Double Time

Chapter 3

Reagan slapped her hand on her guitar strings to stop their vibration. Trey Mills had burst into the recording booth and scared the shit out of her. He stood there in the open door gaping at her and setting her heart aflutter. The last time she’d felt like this was the day she’d met Ethan Conner, and that had turned out to be the most fucked up experience of her life. She didn’t need this kind of nipple-tingling distraction right now. She needed to concentrate on her audition.

Max’s voice came through the speaker overhead. “Send the wannabes home. We don’t need to hear anymore. We’ve found our man.”

“Woman,” Trey called.

“What?” Max asked. “We want Elliot.”

“I’m Elliot,” Reagan said. “Reagan Elliot.”

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch,” Max grumbled.

“Where did you learn to play like that?” Trey asked her.

Wait just a fucking minute—did Exodus End just hire her? She’d won? Really? She played a victory screech on her guitar and carried the note with way too much whammy for polite company.

Trey stepped closer to her and she caught the scents of cherry, leather, and sex on him. “You didn’t answer me.”

“Self-taught,” she told him.

“You sound so much like Brian, I thought you were him playing a prank on me.”

“Brian?” When she realized to whom he was referring, her eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. “You mean Master Sinclair?”

He nodded slightly.

“Seriously?” She smiled, her heart thudding like a jackhammer. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“Especially coming from Trey,” Dare Mills said from the doorway.

There should be a law against the Mills brothers standing in the same room. Separately they were murder on a woman’s ability to think straight. Together? Reagan’s mind went entirely numb. Other areas of her anatomy were fully attentive, however. The pair looked somewhat alike. Both had green eyes. Trey’s were sultry, as if he’d just woken up after a long night of fucking some lucky girl’s brains out. Dare’s were piercing and made her feel naked, exposed, and liking it. Trey’s hair was short in the back, longer in the front. By flopping in his face, his bangs drew attention to those bedroom eyes of his and made him look mysterious. Naughty. Oh so naughty. Dare’s hair was all the same length, settling a few inches below his collarbones, and made him look wicked. Dangerous. Oh so dangerous. Trey had a bad-boy vibe, accentuated by his various piercings. Dare had a similar vibe, but more feral. Dare’s sexy shadow of beard growth made Reagan crave some whisker burn on the insides of her thighs. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there staring at them and imagining them making her a very happy woman—together, separately, together again—but they allowed her inspection as if they were used to it.

“I’m Reagan,” she gushed and rushed forward with her hand extended in Dare’s direction.

Dare gripped her hand firmly, measuring her up as a fellow musician, not as a woman. Damn it. Well, actually that was for the best if they were going to be working together. Oh yeah, they’d be working together. Awesome!

“I’m Dare Mills.”

“Yeah, you are.” She broke out in nervous laughter and wished someone would tranquilize her before she made a bigger ass of herself.

Maximilian Richardson entered the room and Trey had to grab her shoulder to keep her on her feet. Electrifying sensations radiated through her flesh from where Trey touched her. She turned to look at him in amazement. He stared back, looking just as stunned.

“We’ll want you to play a few songs with us before we have you sign an official contract,” Max said, “but you’re one hell of a guitarist. How is your band not already signed?”

She tore her gaze from Trey and forced her attention to Max. Forced her attention to Max? What the fuck was wrong with her? The leader of one of the most successful metal bands past, present, and undoubtedly future was addressing her, talking about contracts and making all of her wildest dreams come true and she was thinking how much she’d like to spend a few moments alone with Trey, just so she could hear the timber of his voice again. Well, maybe she wanted to do a few other things while alone with him, but he could talk to her at the same time. At least when his sexy mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied.

“My band broke up several months ago,” she told Max. “The lead singer’s wife had a baby. Bands don’t usually last long once members start having kids.”

Trey’s hand dropped from her arm and he shuffled past his brother, who gave him a look of empathy and a squeeze on the shoulder. Was it something she said? Her brow furrowed as she tried to figure out why Trey would care that her band had broken up. They hadn’t been all that great. No real spark between them. Once Trey was out of the room, half of her brain returned. The gushing fangirl half. “Oh my God, I’m so excited. You guys are so amazing! I’ve been a fan of yours since high school. I really appreciate you giving me this opportunity.”

