The following night, while Killer Buzz Float is onstage, I keep an eye out for Richard Jasper. I have no idea what he looks like, but he’s on the guest list. If he actually shows, he’ll figure out how to find me. While waiting, I take a few minutes to do something I rarely have time for: enjoying the gig.

Since the tour started a few months ago, I’ve paid close attention to how the kids have evolved in terms of music and stage presence. Their first tour was a hodgepodge of cobbled-together venues, many of them booked at the last moment. It was girls versus boys with a fierce rivalry between the original bands. Not ideal for touring together, but the competition between Killer Dixon and Cherry Buzz Float kept everyone on their toes.

Now that the merger is complete, and they’ve gotten to know each other in the recording studio (and in their respective bunks), things have really gelled. I truly believe the trials these kids have endured made them better musicians. Rax battling alcoholism. Toombs and Jinx with their Rax issues. Letty and Shades … being Letty and Shades.

I shake my head and laugh under the roar of the crowd as Letty sidles up next to her man and executes a slide on his bass with her tongue. Jesus. She hoists the mic in the air with her rocker fist and commences head banging. Bright red hair lashes around her. Boobs bounce beneath the too-tight belly shirt. And of course, she can’t resist flashing the guys in the front row. Foot meets monitor; well-placed industrial fan blows skirt straight up. She pretends to be coy, rushing to cover the thong underneath, but she’s learned where the best angle is for ultimate blow-age. Crotch grinding against the breeze gets the audience riled up something fierce.

Letty points at a couple guys in the first row. “I see you perverts checking out my ShamWow and caboose.” Thrust, thrust. Slap! to the ass. Whistles follow. “Can I trust y’all to drive the Letty train to its final destination?”

Oh, shit. She better not—

Her arms part Jesus Christ-style, and she nods to the guys. They nod back eagerly. She takes the Nestea plunge into the audience. My heart catches in my throat, but the fans lift her up and pass her around. The crazy bitch doesn’t miss a beat. As the rest of the band converges on the last chorus, Letty gives the lyrics all she’s got, scream-singing like a Millennial Janis Joplin. Despite the jostling and hands all over her, she kills it. Jinx wraps the song with a mighty drum finale to the tune of Rax’s and Toombs’s dueling guitars, and the fans return Letty to the stage where she hops up unscathed.

So much trust required to give complete control of your body to someone else. I have serious respect for her. Wish I had the balls to let go like that. Maybe one day I’ll find another Siren who’ll show me how to submit unconditionally.

Because, now that the moment with Siren is long past and there’s no chance of getting it back, it’s all I think about. The thrill of relinquishing my body to someone I trust, and allowing her to do whatever the fuck she wants, eats at me every night I lie alone in my bed.

The grass is always greener …

I sigh and clap as the last cymbal crash chimes.

“Jillian Frost?” a male voice shouts over the raging crowd.

I turn around. A handsome man with dark, wavy hair, piercing green eyes, and a hint of facial scruff stands behind me. He’s sporting an Armani suit, which is about as out of place here on stage left at a Killer Buzz Float show as my Brooks Brothers’ Stellita fit jacket and matching pants. I lift a brow. “Richard Jasper, I presume?”

He offers his hand. We shake. “Pleasure to meet you,” he says.

I glance toward the band as they launch into another song, and I nod away from the stage. He follows me to the greenroom where fans anxiously await Just Breathe and KBF. Nice to see so many of them sporting our T-shirts with the cassette tape logo and “Long live The Rock” slogan. If Richard needs any further validation of the band’s popularity, he’s got it here.

I guide him to a corner away from the noise, and we sit facing each other. I cross my legs. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thank you.” He waves me off. “I’ll be brief. I’ve been watching your band for a while, and I think they’ve got a lot of potential.”

Potential? Fuck potential. Killer Buzz Float has arrived. I bite my tongue and wait for him to continue before I give him the throttling he so justly deserves for that shitty opening comment.

“They’ve got cute, catchy lyrics.”

Did he listen to that last song? The one about climbing a guy’s pole? My simmering blood rockets up to boiling.

“Your singer has a lot of energy.”

That’s one word for it.

“And the female vibe mixed with the male guitars is a strong selling point that appeals to both sexes. I think you’ve got a winner on your hands. All you need is the right tour mates to take your band to the next level.”

I narrow my eyes on him, still as a snake waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Now, I know you spoke to Dodge about Get Your Rock Off, but hear me out. Banging Betties is slated to become the number one band in the country, and if you join this tour, not only will you get massive fan and media exposure, but your merchandise sales alone will put enough money in your pockets to make the trip worthwhile. We’re talking 250,000 tickets over twenty more shows. That’s a lot of T-shirts. Not to mention you’ll be sharing a stage with the hottest new girl band in the US. With Banging Betties behind you, it’ll be impossible not to make money.” With a smug smile, he sits back in his chair and crosses his arms.

“I guess I’m supposed to be impressed by this?” I pop my e-cigarette between my lips and pull a drag.

