On December first, we roll into LA much earlier than expected, giving us an entire day of freedom before the gig tonight. Well, I have to work, thanks to my never-ending list, but the kids deserve a little fun. I blow on my coffee and peer through the rising steam at Toombs. “What are your plans today?”

He adjusts in his seat. “It’s Letty’s birthday, so …”

“Shit.” I totally forgot. I’ll have to pick up a cake and a present at the very least. Maybe a few decorations. “What’s her favorite cake flavor?”

He drowns his attention in his mug. “I don’t know. Probably won’t be around much before the show, so unless you’re planning something post-concert, don’t bother.”

I cock my head to the side. “You guys throwing a party without me? I’m crushed.” I feign devastation with an arm across my forehead.

He sneaks a sheepish look at me.

“Is this about Birthday Club?” I drop my voice.

His silver eyes widen. “What do you know about that?”

Nothing. Exactly nothing. Other than I’ve heard the words tossed around like a secret handshake in a dark alley a couple times in the last twenty-four hours.

I shrug.

“We’re not supposed to talk about it.” He sips his coffee and rushes on to the next topic of conversation, which may or may not be related to this club business. “Hey, I sent some links to Jinx and bought her a couple e-books about BDSM. She’s done a lot of her own research on the subject too. If you want to talk to someone else about it other than me, I’m sure she’d be game.”

I arch a brow and hide my smile behind my cup. “So, you guys are involved in some kind of kinky sex birthday club thing?”

Red shoots through his cheeks.

“Toombs Badcock, you’re blushing!” I laugh. Not sure why this tickles me so, but I’ve never seen him blush before. I didn’t know such a thing was possible.

He gulps down the remainder of his coffee and sets the cup in the sink. Notices my scowl. Seems to think the better of it. Squirts some dishwashing liquid into the mug, washes and dries it, and sets the mug in the cupboard.

We both smile as something small and furry races across the tops of our feet.

“Fuck!” I jump, clutching my chest. “Letty, get your weasel under control before he shits on the bath mat again.”

Jimi, the Rock ’n’ Roll Ferret, is Letty’s newly acquired solution to the lack of baby in her and Shades’s lives. When they found out Shades wasn’t Gabrielle’s dad, Letty went to an animal shelter in search of a dog to fill the void. She came home with a stinky old one-eyed ankle biter.

Jimi skids to a stop, faces me, and initiates his strange war dance, hopping like a living wave, clucking in his odd language that only Letty seems to understand. He circles my ankles, nipping at the air around them.

Smiling Toombs says, “I think he wants you to play with him.”

I grunt. “I don’t play with anyone.”

Toombs corrects me with a “Child, please” look.

I stifle a laugh. “Okay, not anymore and certainly not with a goddamn weasel.”

Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle, Jimi seems to say as he flips around me. He makes one last lap to circumnavigate my feet and then hustles his ass to Letty, whose hand drops from her bunk, waving at him.

“Jimi! Come ’ere, you little shit,” she calls behind the curtain, “and wish your old lady a happy birthday.”

Jimi stands on hind legs and scuttles into the bunk. Giggles ensue, followed by a howled, “Ouch!” from Shades.

The ferret hasn’t exactly warmed up to Shades yet, but he’s getting there. We all are. Slowly.

Except maybe for Jinx, who’s petrified of Jimi.

I wash my cup quickly as more list items pop up in my head. Ferret food. Kitty litter. Garbage bags. And shit, damn, fuck, I’m supposed to interview some girl about the assistant job the band gave me permission to advertise.

After our hoedown with Lizzie last week, I had a heart-to-heart with the members of Killer Buzz Float and told them I’m happy doing what I’m doing, but I need help if they want me to stay sane-ish. I laid out my requests and a budget (Toombs helped me wrangle the numbers) and presented it to them as I would for any employer. Professionally, succinctly, factually.

They agreed my proposal was reasonable and approved hiring an assistant for me. Thanks to the huge bump in iTunes, merchandise, and ticket sales after Letty’s video statement, our cash flow has increased exponentially. If we keep this up, we may hit the Top 40 sooner rather than later.

Dreams do come true.

I’m proud of my kids.

I glance to Toombs on my way to tackle the day’s challenges. “Send me the links. And the names of the books.”

“Sure, Mom,” he snarks.

I snap my purse by the strap from my bunk, grab my phone, and walk to the front of the bus. On the couch, Jinx lies on her back, legs tented under a blanket, blond hair fanned around her head, holding up her e-reader. She catches my eye and turns redder than Toombs did moments ago.

I lean over to check out what she’s reading, and she quickly drops the device to her chest, hugging it. “Must be something really juicy,” I poke.

She sinks deeper into the cushions.

