By the time they got back into the bedroom, Shayla was already naked on the bed. Despite the killer rack on display, Rex found himself wishing she was gone so he could go to sleep.

“Come here,” she said and patted the empty spaces on either side of her. “We have two more hours and I have a great idea.”

Beau went to the bed and ran a hand over her naked form, pausing to give her full hip a squeeze. “You were a doll, truly, but I think we’re about tuckered out.” He said it with such regret and Southern charm that, if Rex didn’t know better, he’d have thought it was a compliment instead of an invitation to leave. Apparently the little scene with Quinn had distracted his band-mate too.

Shayla tipped her head to the side and grabbed Beau’s wrist, using it to maneuver his hand over the tight thatch of curls between her thighs. When she released him, he didn’t let go as she unzipped his jeans and then drew out his cock.

“You don’t seem all that tired to me,” she murmured. She beckoned Rex from his post in the doorway with a wave of her hand.

He stared back at the woman who’d been Quinn’s understudy earlier that night. At times, like now, guilt weighed on him. Not so much towards Quinn. She had made her feelings known so it wasn’t as if he was cheating on her. If she wanted to be with him, he’d never touch another woman again. But sometimes he felt bad for the women he was with. He was never truly present, always wishing they were someone else. It felt wrong somehow.

“Come and fuck me, T-Rex.”

Right.

He shook his head at the timely reminder of what Shayla, and all the women before her, were after—T-Rex Campbell, drummer of Hank Lemon and the Law. Groupies who spent their time with him pretending he was someone else too. They didn’t know him, really know him, at all. Not like Quinn did.

Suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but there. “I’m really beat, I think I’m just going to hit the sack. You guys have fun though.”

Shayla shrugged and turned her attention back to Beau, who sent him a knowing look.

“Man, no sense letting yourself get all in knots about that. Like you said, it was nothing. You can’t spend your life waiting on something that’s never gonna happen.”

Never gonna happen.

He was probably right, and even still, Shayla had long lost her appeal. Rex gave his friend a salute and let himself out of the room. He stood by Quinn’s door for a long second and lifted a fist to knock before lowering it.

What would he even say?

“Hey, why did you get that look on your face when Shayla invited you to bed with us?”

Very smooth. She’d probably laugh him off the bus.

He strode into the living room and then flopped down on his makeshift bed. This had been the longest couple of weeks of his life. Just when he’d come to terms with the idea of moving on, his progress had come to a screeching halt. Quinn had been a constant temptation since she’d moved in. There was no break from the pain and longing.

Even when she wasn’t around, she was everywhere. Stiletto shoes under his bed, sweet-smelling soap in the bathroom, pomegranates and yogurt ever present in the refrigerator, the sound of her singing in the shower.

He walked out of the club tonight determined to get back on track, forget about her for a while and be a young, normal, healthy male. With that one look, she’d decimated him. That second of indecision on her face brought him back to square one, to the day he thought he might have even a sliver of a chance with her. It would haunt him now and ruin him for any other woman. He’d replay that moment over and over until it drove him insane or he came right out and begged.

He was so fucked.

He stretched out on the couch and willed himself to shut down mentally, to relax. Seemed as if the only time his brain got a break from Quinn was when he slept, and sometimes not even then. But neither his mind nor his body was willing to cooperate. Understudies just weren’t cutting it anymore. The empty exchanges were almost mechanical…necessary releases that didn’t seem to even scratch the surface of his need.

Not with Quinn though. He knew it would be different. His imagination ran wild with images of her and what it would be like between them. He threw an arm over his eyes and, relentless, every fantasy he’d ever had crowded his consciousness. His cock throbbed hot against his belly as he tried to will them away.

Quinn backed up against the shower wall, eyes closed, hands over her head in surrender. Quinn, water streaming down her body but for the fat droplets clinging to the rosy tips of her breasts.

Helpless to fight any longer, he slipped his hand under the waistband of his pants and took firm hold of his dick. His cock jerked in his hand as he fisted the shaft in long strokes. He let out a groan as the images moved faster, blending seamlessly into an often-watched movie.

Quinn, graceful hand working between her thighs, butterfly strokes on her clit bringing her closer and closer. Quinn, eyes snapping open to look into his, her full lips parting as she gasped, “Rex.”

He worked himself faster, the knot in his stomach contracting and his balls pulling tight to his body. The wave hit hard, crashing over him. He grunted, barely managing to bite back the name on his lips. The pressure in his stomach unfurled as hot cum streamed from his cock in a rush onto his stomach. He sucked in a breath and waited for his pounding heart to slow.

One week. Seven more days, and maybe he could get back an ounce of sanity.

Maybe.