He frowns. “Are you not?”

I shrug. “Not particularly. Our gig with Just Breathe has been going remarkably well. They have plenty of fans to share, and their manager isn’t a condescending asshole.”

Richard straightens uncomfortably. Too bad he’s such a twat and I’m such a lesbian. He’s kinda cute when he’s not staring down his nose at me, begging for an ass-kicking.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I urge you to reconsider.” Sweat blooms across his forehead.

“Why is it so important that you book my band, Richard? You’re coming across as desperate. Is there something I should know? Are your precious Betties not bringing in the numbers you anticipated?”

“Quite the contrary. They’ve brought in more than the organizers projected.”

“Then what? Why are you so obsessed with signing Killer Buzz Float to your tour? Judging by your lackluster assessment of their abilities, I assume it’s not about their talent, which you sorely underestimated, by the way.” Nobody fucks with this band. Killer Buzz Float is top notch, Grade A badass. Period.

“Apologies.” He leans forward over bent knees. I puff my cigarette and blow the vapor in his face.

And the backpedaling begins. “I think you have a fantastic group. With a hand up from those at the top of the rock scene, they’ll soar to new heights. We’re all about helping our fellow musicians.”

I snort. The pop-rock those girls play is definitely Top 40 material, but for all the wrong reasons. Their prefabbed sound speaks to the iGeneration, yes, but there’s not much talent to support it.

“We don’t need your help.” I keep my tone even. Just barely. I stand up. “Thank you for your time. Good luck with the rest of your tour.”

I can’t wait to tell Letty and Co. about this dick after the show. The nerve.

Richard rises. “What if I sweeten the deal, Jillian?”

“Top billing?” I suggest.

“I can’t do that. But I can arrange for a signing bonus. For you. No one has to know about it.”

“Oh, so you want to bribe me.”

What a pig. I may be an astute businesswoman with just enough knowledge of the law to make me dangerous, but I’m not a crook or a sellout. Especially not with my band. All financial transactions related to Killer Buzz Float and me are one hundred percent transparent for their benefit. Sure, I ask for a bonus every once in a while when things go well, but I would never stoop to accepting side money without their knowledge or permission.

“Not bribery.” A wolfish grin splits his mouth. “Incentive.”

I move into his personal space and drink in his expensive cologne. “Now, that makes me even less inclined to want to join your precious Betties. Didn’t your mother ever tell you honesty will always take you further than deceit?” I tsk.

Sparks of glitter dance in his emerald eyes. “My mother told me a lot of things. Number one on her list was ‘Don’t lose. Ever.’”

“How’s that working out for you?”

He smooths his silk tie, brushes a hand over the designer suit, and adjusts his gold cuff links. “So far, so good. If you join us, you’ll be driving a brand-new Mercedes this time next year.”

I laugh. “I’ve been in this business long enough to know that success rarely happens overnight, and when it does, there’s usually no talent behind it, only luck. Your Betties caught some lightning in a bottle, Richard. They’re all about the image and nothing about the music. That’s where you and I will have to agree to disagree. Because for me and my band, music is everything. Without talent, all you have are a trio of pretty dolls with too much makeup, not enough staying power, and a conniving manager who’ll do whatever it takes to suck the life out of every last sellout song until there’s nothing left but a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. I’ll take the talent any day.”

Spreading his hands wide, he inhales a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Okay. I guess that’s that.”

“Yes, sir, it is.” I suck another drag off my cigarette. “See you on the flip side.”

Just as I turn away, he says, “Oh, there’s Lizzie,” and waves a thin woman over from across the room.

I pause. “Lizzie?”

“Yes, our no-talent singer.” He chuckles. “Spare me one more moment to introduce you?” The glitter in his eyes is grooving in full-on dance mode.

“I don’t think—”

He presses his gaze hard into me as he leans forward. “Trust me. You want to meet Lizzie.” My gut reacts in a leap that jabs my esophagus with a ninja move I haven’t felt since Siren surprised me with her play proposition in New Orleans.

The woman saunters over, parting the crowd with sheer star power. Hands fly to mouths as fans whisper to one another, eyes wide, grins wider. Though she’s wearing ripped jeans and a white T-shirt, I imagine her svelte curves rocking a black, full-length lounge-singer dress, wooing crowds with her song.

She floats over to us, long red hair kissing her shoulders. Her pale, freckled skin calls to me.

“Lizzie Smith, it’s my pleasure to introduce Jillian Frost, Killer Buzz Float’s manager.”

“It’s been a while, Jillian,” she purrs.

“Uh …” I don’t remember ever meeting Lizzie Smith before. I wouldn’t have forgotten a beauty like this.

Freckles.

And that voice.

I know that voice.

I hear it every night when I try in vain to fall asleep to the tune of my ultraquiet vibrator nudging my bits to the brink of orgasm and failing on delivery.

She eases closer. Her blue eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief. “How come you never called?”

Pop! goes the weasel!

I swallow the boulder blocking all air traffic between my throat and lungs. “Siren?”