Two months. Two months without a lick of personal contact with the outside world. Two months of listening to these children banging each other in their bunks on the bus every single night, sometimes for hours. The moaning, the cursing, the screaming … There isn’t loud enough music or big enough noise-canceling headphones in the world to keep the torturous sounds of everyone else’s pleasure from pounding their way into the barren dustbowl of my vagina.

Nothing stops the ache between my legs.

And the worst part? When I can’t stomach anymore and try to … take care of business … I still can’t close the deal. I’ve tried sleeping pills to sedate the arousal out of me. Porn. Cold showers. Hell, even exercise. Nothing helps.

If I don’t find relief soon, I will explode. Quite possibly via spontaneous combustion in the middle of the recording studio.

My loins, they doth burn with unquenchable fire.

I wonder if it’s pheromones. I’ve never believed in that crap before, but there must be some explanation for why I stay so horny around these people. Or it could be the midthirties uptick in sex drive so many women experience. Whatever the case, I want it to stop. Now. I’m running out of strength to bear this burden, along with the 2,319 other problems caving my shoulders.

Maybe things will settle now that we’ve arrived at our temporary home on Chartres Street.

“Mom? You coming?” Letty teases from downstairs.

Only here an hour, and already they’re nagging me. I suck in a lungful of air through my nose and release it slowly through gritted teeth. What might have been a quick-and-dirty trip to the grocery store—alone, God, the blissful promise of silence!—to stock the cabinets has turned into a Broadway production. I should never have told Letty I was going. Now she and Shades are tagging along because they’re bored. Shoot me now. The last time they went shopping with me, we spent two hours at the store and came home with enough junk food to stock a movie theatre, minus half of what was on my list.

If they’d just let me do my job my way, everything would be fine.

“Mommmmmmy?” comes her whiny-kid voice from the stairs.

“Yes, dear,” I chide back. “I’ll be right down.” A final glance in the mirror confirms I look like frozen shit warmed in a broken microwave. Great. Just another day at the office.

I sling my purse up my arm and grab the manila envelope full of chicken-scratched song lyrics, smudged staff paper, and the contract with tonight’s venue I had a few questions about. The organizer was supposed to have gotten back to me by now. I’ll give him until noon to respond to the three voicemails I’ve left him. Then I start nagging. Where did I put his number? I flip through the top pages inside the envelope. My phone goes off. Footsteps echo off the stair and fall silent outside my bedroom.

“Shit.” After much fumbling, I locate the cell and press it to my ear, hoping like hell it’s the guy in question. “Jillian Frost.”

Letty leans against the jamb of my bedroom door, thumping the invisible watch on her wrist.

Yes, I know time is of the essence. If you’d let me take care of the shopping like I usually do, you could fuck Shades once more before the show and give me an hour of blessed peace.

I hold up a finger for her to wait.

“Were you planning to call on this visit to my fair city, or are you playing hard to get?”

Miles.

Warmth rushes through me like a flood, temporarily wiping out the stress. I smile and face the window, away from nosy Letty. “I haven’t forgotten about you. Can I call you back tomorrow? We just settled into the new house and have our last gig in a couple hours.”

“Don’t bother. Just meet me at The Delachaise on St. Charles after the show.”

Just like him to lure me to a Garden District wine bar. He knows I can’t say no to that. “I—”

“No excuses. You should celebrate the final concert of a tour with an old friend.”

I hesitate. I could probably hang around backstage long enough to offer my congratulations and then slip away. The children won’t miss me.

“I’m buying.” A smile radiates from his voice.

“Deal. See you then.”

The line clicks. I turn to Letty.

“Who was that?” Her pale arms wind together over her chest, framing an accusatory pose. Long, fire engine–red locks curl past her shoulders. She taps a combat boot impatiently against the hardwood floor. It’s a good thing she’s not my type, otherwise Shades might have some competition. Pretty sure Letty’s pansexual. Or just plain sexual.

“None of your damn business. Let’s go.” I spin her toward the hallway and follow her downstairs.

“Got a date?” she pries.

“No.”

“Hiring a prostitute?”

“Shut up.” I shove my e-cigarette between my lips and puff the shit out of it.

