“Whoohoo!” Quinn hollered into the mic as she flung out her hand toward Beau. “That’s Beau ‘Fiddly’ Trudeau on the fiddle, ladies and gentlemen!”

She turned, pointing behind her and the screams of the audience grew louder.

“We got T-Rex Campbell on the drums. And me? I’m Quinn Myles. We are Hank Lemon and the Law. Thank you so much, Atlanta. We love you!”

The crowd rose to their feet in a wave and the applause rained over her like a thousand kisses. She loved this. Closing her eyes to savor the moment, she took a bow then jogged offstage, her band-mates close behind.

“Awesome show, love,” Rex said, his eyes alight with excitement. He swiped a towel over his face to mop off the sweat but some blazed a trail down his bare chest. She resisted the urge to follow its path.

“You sounded great, darlin’.” Beau gave her a huge grin and she grinned back at him.

This is what they lived for and despite her turmoil of late, nothing could bring her down on the night of a good show. Maybe that was part of the reason she felt so close to the two of them. Who could understand the high of performing, the love of the music, better than people who did what she did?

When they had decided to put together their three-piece indy-rock band a few years before, all of them would have been thrilled to eke out a living playing local clubs and bars. Things had blown up fast and already they were making a name for themselves, picking up bigger venues across the country. They’d signed with a mid-sized label and would be back in the studio soon to record what they all felt was their best work yet. Big things were on the horizon.

“The crowd was amazing. So much energy. It was easy to get swept away with them,” she said.

They continued chatting about the gig as they made their way to the band’s hospitality room. Some members of the crew trickled in ahead of them and the room was buzzing with excitement, everyone stoked for a job well done. Quinn stepped through the door and clapped her hands.

“You guys were awesome, as usual. Thanks so much, we couldn’t do it without you.” The room broke out in a smattering of applause.

She, Beau and Rex headed over to the makeshift bar. Rex thrust his hands into an ice-filled cooler and pulled out a bottle of water for each of them. She was in the midst of sucking down the first half when a hush fell over the room.

A gorgeous woman with long black hair had come in and was making a beeline for them. Dammit, couldn’t Rusty give them like five minutes before sending back the goddamn groupies? Quinn’s stomach pitched as, in her peripheral, she saw both Beau and Rex stand up a little straighter.

“Dibs,” Beau muttered from the side of his mouth and Rex barked out a laugh.

“Hi, y’all. I’m Jasmine.”

Of course you are. Like the Disney princess.

The guys introduced themselves and the woman rewarded them with a stunner of a smile. Even Quinn was dazzled for a second before she remembered she hated her on principle. She looked her up and down, trying in vain to find a flaw.

Nada.

Five-four-ish with an elegant, trim frame much more subtle than a lot of the groupies had. She wore little makeup, probably because she didn’t need it. Her dark skin was luminous, even upon ruthless inspection, and her hair was so lush and glossy it made Quinn want to spit. She focused her attention back on the conversation.

“Sure, I’d love a glass of wine,” Jasmine was saying as she tossed her gleaming locks.

Both guys reached for the bottle and Quinn rolled her eyes. She was more than a little mortified when they filled with tears. She blinked hard a few times then swallowed the golf ball wedged in her throat. Time to make herself scarce. She’d barely made it through the night before with her heart intact.

“I’ll catch up with you guys later. I’m going to go back to the bus to shower.”

She had taken half a dozen steps before she turned around and went back. The three looked at her expectantly. “I forgot something,” she mumbled, then shoved her hand into the ice and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “’Night.”

If she had her way, by the time they got around to coming back to the Man Bus, she’d be sawing logs. She was a lightweight, so it would be an easy enough task. Besides, she had a huge incentive. Stay awake and listen to Rex and Beau have sex with someone other than her. Again. Or get buzzed enough to conk out and not have to hear Rex and Beau with another woman. It was a no-brainer.

Half an hour later, with a towel on her wet head, a full wineglass and a bag of pretzels, Quinn sat in the tiny space that acted as a living room. Although most of his stuff was in Beau’s room, Rex had been sleeping on the pullout couch since she’d taken over the second bedroom. The sofa bed was in disarray but she didn’t want to disturb his ordered chaos.

Still too amped from the show to go to sleep, she sat scrunched up on the bean bag chair in the corner watching Twilight Zone episodes.

About twenty-five minutes and a glass and a half of wine into her favorite episode, To Serve Man, a tinkling laugh rang from the kitchen. Ah, Princess Jasmine. She hadn’t even heard them come in. She scooped up her stuff and stood, hoping to sneak off before anyone saw her.

“It’s a cookbook,” Rex said with a smile as he stepped into the room, gaze on the TV behind her.

He must have showered back in his dressing room, because his hair was damp and he’d donned his threadbare David Bowie shirt and jogging pants. He looked delicious, and for a second she actually felt short of breath.

She gave herself a mental shake. Twilight Zone. Right.

“If only you’d been there to warn them, you could have saved all those poor people from certain death.”

He chuckled and started to say something else but was derailed when Beau stepped into the room with the striking brunette on his arm.

“Hey, I love this episode,” he said. “Have you seen it, Jazz?”

Awesome. She merited a nickname now.

“Jazz” shook her glossy head. “No. The show is kind of silly, don’t you think? The special effects are terrible.”

The guys looked at her with matching “Well, duh” faces, and Quinn got an evil tingle of pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s half its charm,” she explained, hoping her smile didn’t look condescending. “Anyway, there’s a marathon this weekend so it’ll be on again.” She hit the remote and skirted by the little crowd, wineglass in hand. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning,” she called over her shoulder.

As she passed the kitchen she heard Jasmine giggle. She doubled back and grabbed the rest of the wine out of the fridge. She had a feeling she was going to need it.

It had been a good plan, but even good plans failed sometimes. A half an hour later she stared at the shadows on the ceiling, contemplating whether to leave and get a hotel room or stick it out. She’d polished off another glass of wine, but instead of getting her drunk, it was just making her already sour stomach feel worse.

A low groan rumbled through the wall and she cringed. What were they doing in there? Was Beau kissing Jasmine’s thighs until she shook? Was Rex sucking her nipple while his hand cupped her ass? Were they fucking her, maybe even at the same time?

Quinn’s cheeks burned even as moisture and heat rushed to her core. She lifted her hands to cover her aching breasts and bit her lip to stifle a moan. Shit, it had been so long. Since before the guys had told her how they felt about her, because since then she could think of nothing else. Once the cat was out of the bag, no other man would do. Seemed as if they had no trouble getting over her though.

She gave herself a mental shake. That wasn’t fair. She had no right to sulk about that. She’d refused them both because the thought of choosing made her heart ache. And the thought of losing one of them in the process or causing a rift between them? Inconceivable.

But did that mean she couldn’t be with them, even one time? She’d seen their expressions when Shayla had invited her into their bedroom. They were definitely in to the idea, at least for one night. Maybe they’d all be settling for less than what they truly wanted, but life was so short, and they cared about each other. They were strong enough to weather the aftermath, weren’t they?

Beau’s low voice vibrated through the wall, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. Was he telling Jazz how beautiful she was? Quinn’s heart gave a squeeze and a second later, she was on her feet. Fueled by raw emotion mixed with need, she had no plan beyond walking into that room.

She stood outside the doorway and laid a hand on the knob. Then she sucked in a deep breath and turned it.