Lacey is in rare form tonight.

Not only does she manage to show up on time, she delivers the kind of set I’ve only seen a handful of times in the year I’ve been playing with her. We do six of our best original songs and the crowd responds with roaring appreciation. My lyrics and her stage presence make for a killer combination — a fact that does not go unnoticed by the two record execs from Red Machine Records sitting at a table in the far corner.

This moment, right here, is everything I’ve been working toward. I try to keep my eyes on the prize.

Record deal.

Los Angeles.

Freedom.

But my goddamned eyes aren’t on the prize. Instead, they keep wandering to the pretty, dark-haired waitress delivering drinks during our set. Her hair is in a high ponytail tonight, swaying every time she takes a step like a metronome designed to mesmerize me. No matter how hard I try to focus on the music, I find my eyes straying to her every few minutes.

It’s fucking infuriating.

Half of me wants to drag her into the back hallway and tell her to get lost — out of this bar, out of my head, so far from me I’ll never think about her again. The other half wants to drag her into the nearest dark corner, wrap that ponytail around my fist, and kiss her until we forget to come up for air.

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, hating the unfamiliar sensations swirling through me.

Maybe I should just screw her out of my system. It’s always worked before.

Her ponytail swings.

I play harder.

Her hips sway beneath that little black apron.

I sing louder.

We shift gears into “Liar” — our final song of the night. I wrote it a few months ago on a diner napkin at two in the morning after a particularly wild bender with Linc and Aiden. It might not be emotionally moving, but it’s a certifiable hit.

If this doesn’t convince the talent scouts to sign us, nothing will.

Linc lays down the beat and Aiden fills in the sound on his bass as Lacey slithers across the stage, running her hands up and down her body as if it’s her own instrument to tune. She leans in to share my mic for the opening verse, her brown eyes gleaming fever-bright beneath the stage lights. Strumming the chords, I force a grin on my face and go along with her act, putting on a show for the crowd.

The lyrics pour out of her cherry red mouth like a viper hissing venom.

“Kiss me like you mean it. Come on, make me feel it… They say I’m bad, but I’ll show you a good time.”

Lacey turns her back to me so our shoulders brush and starts to shimmy. She cranes her neck to put her cleavage on better display and sings directly to every man in the crowd.

“You say I’m no good, but you’re a bad, bad liar.”

I can practically taste the testosterone thickening in the air as they watch her. I know what they see — tight shorts, big tits. I know what they hear — breathy sex kitten voice, promises of ecstasy. There’s not a man in that crowd who doesn’t want to fuck her. Hell, they can hardly keep their eyes off her.

If only they knew beneath the surface, she’s emptier than a china doll.

She bounces back to center stage and grabs the mic stand, pulling it into an embrace like a lover she’s intent on seducing.

“Honey, I’m so good I’ll set your heart on fire.”

From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the record execs whispering to each other… and I know, in my gut, that something is about to change. Something big.

My grin turns genuine for the first time all night as we finish the song.

* * *

We pile into our favorite booth after the set, buzzing with energy. Being up there, performing like that to an appreciative crowd… it’s the best kind of high there is. No drug, natural or synthetic, can even come close to the rush I feel when I’m on stage.

“That was fucking incredible!” Lincoln drums his hands against the tabletop in a feverish beat. “I could kiss every single one of you!”

Lacey leans away from him, a glower on her face. “Please don’t. You’re sweaty.”

He shakes his head like a dog, sending droplets of perspiration flying everywhere. She screeches in displeasure and ducks her head against my chest for protection.

“Gross, man.” I reach across the table and shove his shoulder. “Not looking to share bodily fluids with you. God only knows where you’ve been.”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Where haven’t I been is the true question.”

Aiden clears his throat. “Anyone else see those record label guys in the crowd?”

“Yep.” I lean back against the leather booth. “They seemed pretty interested.”

Lacey is still half-sprawled against my chest. Her peroxide blonde hair smells sickly sweet, like hairspray and bubblegum shampoo. I’d push her away but I know from experience that if I do, she’ll pitch a fit and act like a bitch for the rest of the night, basically ensuring she’ll blow our big shot if the Red Machine scouts swing by to talk to us.

“You think we should approach them?” Linc asks, eyes bight with excitement. “Give them a contact card or a demo…”

“No.” Aiden’s voice is firm. “We wait for them to come to us. Otherwise it looks desperate.”

Linc sighs. “Dude, we are desperate.”

“They don’t need to know that.”

