and ready for action.

The lines of his hips and torso are burned into my brain.

And his…

Dammit, I'm not going there.

I find the closest thing to an empty corner and try to clear my head. I fail. My

mind keeps going back to that vivid mental image.

Miles. He was unfazed, like the sex meant nothing to him. Like the girl on his

bed meant nothing to him.

The man is a player. He's not the kind of guy I need in my life. He doesn't

deserve my thoughts.

This stops. Now.

I scan the room for some better way to stay occupied.

It's no use. He's here. Miles is still effortless and aloof. He's still unaffected.

The guy has already moved on from the blonde in the bedroom. He's flirting

with a redhead in a designer dress and stilettos.

She's model gorgeous with perfect hair and makeup. I'm standing here in an

H&M skirt and blouse, my brown hair its usual frizzy mess, my black eyeliner doing

little to enhance my plain-Jane brown eyes. Liner, mascara, and under-eye

concealer are the extent of my makeup knowledge. I think I'm the only woman here

who isn't contoured. Hell, I know I'm the only one wearing canvas sneakers.

I don't belong here.

It doesn't make sense that Miles is looking at me instead of the pretty redhead.

But he is. His clear blue eyes are fixed on mine. They're gorgeous. I couldn't see

them in the dark but out here, they're practically shining.

Heat spreads across my chest. I'm gawking.

He smiles, reveling in my attention.

I press my eyelids together to temper my out-of-control blushing. It's no help.

My head fills with that beautiful image of him in nothing but a condom.

Why did I let Kara talk me into coming to this party?

I push my way through the crowd, trying to get as far from Miles's gaze as

possible. A dozen steps and I'm standing in the clean, modern kitchen. It's dark

and mostly empty.

"You're not big on respecting people's privacy, huh?"

It's the same voice I heard upstairs. Miles.

I could swear I've heard it before. A lot, even.

I turn so we're face to face. Why does Miles seem so familiar? I don't go to

parties. Hell, I've been MIA the last few months.

I wouldn't forget his strong jaw, his messy brown hair, or his gorgeous blue

eyes.

Those eyes are fixed on me. He's staring at me, picking me apart.

I don't like the scrutiny. Sure, I'm hiding. But I'm not admitting that to him.

I clear my throat. "No, I'm not big on alcohol. Can't find anything else to drink."

He reaches past me. His hand brushes against my shoulder as he pulls open the

fridge. He nods to a row of water bottles on the middle shelf. "Help yourself."

"Thanks."

Miles looks so familiar. And his voice is familiar too. Almost like he...

No. That's not possible.

There's no way this guy is the singer of alternative rock band Sinful Serenade,

the guy who sings In Pieces, the guy who's been haunting my thoughts for the last

three months with his breathy, tortured voice. With all the pain in his soulful eyes.

I try to recall the song's music video but my damn brain goes right back to the

image of Miles naked on the bed.

Damn. I watched that video a thousand times. It was a massive hit. The song hit

the top 40 for a week or two, a rarity for alternative rock in this day and age.

More importantly, the video and the song went right to my soul. The singer was

whispering in my ear. He promised that I wasn't alone. He promised that I wasn't

the only person who had ever felt this way.

I understood him and he understood me. We were the only two people in the

world who knew how badly it hurt, losing everything that mattered.

The man who sings In Pieces is a tortured soul. He doesn't screw one woman,

wash up, then move on to flirting with lay number two.

Kara keeps playing down how famous her friend is.

He lives here. I know that much.

This Miles guy seems to live here.

Fuck.

Why didn't Kara warn me her friend was in that band?

Miles clears his throat. "You okay?"

I nod a yes and attempt to hold his gaze. "Don't walk in on casual sex very

often."

"Mhmm."

"I was looking for the bathroom."

He laughs. "Is that the best you can do?"

"I was." I take a half-step backwards. "Excuse me. I should go."

His voice drops an octave. "You're not going to let me formally introduce

myself?"

"Okay." My stomach flutters. "I'm Meg Smart."

"Miles Webb." He takes my hand with a strong grip. His eyes pass over me like

he's trying to place me. "How is it we haven't met before?"

"I don't go to parties."

"Guess that makes this my lucky day." His hand brushes against my wrist. Then

it's back at his side. He leans in a little closer, his eyes on mine. "Why'd you decide

to come tonight?"

I should be the one asking him that. "My friend convinced me I wouldn't hate

it."

"What's the verdict?"

"I still don't like parties." I take a deep breath. "Why'd you come tonight?"

"That was my bedroom you burst into."

Somehow, my cheeks burn hotter.

His eyes rake over me. "Can't blame you for looking. I'd do the same."

My knees go weak at the seductive tone to his voice. That's him, the guy who

sings In Pieces, the man who has been haunting my dreams.

That song is the centerpiece of my listen on repeat and fall apart playlist.

I try to formulate some excuse for why I need to leave immediately, but nothing

comes. "You're um… you're in the band? The one that is throwing this party?"

"Yeah. Sinful Serenade. I'm the vocalist." His eyes pass over me again. He takes

his time, like he's sure I'll be in his bed in thirty minutes flat.

A pang of desire shoots straight to my core. My damn body isn't obeying my

commands. It can't help wanting Miles Webb. There's something appealing about

the tattoos poking out from under his t-shirt. About the confidence in his eyes.

