“Look at you, sis,” Harvey says before placing a kiss to my cheek. A smile works over my lips and I shove him away.

“I’m not into incest, Harvey, how many times do I have to tell you that.”

“Come on, you were only my stepsister for a year.”

“And that was enough.”

He laughs. “So, Dad said you were singing with the shitfucks over there,” he thumbs toward Rush whose face is buried in Lauren’s tits.

I groan. “God, yes. Fucking Henry…” I shake my head. “I hate it.”

“Ah, come on now, you don’t hate it.”

“I do. I don’t want shit handed to me, you know?”

He shrugs and tips his beer back. “Could’ve asked me. I’d have done a collab with you.” He winks. “Sure old fuckface Henry would have loved that.”

I laugh. “Yeah…”

“Dad still wants to kill him.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh come on now. Jimmy was fucking around on my mom, too.”

“Yeah, but not with her best friend.”

“True…” Henry was the drummer for Harvey’s band – until Jimmy found him fucking my mom in the hot tub. I glance over Harvey’s shoulder and catch Stone with some blonde kissing up his neck and a twinge of jealousy darts through me. There’s just something about him– this primal attraction. Maybe it’s just the way he looks at you like he’d rip you to shreds, pull your hair, smack your ass. He’s got that unattainable air swirling around him. A rebel. Reckless. A true bad boy. And I mean, after all, isn’t that what most girls want? A bad boy that’s going to wreck their heart and be a Neanderthal in bed?

“What are you staring at?” Harvey asks before turning around, but Stone’s already gone. Thank god.

“Just…this…” I wave my hand around the living room and laugh. “This life.”

“It’s a fucking mess, huh?”

“Something like that.” I sigh.

He pats me on the back. “Live it up, sis. Life’s a one-time gig and all that shit.”

I wake with a massive hangover and the taste of tequila still in my mouth. “Oh fuck,” I huff, “that’s the taste of regret.” My leg is asleep, and when I go to move it, it won’t budge. I reach down and grab it, trying to lift it up, but something’s on my foot. I sit up to find Harvey sprawled out like a starfish across the foot of the bed. There’s a can of beer leaking all over the comforter right beside him. “Well, at least there’s no vomit,” I mumble before rolling off the bed and to the floor.

Harvey holds up his hand, waving it in the air. “Don’t call me, I don’t do the same chick twice,” he groans.

“Gross.” I shake my head.

He grunts and sits up in bed, his long, blond hair sticking up in every direction. “Go back to sleep, Harvey. It’s just me.”

He stares at me with his bloodshot eyes. “Why are you in here? Shit, did we fuck?”

“Um, no… I came up here when Lauren disappeared with Rush. Why you ended up lain out across the foot of this bed is beyond me.”

He flops back down and chucks the beer can across the room. I finally manage to work some of the feeling back into my foot and stand. “I’ll call you later.”

He gives me a thumbs up, and I make my way to the door.

I can already see the carnage when I reach the top of the winding stairwell that leads to the first floor of Jimmy’s house. There’s a naked chick asleep and spread eagle on the stairs who I skirt around. At the foot of the steps is a guy with his pants around his ankles, a used condom hanging from his limp dick. “This is so fucked up,” I whisper to myself. This…this is what I grew up around. Shit like this. Parties and drugs and rockers…

One of the doors in the hallway flies open when I step into the living room, and I freeze. A loud fart echoes down the hallway before Rush struts out, pants undone, no shirt. He maneuvers around the people passed out on the floor and goes straight to the fridge, opens it, and pulls out a carton of milk. He sniffs it before placing the mouth to his lips and gulping it back. Then, he burps.

“You are so gross,” I say.

He quickly turns around, a smile spreading over his lips before he sets the milk on the counter. “Lovely to see you this morning, Phoenix. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh-huh. Where’s Lauren?”

“Trying to figure out how to walk like a bowlegged duck. Most women aren’t accustomed to my massive anaconda dick.” He laughs. “And you know what?”