“Ryder, what do you think?” Lacey cranes her head up and peers into my face.

I open my mouth to answer, but the sound of a delicate throat clearing to my left cuts me off.

“Sorry,” a lilting, melodic voice says. Recognition slams into me. “I don’t mean to interrupt…”

“So don’t,” Lacey mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes at the perceived intrusion. I ignore her, too focused on the girl hovering to my left to care much about the one still pressed tight against my right.

I brace myself before I glance over, but she still takes the wind out of me. She’s standing there blushing furiously, avoiding my eyes as she stares down at her notepad. Her hands are shaking.

She’s so fucking beautiful.

“I was just wondering if y’all need any drinks.” She shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as though she’d rather be anywhere else. “But if you need a minute, I’ll come back.”

“Not so fast, sweetheart.” Lincoln slides over on the booth so he’s closer to her, eyes intent on her face. “You’re new.”

She nods. “Just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this yet, but I like to think of myself as a sort of unofficial welcoming committee here in Nashville.” Linc is pouring on the charm thicker than honey. “Lincoln Travers, at your service.” He reaches for her hand and presses a kiss to her skin. “And you are…?”

A small smile twitches her lips up at the corners as she extracts her hand from his grip.

I swallow down a growl. I’ve spent the past few weeks wondering what her name might be. How the syllables will feel rolling off my tongue for the first time. Damned if I’m going to let Linc steal that moment from me.

“I’m—” she starts.

“We’ll take a bottle of whiskey,” I cut her off before she can finish, my tone dismissive. “Jack Daniels will do.”

Is it a dick move?

Absolutely.

But it’s my only option at the moment.

Her eyes fly to mine. For a split second, I see fury in those incredible amber-gold irises, but she buries it away so fast I’m almost convinced I imagined it.

“Of course,” she says sweetly. “Be right back with that.”

Her eyes drift down to Lacey, who’s still pressed against my side like glue, before she turns on her heel. I can’t help watching her ass the entire time she walks away, suppressing a groan. Her hips swing with such natural grace. She moves like music.

“Damn, she’s gorgeous,” Lincoln says, reading my mind. “So shiny and new…”

“She’s not a toy,” I snap without thinking.

There’s a beat of heavy silence at the table.

Shit. Did I just reveal my hand? My poker face is usually much better.

“Not a toy, huh?” Linc chuckles. “ I don’t know, bro… I can think of a few games I’d like to play with her…”

Lacey giggles.

I grunt in lieu of a comment, not wanting to encourage him. Linc has a long history of screwing anything with a pulse. Normally, that doesn’t bother me. We’ve even shared girls on more than one occasion, since neither of us is the type to get attached. But something about the way he’s looking at the new waitress sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to throttle him.

She’s mine. I saw her first.

I shake off the irrational thought.

“Hey, all I’m saying is, I wouldn’t mind getting a peek under her apron.” He laughs boyishly. “Been a while since we had some fresh meat around here.”

I strive for a nonchalant tone. “You’ve got plenty of other girls to choose from without delving into the staff at our favorite bar. Do me a favor and try not to jeopardize this gig for the rest of us by sticking your dick where it doesn’t belong.”

He blinks at me. “You don’t have to be such an asshole, Ryder.”

“Asshole is my resting state.” I shrug. “Never bothered you before.”

His eyes narrow, as though he senses something amiss. “‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me to stay away from the new girl so you can have her for yourself.”

My heart beats faster, but I keep my face an aloof mask. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not the one acting all worked up over a pretty girl.”

“Is she pretty? I hadn’t noticed.”

“What, you’re fucking blind all the sudden?” Linc scoffs.

Even Aiden looks incredulous.

“My eyesight is just fine. It’s your priorities I’m worried about, if you think there’s any sense messing up our performing schedule here by screwing some cheap cocktail waitress.” The words taste like acid on my tongue, but I force them out anyway. Right now, I’d say almost anything to keep him from pursuing her.

Lincoln’s gaze narrows on mine. “Bit harsh, Ry.”

“What do you want me to say?” I snort, selling the lie with everything I have in me. “I guess that doe-eyed, innocent look just doesn’t do it for me. I prefer women in my bed, not little girls.”

Lacey makes a mewling sound of pleasure, mistakenly thinking I’m talking about her.

Linc looks totally dumbfounded. His eyes flicker from my face to the space over my shoulder. I have him on the ropes — one final strike should shut him down for good.