“Just remember not to let the tip of the flogger curl around his body when you swing it. And avoid the kidneys. Very dangerous.” I wink at her and hop down the stairs, leaving behind a thoroughly whipped (pun intended) Jinx. I still got it.

I head toward the entrance to the parking lot where I told the cabbie to pick me up. My phone rings.

“Miles?” I answer, surprised.

“Jillian. It’s been a while. How are you?” he asks.

“Ah, you know, slammed six seconds to sundown, but pretty good. You? Still in New Orleans?”

“I am. Red and I have settled into our new home. All’s well here,” he replies. “I’m calling to see how things are going.” He leaves off the important part.

“You mean with Lizzie.”

He pauses. Laughs softly. “Yeah, maybe.”

The cab pulls up. I wave at the driver.

“I appreciate you looking out for me, Miles, but I don’t need any more check-ins. I’m perfectly fine. And no more blind dates or play parties either.” Though I appreciate his effort, the words come out harsher than they should. I burn the edge off my voice with a deep breath. “I found what I needed, and it wasn’t a girlfriend.”

The cabbie opens the door for me.

“I see,” Miles says as I slip into the back seat of the car. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“Me too. But this is for the best.” I cover the mouthpiece and tell the driver, “Take me to The Grove.” He nods, and I continue with Miles. “I want to see your new place next time I’m in Louisiana.”

“I insist you stay with us when you come.” He hesitates, as if he wants to say more.

I don’t give him a chance. “Talk soon. Thanks for everything, Miles.” Click.

And with that click comes a snip on the tether linking me to him. Should have let him go long ago, but he was too easy to hold onto.

I’m happy for Miles and Red.

I pull up email on my phone and find the message from the woman who replied in LA. Ave Maria Torres. That’s her name? As in, “Hail Mary”? Interesting.

I dial her number and wait.

On the fourth ring, she answers, breathless. “Ave Maria,” comes her clipped voice. Spanish accent.

I guess that really is her name.

“Hello. This is Jillian Frost, the manager for Killer Buzz Float. I’m calling in regard to the application you filed for assistant manager.”

“Yes.” Her tone brightens. “How are you?”

“Doing well. I’m actually in Los Angeles now for our gig tonight and wondered if you had time to meet for a casual interview over coffee today.”

“Sí—ah, yes, of course.”

“I’m on my way over to The Grove to do some quick shopping.”

She laughs. “Shopping today will not be so quick. First of December.”

“Ah, right.” I suppose Christmas is officially right around the corner.

“I can be there in a couple of hours,” she says.

“Are you a coffee drinker? I think there’s a Starbucks in the bookstore.”

“Sí, there is. Shall I meet you at, say, one o’clock?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

After hanging up with Ave Maria, I mentally finalize my list and sort tasks by time and location. The only question is, what to buy Letty? Phone accessories? A heavy-duty mop and a bottle of bleach? Adult diapers? Or maybe I could start a collection for her. I’ll see what’s available at the mall.

Boughs of holly and fa-la-la-la-las greet me at the heart of the outdoor mall. The fifty-something-degree air is on a collision course with the low 60s, which are welcome temperatures after the cold weather we left behind in Idaho and Utah. Out of habit, I take out my e-cigarette, stare at it for a long moment, and put it back in my purse. I haven’t smoked a real cigarette since Lizzie, and truth be told, I don’t really crave the nicotine now. No point puffing on the fake shit that’ll give me popcorn lung.

Maybe I’ll try to go one day without it. A single day isn’t so long. And if I hate it, I can always make up for lost time with my beloved vaping tomorrow.

I navigate around the Dancing Fountain, marveling at its aquatic acrobatics, and saunter into one of the department stores to look for new pants for Letty and Jinx. They both requested non-jeans. I hate shopping for them without them here, but so far, I’ve heard no complaints. Either they like my tastes, or they’re too scared to tell me otherwise.

Despite it being a Monday, the crowds are out in full force. I fight for purchase in high-traffic areas, which of course, are exactly where Letty and Jinx would shop. After mulling over several pairs of pants, I decide on black for both of them. Hell, any time Letty wears pants at all, I’m happy. The woman at the register seems less than full of Christmas cheer, which I totally get, though, today isn’t so bad.

Next, I wander into one of the specialty shops, hoping something there will catch my eye for Letty, and boy, does it ever. After about twenty minutes of prowling and dodging people, I find the perfect gift. With a smile, I tuck the small package into the bigger bag. Letty could use a little class in her life. I think she’ll appreciate this one.

