“So you’re the famous Serena then, yeah?”

“And you must be the actually famous Milo, right?”

“You’re right, Rhy, she is something!” Milo replied, more to Rhys than to her.

“Rhysie here tells me you didn’t know who we were ‘til last night. He lying?”

“I’d heard of Misery, of course.” She didn't bother telling him how briefly she might have heard of their band. “I’m just not a panty-dropping fangirl… that’s all…”

Milo fist bumped Rhys and howled with laughter.

“Not yet, you mean,” he countered. Milo had been attractive the night before in the quick exchange she'd had with him, but now she realized he was much more than the blond-haired hottie she'd thought he was. Boyish, fun-loving charm oozed from him.

“Maybe, but I’ve had the chance to hear your lead guitarist unplugged, I think is what you guys call it, and he’s no Beethoven.”

“You wound me, princess.” Rhys laughed, his eyes crinkling with easy amusement as he held one hand to his heart.

Her heart skipped the tiniest of beats at hearing him call her “princess,” but she tried to ignore it.

“So, no drugs tonight huh, is that why the rest aren't here?” she asked neither of them in particular.

“Nah, they're around,” Milo said briefly before being effectively shut up by Rhys' glare.

The waitress came around with a tumbler of bourbon for each of the guys, and politely asked her what she wanted to drink, although her eyes implied she was really asking Serena how she would like to die. To his credit, though the waitress was definitely a looker, Rhys paid no attention to her.

“Just a glass of white wine, please.”

Rhys intervened, grabbing the wine list from her hand and surveying it carefully.

“We can do better than that.”

Milo looked over Rhys’s shoulder briefly, and they seemed to agree on one. “A bottle of that, please.”

Rhys pointed to something and handed the menu to the waitress without Serena's input. The waitress came back seconds later with a bottle of wine and three glasses. The guys declined their glasses and took swigs from their bourbon as the waitress poured a glass for Serena and settled the bottle into a silver ice bucket.

Lucky for me she hadn't known they wouldn't actually drink it just yet, or else she would most definitely have spit in the bottle judging from the daggers her eyes kept hurling at me, Serena thought.

Much to her surprise, Milo and Rhys were actually fun and easy to talk to. Neither seemed to long for the drugs being used all around them, and both seemed to be enjoying the company, content with nothing more than the conversation and the constant flow of bourbon.

Appropriately lubricated by almost half a bottle of wine for her, and a ton of bourbon for the guys, Milo had taken to calling her Sese.

She had crawled under Rhys' arm at some point, and he seemed happy to be cuddling her in public. It was Milo's turn to look surprised as Rhys nipped at her neck and ears, planting a small kiss on the top of her head as he laughed every now and then at things she said.

“So, I take it Rhysie here has told you of our predicament then?” Milo said, turning serious all of a sudden. Rhys said nothing, but he shot Milo a warning glance.

“We've just come off our second world tour, and the powers that be are on our asses to start belting out new shit. Except that Rhysie here seems dry. And Jett... well... he's not helping, and neither is Luc. In the old days, there'd be a concept, you know?” She didn't really, but she nodded anyway. “We'd all agree on the concept and then go off in different directions to write the songs. Bring it all back and find the magic together. Nowadays, that's just not happening so much.”

Again, she nodded like she understood, but she didn't. Though in the back of her mind, she thought she might be starting to.

“We need the magic back, fast, and until we do, someone needs to distract the vultures.” Milo stared at her like he was giving her a challenge.

“And you need me to be the prey?” she asked, her eyes focused on Rhys.

“Yeah, princess, I told you, you’re perfect.”

Okay then, she could play, at least she thought she could. She drew a deep breath. She needed to be more herself if she was going to at least try. “This DJ is awful. A proper Misery girl would ensure he honors the guests of honor while they're here.” They howled with laughter again.

“Actually princess, they've played about three remixes of our songs so far. And we're not the guests of honor tonight, just regular ol' partygoers.” She could feel the tips of her ears go pink, but hopefully they were sufficiently hidden by her ponytail.

“He's also playing songs of people we don't like, though,” Milo piped up. “So she might actually have a point. Isn't this that bitch who lied about you fucking her over last year?”

“You're both right.” Rhys laughed as he stood up and took her hand. “Come on, Sese,” he said, apparently adopting Milo's nickname for her. “Let's go show the DJ how it's done.”

Milo hollered with laughter behind them, but Rhys paid him no attention as he walked confidently into the DJ booth, no one stopping their crowned guitar prince.

The DJ stammered at Rhys, but it wasn't like he was going to say no to modern-day rock royalty, and he quickly let Rhys take over.

Rhys cued a song and led her down to the dance floor. She'd had far more wine than usual and her head was swimming a bit, but her body was attuned to his every move.

The opening bars to the song he had chosen started playing just as they hit the floor. “I love this song!” she yelled to him, and he took her into his arms. In her mind at that moment, everything seemed shiny and magical and beautiful.

She swayed along to the music in his arms, moving her hips with his, her arms draped around his strong shoulders and her body pressed to him. His hands were on her hips, and the heat from them burned into her sides. They danced for about three songs; when she looked up into his eyes he was staring down at her intently, like she was a particularly hard math problem. Suddenly, he bent her down and kissed her like she'd never been kissed before.

His kiss was hot and all-consuming. She could feel its warmth spreading from her lips, to her toes and fingers, to the top of her head. Her mind, heart and core all agreed they could feel this kiss beyond all others. All thoughts flew from her mind and the only thing she could think of was Rhys, his hands on her body, his tongue sure as it kneaded against hers.

He seemed wrapped up in the moment with her, kissing her hand, one hand cupping the back of her neck and the other one around her waist, pulling her against his body. He ground his hips into her until something buzzed in his pants. He gently released her from his kiss.

“I think it’s time for you to go home, Serena.”

“What if I'm not sufficiently wowed yet?” She was panting from his kiss, still feeling that fire in her blood and an aching need in places that hadn't ever ached like this before. Places that hadn't felt anything for a long time. She was, however, also feeling pathetic and rejected as he pulled away from her. Yet, Rhys was also breathing deeply, so maybe he wasn't entirely unaffected. Though, maybe the heavy breathing was from the dancing or something, who could tell? There was absolutely no way a guy like this was feeling at all affected by the likes of a girl like her... Maybe she'd imagined the energy passing between them. That had to be it, right?

He looked down at her through hooded eyes, studying the expression in hers. “If I'm the only one wowed here, we have other problems, Sese,” he whispered to her, easily reverting back to Milo's nickname, his breath hot against her ear. “I gotta go take care of some stuff, but I'll talk to you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah Rhys, if you say so. Say bye to Milo for me.” Shortly, she collapsed into the back of the luxury SUV he had waiting for her. Once she arrived home she dragged herself up the stairs to the apartment she shared with Josh, her mind swirling from wine and lust and the memory of that kiss.

She crawled into bed, her thoughts lingering on Rhys as she lay in the only underwear he had chosen for her. Underwear she now had a desperate desire for him to see her in, to be here next to her. She pushed the thought from her hazy mind. That's not what he wants from me, he'll never want that from me. That was the last depressing thought she had before drifting off into a fitful sleep, dreaming of piercing green eyes, muscled and tattooed arms around her waist and in her hair, and his hard body pressed against hers.