Exodus End’s bassist, Logan, and drummer, Steve, squeezed into the small room. Her band shuffled around so they could all fit into the small space. Her band. Hers. Oh my God, this had to be a dream. She pinched her arm as hard as she could. “Ouch. I guess I’m not dreaming,” she muttered.

“You wail, sweetheart,” Steve said. “What’s your name?”

“Reagan.”

She shook hands with Logan (long, golden hair, gentle blue eyes, and hot) and Steve (soft waves of shoulder-length brown hair, dreamy brown eyes, and hot). Snuck another peek at Max (dark brown, trendy short hair, deep hazel eyes, and hotter) and then Dare (silky, sleek jet-black hair, intense green eyes, and the hottest). How would she survive being in a band with this many luscious and talented men without her panties spontaneously combusting?

“Reagan, we love your sound,” Max said. “We’d like to head down to Dare’s practice room and jam through a few songs together to make sure you’re compatible with the group as a whole. Unless you have something better to do.”

In twenty minutes, Reagan was supposed to be at work serving coffee to stressed-out customers in knock-off Armani suits. Did that count as something better to do? “Fuck no, I don’t.”

“Great,” Dare said. His wide smile was like a double-shot of espresso to the happy lobe of her brain.

Reagan followed the group through the maze that was the north wing of Dare’s sprawling mansion. She’d never been in a house that had wings before. That entire section of his house was dedicated to the band. Gold and platinum records lined the hallway. Bits of Exodus End’s history: Photos of the band at award ceremonies and playing live shows, guitars, posters, backstage passes, drumsticks, and other memorabilia covered every square inch of wall space. Dare’s interior decorator obviously frequented chain restaurants. She wished she had time to examine it all and learn the history behind each piece. They passed another recording studio packed wall to wall with Steve Aimes’s ginormous drum kit and other percussion instruments.

“Do you take that entire thing on tour?” Reagan pointed into the open door.

Steve chuckled, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. She had the feeling she’d need to keep a close eye on that one, which would not be a chore but a privilege. “Naw, that’s my old kit, which I use mostly for special studio recordings. I just take the essentials on tour.”

“His essentials take up half a semitruck,” Logan said.

“Says the man with four hundred bass guitars,” Steve countered.

Reagan gaped. “Four hundred?”

“Not quite that many,” Logan said.

“Three hundred and ninety-nine,” Steve amended.

Reagan had one good electric guitar, one cheap piece of crap, and one acoustic. She was far out of her element here. Could she handle going from zero recognition to instant infamy? She didn’t know, but she was about to find out. There was no way in hell she was giving up this opportunity.

They passed another room that looked like a tastefully decorated high school gymnasium. The highly polished wooden floor gleamed beneath modern-styled chandeliers. A huge, fully stocked bar took up the majority of the far wall. Some chairs were stacked against one wall, but the rest of the room was empty.

When Reagan paused and gaped through the spectacular archways, Dare said, “The ballroom.”

“We have a ball in there, all right,” Logan said.

“Parties?” Reagan asked.

“A few,” Dare said.

“Will I be invited to the next one?” she asked eagerly.

Dare chuckled. “I’d say so.”

The other band members continued down the corridor and entered the next room, talking and laughing about various party memories. Reagan caught movement out on the expansive patio outside the floor-to-ceiling ballroom windows. Everything in this house was huge. She wondered if Dare lived here alone. Seemed a waste of space for one person. She had no doubt that he had an easier time forking out millions of dollars for this place than she had coming up with mere hundreds for rent each month.

The man outside the windows pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it on the ground.

“Is that Trey?” she asked breathlessly.

Trey pushed something on the ground with his toe and a huge Jacuzzi set into the slate patio began to bubble.

“Helping himself to my hot tub again,” Dare said. “I keep telling him he might as well move in. He says he doesn’t want to impose. The dipshit imposes all the time.”

Reagan looked up at Dare and was momentarily dumbfounded to find she was having a conversation with one of the most famous guitarists on the planet. One of her idols. “I think I said something back in the studio that upset him. Does he really care that Bait-n-Switch broke up? We weren’t very good, to be honest.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s never heard of Bait-n-Switch,” Dare said. His hand slid up into his long, silky hair and he scratched his head before tucking the black strands behind one ear. “No offense.”

