“I can’t believe he asked you to come along to the interview,” Monica raves. “He never asks any of the crew, not even Greg.”

“I know.”

“So, what happened last night?”

“I don’t know . . . we both couldn’t sleep and got talking. It’s like we’re connected somehow.” I feel like an idiot as soon as that thought spills from my mouth.

“Good sign, babe.”

“You think?”

Monica winks at me and smiles.

We’re both stood behind a coffee shaded plane of soundproof glass, looking in on the band’s interview. They’re just wrapping up a half hour chat and acoustic performance for the breakfast show. ATT-Rock is the biggest rock and alternative station on the West Coast—actually, one of the last. On radio, and steaming online, they have thousands of devoted listeners who’ve turned their backs on the commercial junk the more mainstream stations pump out.

Jay looks at me through the glass divide and pulls a goofy face that’s meant for the DJ. The host wasn’t looking and it makes me giggle like a giddy school girl.

It’s nice to see him happy. He’s like his old self again, when their stunning debut first broke eight years ago. Of late, especially the last year, Jay’s been more of a quiet and introspective guy—you could say moody, so it’s cool to see some of the character that first made me fall in love with the band shine again.

My cellphone beeps in my pocket, stealing my attention away from Jay’s antics. I look at the screen and tut. It’s mom, asking me if I’m safe. It’s only been a couple of nights. You’d think I was stuck out in the Australian outback, with half a flask of water and a torn up map as my only guide. I long for the day when she treats me like an adult.

“He’s got it as bad as you,” Monica teases. “He’s hardly been able to stop glancing over since we first got here. Shit, I’ve never seen him so hyper.”

“Stop it. He’s just messing. Anyway, what makes you think I care?”

“You care,” she nonchalantly says, her gaze now stuck on her own smart phone.

“He was an ass in that bar.”

She sighs, still rooting through her phone. “So? He didn’t know you then.” Putting her phone away, she looks at me like she’s about to drop some life affirming bombshell. “Whatever you two talked about last night, all alone under the stars, has obviously got him interested now. I wasn’t so impressed when I first met you, either.”

My brows meet. “What do you mean?”

“You were a freak.”

“Thanks!”

She smirks. “But then I got to know you . . . Krissy, stop beating yourself up. Whatever happens, happens. Just go with it.”

I shrug and study Jay again. He removes his headphones and pushes from the stool. He’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt—that shows off his exceptionally toned body—a cool pair of dark jeans—complete with funky leopard print belt—and a classic pair of Ray Bands that dangle from the neck of his tee.

He’s every inch the rock star.

If you met this guy, even fleetingly, on the street, you’d be in no doubt as to what his choice of profession is.

As he shakes the DJ’s hand, I can’t help but marvel at the tight muscles of his arm—the sleeve of tattoos makes him look extra manly and ripped.

God, I wonder what he must think when he catches his reflection in the mirror each morning. If I was him I’d never leave the house.

I blush just imagining what he looks like climbing out of a nice cozy bed . . .

Monica’s waves her hand in front of my face. “Hello.”

“Huh?”

She grins. “Just bringing you back down to earth.”

“Sorry, I—”

“No need to explain. You were busy perving . . . totally get it.”

I straighten up. “Was not!”

“Anywhoos . . . are we heading out to the city now, see what we can find?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’m dying for a latté.”

Walking out to the main foyer of the radio station, the band all pile out of the studio. Suddenly I feel self-conscious, wishing I never wore my hair back in a scruffy ponytail or worn these denim cut off shorts—the same ones from last night.

“Krissy,” Jay calls, walking briskly toward me.

“Yes?”

“Wanna join me for some late breakfast?”

Dumbfounded, I look at Monica.

She shoves me. “Of course she will. Thanks, Jay. I thought I’d never get rid of her.”

I glare at her.

“Good,” Jay says, his eyes finding mine. “See you down stairs in five?”

I nod—fast. My mouth is too dry to form words. The corners of his lips pull up as he strides away.

When he’s out of view I strike Monica on the arm. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you should find out what’s going on with him. I told you before, he’s so into you.”

I feel sick. Sick like good sick . . . but still sick.

“What about our bonding?” I ask.

She tuts and shakes her head slowly, probably embarrassed for me and my stupid excuses. “We have three weeks on tour. Plenty of time for shopping. Greg texted me anyway. He has the day off from duty and wants to take me surfing with some of his old buddies.”

“He knows people everywhere.”

“That’s life on the road for you.”

“I’m nervous, Mon . . . what shall I do?”

“Stop being such a pussy.” She checks her cell again. “Anyway, would love to hang around and chat, but I’ve got me some waves to catch.”

Oh.

My.

God.