“Rise and shine.”

Rory added a drumroll with his ever-present drumsticks on the hollow door of her bedroom.

Lying face up with a pillow over her head, Cheri blindly grabbed something off the nightstand beside her. It felt soft, and therefore non-lethal, so she felt free to chuck it at him.

“Whoa, what the hell?”

Cheri clawed the pillow from her eyes only to find yesterday’s lace bra plastered on her big brother’s face. One cup sat on his head while the other dangled precariously off the tip of his nose.

He pulled it off his face with a look of disgust. If only the groupies that hung around him like flies on honey could see him now.

“Don’t you believe in deodorant, Bug?” he said, wrinkling his nose.

She didn’t give a crap that he was calling her smelly. She was pretty sure little sisters had been teased by their older brothers since the dawn of time. But that nickname was getting old.

Real old.

Especially around the other band members who she was working hard to impress.

She could feel her cheeks flushing as an image of Dev flickered through her mind but she shoved it away.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered.

“Bug-girl, Lil’ Bug, Lady Bug, Shutterbug.” Rory had a million of them and he sing-songed the different versions, happily yanking her chain.

She pulled the pillow over her face again and gave him a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Yeah. Yeah. I take a lot of pictures. We get it.”

He blew out a sigh and the time for teasing was mercifully over. “Seriously, though, time to get up. We’ve got to make the loft for the new shots you promised to take for the website. You’ve also got to list the dates of the tour.”

She heard his heavy boots cross the floorboards and he yanked the pillow off her head. She winced as the light hit her eyes.

“Looks like someone put the social in social media last night,” he chided playfully with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“For heaven’s sake, Rory. I’m twenty-three. I don’t need your permission or approval to party.”

“As long as you live in my house—” he started with a mock scowl, and she snatched her pillow and tossed it into his face.

“You should talk ‘Mr. Different Day, Different Girl’.”

Despite the mild hangover and her irritation, she couldn’t deny that he had a point, though. As the band’s head of social media, she had a job to do, and having one too many drinks didn’t excuse her from it.

“Get out. I can’t get dressed with you standing there.”

“Somebody is cranky without her coffee,” Rory chuckled as he left the room, still pattering those damn drumsticks on every available surface as he went.

Cheri swung her legs over the edge of the bed and put her head between her hands. She sucked in a deep breath willing the pounding to go away.

This was Dev’s fault.

Eh, who was she kidding? It was her fault. She’d let him get under her skin.

Again.

It shouldn’t have bothered her that Rory’s best friend and bandleader had hooked up with Ashley Marlowe. He had the right to mess around with whomever he wanted.

And “whomever he wanted” would never be her.

She pushed back the pang in her chest and let her eyes drift shut. She was forever doomed to remain firmly in the land of little girlhood courtesy of her brother’s relationship with Dev. It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman now, with a thirty-four “C” cup size, and long legs.

Nope.

She was forever “Bug”, the camera wench who snapped pictures of the band and the crew.

Bug, the pain in the ass little sister that had never let her brother and his friends go anywhere without her tagging along.

Hell, sometimes she still felt like she was tagging along.

No, she reminded herself firmly.

She was the Social Media Director, a fancy title with a lot of responsibility that outpaced her flimsy paycheck. Though the band Sub-Zero was finally getting a crack at larger venues courtesy of their latest album, Zero Primed, the tight-fisted band manager, Bill, insisted on doing everything to keep costs down. That meant lousy salaries for the support staff, including her. But that was okay. She’d work hard, pay her dues and, eventually, strike out on her own.

She glanced at the books gathering dust on her dresser, the ones she needed to study to take the exams for her CPA license. Maybe this tour would give her the time to study. Then she could get the better paying job she went to college for.

Right now, though, she needed to get her ass in gear.

Right after breakfast…

The smell of bacon and eggs wafted up the stairs, lighting a fire under her ass. Groggily crossing the hall, she stumbled into the shower and turned on the water.

