Next time I saw Maggie we’d stopped for a late lunch at a diner in the middle of pretty much nowhere, sometime in the afternoon. Jude knew some guy, who knew some guy who ran the restaurant. It was pretty empty when we walked in, just a lone trucker up at the counter and an old couple in a booth.

Between the members of Dirty, Steep Trap, management, various spouses and security, there were nearly thirty of us who piled into the place. They actually flipped the Closed sign for us, because the dude working alone in the kitchen was barely gonna be able to handle us.

And maybe we scared the other customers away or something? By the time we started ordering our food, they were gone.

Dylan, who’d had an honest job flipping burgers in high school, went back into the kitchen to help the cook out, and a couple of the Steel Trap guys went with him.

When the lone waitress, who was probably in her fifties but looked about eighty, started bringing out the food, Maggie and Talia got up to help her and so did Katie. Which meant Jesse got up to help, which meant I had to join in, because no way was I letting Jesse Mayes come off as some kind of hero.

We were all packed into the booths while we ate, and Maggie sat about as far away from me as possible, down at the other end of the place. She hadn’t spoken to me or even glanced my way since she ran the fuck out of my bus mere minutes after I made her come—again—but we had all day to get down to San Francisco. We also had tonight off. Which meant plenty of time for me to chip away at her fucking wall and get her back in my bed.

I’d lock her in my bus if I had to. Buy her every shooter from here to Los Angeles if that’s what it took to get her to look my way again with those soft gray eyes.

Inevitably, I’d get her naked again. Get her to see that resistance was fucking futile.

Because I was never gonna give up on her.

Patience; I had it.

I was never gonna give up on what I wanted.

And what I wanted was my wife.

I looked over at her now, down the row of booths—and some-fucking-how, Xander, Steel Trap’s pussy hound of a drummer, had ended up wedged in right next to her.

Fuck me.

I’d already noticed him sniffing her out backstage. Xander was an old friend of Dylan’s, and we’d always been cool with each other, but the dude was a rotten, filthy fucker when it came to women. I could see the way he was looking at Maggie, and it was making my food go down all wrong.

It was housemade chili, it was good, but at the moment it was kinda stuck in my throat in a hot glob.

I cleared my throat, sipped my water and tried to pretend I was interested in whatever Elle was saying next to me. I waited for my chili to cool down a bit, and I watched Xander sling his arm around the back of Maggie’s seat while he talked to her. Dude was sitting totally sideways, all wrapped up in her.

Then I watched him reach right for her tits.

Classic douchebag move.

He was going in for her necklace—so he could touch her, almost touch her tits and see how she reacted.

The necklace was pretty; the delicate silver chain with the clear pink stone that her mom had given her. It stood out against her smooth, warm-honey skin. She was wearing a V-neck sweater, and the stone sat flat against her chest, right between her breasts.

Maggie’s gray eyes went wide as she suddenly clocked what Xander was doing; she saw it coming a lot slower than I did.

He scooped up the stone.

A spoonful of chili hit him right on the side of the face. Temple shot. Saucy beans and meat running down his cheek.

“THE FUCK?”

Xander turned to look down the line of booths as pretty much everyone turned to look in my direction.

“Sorry,” I called over. “Did I get you?”

“Yeah, you fucking got me.” Xander grabbed the nearest grabbable food—half-eaten burger off Dylan’s plate—and whipped it at me. “Fucker.”

I ducked.

And a food fight broke out.

“Come on,” Dylan protested, “I was gonna eat that…” But his voice was lost in the ensuing chaos.

Food filled the air and shit got out of hand quick. Chicks screamed and dove under the tables or fled to the corners of the room as condiments, full dishes and drinks flew.

Then it ended about as fast as it started—me with fucking mustard all over my leather vest and ketchup in my eye.

Jesse got the worst of it. Seafood sauce dumped on his head, all over his face, and dripping down his shirt.

I might’ve had something to do with that.

“You’re all a bunch of assholes,” he said, wiping seafood sauce off his face. But he was grinning when he said it.

“Shit, brother.” I laughed so fucking hard I snorted ketchup; it was up my nose, too. “You are gonna fucking stink. Good luck getting laid tonight.”

“Zane!” Katie called from wherever she was hiding across the room. “Don’t ruin my man!”

Everyone was laughing and shoving at each other and wiping food off their clothes when Jude broke up the party and started kicking asses out. When Xander walked past me, I gave him a shove that he was smart enough not to return.

Dirty was my fucking band, Maggie was part of Dirty, and he was out of line. He’d been thinking with his dick, and I’d called him on it.

The chili was a warning shot, and he knew it.

