Damn the bruise on his face.

Not only did it mar Pax’s profile, it made eating impossible. Even fish ’n’ chips, his favorite food in the world.

He dropped the fish and darted his tongue over his salty forefinger and thumb.

The bustling fish ’n’ chip shop contained countless nooks for customers to comfortably indulge in the greasy goodness.

Across from him, Luca took large bites of a corn fritter, barely swallowing before he continued chatting in his slightly off English.

Their reflections in the storefront window glared back at them, and Pax strained to look through himself out onto the city below. Thousands of streetlights blazed.

Somewhere across the city, his bandmates were packing their truck before heading for a bite to eat and hitting Untamed, their home club.

Tony would play the electric guitar and Ted would work the drums. They wouldn’t be quite as good without him or Blake, but they’d be decent. Knowing they’d manage a gig okay without him prickled the most.

He’d better call first thing in the morning. Bring the charm.

But would it be enough?

Luca nudged him under the table.

“Sorry?” Pax said.

“It’s my aunt’s house.” Oh, the answer to Pax’s question about how a nineteen-year-old afforded his place. “Old money,” Luca continued. “She lives in Italy and I’m staying here while studying. Why do you need a room? Aren’t you rich?”

Pax sighed. “I’m locally famous. I have some money, but I’m not rich, and I prefer living with others. Noise makes me feel at home.”

Luca leaned over their hot fries. “Well, I know you. You’re the lovable troublemaker, Pax Polo. Please plot with me. Set my Bianca free.”

“We couldn’t have done this at the house?”

“And have the shrew overhear our plans?”

Pax raised a mocking brow. “Look at us. Hypocritical, scheming fools.”

“Yes. Let’s cock up a plan.”

“Concoct, I hope.”

From a corner table, a guy with curly hair in a velvet jacket glared in his direction.

Pax tossed him a lazy smile before refocusing on Luca. “Why don’t you get on Cliff’s good side? Find out what he likes and bribe him?”

“You mistake how much courage I have. All this muscle is deceiving.”

“He can’t be that bad. A little overbearing, maybe, but I bet he’s just struggling to be a good brother.”

Luca dropped a bent fry and leaned over the table. “What you heard today? Mild. Cliff is not a man to be fiddled with.”

“Trifled with?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Bro, hang around some of my mates and Cliff will look like Mary-frigging-Poppins.”

Luca laughed off his comparison and popped a fry into his mouth. He eyed him thoughtfully. “How good are you at making friends?”

Pax scoffed. He was a natural at making friends. Just last weekend he talked for hours with . . . a banjo-playing guy sporting dreads. The weekend before that, he’d met Maree. She’d taken him for a night tour of the university museum. Hadn’t ever heard back from her, but he hadn’t exactly asked for her number.

“Making friends? Can do that in my sleep.”

Luca drummed his greasy fingers together. “Excellent. You will fiddle with the shrew.”

Pax snorted. “I’ve got my own drama to worry about.”

Luca frowned. “Oh. I thought I had Pax Polo helping me.”

Pax grabbed the basket of half-eaten battered fish Luca had been eyeing and slid it over to him. “With a plan, yes.”

“What’s your drama?”

Pax could have sworn Velvet Jacket Guy shifted his chair to eavesdrop. Whatever. If the local papers didn’t know yet, they soon would. Keeping it brief, he rehashed the story.

Luca listened patiently while devouring the remainder of the fish ’n’ chips. When they had both finished, Luca leaned back and folded his arms. “How will you win your way back into the band?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Buy lots of beer and host a party?” Luca suggested.

“Nothing Blake couldn’t do either.”

“What do they like? You could buy it for them.”

Pax sighed. “We like high-profile gigs. Being showered in attention. Making money.”

Velvet Jacket Guy’s chair jerked sharply across the faux tile floor, and he blatantly turned in his chair and stared at Pax. Wait, not Pax. Luca.

“Hmm,” Pax said.

Luca gawked at him expectantly. “What?”

“Do you know many people around here, Luca?”

“A few. Why?”

“Because there’s a guy behind you that won’t stop staring this way.”

Luca glanced in the window. When he caught Velvet Jacket Guy’s reflection, he slapped a palm against his forehead. “How long has Henry been watching us?”

“Since we got here.”

“But you didn’t think that was suspicious?”

“People glare at me all the time. I’m disappointed he’s been glaring at you. Who is he?”

“The local Hugh Hefner. And the guy renting the house with a view into Bianca’s bedroom.”

“I won’t ask how you know that.”

“What? I’d never spy on her.”

Pax looked at him blankly.

