Days roll into weeks. And soon, months pass.

Everything changes.

Nothing changes.

The record wraps.

Rax rehabbed while the band was on hiatus between recording and touring and seems to have come out better for it. Despite my hard-ass scowls from the side of the stage, I cross my fingers behind my back for him every night. I want so much for him to find peace with himself, and I think he has.

We welcomed a new addition to the Killer Buzz Float family—a hot little number called Eve. If it weren’t for Rax, her viciously protective boyfriend, she’d be gorgeous enough to push Siren out of my search light. Lucky bastard.

Letty continues to try my patience daily with wacky stunts and excessive … Lettyness. Yesterday, I got off the bus to find new rims on the wheels in the shape of huge, erect penises with robust testicles bulging along the edges. She claims she paid for them herself, so I can’t nag about finances. I bit my tongue so hard, I may as well shove a stud through it before the hole closes up.

Shades does his best to cover Letty’s messes, but he’s rarely successful. Bless his heart. But I’ve learned to grin and bear it with her. Better to accept that she’ll never change than argue with her over every little thing and still lose. I definitely pick my battles with Letty Dillinger.

Toombs and I commiserate over coffee every morning, which I genuinely look forward to. Mostly we shoot the shit, but he’s got a brain for numbers, so I call on his math expertise regularly. Yesterday our discussion centered around replacing rundown equipment: an amp, several cords, and all our microphones (Letty abuses the shit out of those—I’m just as shocked as you are). The day before, we chatted about investing some of the band’s slowly growing tour funds to create a little nest egg for future expansion of the Killer Buzz Float brand. Today, the topic du jour was how many lashes it takes to get to the center of a Toombsie Pop. My guess was thirteen, but he claimed the number was way higher. He’s a beast. And so good for Jinx.

The Killer Buzz Float machine rambles on, and Jillian Frost keeps the gears running smoothly.

Every night before I fall asleep in my bunk, I pull up Siren’s contact information and contemplate calling her. And every night, I shut off the phone before my lady bits convince me to do something I probably shouldn’t.

I’ve fallen into a routine of acceptance with a side of muted grumbling, which I try to tamp down. I brought shit on myself. I’m alone and will continue to be alone, thanks to the career choices I’ve made. Siren was a blip on my radar—a one-night stand in a city of sin where nobody remembers names the morning after Mardi Gras, and any sex acts performed in the heat of repressed, Catholic-guilt-ridden moments are barely breathing memories incapable of resuscitation without a defibrillator.

Siren is sure to have forgotten me by now, which is why I can’t bring myself to call her.

So, I lie in my bunk, staring at the ceiling, listening to boots knocking, lusty voices moaning, and love growing.

I’m happy for these kids. Really.

And insanely jealous.

Maybe today a new siren will sweep me off my feet and whisk me away to a spa or a castle or a tropical island.

I step off the cock-and-balls-rimmed bus, light a cigarette, and head toward tonight’s venue for a word with the management. In and out the smoke flows. Ahhh. I’ve been good about sticking to electronic cigarettes, but I allow myself the real deal once a day to protect my sanity and the lives of those around me.

Five glorious, nicotine-filled minutes later, I drop the butt into the smokers’ outpost. Just as I’m about to open the door to the building, my phone buzzes. I don’t recognize the number.

“Jillian Frost.”

“Jillian, this is Dodge Van Der Klempf with the Get Your Rock Off tour. How’re you doing?”

Dodge? Did his Dutch wannabe-car-salesman father come up with that name? “I’m doing well. What can I do for you?” I keep my tone neutral, but the Get Your Rock Off part has my interest, assuming this guy is legit. Big assumption. Most of the time, these cold calls are people trying to sell shit.

“I just heard the latest song from Killer Buzz Float. I’m impressed. Catchy lyrics, hot and gritty sound, and the seventies-throwback shit is refreshing. We may have an opening on our tour soon. You think your band might be interested?”

I pause my steps. “Nice of you to consider us, but we’re currently on tour with Just Breathe.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. Congratulations on scoring such a kick-ass gig,” he says.

Fuck yes, it’s kick-ass.

“How much longer have you got with them?”

“Another month.”

“Ah, that sucks. We’d love to have you join us.”

“If anything changes, I’ll let you know, but for now, we’re set.”