I check my watch. Twelve thirty. Just enough time to hoof it over to Barnes & Noble to peruse the BDSM section before coffee with Ave Maria. Not surprisingly, there aren’t many books on the subject, but I pick one up that looks promising. I take it over to the coffee section and sit among the holiday-themed coffee mugs and boxes of chocolate, thumbing through the pages, half watching the mulling shoppers for my appointment. I didn’t even ask what she looked like.

I’m minding my own business, reading about power exchanges, when a stunning woman with a mane of jet-black hair and the tightly packed physique of a personal trainer wanders past, scanning the tables. Her thin, dark eyebrows pinch, and as she turns my way, the hard slash of her angled jaw clenches.

Her lips. Jesus Hannibal Christ, her lips. Full on the bottom like a strawberry begging for a bruising, and tapered on top to the streamline tune of a cat who owns the universe.

Long, slender neck tops off the open, off-the-shoulder black knit shirt. Loose cleavage beneath. Maybe braless? Can’t tell from here.

She catches me staring, flashes a curt smile, and steps into the coffee line, which is three customers deep. I stare at her tight round ass and hip-hugger jeans. Every angle on her speaks a loud-and-clear message: I am hard. I am in control. I take no shit.

Suddenly sweating profusely, I cross my legs under the table and fan myself. I quickly bury my attention back in the book, only to land on the chapter about the difference between Dominants and Tops and submissives and bottoms. Heat splashes across my face like wipers spreading june bug guts across a windshield in a Georgia drought. I slam the book shut and drown my attention in the coffee before me. But my eyes are traitors, betraying my fascination with this gorgeous woman’s ass.

A few minutes later, the barista yells, “Ave Maria.”

I whip my head toward the counter. Sure enough.

This day is looking up.

As she prowls away—yes, prowls, like a goddamn cheetah padding across the African savannah—I stand.

“Ave Maria? I heard the barista call your name. I’m Jillian Frost.” I hold out a hand. I’ve never felt so much like prey in my life, and goddamn, I want to be taken down.

Her cat lips bow upward, and she purrs, “Pleasure to meet you.” The Spanish accent curls my toes. I gesture to the empty seat across from my book.

Shit. The book. I shove it onto one of the other seats, but it’s too late. She saw it. Her eyelashes flip up in slow motion, and the friendly smile transforms into a knowing, sultry grin.

Pretty sure my face is on fire now. And me with neither hose nor hydrant.

Hail Mary, indeed.

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.” I fumble for words.

“No problem.” She’s staring at me. I’m trying to look anywhere but at her, but the tan of her eyes—

Wait. One of her eyes is tan. The other is hazel with sparkling green flecks.

I am dead.

I snap my hanging jaw shut and grab my purse. Rustling through, I look for a pen and paper I don’t need. Anything to distract this raging nervousness fanning the flames in my chest. I drag out my utensils and open the spiral notepad. Her name goes on the top line.

“Tell me about your qualifications, Ave Maria. Your application said you have office experience.”

A long finger guides a wave of hair behind her ear—four silver loop earrings dangle there, each with a different, unfamiliar symbol attached—and she settles her elbows on the table, leaning in. The cleavage. And rings. And bracelet bangles. And those hypnotic eyes. Lawd, have mercy.

“I work for my sister, managing her accounts, keeping up with inventory, that sort of thing.”

“What sort of business does your sister do?”

“She’s a healer.”

“Oh.” Didn’t see that coming. I’m guessing she doesn’t mean a doctor, or she’d have said as much. “I don’t suppose you help her with that aspect of the business …?”

“On occasion.” Not a hint of reticence to answer the question. She seems to settle deeper into her already relaxed pose, almost like she’s digging a hole and planting roots. Damn, this woman is sexy.

“Unfortunately for me—us—Killer Buzz Float—you may be overqualified for the job,” I say. “I need someone to handle the more menial tasks around the bus that don’t require a lot of brain power, and you,” sighing, I gesture to her pretty hair and clothes, “you clearly have a lot more to offer than mopping floors and making grocery runs. Hiring you would be a waste of perfectly good … talent.” I swallow hard.

Her smile spreads wider. “I know,” she says matter-of-factly. The bangles on her wrist jingle as she leans back. “But I’m not looking to expand my job skills or to fatten my résumé. I want to see the world.” Her mismatched eyes flash, catching my breath like a net and dragging me closer at the risk of suffocation.

I clear my throat. “That assumes we’ll one day leave the US.”

“You will. I’ve heard the music.” She’s so sure of herself.

“That’s very flattering. Are there any, uh, jobs you won’t do? We need administrative items handled such as paperwork, payroll, and managing phones, but we also need someone who can run errands, clean occasional spills,” I don’t dare mention what kinds, “and handle smelly laundry.”

She indulges in her first sip of coffee and purses her lips. “I don’t take orders from men.”

