I headed offstage at the end of the Seattle-Tacoma show irritated as fuck.

The first night of the tour, and already too many fuck-ups to count.

Everyone was quick to pat me on the back, nod their approval, tell me Great show. No one said a fucking word about how my mic cut out in the middle of “Dirty Like Me,” or the fact that I’d accidentally clubbed Seth in the face during “Blackout” and probably gave him a fat lip.

Or any of the other minor fuck-ups that had happened throughout the night.

Or how motherfucking tense I was.

I’d swiped Jesse’s mic to finish “Dirty Like Me,” and I was pretty sure no one even noticed me hitting Seth other than me and Seth. It was the kind of inconsequential shit that the crowd never really cared about in the grand scheme of things, but it bothered me.

A fuck of a lot.

When I was onstage, I hated fuck-ups.

I wrapped Seth in my arms when he came offstage and kissed him on the side of the head. “You alright, man? How’s your lip…?”

He smiled at me a little painfully, and his bottom lip was definitely swollen. “No worries.”

“What happened?” Elle pulled Seth close as I released him, and he laid a hand on her belly.

“Ah, I kissed Zane’s mic during ‘Blackout.’”

“Oh, baby…” Elle fussed over him, examining his lip and gently kissing it. Even though she wasn’t taking the stage on this tour, Elle still looked the part; platinum-blonde hair, kickass boots and a sexy little dress hugging her pregnant curves as she pressed her swollen tits against her man.

And fucking right, I was jealous of that shit.

Not jealous of Seth or Elle in particular. Just jealous they could do that shit anytime they wanted, right out in the open—and they did.

All the fucking time.

Just like Jesse and Katie.

And Dylan and Amber.

And Brody and Jessa.

“Can we get some ice for Seth’s lip?” I muttered as Jude came over. His woman, Roni, was somewhere backstage, and any second now they’d be all up in each other’s shit, too.

These days, I was fucking surrounded by horny, happy couples.

I got the fuck out of there before one more person could pat me on the back and tell me Great show, Zane.

It wasn’t a great show.

Not for me.

I hit the shower in my dressing room. Then Brody, who’d flown down for the show, came by to talk to me, feel me out. He had his concerned manager face on, and he definitely felt the tension radiating off me a mile away.

“You’ve gotta relax into it, yeah?” he told me. “This is the first show of like a hundred and forty. Don’t be so fucking hard on yourself. You hear that sound?”

That sound was the thunderous stomping, yelling and singing of the crowd as they gradually left the building. Happy fans.

“I’m good, Bro,” I told him, mostly so he’d stop talking, and he fucking frowned. In his motorcycle jacket, tattoos and button-up shirt, he looked like he was ready to kick my ass if necessary—or worse, negotiate me into a better mood.

So I moved on before he could.

I joined the rest of Dirty and our opening band, Steel Trap, meeting some fans Jude had allowed backstage. They all had Dirty stickers on their shirts, a few of them scribbled with Dylan’s initials, which meant he’d invited them back himself. Must’ve met them outside before the show or something.

I did the rounds, signed some shit, posed for photos and tried not to look like a grumpy asshole. Usually the fans let that shit slide after a show, figured you were burnt out from rocking your ass off.

Shady stuck close to me the whole time. I’d already given him his instructions for this tour: Keep the fangirls off me.

Oh, and Keep the weed coming.

That was pretty much the extent of it.

This was Shady’s first Dirty tour, so for all he knew I gave my bodyguard those same instructions on every tour.

But this tour was different.

It was the first tour I didn’t actually want the fangirls all over me.

It was the first tour since I was—secretly—married to Maggie. And last thing I needed was anything making things worse between the two of us than they already were. She wasn’t in the room right this minute, but she often was. And either way, I knew she’d be watching me. Even when she pretended she wasn’t.

I knew she was still pissed at me. And I understood why—in a way.

I knew she was pissed about Dallas.

I knew she didn’t trust me not to screw my way through this entire world tour.

I finished up with the fans, fast, and told Shady to get me out of there. While Alec and Jude organized cars for us, I rolled up a fat joint outside and smoked up with Dylan and Jesse. Went a little way to making me feel better. Or at least feel distracted as we fucked around, waiting for the girls to get their shit together.

Apparently neither of my band brothers seemed to think the show was as bad as I did. But they weren’t the ones who’d fucked up the show.

Then their women, Katie and Amber, came giggling outside from wherever the fuck they’d been, smelling of booze, and we rolled out.

No fucking sign of Maggie.

Whatever.

I’d already made it known, to Jude, that Maggie’s presence was required tonight, which meant he’d make sure someone dragged her along.