“You know, we’ve got DomMob, WitchSMUT, and the crown jewel, Banging Betties. Richard, the Betties’ manager, told me to pass along his contact info in the event you said no. He really wants you on board.”

I frown. Banging Betties are a pop-rock group, emphasis on pop. Why is this guy so anxious to drag us along?

“I’m pretty busy this week,” I lie. “If he wants to call me, you’re welcome to forward my number.” Let him think I can’t be bothered. That usually sticks in their craws and makes them all the more eager.

“Will do,” Dodge says. “This could be a great opportunity for your band, Jillian. You don’t want to miss out on it.”

“Killer Buzz Float is living their dream as we speak. It doesn’t get much better than Just Breathe.” I puff out my chest, even though he can’t see me.

“Banging Betties are gonna hit the top ten with their latest. Guaranteed,” he counters.

“Just Breathe is already in the top ten and has been for three weeks.” Much as I’d love to take this opportunity, we have the better deal. Too bad Dodge couldn’t have waited until the tour was over. But I have my priorities, and Just Breathe is the best exposure for us right now. Not to mention, they’re genuinely nice blokes.

“All right, I hear you,” Dodge says. “I’ll let Richard know you’re passing. But do keep us in mind. We’re looking at adding another stage and need to fill more seats. Killer Buzz Float would be the perfect choice to flesh us out.”

“I appreciate that. I’ll let them know about the offer.”

“Thanks for your time.”

“You got it.” I end the call.

Why would a band like Banging Betties be so eager to have Killer Buzz Float on their tour?

“Jillian,” Jinx calls. I turn around. Her dainty footsteps on the blacktop are nothing like the jabs her feet pound behind her kit. “Any chance you could take Letty and me to the mall? She messed up her skirt and needs a new outfit for tonight. And I need a … new belt.” Guilt drops her eyes to her toes.

Maybe Toombs really can sustain a lot more than thirteen lashes.

“How does Letty manage to go through a skirt a week?”

Jinx inhales and shrugs. “Might’ve had something to do with the—”

“Is that smoke?” My nose twitches at the smell of something burning. I whip my head around to the bus. Sure enough, smoke. “Goddammit! I only left a few minutes ago. I told her to stay out of the kitchenette—”

“It was just the skirt,” Jinx says. “There was a lit candle. She spun around the pole and sort of … caught the hem on fire. But she’s fine, really. Zoe was there. She put it out super fast.”

Gavin from Just Breathe’s girlfriend does have a way with water. It’s almost like she exudes it.

“I thought I told you children no candles. Why was Letty spinning on the pole? That’s for Eve to practice on. No one else.”

Jinx looks down at her stubby fingernails. “Letty convinced Eve to teach the three of us how to pole dance.”

“With a lighted candle. In a closed space. Why am I not surprised?” I turn my face to the sky, searching for a sign. Anything to tell me why I shouldn’t strangle Letty. “Get your shit. We’re leaving in ten.”

“Okay.” She heads toward the wheeled behemoth.

“And Jinx? Tell Letty she’s in charge of airing out and deodorizing the bus.”

She nods and continues on her way.

Now I have to rearrange my entire schedule to make a trip to the fucking mall so Letty will have something to wear onstage tonight. Sad thing is, if she had her druthers, she’d probably just wear the burnt skirt. Or Porky Pig it under one of Shades’s long shirts. Nothing fazes her. She has no concept of consequences. She’s a prepubescent boy trapped in a woman’s body.

My phone buzzes again. “What now?” Unknown number. I pull the device to my ear. “Jillian Frost.”

“Richard Jasper,” a rich, slightly effeminate voice says.

Am I supposed to know who the fuck that is? I wait for clarification.

“Manager for Banging Betties.”

That was fast.

“Right. I’m pretty busy at the moment. Can I call you later?”

“It’ll only take a minute.” His condescending tone rubs me the wrong way. “I understand you turned Dodge down regarding the Rock Off tour. I’d like to speak with you in person about the matter, if you don’t mind. I have additional information that might sway you.”

Pushy much?

“I’m not in a position to hop on a plane at the moment, if that’s what you mean—”

“No, the Betties have a couple days’ break between shows. I’ll come to you.”

“I’ll save you the trip, Richard. Like I told Dodge, we’re not interested. Killer Buzz Float is enjoying a wildly successful tour with Just Breathe, and we have no desire to jump ship. Keep my number for next time, and we can talk then.”