“None taken. Do you have any idea what I said to set him off?”

Dare smiled at her. “He has a lot on his mind. Brian Sinclair’s wife had a baby this morning. What you said about kids causing bands to break up—”

“Oh shit! I didn’t mean Sinners.” She tore her gaze from Dare to watch Trey kick off his shoes. He looked entirely too depressed. “I’m going to go talk to him. Can you give me a couple minutes?”

“Sure, we need to get our instruments tuned up anyway.”

Reagan had completely forgotten that she was still carrying her guitar strapped around her neck and shoulder. She looked down at it wondering if it was wise to take it out near the rolling hot tub water.

“Do you want me to take that into the practice room for you?” Dare asked.

Reagan was dumbfounded by his thoughtfulness. Weren’t rich and famous rock stars all assholes? “I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Mills.”

Dare laughed. “Oh please. No one calls me Mr. Mills besides my lawyer. Call me Dare.”

She smiled wondering why he would need a lawyer. “Thanks, Dare.” Reagan lifted the strap over her head and handed her guitar to him.

He held it in one hand and wrinkled his nose at it as if it had an infectious disease. “You know, since Max won’t need his guitars anymore, he’ll probably give you a few high-quality instruments to use until you find something more to your liking.”

Max played custom-made Gibson Les Paul guitars. Expensive custom-made guitars. “Are you serious?” she blurted.

Dare chuckled. “Completely. I bet you’re a little overwhelmed at the moment. Go talk to Trey. Put a smile on his face for me. Just don’t take too long. My band can be sort of diva when you make them wait.” He winked at her and carried her guitar down to the practice room where various clangs and twangs were being produced.

As soon as she recovered from Dare’s flirty wink, Reagan rushed across the polished floor of the ballroom and slid into the bank of windows. Trey stood with one toe in the hot tub water. The rest of him was completely exposed. Completely. He turned his head at the sound of her graceless crash and offered her a crooked grin before slipping into the water.

In those five seconds that his naked body had been in view, she’d snapped enough mental pictures to get her through several nights of adventure with her favorite vibrator. Trey’s body relaxed into the water and he sat there facing the windows, staring at her with the most unreadable expression she’d ever encountered. He obviously thought she was a total idiot, a klutz, and an embarrassment to the human species. Oh well. She’d made worse first impressions in her life.

She opened one of the French doors and heard a faint beep. She glanced around looking for its source.

“I think you just triggered the alarm,” Trey said.

“Shit! What do I do?” Panicked, she slammed the door shut behind her.

“Now you’ve triggered the alarm and locked yourself out of the house.” He chuckled and hauled himself out of the hot tub. Naked, gorgeous, and dripping, Trey padded to a different door that led into some sort of changing room. Reagan scarcely heard the beeps as he entered some code into a touch pad on the wall. So much blood was rushing through her ears she would have had difficulty hearing a jet engine. As he crossed the enormous patio in Reagan’s direction, she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She prided herself on keeping her head when it came to men, but this one… Must be all the excitement of the day catching up with her and making her giddy with duh-ness.

Trey made things worse (better?) by coming to stand before her instead of returning to the concealing water of the hot tub. Displaying no signs of self-consciousness, Trey stood there and waited for her eyes to drift from his bare feet to his thickening cock to his flat belly to his… thickening cock. Why was he getting excited? Surely not because she was there. She glanced around looking for the typical bikini-clad, sexpot supermodels these rock stars spent most of their time with. She found she actually was the only female in attendance. Weird.

“Do you want to join me?” he whispered close to her ear.

He didn’t touch her, but her entire body responded with electric jolts of lust that converged between her thighs. His low voice did jittery things to her already frayed nerves and she laughed. She laughed at Trey Mills instead of shedding her clothes and jumping into the hot tub with her ankles behind her neck. She bit her lip, suppressing the urge to slap herself in the forehead repeatedly.

“I’ll take that as a no.” He turned and started back to the hot tub.

She caught his well-muscled arm and scarcely stifled an excited gasp. He paused and glanced over his shoulder to melt her into a puddle of Reagan pudding with those maddeningly sexy green eyes of his.