Not even Maggie could get away with buzzkilling everyone by bailing on the first-night-of-the-tour party.

I got into a limo with Shady and some of my band, and by the time we arrived at the bar, the rest of Dirty, Steel Trap and a shit-ton of other people were already there. Even Seth was there.

None of the guys in my band were single anymore, but at least they still partied with me. Jesse and Katie were pretty much night owls, always good to go out. Dylan was usually down, often with Amber in tow. It was Seth who usually stayed in, since Elle, in her pregnant state, was usually in bed long before midnight. But tonight, he’d come out.

First night of the tour, no one had any excuse to stay in… except Elle.

By the time Jude got security organized and I’d smoked up again outside the bar with Katie and Roni, Maggie had arrived with Alec and Talia.

We all made our way into the bar, working our way through the crowd to a section near the dance floor where most of our group was hanging out and a bunch of our security guys were making a nice solid perimeter. I was one of the last to arrive, and when I did, there was an empty seat waiting for me, right next to Seth and across the table from Maggie—with a big bottle of Perrier, a glass of cranberry juice and a smaller glass filled with lime wedges.

No one but Maggie would order this shit for me.

As I sat down, I looked hard at her. She was so fucking pretty. Her dark hair was smoothed straight down around her face. She was wearing a little makeup, but she didn’t need it. Maggie had flawless honey-toned skin and striking features, the kind that stopped a guy in his tracks. Round cheekbones and sweet little chin, full, sculpted lips and those pretty gray eyes. Filipino, English, German.

All beautiful.

The kind of girl who just got more beautiful the more you looked at her. I’d looked a lot, and Maggie was fucking gorgeous to me. She looked hot as fuck tonight in her sexy little black dress and lime-green suede jacket. And I knew she could feel me staring at her.

I poured some Perrier into my cranberry juice and sat back. Everyone else had beer, and they were firing more drink orders at the waitresses who were circling our tables. Except Seth, who had a takeout coffee.

He raised his cup to me and I nodded.

Seth was always drinking coffee. I wasn’t much of a coffee guy myself, and I didn’t much like Coke or other pop. Reminded me too much of drinking it with about ten fingers of booze, like I could still taste the remnants of it and smell the whiskey fumes. Definite no-go. So whenever I was in a bar, I stuck with water. Mineral water, sparkling water, fruit-flavored water, I’d tried it all. Any way possible to change up what was otherwise a pretty fucking boring drink. I liked cranberry juice, of all things. Half-water, half-cranberry juice, wedge of lime.

I would’ve drank it more often if all these assholes didn’t call me an old man whenever I did. Granddad cocktail; that’s what they called my drink of choice.

I took a sip and stared at Maggie until she finally looked at me. I smirked. She rolled her eyes and looked away, and kept ignoring me.

But fuck it. That wasn’t gonna last.

I did not believe for one second that Maggie Omura didn’t want me. That she didn’t want us.

That there wasn’t some part of her that wanted to be my wife.

Even though she’d avoided me backstage at the show tonight. Even if she ignored me all fucking night. She could ignore me all she wanted. At least, she could try.

Reality was, I was a hard man to ignore.

Especially for Maggie Omura.

I could still feel what went down this morning on her tour bus, when I’d kissed her… how she’d reacted to my touch. The way she’d stopped breathing, stopped moving, and every nerve in my body started firing in response to her desire for me… It was so fucking pungent in the air between us. I could practically smell it. See it. Her repressed lust was like a splash of vivid color in my brain. And her taste on my lips? I could practically taste her lust for me right fucking now, just looking at her. And I was not gonna forget any of it.

Because it told me exactly what I needed to know.

This wasn’t over.

No way was anything finished between us. No matter how long she denied me, no matter how long she avoided me, no matter how long she lasted before she finally broke and let me fuck her.

This was far from over.

Which meant I was gonna do every-fucking-thing in my power to make this happen.

Me and Maggie.

I was gonna break down her wall of stubborn, for good.

Brick by fucking brick.

Of all the things that Maggie might’ve underestimated about me over the years, she’d most definitely underestimated my patience.

Two fucking years.

It’d been almost two years since we’d been married, and I’d waited this long. Twenty-one months, to be exact. And I’d waited six years before that, before I’d even gotten my first taste of her.

I was thirty years old. Maggie was twenty-six. We were fucking young.

We had time to work this shit out.

This tour was a year-and-a-half long. At least, that’s what was planned out so far. There was always potential for it to go longer. Really, we could tour as long as we wanted to.

Neither of us were going anywhere.

So I sipped my drink, signed some shit for a few fans Jude tolerated getting close, and I talked with my boys. I watched people dance, and I listened to the music.