Luca cleared his throat. “Not indecently.”

Pax shook his head and weaseled a ketchup-drenched fry into his mouth.

Luca lowered his voice. “Henry wants to date Bianca as much as I do. Checks his mailbox three times a day to ‘bump into her’ when she returns home from rehearsal.”

“How do you know this?”

“My bedroom overlooks their yards.” Pax snorted, and Luca continued, “He is always flirting with a line from Shakespeare.”

Shakespeare? Pax loved the playwright too, but weaseling sixteenth-century prose into conversation to impress a girl? “That works?”

“Bianca loves everything Shakespeare. She’s involved in the local theatre. I’ve watched her practice lines in the living room.”

“You know far too much about this girl for never having spoken to her.”

“I have spoken to her. Once.”

“What did you say?”

“La mia unica occasione di fare colpo su di te e ho dimenticato l’inglese.”

“What does that mean?”

“My one shot to impress you, and I’ve forgotten my English.”

“Smooth.”

“Next time will be flawless.”

So heartfelt. Luca’s romantic efforts made Pax think of festive sounds and a canopy of trees filtering brilliant sunshine. “Heads up, your competition approaches.”

Henry swaggered over to them, smoothing the hem of his jacket. He hooked a hand on Luca’s chair, crossed a leg, and smiled down at them. “Luca, Luca, Luca.”

Luca gulped. “Hello, Henry.”

“What a fine opportunity you have here.”

“Heard it all, then?”

“When it comes to Bianca Wilson, I hear everything. And I have a wonderful solution.”

Henry’s eyes gleamed, and Pax didn’t like it for a second.

At least, he didn’t until he heard Henry’s plan.

Then he loved it. Understandably, Luca balked—but shared time with Bianca was better than no time with Bianca. So Henry’s plan was a win-win-win.

“If we all agree . . .” Henry dragged his gaze off Pax and stretched out a hand for Luca to shake. “May the best man win his heart’s truest desire.”

Who knew Henry was Henry Alabaster? Beloved nephew of John Alabaster-Green, the manager for none other than Pax’s favorite band: Lone Whistle and the Deserted.

It was as though Henry had weaseled into his mind and plucked out his ultimate wish: a chance to open for Lone Whistle’s Christmas Eve gig at Otago University.

How he and Luca made it home, Pax had no idea. He didn’t take in his surroundings until he hummed into the room he was now renting.

The medium-sized room boasted all the essentials, including a wide window that faced the neighbors. His guitar case lay nestled in a prison-striped beanbag, and his duffle bag sat near a queen waterbed. The angel was perched on the bedside table.

Playing with Lone Whistle and the Deserted had been his dream for years.

As important as returning to Serenity Free.

He switched on his bedside lamp and called Tony, leader of the Three T’s. So much for waiting until morning to bring the charm. This news was too big.

He shared the news.

Silence, followed by an incredulous scoff. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“Nope.”

“Lone Whistle and the Deserted. The Lone Whistle? On campus?”

“They could be persuaded to feature a local band.”

“Seriously?”

Seriously. Apparently, Henry’s uncle owed him a favor after hooking up with Henry’s ex. The details were sordid. The point was, Henry could get them playing Christmas Eve. “I have to do a little something first, but yeah. We’re opening for Lone Whistle and the Deserted.”

“Holy shit.” Tony’s enthusiasm was palpable. If he took that energy on stage tonight, Serenity Free would rock the house.

Pax hated the thought.

“I speak for the rest of us when I say: land us that gig, and you’re back in the band.”

The call ended.

Pax scrubbed his face, wincing as his fingers traveled over tender skin.

He’d lost some of the giddiness he’d initially had. Truth was, talking to Tony made him feel shitty. Maybe a little pissed. It wasn’t the Three T’s fault they’d kicked Pax out—for all they understood, Pax had fucked Blake’s sister. They assumed he’d gotten what he’d been asking for. Choosing only one of them to return to the band made sense.

But it still stung.

Backlit by the yellow lamp, the angel glowed. “My own fault.”

He’d had the perfect opportunity to explain, yet he’d clammed up.

He laughed at himself. Jesus, for someone with the propensity to speak first and think later, he sure sucked at speaking about personal matters.

Ugh. He had more important issues to dwell on than this stodgy feeling in his stomach.

Tonight he’d been offered a buffet of musical dreams, and to eat from it, he had to befriend the shrew. Distract him a bit.

Pax squinted at the neighbors’ darkened window. “How hard could it be?”

The angel glowed brighter. He turned his head to find her smug face laughing at him.

Frigging hell, he had a concussion, after all.