“You’re a dick,” he muttered, and I smiled.

At the door, Jude made all the musicians cough up whatever cash they had in their pockets as I paid the bill with my credit card. Then I handed Jude’s wad of cash to the waitress.

Her eyes bugged out at the sight of her tip.

“Sorry about the mess,” I said.

Maggie leaned in. “Zane would be happy to sign something,” she offered pleasantly, “for your kids or whoever. He’s very famous.” She fake-smiled at me, pleased with herself.

The waitress, who clearly didn’t care who I was, scanned my mustard-smeared vest and face. “Well, my grandson likes the metal. Maybe he’s a fan.”

Maggie handed me a Sharpie and a Dirty T-shirt she’d pulled out of her ass, because Maggie was always prepared like that. It was a shirt for the Hell & Back tour, with some of Katie’s art on it. And it was already signed by everyone else in the band.

I signed it, and Maggie handed it over to the woman.

“If your grandson’s not a fan,” Maggie advised her, “trust me, sell it on eBay.” She glanced at me, gave me a pleased-as-fuck-with-herself smile—a genuine smile—and walked away.

The waitress glanced at the shirt, then at me.

“I like her,” she informed me.

“So do I.”

I was second-last to head for the door. When I glanced back, Amber was lingering, stacking up dirty plates. “They think because they’re famous and rich, they can do whatever they want,” I heard her tell the waitress, and I stopped. “Can I help you clean up?”

The waitress looked Amber over as she cleared a table. “What’s your name, hon?”

“Amber.”

“And what do you do, Amber?”

“I’m a photographer.”

“Then take a photo, and go enjoy your tour.” She nodded at the camera slung on a strap around Amber’s neck. “We’re the only diner for miles and we’re open twenty-four hours, and this county is ripe with bikers. I’ve seen my share of food fights. Least this one didn’t end in gunfire.”

Amber’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Okay…” She lifted her camera and took a couple of photos of the chaos, the waitress cleaning up, then headed for the door. “Thank you.”

I held it open for her and we walked outside together.

“You don’t wanna be famous or rich,” I informed her, “you’re in the wrong place, with the wrong people, sweetheart.”

“You can be famous and you can be rich,” Amber said, wiping a smear of what looked like cheesecake off her cheek, “but you can be nice about it.”

“You don’t think tipping her more than she makes in a month in this dump is nice?”

“Hmm,” she said.

I tapped a joint out of the little cigarette case I carried in my pocket and Amber lifted her camera, pointing it at my face. I lit up, tossing a panty-peeling glance down her lens as she took my photo.

When she lowered the camera she kinda shook her head at me, then headed over to her bus, where Dylan was waiting to sling his arm around her.

Then I noticed Maggie.

She was over by her bus with Talia, and she was giving me a look I couldn’t read. Too far away, and she had sunglasses on… but she was definitely looking at me. Watching that exchange with Amber.

Wondering if I could be trusted with Dylan’s new girl, maybe. Trusted not to be an asshole… or worse.

Didn’t blame her for scoping me out when I was talking to any chick… but really didn’t know how I was ever gonna convince her I was trustworthy.

I might be an asshole, but I was never gonna make a play for Amber or anyone else.

Maggie disappeared onto her bus, before I could make a move in her direction.

Shady was standing by, waiting for me, and we had a smoke while Jude’s friend, some biker dude, rolled in with a couple of other dudes on Harleys. Jude introduced us; they were affiliated somehow with Jude’s motorcycle club, the West Coast Kings. I didn’t ask how. Learned long ago, you don’t ask questions like that.

Jude’s guy was letting him take his bike for a rip, and as the bikers headed into the diner, Jude got on the Harley and Roni got on behind him.

I’d never been into motorcycles myself, but Jude Grayson made that shit look good. Big and dark and powerful, kinda like the machine itself. And with Roni at his back, all sleek black hair and curves in her leather jacket and tight jeans… I watched as she wrapped herself around her man. Then they rolled out of the lot and tore up the highway.

Jesse and Katie stayed back with their bus to wait for Jude and Roni, while the rest of us rolled out. And as I watched the Harley disappear into the distance, I felt that thing again… that fucking jealousy I always felt around my friends who had the shit I wanted.

* * *

I texted Maggie on the road to San Francisco. It was a long drive and I wished she would’ve just rode on my damn bus. It wasn’t like everyone would instantaneously think we were fucking—or married—just because she rode on my bus for a stretch. We could’ve been talking about business or whatever.

I pointed that out to her in my texts.

She didn’t text back.