“But if you want to fuck her, by all means. Doesn’t matter to me.” My charming grin is perfect camouflage for the truth. “I suppose you’ll take whatever you can get, isn’t that right, Linc?”

Before he can retort, there’s a sharp crack of glass against wood as a full bottle of Jack Daniels slams down against the surface of our table so hard the napkin dispenser jumps. Everyone’s heads snap in the direction of the waitress, who’s returned far faster than anticipated… and, judging by her furious expression, overheard the last few snippets of our conversation.

Fuck.

I feel my face pale a shade. “Hey—”

“You need anything else, just give a shout,” she says brightly, but I swear she’s blinking back tears. “I’ll be around.”

I feel something inside me crumble as she turns from the table and walks away, ponytail swinging behind her with a bit less bounce than before. If I was the kind of guy who felt guilty about being an ass, my head would be hanging pretty fucking low right now.

As it is… I am an ass. I don’t know how to be anything else.

So, I reach out, twist off the seal of the whiskey, and take a long swig straight from the bottle. The familiar burn feels so good going down, it’s almost enough to forget the look in her eyes as she walked away from me.

* * *

“Come on, Ry,” Lacey says in her little-girl voice, twining her hand with mine and tugging me from the booth. The pout on her face might be cute if it weren’t so contrived.

My feet hold firmly to the floor when she tries to drag me in the direction of the bar. The last thing I want to do is run into our waitress, to see the hurt in her golden eyes as she stares through me again. The high from our set has officially worn off, in no small part because the Red Machine label guys never showed us so much as a flicker of interest. To celebrate our failure, I’ve been hunkered in our booth alone for the past hour, listening to the band and drowning my sorrows with my old friend whiskey. Lacey’s been at the bar, letting boys she’ll never sleep with buy her shots she shouldn’t drink. Aiden and Linc disappeared into the crowd to cast their lines amongst the groupies, hoping to reel in a girl before closing time.

Sex, booze, attention — we’ve all got our consolation prizes.

By the time Lacey circles back around to our booth, I’m half as drunk as I’d like to be, twice as pissed as I have reason to be, and definitely not in the damn mood to deal with whatever she’s up to at this hour.

“Lacey.”

Her eyelashes flutter. “What?”

“Either tell me where you’re trying to drag me or I’m going home.”

She sighs dramatically. “God, you’re no fun anymore.”

I stare at her, waiting.

“Gosh, I don’t know, I just thought maybe you’d want to meet the record executives from Red Machine.” She drops my hand so she can cross her arms over her chest and pout more effectively.

I go still. “They approached you?”

“Uh, yeah.” She flips her hair. “The guy with the glasses bought me a shot of jägermeister. Which I drank to be polite but, like… gross. Everyone knows I’m a tequila girl.”

“Your drink preferences are not really the point here, Lacey.” I swallow hard, feeling suddenly sober. “What else did he say?”

“Nothing! Relax. I told him I needed you by my side before we talked about any kind of deal.”

Sweet fuck.

A deal.

A sliver of hope pierces me through the heart. Maybe all is not lost.

“This is big, Lacey.” I glance around, looking for Aiden and Lincoln. “We have to grab the guys, they should be there for this—”

“No!” Lacey interjects, grabbing hold of my arm to stop me. “No.”

My eyes narrow. “What’s going on?”

“Just you and me, Ry.” Her grin is simperingly sweet, her gaze pleading. “Come on. It might overwhelm them if all four of us go. You know how Lincoln gets. He’ll talk a mile a minute and scare them off.”

I hesitate, just for a moment, and she takes the opportunity to link her arm with mine.

“We’ll just talk to them for a second. Okay?” She starts pulling me back toward the bar. “What can it hurt?”

I fix my eyes forward, ignoring the unease stirring in my stomach as she drags me through the crowd toward everything I’ve ever wanted. I should be over the moon at this opportunity.

So why do I feel like I’m about to sell my soul?

Probably because you’re holding hands with a demon in pink rhinestone cowboy boots… and she’s leading you straight into hell.

The unsettled feeling in my stomach only grows stronger when we sit down at a small high-top across from the scouts. They’re both somewhat generic looking guys with trendy wire-rimmed glasses and spray tans that scream LA. It’s immediately clear they’re not looking for a country artist to nurture here in Nashville — they’re seeking a wild rose they can uproot and transplant to the west coast, hoping it can take the heat in a hostile new environment.

“Hey, you must be Ryder. I’m Clay Barnes, with Red Machine.” The older of the two extends a hand. “This is my assistant, Chris.”

The assistant nods, never looking up from typing into his phone.