Letty’s raspy laugh boasts strength and confidence. I’ve never met another woman quite like her. There’ve been plenty of days since we left Athens when I wanted to strangle her, but an equal number when I’ve wanted to hug her. Just because I don’t show emotions to my clients doesn’t mean I don’t have attachments to them. This band of mismatched freaks have become my family in the absence of a real one. And just like real family, you take the good with the bad, and hope you have enough willpower not to smother them in their sleep.

They each have problems. Some are worse than others. Finances are tight for all of us until we get this album recorded and hit the road again. Relationships are a whole other, equally difficult beast to tame.

Something bad is brewing between Jinx, Toombs, and Rax. I suspect Rax is at the center of whatever the issue is. He’s drinking way too much. I’ve warned him several times about dialing back the liquor, but he’s veering toward the same dangerous path he stumbled down a few months ago. The one that sent him to the hospital with near-fatal alcohol poisoning. I’d hate to have to cut him loose like we did Kate, but it might be for his own good.

And Jinx … I don’t know what’s gotten into her. I’ve done everything I can think of to help her pull her shit together. I’ve tried being nice. I’ve tried throwing my weight around. I’ve even tried ignoring her. Every time we sit down to write music, she freezes. One day, she makes excuses; the next, she promises to have something ready when we hit the studio. Either way, she comes up empty. Even Rax, with all his issues, has created some of the best hooks I’ve heard. Jinx has to step up.

Whatever the problem among the three of them, I have a feeling I’ll soon be refereeing (again). I’m so goddamn sick of having to kick everyone’s ass and play peacekeeper with these kids. When will they grow up?

“Do you ever get tired of looking after us?” Green eyes wide and almost innocent, Letty must’ve read my mind.

“Yes.” I pause my steps and sigh. “Yes, I do, Letty.”

She pouts for a second, seems to think about my answer, and then her smile returns. “Then it’s a good thing we’re paying you well, huh?”

I snort. If she means minimum wage with no compensation for overtime, but long overtime hours, then yeah, they’re paying me well. It’s a good thing I like these idiots and love their music, otherwise I’d have bailed on them ages ago.

“I call shotgun. And I’m riding in the grocery cart. Shades says he’ll push.”

“I’ll push you,” I say. “Right off a damn cliff.”

Letty’s wicked smile lights up her face as she looks at me over her shoulder. “Love you too, Mom.” She winks and skips down the steps toward the waiting car.

* * *

“How did you know I was in town?” I sip my wine amid sounds of clinking glasses and tinkling laughter from nearby tables. It’s doubtful even alcohol will calm my nerves after the hell Letty and Shades put me through this morning at the grocery. They’re both on shopping restriction after the manager asked them to leave. Apparently, crashing shopping carts like bumper cars, playing hacky sack with feminine hygiene products, and rearranging condom boxes to spell the words “Get fucked” are frowned upon in the more conservative parts of New Orleans. Oh, and demonstrating proper blowjob techniques with a banana, and then using it to simulate how to bugger your boyfriend as he’s bent over the Chiquita stand doesn’t go over well with nuns or parents of young children either. On the bright side, at least Shades kept his pants up this time.

“I stalk Killer Buzz Float’s Facebook page,” Miles confesses. “Keeps me feeling close to you.”

I smile. “You were always such a charmer. Why did we ever divorce?”

“Because my Tab A never properly fit your Slot B?”

“Yeah, but we were good together everywhere outside of bed.”

“No denying that.” Miles tops off my glass. Didn’t realize I’d drained it. I suck down a couple more swallows. He considers me for a long moment and arches a brow. “Rough day?”

“Rough couple of months. At least the tour is over. Now I can move on to adventures in babysitting at the studio.” I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and notice the napkin in my lap as an afterthought. The children have turned me into a slob even outside the bus. I used to have manners. Now I have a plethora of unexplained stains. God, I’m losing my mind.

“Ah.” He nods knowingly. “I take it you haven’t looked into my suggestion?”

And, here we go. “No.”

Planting his elbows on the table, he folds his hands in front of his mouth. “When are you gonna face the fact that you’re an S-type through and through?”

