After the set, the band reappears in the VIP area. Drew and Kara practically disappear. One second here, then they're not quite holding hands on their way out the back door.

And now I'm sitting on my stupid black cube, with the other guys from the band around me. Tom has a pretty redhead on his lap. She giggles, staring at him like he's a prize.

The dark-haired bassist introduces himself. "Meg, right?"

I nod. "Meg Smart."

"Pete Steele." He shakes his head and turns to Tom. "You do have a room."

Tom shrugs. He sips his drink, casually wrapping his arm around the redhead like she's a fancy trophy.

She looks happy. I guess it's not my place to judge.

Miles plops next to me. He spreads his knees wide like he's going to entice me to drop to my knees and blow him in front of his friends.

Not that I'm thinking about taking him back to my place and ripping his clothes off.

I can't do that. I can't touch him until I give him a chance to explain.

"Damn, you're tacky." Pete addresses Tom. "Almost as bad as Drew running off without a goodbye. Must be desperate."

Tom motions to me. "That's her best friend."

Miles smirks, trailing his fingers over my outer thigh.

I bite my tongue to keep from reacting to his touch. "I have a name and it's Meg."

"You know what's up with them, Meg?" Pete asks.

"They're only friends," I say.

Pete nods. "Yeah, I bet. With all due respect to your friend, no way I'd do anything other than drag her to the backseat if I were Drew."

"You mean, if you weren't too busy sexting Cindy?" Tom asks.

"Jealous 'cause your longest relationship was three minutes?" Pete asks.

"It was three hours," Tom says.

"You assholes are awful gossips," Miles says.

"Should hear what he says about you." Pete taps something into his phone.

"You should try not getting into trouble," Tom says. "Then I wouldn't have to gossip."

Miles narrows his eyes. "Or how about this, Tom? You keep your mouth shut. Then I won't have to use my fist to shut you up."

Tom rolls his eyes.

Pete shakes his head.

Clearly, this is a conversation with history. I'm not part of the history. I'm not in the circle of friends.

Maybe there is something to the concept of asking nicely. I make eye contact with Tom. "What kind of trouble does Miles get into?"

Tom and Miles share a look of understanding. So much for Tom's claim to tell me if Miles doesn't. It's clear the guys have some kind of code.

It doesn't help my confidence.

Miles pulls me onto his lap. His cock is right under my sex. I'm wearing the lace underwear he bought me at the boutique. It's practically transparent.

I squeeze my knees together. There's no sense in flashing the other guys in the band.

Miles presses his lips against my neck, holding me the way Tom is holding the pretty redhead—-like I'm a trophy.

He addresses the other guys. "Don't mention this to the Guitar Prince, okay?"

"You call Drew the Guitar Prince?" I ask.

Pete nods. "Should hear what we call Tom behind his back."

"Fuck you." The drummer pouts.

Pete points to the redhead in Tom's lap. "I'm not one to wait in line." He throws his hand over the side of his mouth, like he's going to whisper. "It's Sticks for Brains. Not the most creative, but it gets the point across."

"Guitar Prince and Miles can coast on talent. What the hell are you offering?" Tom asks.

"Sex appeal." Pete smiles.

"Can it, Sticks," Miles says. "We all know you're not going to fire your brother."

I look from Pete to Tom. Tom has green eyes and dirty blond hair, a mix of young Brad Pitt and Kurt Cobain. Pete has dark eyes and black hair. They're both handsome and well-built, but they look nothing alike.

"Don't worry about me, Meg," Pete says. "I don't share any bloodlines with Sticks. We're foster brothers."

"Adopted," Tom corrects.

I bite my tongue, silently praying for any other conversation topic. Anything besides family.

Tom kisses his pretty lap girl on the cheek and sends her away. Once she's out of earshot, he leans in close and makes eye contact with Miles. "I'm not sure what you two are doing, but Drew will kill you if you fuck things up with that slutty girl, and then I'll be out a guitarist and a singer."

My hands curl into fists. "Hey, asshole, that's my best friend, and she's not slutty. She just has big boobs. And even if she was, she wouldn't appreciate you talking about her like that. So why don't you shut the fuck up?"

"Or you'll ask Miles to shut me up," Tom offers.

Miles presses his lips into my neck. "Please ask. I'd love an excuse."

I shake my head. "I don't want to hear another word about my friend or about Drew. Got it?"

Tom nods. There's annoyance all over his face, but he nods.

Pete laughs. "Damn, you're not even getting pussy and you're whipped. Banging those drum sticks must be frying your brain."

"You play bass in an emo band, asshole. Do you actually do anything?" Tom asks.

"You still doubt that I'm the sexiest member of Sinful Serenade?" Pete asks. "Meg, back me up. I'm way hotter than your boy toy, right?"

Tom butts in before I can even fathom a response. "'Cause that whole 'girl you know I've got steady rhythm' thing is so hot."

Pete winks at me. "Meg knows what I'm talking about."

I blush and squeeze my legs together again. Miles laughs, and he tilts me so my knees are facing away from the guys, so I'm only at risk of flashing the wall.

"Cindy knows what he's talking about," Miles says. "And we've heard what he's talking about in lurid detail."

Pete blushes, but there's a wealth of confidence in his eyes. "You have to admit—I last a long time."

"And he's quite creative, too," Miles says.

I'm lost. I turn to Miles. "You're going to have to explain this to me."