Then howled.

The arctic cold water hit her like a ton of ice.

“Shit,” she swore.

Then she remembered that Rory was fully dressed. That meant, as usual, he used up all the hot water. Oh, they should have hot water. There was a goddamned dinosaur of a water heater in the basement. But the thing was older than dirt and yielded only enough water for one shower in the morning and her brother had always thought it was his due.

She rubbed her body vigorously with a washcloth as she shivered, mentally blaming Dev for this too. The only good thing about the cold water was that it woke her immediately.

To get her mind off the cold, she visualized the day’s schedule. First was the staff meeting with Bill in preparation for their new tour, then pics of the band, and lastly updating the website and the different social media outlets with information on the band.

Maybe she could try to snag some candid video. Fans loved that. Sometime between the staff meeting and pics she should try to pry some tidbits about the band members out of them to post on social media. Some of the band hated that, especially her brother, and she wished wickedly that she’d had her camera ready to take a picture of him with that bra over his face.

Now that post would’ve gotten loads of social share.

She was still chuckling when she emerged and stood before the mirror, combing out her dark hair. She didn’t bother with make-up, mostly because she’d never learned to apply it. Her mother had been just another bad actor in their nightmare of a family life growing up, and had found little time to teach Cheri anything but how to hide.

Those days were long gone because Rory had the courage to walk out when he was eighteen, taking her with him. She was forever grateful for that, but it wasn’t as if she could learn how to dress or walk in heels from her big brother. Not that there had ever been any money for such things as lipstick and foundation back then…

Cheri let a happy memory wash away the bad ones, smiling as she recalled the time she told him that she needed “supplies”. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out it wasn’t school supplies she’d been asking for. She couldn’t get them herself because she was teary-eyed, sitting on her bed with a towel beneath her. Rory didn’t blush much but he’d turned beet-red that day. Like all other challenges he faced, her big brother had set out grimly to accomplish the task before him.

In all ways, he was her hero. No teasing in the world would ever change that.

Dressed in black skinny jeans, and a band t-shirt, she trotted down the single set of stairs and entered the kitchen from the living room. A plate of bacon, eggs and toast waited for her at the table.

Rory sat scrunched over his cell phone, his handsome face twisted into a frown.

“What’s up, big brother? Broke another heart?”

He grumbled and disconnected, setting the phone on the table.

Cheri munched on her breakfast in silence, debating whether to press him. He had that look on his face that told her he wasn’t going to open up, no matter how big or small the problem was. Having seen how their parents made sure that both of them were privy to every problem they ever had, Rory made the decision not to do the same thing to her when they were younger. And even though they were both technically adults now, he still tried to shield her.

She was just about to ask again when he forced a smile. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, June Bug.”

“Oh, so it’s June Bug now?” said Cheri, arching an eyebrow. It was a deflection on his part, and they both knew it, but she let him get away with it because his smile had turned from fake to genuine as he relished making fun of her again.

“June Bug,” he smirked. “Doodlebug, Love-bug--”

Cheri rolled her eyes. “Love-bug? Oh, no, brother mine, that doesn’t fit. I haven’t had a date, in what, six months? I’m no one’s love bug.”

“And a good thing too,” said Rory. “Or I’d have to squash him with my boots.”

Rory gave her such a thunderous frown that she broke out laughing.

“If you want me to grow up to, you know, have a life of my own or get married or anything, you’re going to have to put your bug squashing boots aside. Otherwise, I’m doomed to a life of eating your bacon and eggs.”

“What’s wrong with my bacon and eggs?” he demanded.

She stood and picked up her empty plate and his. “Nothing. Just that they aren’t cooked in my very own kitchen in my very own house. Now, go get that beast of a truck of yours started so we can get to work.”