Then I tossed my phone and lay back on my bed. I smoked some more green and I thought about Jude, rolling out on that Harley with Roni at his back, looking like they belonged together. I’d never seen him like that with a woman.

So right together.

Seeing them like that made me wish I’d never fucked Roni, once upon a time. Wasn’t all that proud of it, given Jude’s reaction when he’d found us in bed.

But that was long ago and I’d been drinking then. Just one of about a million things I’d done when I was wasted that I’d live to later regret.

Fact was, I regretted a lot of shit I’d done, even when I was sober.

But not Maggie. I’d never regret one moment with her.

Even all the mistakes, the stupid fights, the long stretches of fucked-up silence. Because every moment of our relationship had gotten us where we were. And even if I’d been confused about it in the past, I knew she had feelings for me now. That much was obvious.

Feelings she was trying like hell to avoid. Which was why she avoided me.

Or tried to.

But fuck that. I was just gonna have to make her face her feelings. Make her face me. Make her look me right in the eye while I fucked her, again and again, and then I was probably gonna do something stupid, like dare her to tell me she didn’t love me.

She wouldn’t dare.

At least, I didn’t think so.

I knew she was scared, and I knew why she was scared. She’d told me often enough.

The stakes for her were real.

Her job; that was the worst of it. She was afraid of losing the job she loved.

And then there was the fact that she thought—somewhat justifiably—that I was an unrepentant, irredeemable manslut.

Maybe I was, in the past.

But people could change.

Grow. Mature. Motherfucking evolve.

I had my flaws and I had a lot of them, but I’d come a long way since Maggie and I met.

True, I was still an addict. I’d always be an addict. An addict who didn’t drink.

An addict who smoked pot but probably shouldn’t.

An addict who was probably borderline addicted to pussy. Difference was, these days, there was only one pussy I craved.

I was just gonna have to prove to her that she was wrong about me.

I didn’t need any other woman.

I didn’t want any other woman.

No matter what Maggie Omura might think, I was not gonna touch another woman on this tour.

* * *

That night, after we rolled into San Fran, Dirty met up for a late dinner in the hotel restaurant. Dylan’s idea. Just the band and spouses, Maggie and Jude and some security.

Ashley Player, lead singer of the Penny Pushers and Dylan’s best bro, who usually toured with us, was down in L.A. and had come up to meet us. He was trailing a couple of random bimbos when he arrived, but that was nothing new.

Bimbos or not, Ash was always welcome at Dirty’s table.

I loved this guy. And I was glad that whatever shit had gone down between him and Dylan over Amber, it didn’t seem to fuck with their friendship. At least, not seriously. Maybe Ash wasn’t coming around as much as he used to, but he was still around.

I was one of the first people to give him a hug when he joined our table at the back of the restaurant.

It was a good night. Everyone was happy. Most everyone was drunk, but Maggie was sipping water and avoiding my eyes. She was sitting across the table from me, a couple of seats over, making forced-polite conversation with one of Ash’s girls.

Every time I caught her looking at me, I eye-fucked her steady.

After dinner, as soon as things started getting rowdy, she slipped away.

I was standing up on the bar in my socked feet, with Ash, who was drunk off his ass, belting out a duet of “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around.” It was playing quietly over the restaurant’s sound system while the bartenders tried to convince us to climb down. You’re not supposed to be up there.

Huh? Says fucking who?

I took off my boots. So maybe we broke a few glasses; send me the fucking bill. What was I gonna do, let Ash sing all by himself when he jumped up here and started singing Stevie Nicks’ parts? Nope. Not what a brother does. I got right the fuck up here and covered Tom Petty.

By the time we hit the chorus, arms slung around each other, our whole group was on their way out the door but everyone had stopped. Matty and Katie started singing backup, Roni and one of Ash’s girls were dancing and we had most of the room singing along. Girls were starting to scream as they realized who the fuck we were. Dylan and Jesse were pissing themselves laughing, Amber was taking photos to commemorate the moment… and Maggie fucking escaped when she thought no one was looking.

But I saw her do it.

I jumped down from the bar and got my boots on, leaving Jude and Dylan to haul Ash down. He was still singing as everyone spilled out into the lobby and started rolling out, looking for someplace serious to drink.

I grabbed an elevator and caught up to Maggie at her hotel room door.

She was just about to swipe the key card over the lock when I came up behind her. She looked up, startled, but she softened quick. Her shoulders dropped as she glanced past me at Shady.

She let me inside without a word, if only to avoid Shady overhearing anything. But once I had her inside… I could already feel the wall coming down.

I didn’t even have to touch her. I barely opened my mouth.