“I…” she shrieked. Shrieked? What in the fuck was wrong with her? Keep it together, Reagan. Keep it together. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t come out here to join you in the hot tub. I came to challenge you to a guitar duel.” What? No, not that. She’d come out there to console Trey about Sinners. To tell him there was no way Brian would ever leave the band. But what did she know? She didn’t know Brian. She was just a hopeful fangirl.

His eyebrows lifted with interest. “A guitar duel?”

“Yeah. I have to go practice with my band.” She sucked in a breath of pure terror. She was certainly running through a wide gamut of emotions this morning. “My band… Exodus End,” she mumbled. “Oh my fucking God!”

Trey laughed.

Reagan took a deep steadying breath. “After we’re done practicing, I want to duel you, Trey Mills.”

“At high noon?” He whistled the theme to some old spaghetti Western.

“After you’re done with your soak in the hot tub.”

“And if I win, you’ll join me in the hot tub?”

Her heart skipped several beats. “If that’s what you want.”

He stroked a lock of hair from her cheek. “That’s only the beginning of what I want, Reagan.”

She laughed again. She really was just nervous, but she knew it sounded like she was laughing at him. Rejecting his advances. Never in a million years would she purposely laugh at Trey Mills. And yet, she kept doing it. He dropped his hand, a confused scowl on his handsome face. Reagan wanted to strangle herself.

“If I win the duel, we’re going to the skate park,” she said. The skate park? What am I? Thirteen?

“You skate?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. Oh God, he thinks I’m an immature idiot.

“Sounds fun.”

Liar, liar, lack of pants, I’m on fire. “Yeah. Good. See you later, then.” Mortified by her complete lack of poise, she fled into the house through the door Trey had left open and followed the sounds of music to the practice room.

“There you are,” Dare said. “I was starting to think I was going to have to come rescue you from the hot tub and my brother’s libido.”

Reagan’s cheeks flamed. That might have been a possibility if she hadn’t made a complete fool of herself.

“She’s not stupid enough to fall for that player,” Max said.

Oh, but she was. Stupid. For that player.

With his good hand, Max took Reagan by the wrist and led her into a large closet beside the practice room. They faced a wall that had guitars hanging from one end to the other on pegs. Some were Dare’s. Some Max’s. Some Logan’s bass guitars. All drool-worthy. Reagan sighed in bliss. Who needed men when you had guitars? She wanted to roll around on them naked. Which would probably be a tad uncomfortable, but she didn’t care. She was in lust with every instrument in the room.

“Dare pointed out that I won’t need my guitars,” Max said, “at least for a while, so take your pick.”

“I couldn’t,” Reagan said, even as her fingers itched to grab the black guitar with electric blue flames directly in front of her.

“At least try one out. I’d rather give them to you than get rid of them. Think of it as a gift.”

“Okay,” she gushed and lifted the guitar from the hooks in the wall.

“Nice choice,” he said.

She had the sudden urge to burst into tears. Maximilian Richardson had paid her a compliment. And let her touch his guitar. Even better, let her play his guitar. How was she ever going to get used to this?

Once they had her hooked up to an amplifier, Max called out songs and everyone followed his lead. Reagan was really glad she’d practiced all of their songs to prepare for the audition. She actually knew what she was doing, and they seemed impressed that she was keeping up with them. Sweet!

As she played with her new band, she had to continually remind herself that to really serve them as a musician she should mimic Max’s sound as closely as she could. It wasn’t much of a challenge. Max was a great guitarist, but Dare was the real six-stringed talent in the band. Reagan played with her usual heart, but damn if it wasn’t hard to concentrate in the presence of this many great musicians. These men were her inspiration. They were rock gods. Gods. And they already accepted her into their fold as if she belonged there. They played through about half of their set list. After several songs Reagan began to relax, but she was careful to keep the sound consistent. She spread her feet apart for balance, closed her eyes, and nodded her head in time with Steve’s hard and heavy beat that was made cohesive by Logan’s low bass. She let Max’s incredible voice carry her away. Paid extra close attention to Dare, to complement his hard, edgy sound rather than compete with it. When the song ended, Reagan opened her eyes to find the members of Exodus End staring at her.

“What?” she said, her face flaming again.

“Band meeting!” Steve called and climbed out from behind his drum kit accompanied by several loud thuds and clangs.

Did a band meeting include her? She looked to Max for direction.

He hooked his microphone into its stand, noticed her looking to him for guidance, and said, “Stay here, Reagan. We’ll be back in a few.”