Rory grumbled but did as she said while she did a quick wash of the frying pan. She could hear the truck coughing and rumbling, even over the sound of the faucet running. The thing needed a new starter, but Rory claimed that all it needed was a few good taps with a hammer. What Rory needed was a new truck, but he wouldn’t spend the money. She didn’t understand with the improving fortunes of the band why he wouldn’t. But maybe the years of scrimping and saving had been indelibly etched into his psyche.

Those years had etched a lot of things into them both. Things that she sometimes wondered if they’d ever be able to overcome…

She pushed the thought aside and dried her hands off on a dishtowel before blowing out a sigh of relief as the truck grumbled to life.

An hour later, though, she wondered what she’d been in such a hurry for. Bill was droning on about the upcoming tour schedule and hammering home the point that each of the staff riding the second tour bus should only take essentials.

He was a recent hire as band manager, having come on staff just as production finished on Zero Primed. He was short and plump and his black hair was slicked with god only knew what, but she personally imagined was Crisco.

Gina Saldano, the Public Relations Director, and Cheri’s now-friend, elbowed Cheri’s arm and nodded toward her iPad.

Only two buses??? Cheap bastard, she’d typed.

For the whole band and the support staff. They’d be cramped as hell. But Bill was still yammering so all Cheri could do was nod.

“We are hitting fourteen stops in three weeks, traveling at most, two days at a time. No breaks until we finish, so be prepared for that pace, twenty-four seven.”

What a dick, Gina tapped out on her screen.

Cheri nodded again.

“With that, let’s go around the table. Gina?”

“We’re good. We’ve got press releases out to each of the newspapers in our tour cities. I’ll make some calls this afternoon to make sure of placement for our first few venues. And I have calls into the local radio stations to set up band interviews over the phone.”

“Keep me updated on any changes.”

“I’m getting a new set of pics of the band after this meeting to put on the website,” Cheri added, “and I have a nice piece I’m putting out on the blog about some of the rock greats who played at some of our upcoming venues. Sort of a ‘look who came before us’ piece that pushes the up-and-coming status of the band.”

“Sounds good, but I want to see the copy before you put it up.”

“You got it, boss,” she said, managing to keep the smile pinned to her face.

Boss at a loss, typed Gina and Cheri had to bite her lip hard not to laugh.

“Richard.”

Richard Hawkins was the Tour and Production Manager. He handled everything that had to do with putting the show on the stage. He was in his forties, lean with a rectangular face that was etched with laugh lines. His graying hair was styled in a no-nonsense buzz cut.

“I’m still waiting on some of the backdrops,” he said.

“They might not be ready on time,” said Bill. “Think of some creative ways with lighting to make up the deficit. Most road shows don’t carry more than one backdrop anyway. How’s the rest of the crew? All the positions filled?”

“Yup. The only thing that’s not filled is my production assistant, but I have a person in mind.”

Bill glanced down at a sheet of paper on a clipboard and then smiled, a crafty look in his eye that Cheri had come to loathe.

“No need. Bug will help you out, won’t you, Bug?”

“Oh, Bill, I don’t think--” protested Richard.

“Look, we’re on a tight budget. If we can pare out a position, then we need to do it. Social media can’t take up all of Bug’s day. What do you say? Can you handle the work?”

It wasn’t like she hadn’t done it before with the band on their smaller gigs. Still, she thought it would be better to have a professional with large tour experience to do it. But the slick bastard that he was, Bill had framed it in such a way that she was hard-pressed to give a firm no. “I mean, I guess, but--”

“Then it’s settled. Bug, get together later with Richard to see what he needs. Okay. That will do for today.” Bill looked down at his phone and excused himself from the room, leaving the rest of them behind staring after him.

“The son of a bitch,” said Richard glaring at the wall. “Sorry about that, Bug.”

“Not your fault, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“I know it. You aren’t the problem.” He sighed and stood. “See me when you have a few free minutes and I’ll go over the job duties with you. I’ll keep it as light as I can.”

Richard left the room and the audio guys followed behind, all looking very unhappy.