Despite the fact that I didn’t drink, I still loved bars. As long as the music was good. As long as it was loud and the sound system had it right. Didn’t even care what kind of music it was.

Rock. Electronic. Fucking jazz.

Didn’t matter.

Just give me some loud music and a good vibe.

No idea who’d chosen this place, but it was cool. The DJ was spinning a steady stream of at-least-two-decades-ago, all the filthiest hits from the 2Pac, Biggie and Snoop Dogg catalogue, and at the moment it was Eminem, “Shake That.” The crowd of hipster college kids was fucking loving it, and the girls were shaking that all over the dance floor.

Including Katie and Amber, who already looked drunk. Nice to see Dylan’s little hippie girl relax; Katie had really seemed to take her under her wing. Amber was wearing sparkly leggings with her little blouse, and I couldn’t remember seeing her in heels before.

As for Maggie… she was still firmly planted in her seat and ignoring me.

I elbowed Seth. “How many shots you think it’ll take to get Maggie on that dance floor?”

He chuckled and glanced at Maggie. “Thirty?”

I watched her, deep in conversation with Talia. By the looks of it, it was an overly-serious conversation for half-past midnight at a bar. Really, I figured I’d be doing Talia a service if I got Maggie drunk tonight. The girl was barely legal to drink and no doubt would rather be on that dance floor than talking business.

As it was, Talia kept glancing over at Katie and Amber longingly. They were shaking it up in clear view of our table, maybe putting on a little show for their men… which seemed to be entertaining Dylan and irritating Jesse.

Jesse got jealous anytime any guy looked at his wife, and when a girl looked like Katie did—all curvy and petite, with her thick, dark hair and creamy skin, and that sweet smile on her face—and shook her ass like that, guys were definitely looking.

I wouldn’t mind seeing Maggie dance like that. Maggie was sexy as fuck when she danced. She just didn’t often loosen up enough to do it.

At least not when I was around.

Or when she was too sober.

I looked for our waitresses; they were buzzing around Dylan and Matt, and the Steel Trap guys at the next table. Bunch of boozers. The wait staff had stopped showing love to our end of the table the second they sniffed out that Seth and I weren’t drinking.

Seriously, who did an alcoholic rock star have to finger around here to get a drink?

“How you doing?” Seth asked me, eyeing me with a look I didn’t love. Maybe he thought I was jonesing for a drink of my own?

Or scoping out the waitresses for other reasons?

“Good. Surprised you made it out tonight. You know, fat lip and all. Figured Elle would be kissing your wounds all night.”

He just laughed, like a guy who knew I was jealous.

And sure, maybe I’d threatened to fire him if he didn’t come out with us. But I did that a lot—even though it pissed Elle off; I told her it was just a joke, but she still wasn’t too fucking impressed.

Truth was, unless we caught Seth with a needle in his arm, fat fucking chance we’d fire him again for any reason. As it was, we were all trying to make up for past wrongs, for lost time. Just wanted to resolidify that bond we’d had with him so long ago.

“You know,” I told him, “you keep holing up, fucking your pregnant woman all the time, you’re gonna drill a dent in that kid’s head.”

I’d told him the same thing before, several times, and just like before, he raised his eyebrows at me and kinda smirked at my apparent lack of understanding where pregnancy was concerned.

I just liked to bust the guy’s balls.

Wasn’t really fair he was so in love and his woman was about to squeeze out his kid. But then again, Seth probably deserved it more than anyone did, after all the shit he’d been through.

“How’s she doing?” I asked him.

“Sexy as fuck,” he said. “Pregnant women are sexy as fuck.” He said that with a smile he couldn’t even suppress, and I had to grin. Then I shook my head.

Fucking figured.

Normally, I’d be down for details on that. Right now, I really didn’t want to hear about all the sick, sexy shit Seth and Elle were doing together.

He got talking with Jesse anyway, and I managed to wave over one of the waitresses, finally.

A couple minutes later, Maggie and Talia had two shots sitting in front of them—each.

Talia smiled at me. “Thanks, Zane.”

I gave her a nod. Talia had dark brown eyes and blonde hair, and I wasn’t sure what her story was but she was cute as shit; I’d put money on someone scooping her up long before the end of this tour. Day one, and the dudes were already circling. Jimmy, Jesse’s guitar tech, for one, who’d been drooling all over her backstage. And Lex, one of Jude’s security guys, who kept staring at her like a creeper from the shadows.

I’d be happy to watch them fight it out, actually. Would be pretty fucking entertaining, even if Jimmy didn’t stand a chance.