“I’m sure I don’t want to know.”

“Nah, come on, sweet cheeks.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“In between my fuck sessions with your buddy in there,” he thumbs down the hall, “I learned a few very interesting things about you.”

Great. Just great…I sigh. “Oh, I’m sure you did, and I’m sure when her vag starts to burn like a Nevada wildfire and I take her to the clinic, I’ll find out some very interesting things about you.”

He snorts. “Henry Edwards, huh? That makes a lot of sense. Born with a silver mic in your mouth, huh, sweet cheeks?”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey,” he shrugs. “Don’t blame you for using it to your advantage. I mean, it’s hard to get a deal with a label these days, so not having to ever struggle or worry… Must be nice.” He walks toward the door. “Tell your friend thanks for the fuck. And I’ll see you later, Ms. Edwards.” Laughing, he bows before he opens the front door and leaves. Great! Exactly what I need, for those shitheads to think I’m some privileged, spoiled brat. I’m well aware I wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for Henry, and it sucks. It sucks to know you don’t deserve something.

I let the thought that I don’t deserve this deal, this collaboration circle around in my head like a herd of sickly vultures. And the longer I dwell on it, the more pissed I become.

I grab the remote and turn on the television, raising the volume in the hopes the unconscious shitheads lying all around me will wake up and get out of the house. A few of them groan. A few of them get up and leave.

“Out with the lot of you!” Jimmy’s voice echoes down from the stairwell. “Get your mangey arse up and outta my house. Come on. Out.”

People stumble around, filing out.

“Bloody fucking hell,” he groans. “Have people no respect?” I glance over the back of the couch and see him peeling the used condom off the sole of his foot. He holds it out with a snarl on his face as he heads to the kitchen and tosses it in a trashcan. He’s at the sink washing his hand before spots me on the couch. “Well, hello there, love. Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

He walks over with a smile and wraps me in a hug before flopping down next to me. Yawning, he swipes a hand over his face. “I’m getting too old to hold this act up, Phoenix. And you know, the Viagra gives me the shits.”

“God, Jimmy, don’t,” I wave my hand around, “please, just…don’t.”

“Alright, alright. Who’d your friend shag last night?”

“Rush…”

“Oh, that’ll leave a mark,” he laughs. “Glad you’re smarter than that.” He pats my cheek. “Smarter than your mum.” He arches a thick brow.

I roll my eyes. “That’s not saying much.” I laugh, and he pushes up from the couch. “I’m going to make burritos, want one?”

“Burritos?” I say. “At nine in the morning?”

“Why not?” He saunters into the kitchen, whistling as he pulls out pots and pans. I direct my attention back to the TV and just catch movement from the corner of my eye. I turn around and Lauren’s hobbling down the hall, wincing with each step.

I shake my head when she makes eye contact with me.

“So much pain,” she whispers when she stops behind the couch. “So much pain.”

“Wow, you look like…” And there are actually no words for what she looks like. Rings of mascara, puffy eyes, chapped lips, knotted hair. “Unfortunate. You look unfortunate right now, Lauren.”

“Ugh,” she sighs. “My vagina feels unfortunate.”

“Two hundred bucks you have the clap,” Jimmy calls from the kitchen.

“Way to be a cheerleader, Jimmy,” Lauren mumbles. “Way to be a cheerleader.”

Laughing, he shrugs. “Gotta earn your stripes somehow.”

“Dear god,” I groan. “Do you need a wheelchair to get to the car?”

She glares at me and I head to the door, waiting as she shuffles behind me. I shout goodbye to Jimmy and open the front door, heading down the steps. Lauren swears with each movement. The thing that sucks about this is, I have to see Rush in a few hours to practice, and now…he’s fucked my best friend so hard she literally cannot walk straight. When we reach my car, she leans against the hood and takes a deep breath. “I think my vagina is dead. It’s going to need a funeral.”

I don’t even acknowledge that. I just unlock the door and climb behind the wheel, watching through the windshield as she slowly makes her way to the passenger side. She opens the door and hisses when she goes to sit down.