“Maggie—”

“Zane,” she said. “We shouldn’t do this.” But there was no conviction in her voice.

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Why? Because you’re afraid of someone finding out? Shady’s not gonna say anything.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, the way she did when I was driving her insane. “Is this how it’s gonna be? The whole way through the tour? You flirt, you get me drunk, you wear down my defenses until I give in? Cat and mouse bullshit, over and over again?”

I pretended to consider that carefully, as if I didn’t already know. “Yup. Sounds about right.”

She sighed.

“You got a problem with that?”

“I just think we should stop.”

“I think you should take off your clothes. It’s just a difference of opinion, Maggs. We can work it out.” I slid off my vest and peeled off my shirt, dropping both on the floor as I wandered deeper into her room. “See? I’m willing to negotiate.”

I turned to face her.

Her gray-eyed gaze moved down my body as I undid my belt, drinking me in. And she definitely looked like she was dying of thirst.

Yeah; for whatever reason, Maggie didn’t have much fight in her tonight.

Fine with me.

Fighting with Maggie could be hot-as-fuck foreplay. But I didn’t need to fight with her to get it up.

“Come here.”

I undid my jeans, and after the world’s tiniest hesitation, she came. I slid my hands into her hair, tilting her face up to me. “What do you want, Maggie?”

She shook her head slowly, but she didn’t answer me.

“I want your mouth on my cock,” I volunteered.

Her eyelids lowered. “Don’t talk,” she said, swallowing. “If we’re gonna do this… maybe, just don’t talk.”

Then she got down on her knees in front of me and peeled my jeans open. And half of me couldn’t believe this was happening. The other half wanted to ram my dick right down her throat and leave it there a while.

I wasn’t wearing any underwear to get in her way, so she had my hard cock in her hands in seconds; good start.

“Yeah… shit, babe… that feels so good. Fuck. Does dirty talk count…?” Because there was all sorts of dirty shit I wanted to say to her right now.

“Don’t,” she said softly. Then she took the head of my cock in her mouth and my brain went kinda blank.

I groaned and grunted as she sucked me off, her little tongue and those gorgeous lips all over me… as I pushed my cock into the back of her throat, as far as I could jam it in without making her squirm and start to gag. I was pretty big, she was pretty small, and she couldn’t take all that much of me, but what she took… Maggie had a talented mouth.

And what she couldn’t suck… her soft hands took care of the rest.

Before I knew it, I’d lost all sense of time. It could’ve been an hour. It could’ve been thirty fucking seconds that Maggie’s mouth was blowing my mind. But I had to pull out as a shudder racked my body.

Too fucking close.

“Wait,” I said, panting. I pulled her to her feet, then shimmied up her little dress, wrapped her around me and pressed her against the wall.

She wrapped her legs high around my hips as I fumbled to get a condom out of my jeans pocket and onto my dick. Then I yanked her panties aside, my cock lined up with her slippery pussy.

She wrapped her arms around my neck as I drove into her, slow.

I did her up against the wall with her body wrapped around mine. I loved how she had to cling to me, had to hold on so tight. I ground into her hard, going slow because I had to, pausing every time I needed to yank myself right back from the edge.

The urge to piston my hips and fucking explode into her was building fast, the pressure inescapable…

“Fuck, Maggie,” I told her as I fucked her, “you better fucking come, because I’m about to go off…”

I was slamming her into the wall, grinding like hell into her clit as I sucked on her neck. She was breathing in choked gasps, her nails digging into the backs of my shoulders, her thighs squeezing my waist.

“Don’t…” she gasped. “Don’t you dare give me a hickey…”

“Shit… give it up, Maggs,” I demanded.

Her eyes met mine. She was biting her lip and bearing down on my dick so fucking tight…

“Yeah,” I urged her, “give it to me…”

Then I started to blow, even though I didn’t want to just yet. I wasn’t even sure if she was with me… But then there she was, giving it right up—her back arching, her tits pressing into me, fucking screaming as the orgasm took her down.

I pounded into her, sloppily, trying to make every last thrust count even as my legs quivered… fuck her through her orgasm so she felt every last twitch.

And I knew she felt it—all of it.

Maggie was a screamer. I fucking loved that about her. That she was so damn prim and proper most of the time… yet I could get her to this place where she completely lost her mind. This tiny, horny beast in my arms, screaming and shaking and sweating for me.

Fuck. Yes.

When we’d both finished, I slumped against her, pinning her against the wall. I looked at her face. Her mouth was still open as she tried to catch her breath.

She gazed up at me. She didn’t say anything. And this time, she didn’t even look angry.

Thing was… she definitely didn’t look happy, either.