Talia lifted her first shot and looked at Maggie… who was glaring at me. At least I had her attention now. And I could read that look on her face like a book.

What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

I cocked an eyebrow at her. Loosen up, Maggs, I told her with my eyes as I sipped my granddad cocktail. Have a shot.

She glared at me some more, but finally lifted her first shot and clinked her glass with Talia’s. They threw back. It went down decently smooth for a whiskey shot; it was a Double Jack—Jack Daniels and Yukon Jack, which was strong as shit but kinda sweet. You wanted to do a whiskey shot with a chick, this one was a pretty safe bet.

The next one wasn’t so smooth.

It was a Kick in the Balls—Jack Daniels, Yukon Jack and tequila.

As soon as it went down her throat and Maggie fucking shuddered, she glared at me again.

Totally worth it. The shots did their job, taking the edge off. Maggie’s shoulders softened a bit and her mannerisms got more fluid, her body language infinitesimally looser as she chatted with Talia.

She even shed her jacket.

For the next round, I asked the now-attentive waitress to bring whatever was the dirtiest, sexiest shit they had. She made some suggestions—while bent over, her tits in my face. Was her shirt yanked that low the first time she came over? I passed on the Red Headed Sluts; she had red hair, and this wasn’t my first rodeo.

But a round of Slippery Nipples sounded good to me.

They definitely went down a little smoother than the whiskey. This time, when Maggie glared at me, there was a little flicker of relief in her eyes.

Thank you for not being a douche, that look said.

I winked.

Next up was a round of Blow Jobs.

They came in tall, curved shooter glasses with a wad of whipped cream on top. “Proper way to do them,” the waitress informed us, “is to stick the shot in-between the guy’s thighs—” she pointed at my lap, “—and the girl picks it up with her mouth and shoots it back without using her hands.”

Fine by me. I was already seated, so we were good to go. Seth, however, flatly refused to participate.

Pussy.

So it was me and fucking Lex, who mysteriously materialized out of the shadows to pull up a chair on my other side. We stuck the shooters between our thighs as I beckoned Maggie and Talia over. They came around the table—or Jesse and Dylan pretty much propelled them—as the waitress cleared out of the way, obviously disappointed she wasn’t offered a lap.

By the time Maggie was on her knees in front of me, a small crowd had formed. Amber had come off the dance floor, and because there was definitely some sort of god who occasionally looked out for me, she’d brought her camera with her. People were yelling and clapping as she aimed the giant lens at us and started taking photos.

Yeah. There was definitely a god.

And he or she wanted me to get Maggie drunk.

Maggie’s gray eyes peered up at me, a combo of irritated, embarrassed, and inebriated. I was pretty sure she’d only been nursing one beer since we’d arrived, but those three shooters were sinking in. And sure, she was annoyed as shit I was making her play this game in front of everyone.

I just sipped my granddad cocktail and smirked at her. She really didn’t have to be on her knees in front of me. She could’ve chosen Lex’s lap.

I know, babe, I told her with my smirk. No way you wanted Talia sucking that Blow Job out of my lap.

Lex had put his shooter close to his knees, being a gentleman about it. He even held Talia’s hair back for her as she leaned in, picked up the shooter with her mouth and tossed it back. Everyone cheered, Amber took photos, and as Talia plucked the shot glass from her mouth, she smiled halfway at Lex.

He flashed her his pearly whites and those badass silver canines of his.

Myself, I’d been a dick about it and put the shot glass up near my crotch. Maggie’s nose bumped my dick when she picked it up. She shot it back to more cheers, then slammed the empty glass on the table.

“You can’t get me drunk,” she informed me, wiping whipped cream off her mouth.

Challenge accepted.

“And even if you do, it won’t matter. You. Won’t. Win.”

“Win what?” I stared at her, and I wasn’t even gonna lie to myself and pretend that when she gazed up at me like she was doing now, kneeling in front of me with that soft, boozy look on her face, I didn’t want to dive right into it. Smash my mouth down on hers and melt the fuck into her… the taste of her mouth, her tongue coated in booze. Make out with her right on this table and drink everything the bar could pour, get loaded with Maggie and fuck her brains out and fall the fuck apart.

And pay for all of it later. Whatever it cost me and my sobriety.

Maybe just for a moment, looking down at her face, I didn’t care what it would cost.

The desire was strong.

The urge.

The motherfucking temptation.

The desire to fuck Maggie so hard she’d feel it for a week, right here and now, was stronger than the desire to drink. This girl was temptation and everything I’d ever wanted late in the night, fucking tossing and turning and aching in my bed.

Never wanted a girl like I wanted this girl on her knees in front of me.