“Really?” I ask, shoving the car into reverse.

“Really. I mean… really. I honest to god thought at one point that my life was actually in danger.”

I glance over at her before I shift into drive and pull onto the street. “Was he choking you or something?”

“No, he just fucks hard, and his dick is the width of a coke can.”

“Lauren!”

“I swear to god, Phoenix. I kept imagining his dick lacerating my cervix and tearing through parts of my intestines…” She shakes her head, that is the first time in my life I have actually prayed… and I prayed for him to get off at that.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow is right.” She shifts in the seat and whimpers.

“At least I don’t have to worry about you trying to fuck him again.”

“Oh, now, let’s not be rash. Was it painful? Yes. Did I think I might die? Absolutely. But I’m a ‘fall off the bike and get right back on’ type of girl.” She flashes me a grin. “Never say never.”

“I question my morals by being friends with you.”

Lauren shrugs and flops her head back against the head rest. “Morals are overrated.”

After I drop Lauren off at her apartment and watch her old-lady shuffle to the door, I pull up the text from James with Jag’s address, swearing to myself when I type it into the GPS.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m winding through the ‘look how big my cock is’ part of LA.

“You’ve arrived at your destination.”

I come to a stop outside a black, wrought iron gate with the Pandemic Sorrow logo– a weird P and S– in the center. I roll my window down and punch the buzzer.

Five minutes and fifteen presses later, static comes over the intercom. “If you are a large breasted woman with a tub of lube, you may enter. If you’re Phoenix, you can go fuck yourself and then come in, because your attitude will be better.”

Before I have a chance to respond, the motor to the gate whirs to life and the entrance slowly swings open. I drive through, rolling my eyes at the monstrosity of a house with marble columns and bushes shaped into guitars. I’m honestly surprised there’s not a fountain in the front with a gold statue of Jag’s cock spurting water. I park my car right beside the Chevelle and Lotus and Maserati, grab my guitar case, and head to the door.

The second I step up that last stair, my stomach churns. I don’t get nervous. People don’t intimidate me– until now. Why in the hell am I letting these immature manwhores get to me like this? There’s sweat building under my hair, above my lip. I wipe over my face and pull my hair up into a ponytail before I ring the bell.

It’s going to be fine. Two weeks of my life. I can manage two weeks of my life.

Jag yanks open the door and he’s in nothing except a pair of boxer briefs. I stare straight at his face. Straight at his face. His tongue darts through of his lips, skimming the little loop pierced through his bottom lip. “I told you to go fuck yourself, don’t tell me you’re that quick?”

“Look, I’m just here to practice and get this song done.”

He sniffs. God his pupils are blown about as wide as they can go. I take a second to study him. He’s Jag Steele, rock god. Idol. And when I really take the time to look at him, I see how miserable he actually is. It’s two in the afternoon and he’s in his underwear, high as shit. “We cancelled practice today,” he says. “The guys are hung over.”

I stand on his front porch, staring blankly at him. He tosses his hands up. “Hello? I said there’s no practice, so unless you want to come in here and suck my dick, I’ve got nothing for you.”

I blink. Frustrated. Angry. Insulted.

“Jesus,” I say, “get a fucking grip.”

And Jag slams the door. Groaning, I turn around, and Stone’s standing right behind me on the step. “Seems he’s warming up to you.” He grins and my heart does that stupid flutter shit it does around him.

“Yeah.” I huff. “I don’t have time for this crap. I need to get this recording over with so I can get my album done.”

Stone pulls his keys from his pocket, walks past me, and shoves one into the lock. “Come on,” he says and opens the door.

“What are you doing?”

“Practicing.” He steps into Jag’s foyer, grabs my arm, and yanks me inside.

Jag’s standing between the foyer and his living room with a box of Coco Puffs. “What is she doing in here?” he mumbles through a mouth full of cereal. A few crumbs fall to the marble floor.

“Practicing.”