I grip Clay’s hand in a firm shake. “It’s an honor to meet you. Thanks for taking the time to come out tonight.”

“My pleasure. The two of you were great. Your girl here has just been telling us about your partnership.”

Partnership?

The term sets off alarm bells, but I try to keep calm.

“Well, our band functions as a seamless unit,” I stress. “I’m sure Lacey mentioned our other bandmates — Lincoln and Aiden. They’re around here somewhere.”

“Oh, sure.” His smile is blindingly white, almost robotic in nature. “But what I’d really like to talk about right now is you. Specifically — the two of you. What I saw up on stage tonight made me very excited about your future. Hopefully, that future involves Red Machine.”

“You have no idea how great it is to hear you say that, Clay.”

“I mean it. I loved the set. I want to know more. What’s the process here? Obviously you can both sing. Do you co-write as well?”

“Nah, that’s all Ryder,” Lacey chimes in. “He’s amazing. He writes all my songs.”

Clay nods, watching me carefully. I feel like a specimen in a laboratory. “That was a pretty tight set. You definitely have the makings of a record there.”

I suck in a breath. “You think?”

“Depends. Do you have any more songs? We need at least twelve for a full album, but ideally fourteen or fifteen so we have some spares to cut if necessary.”

“I’ve got ten solid songs I’ve built around Lacey, and a few half-written that I could have polished and ready to go in the next few weeks. The rest of my songs are a bit off-brand for pop-country. They wouldn’t fit Lacey’s…” I trail off, searching for a tactful way to say it. “Her… look.”

She giggles.

Clay’s brows lift. “I wasn’t aware you wrote other stuff as well.”

“Nothing worth hearing, just yet.”

A wrinkle of concern appears between his eyes. “I’ve got to be honest here, we like our musicians to commit to one sound. Especially at the beginning. It’s more marketable, for starters, and less confusing for listeners as they’re getting to know you.”

“My focus is on this band, this sound, this album,” I assure him. “You’ve got my word on that. The rest is just a side hobby.”

He’s silent for a moment, studying us. “I’ll tell you what. I like you two as a package. I liked what I heard tonight. And I’d like to hear more — soon.” His eyes sparkle. “How would you feel about a trip out to LA? A little showcase for the board. Nothing too formal. Just a short sample to give them an idea of what you can deliver before we talk about any sort of official deal.”

Lacey squeals excitedly. “Um, that sounds ah-mazing.”

She’s right. It does.

“Great!” Clay exclaims, rising to his feet. “I’ll have my assistant send over a few different date alternatives. With any luck, we can find a time to fly you out sometime in the next month.”

My mouth is dry. My palms are damp. This seems too good to be true.

Is this what it feels like when you finally catch up to the dream you’ve been chasing? Half-nauseous, half-elated?

“Clay… all I can say is thank you.” My voice is hoarse.

“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything.” He shrugs. “Once we settle on a date, I’ll courier over the two plane tickets and we’ll get the ball rolling.”

The air freezes in my lungs.

“Four,” I say slowly, staring at him.

His brows lift.

“You said two.” I swallow hard. “But with the guys, it’s four of us. Four tickets.”

His expression doesn’t change, but I see a small fissure of displeasure behind his eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t more clear, Ryder. This deal — it would be for you. The two of you. You’re the talent in this equation. Those others? They’re dead weight. Dime a dozen.”

“I see.” I shoot a glance at Lacey. She’s studying her magenta fingernail polish, avoiding my eyes.

She knew. That’s why she didn’t want me to pull Linc and Aiden into this discussion.

“Listen, I have to run, but here’s my card.” Clay slides a sleek black business card across the table. “Lacey already gave me your contact information. Chris will be in touch soon.”

He’s gone a second later, his assistant trailing after him, still typing rapidly into his cellphone.

I sit back heavily against the chair and blow out a long breath.

Here it is — everything I’ve ever wanted, at the tips of my fingers. I just have to reach out and take it.

…and screw over my best friends in the process.

I can feel Lacey staring at me, but I can’t even look at her right now. If she were a cartoon character, she’d have two huge dollar signs plastered over her eyes. She doesn’t give a shit about band loyalty or human decency. She cares about how many zeros are on the end of that Red Machine contract.

How many pairs of rhinestone cowboy boots can you buy with a million dollar record deal?

A hell of a lot, I’m guessing.

“Well?” she prompts impatiently. “What do you think?”

I push to my feet and walk away. “I think I need a drink.”