Her stomach dropped. She was being excluded. They’d changed their minds. She knew this was too good to be true. And she’d mistakenly thought she was doing well. Fitting in. She’d been fooling herself into believing this miracle was part of her reality.

“Okay,” she said with a cheerfulness she did not feel.

It had been a phenomenal dream the forty minutes it had lasted.

The band filtered out of the room, leaving her alone. She played one of Bait-n-Switch’s old riffs to keep herself occupied while she waited. A pair of bare feet entered her line of vision. Her head snapped up.

“Is that the riff you want to duel me with?” Trey asked. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“It’s a riff I wrote, but it isn’t any good.”

“I kind of like it. Do you want to use it in our duel?”

Trey snagged Dare’s guitar from its stand and lifted the strap over his head. The wide strip of studded leather rested at an angle across Trey’s well-defined bare chest. The body of Dare’s white guitar settled low in front of his pelvis. A no longer naked pelvis. Trey was still shirtless, but he’d put on his jeans. Gnawing on her tongue, Reagan stared at his nipple ring for a long moment before remembering that he’d asked her a question.

“Naw. Too easy. You pick a riff.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “How about the intro to ‘Crazy Train?’”

She loved this man. He had excellent taste. Reagan tore into the intro of “Crazy Train” without waiting for a signal. Flying through the series of building notes with no problem, she paused and Trey echoed what she’d played. When he reached the end, she upped the tempo of the intro and played it again. He echoed her perfectly. She played it faster still, concentrating so intently on the notes that she didn’t notice he’d edged closer until his arm brushed hers. She stumbled over a series of notes, the strings feeling awkward under her trembling fingertips. He was left-handed and she was right-handed, so the necks of their guitars faced opposite directions. Scowling at her mistake, Reagan pressed on. Trey copied her, down to purposely making the same error she’d made. She glanced up at him and grinned. He grinned back and winked at her. The next few notes she played sounded like drowned cats choking on strangled chickens. Her heart thundered in her chest. She lowered her gaze to his mouth. A spasm gripped her pussy as she watched the tip of his tongue slide over his lip. God, she wanted him to kiss her.

As if he were a mind reader, Trey turned, lowered his head, and claimed her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss. Stunned, she pulled away and lifted a hand to slap him. She caught herself just in time. She got lost in his eyes, her hand suspended millimeters from his angular jaw. He tilted his head so that her fingertips brushed his cheek and then turned his head to caress her tingling flesh with his lips. Gentle, sucking kisses on the tips of her fingers drew a groan of longing from deep within her. She wrapped both arms around his neck and pulled him down to meet her desperate kiss.

He quickly took control, applying a gentle suction to her lips and then teasing them with hints of an expert tongue and tender nibbles. She tugged him closer, wanting to press against his hard body. Chaotic screeches wailed from their guitars as their strings rubbed against each other.

“You two do not make beautiful music together,” Dare said as he returned to the room.

Reagan jerked away from Trey and discovered he hadn’t been holding onto her at all. All the contact between them had been her doing. Oh God, she’d thrown herself at him. She should be mortified, but she wasn’t. She wanted to throw herself at him again and keep throwing herself at him until he caught her.

“Does this mean I win?” Trey asked, his deep voice doing strange things to her nipples.

She chanced a peek at the front of her thin white tank top. Yep, her arousal was apparent. She crossed her arms over her chest. Why had she decided against a bra that morning? As a card-carrying member of the itty bitty titty committee she didn’t really need to wear a bra most days, but one would have concealed her high beam issue.

“Did I say you could borrow my guitar, bro?” Dare asked.

Trey removed the guitar and handed it to Dare. Reagan squeaked in surprise when Trey drew her against him and claimed her mouth in another kiss. Glad she hadn’t been the one to initiate the contact between them this time, her arms slid around him to draw him closer. For once in her life she wished a guitar wasn’t hanging around her neck so she could relish the full length of Trey’s lean body against hers. Feel his rigid arousal against her damp mound. Why was she melting against him instead of trying to fend him off? Why was she stroking the cool, smooth skin of his back as if she hadn’t just met the guy? What was it about this man that was so utterly irresistible?

Trey’s mouth moved to her ear. “I want you,” he whispered.