Jag rolls his eyes. “Rush isn’t coming and I don’t feel like playing.”

“Okay.” Stone heads down the hallway, pulling me behind him.

“Don’t fuck her around my guitars,” Jag shouts.

“I’m not fucking her, Jesus Christ,” Stone groans.

“You don’t have to do this, really.” I pull against him and he stops, glancing over his shoulder.

“I know I don’t.” He smiles, and if I had any less will power, I’d melt into a puddle. He walks me to the studio room, opens the door, and flips on the lights. I follow him inside and the door bangs shut behind us.

And… here we are. Alone. In a room. He rubs his hand over the back of his neck and bites down on his lip, that silver hoop catching in the light. God, I wonder what his lips feel like… I mentally slap myself and quickly turn around, clearing my throat as I reach for the mic.

“So, since no one else is here…” I say.

“We just do it acoustic.” He walks to the side of the room and opens a closet lined with guitars. He grabs two acoustic ones, handing one to me.

“Thanks.”

He grins. “I can kinda sing, so don’t worry.”

He thumps his hand over the body of his guitar before strumming out a chord. He glances at me and nods. I sing the first line and he joins in, his voice raspy and deep and fuck me, it sends tingles down my spine. I freeze and slowly glance over at him.

He stops singing and shrugs. “What?”

“Why is your brother the lead singer?”

He laughs. “He started the band, besides I don’t like being the center of attention, if you haven’t picked up on that. I leave that to Jag and Rush.” He strums over the guitar again. “Come on, now.”

He’s not like the other guys. I mean, sure he’s got a cocky side. A dick side, but there’s something about him, something deep and raw that just draws me to him like some gravitational pull, and the more I’m around him, the harder and harder it is to ignore.

Singing with him is unbelievable, it gives the song a completely different feel. The lyrics sound tormented as they roll from his lips, deep and dark, hypnotizing. I keep glancing at him when he’s not looking, studying the way he closes his eyes, the way his hair falls in his face when he leans over the mic. His hands. I watch how delicately his fingers pluck over the strings…and I’m getting hot. The way he sings literally oozes sex, and I find myself fucking swooning like an idiot. When we finish the first run-through and he looks over at me. “Maybe me and you should sing it instead of you and Jag, huh?” He laughs.

“I’d prefer that on so many levels.”

“Hey, why don’t you try going down an octave during the bridge? I mean, it sounds good the way you’re singing it, but I wonder if it wouldn’t sound a little more tragic if you took it down, like you’re filled with pain and shit.”

I smile. “Filled with pain and…shit?”

He chuckles. “Hey, whatever works, right?”

And we start from the top, and he’s right. It sounds so much better at a lower octave. We finish the song, and I hand the guitar to him. “Thanks,” I say.

“That’s it? Just two run throughs?”

“Yeah, I’m sure you have stuff to do and,” I shrug, “I mean, the other guys aren’t here so it’s kind of pointless.”

“I don’t consider this pointless.” He takes a step toward me and I take a step back because he has this seductive smirk dancing over his lips. And those damn eyes are like the eyes of Medusa, only instead of turning you to stone they make you strip naked and spread your legs. He laughs. “God, you are so fucking awkward.”

“Thanks.” I back away another step.

“You’re welcome.” He places the guitar back in the closet and turns around. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell any of the guy’s you can actually be nice.” He winks. “I’ll tell them you were a major bitch.”

He crosses the room, sweeping his unruly hair behind his ear. All I can think about is him pinning me to the wall and kissing me, so I grab the door and open it, nearly throwing myself into the hall. “Thanks again for, you know,” I stumble into the wall, “not being a dick and all.”

He waves and I hurry down the hall and through the foyer letting myself out.

When I reach my car, I take a deep breath and try to force the thought of him and his voice, and that sexy let-me-fuck-you-into-next-week look out of my head. How the hell I am going to make it out of this unscathed, I’m not exactly sure. I just cannot, in any circumstances, ever have tequila around that man. Ever!