Miles runs his fingertips along my thighs, right under the hem of my skirt. "Pete is a phone sex devotee."

Pete shrugs, playing sheepish but clearly proud as hell. "You'd both understand if you ever tried taking a relationship on the road." He chuckles. "Or if you ever tried a relationship. Period."

I turn ever so slightly, so I'm looking into Miles's eyes. I still can't place his expression.

Feelings well up in my stomach. Is this what relationships feel like? I have affection for him, I do. I'm just not sure where the line stops. We are friends. We do have sex. But is there more to it than that?

"Jesus, now Miles has to prove he has the skilled hands," Tom says.

Pete shakes his head. "Miles convinces girls he's tortured inside, that he needs them to wipe his pain away."

"Right," Tom says.

Pete chuckles. "He has a mouth and he knows how to use it."

"Is that right, Meg?" Tom asks.

I turn back to them. "My lips are sealed."

Miles whispers in my ear, "Want to get out of here?"

A rush of heat passes through me. I do want to get out of here. I do want Miles to take me home and to drag me to bed. But not like this, not with him guarding all his secrets.

I turn to him the best I can. "Only if you're going to explain what Tom was talking about. Or should I ask him right now?"

Miles grabs my hips and slides me off his lap. We're almost facing each other, and his expression is almost serious. The closest thing to serious I've seen in quite a while.

He nods.

I nod.

And suddenly, this chat with the band is the most boring conversation I've ever been a part of.

* * *

We take a cab to my place, touching instead of talking.

He trails his fingers over my thighs, all the way under my skirt and so, so close, but not quite where they need to be.

My body is at war with my heart. His hands feel so good. His breath feels so good. Hell, his words feel so good, so perfect, so easy.

He wants me. Maybe this is the only way he'll ever want me. Maybe this is as good as it's ever going to get.

But I made our terms for a reason. No secrets, no lies. He's keeping a secret from me.

I can't have that. Not after everything with Rosie.

No matter how badly my body is screaming, begging my brain to take a hike for the rest of the evening, I can't give in.

He slides his hand under the fabric of my top. All that heat rushes through me. I can't bring myself to ask him to stop. I can't even admit I might need him to stop.

Instead I close my eyes and surrender to the sensation he stirs inside me. His hands belong on my body. His lips belong on my skin. It feels so good, the two of us together.

I don't want to give it up.

But I might have to. He gets one chance to tell me the truth. That's it.

The car stops. Dammit. We're parked outside my apartment. No more of this. We have to step back into the ugly world, and I have to demand an explanation.

Miles pays the cabbie and escorts me to my apartment. The elevator feels tiny. The hallway feels tinier. The key is slippery in my hands, and my legs have never felt more wobbly.

We step inside my apartment. Miles presses the door closed behind me. He takes my hands, pulls them over my head, and pins me to the door.

His body is heavy against mine. His kiss is hot, needy. Like this is more than sex to him.

Like he needs more than my body.

Miles tugs my skirt down to my knees. He drags his hand to my thighs.

No teasing this time. He strokes me over my panties.

"I need you." He tugs at my top and pulls it off my arms.

I'm pressed against the door, almost naked, and he's still wearing all his clothes.

He still has all the cards.

I break his grasp, plant on the bed, and wrap a sheet around my chest.

Miles stares into my eyes. "Megan."

"It's Megara. Not Megan. It's right on my driver's license. And, no, it's not from the Disney movie. It's a mythology thing."

"You have a driver's license?"

"Yeah."

"You never drive."

"Not really the point."

"Tom was just running his mouth off. It was nothing."

"If it was nothing, tell me." I take a deep breath. I have to be strong here. I have to resist how much I want him. "I only left with you because you said you'd talk to me."

He runs a hand through his hair. His brow knots with frustration.

"Miles. We agreed. No secrets. No lies. I heard you two talking. He asked if you'd told me something. He threatened to tell me if you didn't."

"It's nothing." Miles sits next to me. His eyes turn to the ground. His voice softens. "Tom is nosy. That's it."

"If it's nothing, tell me."

"I can't talk about that." He leans closer. "That's how it is. We agreed that this is casual."

"We agreed not to keep secrets."

His eyes darken. "I'm not talking about that. Take it or leave it." His voice drops to something. It's needy. "This isn't supposed to be complicated."

"You're the one making it complicated." I push myself off the bed and press my back against the wall. It only puts three feet between me and Miles. That's about as good as I can do in this apartment. "Why won't you tell me if it's nothing?"

"Meg. Don't do this. We have a good thing here."

"You're the one doing it." I pull the sheet tighter around my chest. "You asked me if I trust you. I do. I want to keep trusting you. Please. Just tell me."

He swallows hard. "I can't."

"Then you need to leave."

Miles pushes himself to his feet. His eyes meet mine. "Wouldn't you rather I leave after?"

"I'm not in the mood anymore." No matter how much my body objects.

"This is supposed to be fun."

"Yeah, well it's not fun for me anymore." I press my palm flat against his chest. "If you're not going to tell me then fucking leave."

"Meg..."

"Now."

He holds my gaze for a moment. There's something in his eyes—that same hurt I saw earlier—but he blinks and it's gone.

I press my eyelids together.

The door slams shut.

That’s it. He’s gone.

I'm affecting him.

But somehow it's not any consolation.