It's not like me to fall for the bad boy.

Even when he's so tall. Two inches taller than me at least. I'm 5'11', a giant for a

women. I tower over most of the men I know.

But not Miles.

I take a deep breath, trying to convince my body it doesn't want him.

He's bad news.

A player.

A rock star even.

But I can't stop staring.

I clear my throat. "I was looking for my friend, Kara. She's tight with some guy

in your band. They go way back."

"Oh, yeah, Drew's friend. Heard a lot about her last tour."

"So, I should really find her." I step aside. "And go home. I have to study. You

know how it is. Or maybe not, being a rock star and all. But I have a test tomorrow."

I turn and make my way out of the kitchen.

There are footsteps behind me. "Meg?"

I spin, eye to eye with Miles again. Once again, my mind flashes with the image

of him kneeling on that bed, his cock hard, the muscles of his thighs and torso taut.

How is it possible that Miles is the guy who has been singing me to sleep? He's

not a poet.

He's a manwhore.

"Yes?" I ask.

"Your friend isn't in a state to drive."

He points to Kara, curled up on the couch. Her dark eyes are filled with an

expression of drunken excitement. She looks especially short and curvy next to her

tall, muscular friend. That must be Drew. His black hair and intense brown eyes are

appealing. No wonder she's staring at him like she wants to devour him.

She bounces to her feet and throws her arms around me. "Are you having fun?

Please, tell me you aren't completely miserable."

I hug back. "Only partially."

She laughs. "That's a start!"

Good. She still happy. Kara is an endlessly patient friend. She's been dragging

me out of mourning for months now. I'm not going to ruin her night.

"I'm about ready to go home," I say. "I'll take a cab."

"No. I can drive. It's getting late," she says.

The dark-haired guy, Drew, butts in. "Kendrick, you are way too drunk to drive.

If you even think about getting in your car, I'll throw you over my shoulder, carry

you to my room, and strap you to my bed."

Her eyes light up the second he calls her by her last name. "I didn't know you

were into that. Do you have rope or handcuffs or what?"

"I'll call you a fucking cab." His voice is equal parts playful and protective.

She nudges him and points to me. "This is my friend Meg, who you are so rudely

ignoring in favor of lecturing me."

He pushes off the couch and offers his hand. "Drew Denton. Nice to meet you."

I shake. "Meg Smart."

"Miles giving you a hard time?" Drew asks.

"I can handle myself," I say.

"If you won't listen to reason—" Drew turns back to Kara "—then I will drive

you home."

Kara looks Drew in the eyes. "You were drinking too."

"I can." I bite my tongue. Dammit, Kara's car is a stick. I can't drive us home.

"Never mind."

Miles butts in. "I'll drive you guys home."

Drew's eyes narrow. He shoots Miles an incredulous look.

"Not letting you drive tonight." Miles throws back a stern look. "You'd do the

same."

Slowly, Drew's protective expression melts. He and Miles share a look of

understanding.

The cocky singer turns to Kara. "Your keys."

"It's a manual." She digs through her purse.

"That's fine." He smirks. "I know how to handle my stick."

Buy

Sing Your Heart Out

Now

A U T H O R ’ S N O T E

Thank you for reading Dangerous Kiss. I hope you loved Ethan and Violet’s story as

much as I did, and I hope you love Dangerous Noise as much as I do. The band will

be back next year, with

Dangerous Crush

, Kit and Piper’s story.

Love bad boy rock stars? Then you’ll love the Sinful Serenade series. Start with

Sing Your Heart Out

, cocky playboy Miles Webb’s book.

If you enjoyed this novel, please help other readers find it by leaving an honest

review on Amazon or Goodreads.

Want news about new releases and sales before anyone else? How about

exclusive sneak peeks and bonus scenes?

mailing

list.

If you love to review and want to get books before anyone else,

join the Crystal

Kaswell ARC team

Want to talk books? I love hearing from my readers. You can find me on

Facebook

You can find more of my books here.

A B O U T T H E A U T H O R

Crystal Kaswell writes scorching hot new adult romances with flawed characters. She loves police procedurals,
tea, and The Hunger Games series. She lives in Portland, OR with her husband.

Find her on Amazon

Or Facebook

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

My first thanks goes to my husband, for his support when I’m lost in bookland and

for generally being the sun in my sky. The second goes to my father, for always

encouraging my love of reading and for taking me to the bookstore when I was

supposed to be grounded.

Athena Wright, you are the best author BFF a girl could ask for. Thank you for your

feedback, for being my chat buddy, and for letting me borrow your name for

Violet’s BFF. To my cover designers, Skyla and LJ, thank you for your work in

making my rock star series perfect. To my editors, Tonya and Dee, thank you for

whipping the story and the prose into shape. And thanks to Giselle at Xpresso and

to all the book bloggers who helped get the word out.

As always, my biggest thanks goes to my readers. Thank you for picking up

Dangerous Kiss. I hope you’ll be back for the rest of the Dangerous Noise series.

Document Outline

Copyright
Other Works by Crystal Kaswell
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Want More Dangerous Noise?
Sing Your Heart Out Excerpt
Author’s Note
About the Author
Acknowledgments

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