Add some booze to the mix and that soft look in her eyes… that fucking itch starting to quiver at the back of my brain as the blood pumped to my cock… and this was all starting to seem like a bad idea. Getting Maggie drunk was a bad, bad idea.

But I really wasn’t a man to quit what I’d started.

Not where Maggie was concerned.

She put her hands on the arms of my chair and pushed herself up, wobbling a little, and my muscles tensed. I had to fight every instinct I had not to reach out and grab her, haul her into my lap and kiss the shit out of her.

I let my eyes wander from her face to her tits, then all the way down to her crotch in her short black dress. I could almost see her panties. I could see the curves of her thighs and her soft bare skin through the holes in the diamond pattern of her tights.

She never did answer me, but her gray eyes narrowed as I palmed my swollen dick and adjusted it in my jeans. I didn’t even care who else saw me do it.

So they’d know I’d just sprung massive, throbbing wood for Maggie. How could I not, with her looking like that and sucking shots out of my lap?

No one would exactly be shocked.

She wasn’t shocked. Her eyes widened when she noticed my obvious hard-on, but not with shock.

Then she turned her back to me.

She looked good from this angle, too… Jesus fuck, that dress was short. I could just glimpse the start of the curve of her sweet little ass cheeks… Until she seemed to feel my stare and wiggled her dress down to cover up.

“Hey.” Seth gave my shoulder a little shove. “You probably wanna reel it in, before she slips in it.”

“Huh?”

“Your tongue,” he said, and I tried to focus on his eyes. “You’re drooling all over the floor.”

I just stared at him. Seth knew about my marriage to Maggie—as in he knew I’d married her in Vegas, though he didn’t know much more—so in his way, he was probably looking out for me. And maybe I was being a royal douche staring at her ass like that, like I wanted to be all up in it.

I knew Maggie didn’t want me giving our shit away, but what the fuck was I supposed to do when she was right in my face looking sexy as hell?

Seth’s mouth twitched in a tiny, pitying smile. Great. Now Seth felt sorry for me. “Heads-up,” he said, and nodded at the waitress, who was hovering, waiting on our next order.

I blinked at her, at her rack, which was bursting out of her shirt. What did she do, stuff half a roll of toilet paper down there since we walked in? I tried to remember how to speak about normal shit, hyper-fucking-aware that I was sitting in the middle of some random bar with a hard-on, and Maggie’s pussy three feet from my face, and I couldn’t touch her.

How the fuck did this become my life?

I was a rock star, last time I checked.

I had women, literally and on a daily basis, throwing pussy at me like fucking confetti… Offering me booze, drugs, gifts… Asking me to marry them. Offering me their bodies, their hearts, their fucking bank accounts and their wombs… And I couldn’t get Maggie Omura to look me in the eye in public and smile.

I glanced at our table. Katie was shouting something at me. The other girls wanted in on the next round of shooters, so fuck it. I ordered up a shit-ton of Legspreaders, then some Orgasms, then some Screaming Orgasms. Then something called a Passed Out Naked on the Bathroom Floor, which the guys decided they needed a few rounds of themselves.

Then our merch girl, Sophie, arrived. Sophie was fucking cool, with sleeve tattoos and a retro pinup girl hairdo. She was kinda chubby, in a sexy way, with big tits and a big laugh, and the guys fucking loved her. When she started helping the cocktail waitresses pour Upside-Down Margaritas down the guys’ throats, things really got sloppy.

Somewhere between the Legspreaders and the first round of Orgasms, Maggie hit the dance floor with Katie.

I watched her dance, my eyes fucking glued to her as she tore it up to “California Love.” They seemed to be having fun. Laughing and spinning each other around and bumping their asses together. Maggie in her little black dress and sexy tights and high-heeled boots. And her tight, round ass cheeks almost showing… but not quite.

It was good to see her loosen the fuck up like that. Even as uneasy as I felt sitting here in this bar right now, surrounded by booze and chicks and everyone drinking… and my dick fucking splitting in half watching her dance… it felt good to see her like that.

Sometime after that, she disappeared.

She’d just downed her second Screaming Orgasm when she grabbed Talia’s arm and said to her, “Get me out of here before I do something stupid.” She said it right in front of me and on stupid, she slapped her hand on the table and gave me a look that was half-angry and half-victorious.

How long are you gonna play this game? that look said.

As long as it takes, beautiful.

I watched her lace her fingers through Talia’s, like the girl was some sort of security blanket. Then they left the bar with Lex on their tail.

I left right afterwards.

I knew Lex would get them back to the hotel safe.

I also knew Maggie probably didn’t want me to follow her.

And since she was drunk, I didn’t.