“I’m certain you’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

This guy won’t take no for an answer, which jacks up my resistance. And curiosity.

“Please, Ms. Frost?” His voice loses some of its edge. “I’ll be at Killer Buzz Float’s show tomorrow. We can talk afterward.”

I huff. “Fine. But I can only spare a few minutes. We have tons going on at the after-parties.”

“I understand. I’ll see you at the venue.” He hangs up.

I stare at my phone. That was one of the most unusual conversations I’ve ever had with a person in the music business. Shaking my head, I go inside the building. The receptionist says the venue manager won’t be in for a couple hours. Great. Another item I can’t mark off my list until later.

I return to the bus, girding my loins for the hell that awaits within. Letty’s raspy laughter bleeds through the open windows. When I get inside, she flings herself around Eve’s practice dance pole, legs split (sans burnt skirt, but at least she’s got on underwear today), hair flying. Wool-tinged smoke tops the air.

“Look at me, Jillian! I’m gonna put these stripper moves to work tonight onstage.”

I curl my arms over my chest. “Oh, hell no, you’re not. Get off that thing before you fuck up something else.”

“Hey, I haven’t broken anything in a while,” she defends, jumping down.

“The day is still young.”

Zoe Morgan stands from the couch, looking intently at her phone. “I gotta get back to our bus. Gavin’s having some … issues.”

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She frowns, her brilliant blue eyes darkening. “I’m not sure. Something back home.” She faces Eve. “Thanks for the lesson. And Jillian,” she turns to me and lays a hand on my arm, “try not to be mad at Letty. She was just having fun.”

A wave of coolness flows from her fingers into my skin. All my frustration and rage melt away. Calmness fills in their wake. It’s the most chill I’ve felt in ages. My jaw drops. That’s what we in the music biz call presence.

Zoe smiles quickly and heads for the stairs.

I follow her ass down the aisle. Damn, she’s amazing. Gavin’s a lucky guy.

Letty waves her hand in front of my face and snaps her fingers. “Hello? Paging Jillian. Eyes up here.”

I shift my focus to her. “What?”

“Wardrobe upgrade? I’ve got a hundred bucks burning a hole in my pocket—no pun intended—and nothing to wear to the mall but these Underoos. You think they’ll let me in like this?”

Jinx opens her trundle and tosses a pair of jeans at Letty. “Borrow these.”

“Thanks, Jinxie.” Letty tunnels her legs into the pants and shakes out her long red locks. “Maybe we can pick up some hair dye while we’re out. My color’s fading. Ooh! And a Magic 8-Ball butt plug. I saw one online the other day. Shades will flip his shit if I drop trou and flash him one of those.” She bends over and assumes Shades’s Boston accent. “What ah the chances that I’ll get to come in yuh ass tonight, Letty?” She shakes her butt in a twerk. “Outlook is good.”

“Letty!” Jinx admonishes, covering her smile.

“Oh, please.” Letty blows her off with a flippant wave. “Not only do you get it up the butt with a cum chaser any time you want, but you get the beads as an added bonus. I want beads, goddammit.” She stomps a foot.

Beads? As in genital beads? I flick my gaze at Jinx, whose face is beet red.

That’s one topic of conversation I will not bring up with Toombs tomorrow over morning coffee. Although, I’d be interested in seeing them. For research.

“Settle for the pearl necklace,” I say to Letty, hoping to take some of the heat off poor Jinx. “It’s more your style.”

She and Jinx laugh. It’s hard for me to stay mad at Letty, despite her annoying antics and her penchant for starting fires on the bus. This is the third one. That I know of.

“Get your shit together and grab Eve,” I tell them. “We’re long overdue for a shopping binge.”

Letty rounds on me. “Did you really just say that? You hate shopping.”

“No, I hate shopping with you.” I hook an arm through hers and lay on a sickly-sweet smile. I’m still relaxed from my brief conversation with Zoe. Maybe it’s time I loosened the reins on Letty a little. “But in an effort to become a kinder, gentler manager, I’m making an exception.”

“Aww, shucks.” Letty snaps her fingers and turns to Jinx. “She loves me, Jinx. She really loves me!”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” I mumble.

Next action item on Jillian’s to-do list: survive a shopping excursion with the queen of Magic 8-Ball butt plugs. Pray for me.