I don’t even try to hide my shocked laughter. “I can appreciate that. We have three guys in the band and a male driver, but they generally take direction well.” Except maybe for Rax. Again, not telling her that.

“As long as they understand their place.” She swallows another sip of coffee and watches me from over the lip of her cup.

Was the dam break in my underwear loud enough for her to hear?

“There’s also a fair amount of, uh, partying. Sometimes it gets a little crazy on the bus. And sexual.” I mentally brace for impact.

She waves the words away as if they’re insignificant gnats. “Who doesn’t enjoy sex?”

I drop my pen and quickly snatch it off the floor, realizing I haven’t written down anything more than her name. “When c-could you start?” I stutter.

She shrugs. “I’ll need to give my sister at least two weeks’ notice.”

“I still have several other candidates to interview before making a final decision,” I lie, “but if you’re chosen, we’d want you on board as soon as possible. I know it’s the holidays—”

“Holidays don’t concern me.”

Me either. Even better.

“All right.” I sit back in my chair and study her. This woman is a fascinating, stunning, overqualified riddle I’d love to unravel. But I’m not sure she’s what I need in an assistant. Headstrong, resistant, possibly a whack job …

Or maybe she is the right person for the position.

“I’ll get back to you soon,” I say.

She stands with her coffee cup and shoulders her oversized rainbow-colored purse. “Thank you, Jillian.” My name rolls off her Spanish-kissed tongue like a bowling ball knocking my ass for a strike. I get up beside her, close enough to catch a whiff of the bergamot and lime fanning off her skin. When we shake hands, I have to concentrate to keep my grip steady. She turns away and tosses a “nice to meet you” at me like a goodbye kiss.

“You too.” I watch her leave and follow her lithe figure until she’s out of sight.

I pick up the BDSM book, stare at it for a long moment, and then return it to the shelf. I don’t need advice anymore. I’ll make my own rules from here on.

* * *

The taxi driver lets me off by the empty bus parked in the Armstrong Suites lot around eight o’clock. I unlock the door and climb aboard to unload groceries and to grab my overnight bag. Thank God for Shades’s dad. If not for him, we’d never sleep in real beds.

I stop at Letty’s bunk to drop off a card that reads “Long live The” and lay the box containing the gorgeous fiery agate geode I found at the mall below it. That crazy bitch is starting a rock collection whether she likes it or not.

I laugh and make my way to my bed. I throw back the curtain. Lying atop my comforter is a coffee mug that says “#1 Mom” in huge red letters. Curled inside is a note scribbled in Letty’s messy writing:

Dear Mom,

Thanks for making all my ouchies go away and for driving me to work every day. Well, not really driving me. Freddie does that. But you make sure I get where I need to go.

You feed me. You clean up after me. You give me an allowance. You’re the best mom ever.

Happy birthday to me.

Love,

Letty

P.S. Toombs picked out the mug. He said you love coffee more than you love cigarettes. How did I not know this?

With a huge smile, I hug the cup to my chest. Those fuckers.

I suppose they’re all getting off somewhere inside the Armstrong Suites. We’ll have Letty’s party tomorrow. I head in the main entrance, up the elevator, and open the door to my room.

Exhausted, I quickly brush my teeth and settle naked under the fluffy covers. Because when do I ever get to be naked anymore? Despite my state of tiredness, my mind is busy processing the day’s events. Naturally, it wanders repeatedly to Ave Marie.

I roll over.

There she is.

I turn the other way.

There she is.

I flop to my stomach.

Still here.

Return to my back and stare at the ceiling.

The woman won’t leave me alone.

So, I try to scare her away. I slip my hand down my front, slowly, imagining it’s hers. When I reach the wetness between my legs, I glide easily inside. Then out. Then in.

Before I realize where this is going, a ravaging orgasm stabs my eyeballs, twisting my hips clean off the bed, leaving me heaving for breath.

“What the fuck?” I moan when the dizziness ebbs minutes later.

Well, fancy that. Contrary to popular, self-destructive belief, I don’t need Lizzie to get off after all.

As the rush of endorphins floods the underside of my skin, I snatch my phone off the charger beside the bed and dial Ave Maria’s number from memory. I want to keep her close while I ride the ebb out to sea.

“¿Bueno?” she answers, prolonging my pleasure with the simple greeting. I’m a twisted whore for calling her right this minute. And I don’t even care.

“Hi, Ave Maria. It’s Jillian Frost from Killer Buzz Float. Sorry to call so late.”

“It’s no problem,” she says.

“I spoke with the band today,” I fib, “and if you want the job, it’s yours.”

“I do,” comes her pleased, throaty purr. “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

My tits tingle. “Perfect.”

Stay Frosty.