“That was a cluster-fuck, huh?” Gina asked.

Cheri nodded slowly. Bill had definitely helped the band’s bottom line over the past months, but this was getting out of hand.

“Hey, where’s that pain in the ass brother of yours?” Gina asked.

Cheri rolled her eyes. “Hanging with the groupies, where else?” She hitched the strap of the camera bag on her shoulder and they strolled out of the conference room to the large area that served as practice space and hangout for the band.

The loft was one floor of an 1800's factory converted into office space. Sub-Zero had the top floor and here the ancient wood beams held up the roof. The walls were all made of red brick and the floor solid hardwood varnished to a bright shine. At the end of the room, a raised dais held the band’s instruments and amps, and tall, thin Bose speakers graced either side of it.

Gina’s eyes roamed the room until she spotted a knot of scantily clad girls surrounding Rory next to the makeshift bar a roadie had set up on a plank and sawhorses. “There’s no moss on that rolling stone.”

“Nope,” Cheri said with a nod, trying to ignore the growing pit of her stomach as she willed herself not to search out the rest of the band. “We need to round those boys up for these pics or I’ll never get them on the website.”

“Connor,” called Gina, beckoning with her hand, “Mac, Quinn, Rory. Hmmm,” she frowned, looking left and right. “I don’t see Dev anywhere.”

“That’s because he’s a lazy shit,” said blond-haired Connor after giving Cheri a friendly kiss on the side of her forehead. “The man hasn’t dragged himself out of bed yet. I just spoke to him on the phone. He’s on his way.” He draped an arm around Gina.

“Well, I don’t blame him,” said Connor. “Ashley Marlowe is a good reason to stay up late.”

Gina scoffed and stalked away, trying to get the rest of them in some semblance of order.

“We have a schedule to keep,” said Cheri. She tried not to let it show, but even she could hear the shrillness of her voice. “Any idea how long he’ll be?”

“Any minute now,” said Quinn.

Cheri walked away, focusing her energy on setting up her tripod, lighting, and digital camera instead of the images of Dev rolling around in a bed with Ashley Marlowe.

She had finally gotten lost in her task a few minutes later when Gina’s heels clacked on the hardwood floor and she bent to nudge Cheri in the arm.

“Here, get some coffee in you.” Gina handed her a steaming cup.

“Thanks,” said Cheri, but her words were lost in the commotion at the elevator of the loft.

Dev Lachlan stepped in with his arm around Ashley and Cheri died a little inside. His dark hair was mussed, his muscular frame loose and comfortable as if he’d spent the night doing something taxing.

It was bad enough imagining them together. But now, seeing it? She felt like she was going to be sick.

He had a big smile on his handsome face as he bent down and whispered something in Ashley’s ear. She gave a little pout but made her way toward the makeshift bar.

Dev looked up, scanning the room, and rubbed his hands together.

“So what’s on the agenda today?”

Dev’s rich, masculine baritone filled the space, just like it always did, and Cheri had to stifle a mewl that curdled in her throat. There was a good reason why he was their lead singer. His voice was like rich caramel, decadent and low, making her insides shiver. Somehow, she straightened and steeled herself for the job ahead.

“Over here, lover boy,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. The years of familiarity between them took the edge off and he just grinned at her. But even that hurt. That smile had ignited a million panties across the globe, but all it did was make her ache.

With long strides, he strolled toward her and then plucked her coffee from her hand, his blue gaze drilling into hers.

“Always prepared,” he said with a wink. “Thanks, Bug.”

He was standing too close and the smell of his cologne wrapped around her. Cheri’s stomach and her knees turned to jelly just as they always did when he stood next to her.

Must. Not. Crumble.

She chided herself for not having the fortitude to defend her own drink. But of course, he could have her coffee. He could have anything he wanted of hers.

Because she was madly, crazily in love with him and had been since she was eleven years old.

And she would do just about anything to make it stop.