A shiver of pure delight snaked down Reagan’s spine, and she shuddered with complete surrender.

God, yes, take me you sexy, sexy man. Right here. Right now. Any way I can have you. I want you too.

“Trey, we need to talk to your latest conquest for a moment,” Dare said. “Do you mind?” He waved at the open door in get-the-hell-out-of-here-twerp fashion.

Latest conquest? Could a man who made her feel this special be a player? She realized that’s exactly what made Trey a good player. She was so going to get her heart broken. And while that realization totally sucked, she’d deal with it when the time came. There was no way she was shying away from that opportunity. Or that man.

“I’ll meet you in the hot tub,” Trey said to Reagan.

Probably not a good idea, but she had lost their duel. Might not have if he hadn’t touched her. Kissed her. Drove her to utter distraction. Thank God he had. Otherwise they might be heading off to the skate park. Yeah, not exactly her best idea.

“I’ll be there in a bit,” she said, her heart thudding in anticipation.

Trey moved from her loose hold and slid past the congregated members of Exodus End. Reagan’s face flamed. Again. They’d all been watching that. What must they think of her?

“We talked,” Dare said.

They all looked so serious. Reagan swallowed. Here it comes. Dreams smashed against the rocks.

“We want to sign you for the upcoming concert season,” Max said. “The first half of the tour is US. The second half is world. We leave in three weeks. Can you get your shit, um… stuff, in order before then?”

“Of course!” she gushed.

“Awesome,” Max said. His welcoming smile faded. “We do have a few concerns.”

“Concerns?”

“First, you’re a woman.”

She lifted a brow at him. “Last time I checked. Is that a problem?”

“Potentially,” Max said. “Things happen on tours that might offend you.”

She snorted with laughter. “I am unoffendable, Max. Trust me on that.”

“We’re guys,” Logan said. “We’re not used to having to behave ourselves.”

“Why would you have to behave yourselves?” Reagan asked.

“You’re a woman,” Steve said.

“I think we’ve already agreed on that point.”

“We don’t want you to get freaked out and leave in the middle of the tour,” Dare said.

“No chance.”

“You’ll undoubtedly see things…”

“I get it. You guys party. You fuck sluts. You cuss and argue. You lose your minds and break shit. Whatever. I can handle it.”

They exchanged glances.

“I can handle it,” she insisted.

“All right, but we’re going to be pissed if you back out on us.”

“I won’t.”

“Our second concern…”

The four of them shifted their gazes to the floor. It must be a pretty big concern to make four balls-of-steel rock stars unable to meet her eyes.

“We all noticed that you are…” Steve murmured.

“Fucking hot,” Logan blurted.

“Yeah, hot,” Max agreed. “But…”

“You need a makeover, sweetheart,” Dare said.

She was fucking hot, but she needed a makeover? She set her jaw to control the anger rising up from her chest. “I see. And if I refuse?”

“You’ll be destroyed by the tabloids.”

“We know you’re in this for the music, Reagan, and so are we, but… we kind of have this reputation of…”

“Looking gorgeous,” Reagan said flatly.

“If you don’t want to be a part of that, it’s okay, just know that you’re going to hear about it,” Max said.

“Remember that time Dare cut his hair?” Logan said. “You would have thought it was a national emergency.”

“I’ll think about it,” Reagan said. If she didn’t get a makeover, she was going to end up the frog in a group of princes. Just freaking wonderful.

“We also think you might need a personal bodyguard,” Steve said. “When our fans see you…” He produced a low growl that made Reagan feel like willing prey.

“A bodyguard?” she managed to say.

“We have security. They’re just not used to keeping too close an eye out for one individual. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

She lowered her chin and gave them all her frostiest look. “Look here, guys. I’m not some delicate flower. I’ve been in my share of mosh pits.”

“We wouldn’t want you to get hurt,” Dare repeated. “It would put our minds at ease.”

She scrubbed her face with both hands knowing she was going to cave. “Fine. I know someone who can guard my body.”

“You know someone?”

“Yeah, my roommate is in security. As overprotective as he is, he’ll totally get off on it.” Having her best friend, Ethan, on tour with her would be fun. He’d help ease her nerves as well as protect her body.

“So you’re signing on with us?”

“Fuck yeah, I am.”

And then she was going to celebrate in a hot tub with Trey Mills.