I wince. I’m a little miffed that Miles, of all people, is still entertaining such a preposterous notion. My boss at the law firm where I used to work in Athens once said my pit bull attitude and unyielding tenacity when dealing with difficult clients were the reasons for my huge bonuses every year. I ran a tight ship for her, lording over the office with strict rules, ruthless demands for efficiency, and punctual adherence to deadlines. The boss lady praised me regularly for keeping our work machine well oiled and rigorously productive.

Though I don’t have a boss per se anymore, I’m confident the members of Killer Buzz Float would agree my standards and personal expectations for high-quality work haven’t waned. The children would also concede that keeping them in line is no easy task.

I am dependable and loyal to a fault. And above all, responsible.

Miles taps a finger against the base of his wine glass, subtly reminding me I haven’t responded to his question. How to frame an answer without hurting his feelings? Fuck it. I’m all out of tact. “I’m no submissive. If any label fits me, it’s ‘alpha.’ Top dog in all things.” I just don’t have the energy to prove it right now.

He regards me for a long moment. “I’m going to be honest, and I hope it doesn’t offend you.”

The alcohol finally permeates my blood, slowing down the rushing heartbeats along with my brain’s processing speed. “Nothing you could say would offend me. We know each other too well for that.”

“Good. Then listen up.” He adjusts in his seat, the straightness of his spine making him taller. “You look like hell, Jillian. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. You’ve lost weight, and I can smell the tobacco on your clothes, so I know you haven’t quit smoking like you promised.”

I gulp more wine.

He continues, “My partner and I belong to a club, and they’re hosting a Mardi Gras party Tuesday. It’s a masquerade. Costumes are optional, but masks are required. Why don’t you join us as my guest? I can introduce you to Red—”

I nearly choke on my drink and burst out laughing. “Red? That’s his name?”

“Don’t wear it out.” A gleam lights up his eyes. “Seriously, you’ll love it there. And the best part is the anonymity. No one will know who you are, and you won’t know who they are unless you want to. It’s a beautiful arrangement and a great opportunity to dip your toes in the kink water.”

“I am not wearing some crazy get-up and baring my ass for a beating.” Need more wine. I grab the bottle and refill my glass.

“No beatings. Just observation.”

“Of you getting your ass beaten.”

He smiles. “Maybe. Think you can handle it?”

“Do you?” I down the wine and salute its death with a suppressed burp.

A wicked grin flashes across his face. “Might get me off even faster.”

“You always were a pervert,” I tease.

He concedes with a wave of his hand. “Hence the kink club. These are our people.”

“Our people? No, they’re your people. I want nothing to do with it, remember?”

His gaze slips down my chest. “They’re your people. You just don’t know it yet. I promise you’ll leave the masquerade a changed woman, even if you don’t participate. The rush of discovering a brand-new world like this will open your eyes to a better, hotter way of life. You won’t regret it.”

My brain sloshes as I cock my head to the side. “You sound like a New Age guru. You selling snake oil now too? Crystal dildos charged by the light of the full moon? Hell, while you’re at it, can you cast me a love spell? I can give you a lock of pubic hair or a couple drops of boob sweat if you need ’em.”

Miles falls into his seat with an exasperated sigh. “Come on, Jill. For me? If you aren’t interested in the exotic buffet, go to meet Red. He’s … special.”

I have to admit, I’m curious about the man who was powerful enough to bring the mighty Miles Craven to his knees. And maybe a little jealous. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask. You want me to take you mask shopping? I know a place on Magazine. We can get you a leather assless spanking dress,” he jokes.

My stomach turns, and it’s not from too much wine, though I’ve definitely exceeded my limit. “How about I get you an assless spanking dress? You’re not too old to put over my knee.”

“Now you’re just teasing.” He smiles into his glass and takes a sip.

I cringe at his weak tone. Where did my handsome, indomitable ex run off to? When we were together, he was a picture of pure, solid stoicism. Unwavering. Unshakable. A part of me dies at the thought of him prostrating himself to someone—of becoming somehow less than he was when I knew him. He got sucked in and lost his way with this submissive bullshit, and if he thinks for one second I’ll fall into a similar trap, he’s sorely mistaken.

I may be stressed beyond belief, but I’m not so desperate as to lower myself to the level of dirt for anyone.

Think. Thought. Thunk.

The answer is no. Miles and Red will have to do their kink thing without me.