I was going to get to Boston if it killed me.

Leaving the girls and the wine (but packing some donuts for the road) I managed to get Ruthie out of storage, and in no time, I was driving her out of the city, music blasting on the stereo.

I drove like a bat out of hell—fueled by sugar, Bowie, and a newfound motivation. This article was going to be good—I was going to make sure of it. And it was going to be so good that Richard was going to give me an opportunity to write more profiles. No more Top 10 Enemas for an Inner Glow assignments for me.

I arrived in downtown Boston with less than ten minutes to spare. The location that Austin had sent me to ended up being a small club, but there was already a large crowd out front. I valeted Ruthie, making sure to pocket the receipt. I was going to make sure that all of this was going to be paid for by ChatBuzz.

At first, I couldn’t figure out why Austin had sent me here. The name on the marquee was a musician I didn’t recognize—was he performing under an alias now? Then, I heard snippets of conversations as I headed towards the bouncer at the front of the line.

“He’s totally here,” someone was saying.

“It could just be a rumor,” their friend responded. “After all, you read about it on Twitter.”

“No, Austin James is definitely here,” the first person said confidently. “I heard from my friend Becky who heard it from her boyfriend’s second cousin that he’s going to be playing a set tonight.”

“His new stuff?” the friend asked, sounding excited.

It was met with a shrug. “Who knows?” the first person responded. “No one’s heard anything. I bet it doesn’t even exist.”

I pushed forward towards the bouncer, checking my purse and pockets for my ChatBuzz badge. Of course, it was nowhere to be seen. Dammit.

“I’m here with the band,” I told the bouncer but he just frowned at me.

“You and everyone else,” he responded.

“No, but I was invited by Austin,” I argued.

“Are you on the list?” he pulled out a clipboard.

I gave him my name but of course, it wasn’t on there.

“Sorry,” he said, crossing his enormous arms. “I can’t let you through.”

“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind him and the bouncer moved aside to reveal a petite young woman with multi-colored hair wearing a badass pair of boots. She looked like she didn’t take shit from anyone. I liked her immediately.

“Are you Mia?” she asked me.

I nodded, and she stuck out her hand. “Great,” she said. “I’m Zoey—Austin’s manager.” She gave the bouncer a gentle nudge. “She’s with me, Phil.”

“Nice to meet you in person,” I said as I was let into the club.

“Likewise,” she told me, as we headed towards the back. “Though, I have to apologize.”

“For what?”

She gave me a look. “For how Austin has been acting,” she said. “I heard that he’s not being very cooperative with the interview. He can be such an ass sometimes.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible to love a stranger, but I was pretty much halfway in love with Zoey.

“He can totally be an ass,” I agreed. “But it’s fine. I’ve cracked tougher nuts than him.”

We headed backstage, passing by roadies and fans, heading deeper and deeper into the building. Finally we reached Austin’s dressing room, aka an empty closet furnished with a couple of chairs and a case of beer. It was a swarm of people, but all of them seemed to be waiting on Austin. He didn’t even look up when Zoey and I entered.

“Sorry,” she said to me. “We have to deal with some business stuff first.”

She pushed through the crowd to get to his side. When she did, he gave her a smile. It was one of his genuine smiles, and I felt a tiny stab of jealousy, mainly because so far I had only been gifted with his “I’m a badass rock star” smile, which showed off his straight, perfect teeth, but was the same smile that he gave his millions of anonymous fans.

He returned his attention to the papers in his hands, both which seemed to be artwork for his album or something else related to it.

“Which do you like better?” he asked Zoey.

She looked for a moment and pointed at the left image. Austin nodded and handed it to one of the people hovering around him. Slowly and carefully, he went through the line of people waiting for him, giving each of their tasks the proper time and attention they deserved.

Even though the room was crowded, and Austin was acting like his charming rock star self, there was a sense of seriousness to what he was doing. He cared about the work. He cared about his image. Not that it surprised me that much. I knew that he was serious about his music—it had just been a while since I had seen it firsthand. It was annoyingly sexy.

I resisted pulling out my notebook and taking notes.

Just then, Austin glanced up and saw me.

I walked over to him, feeling pretty smug that I had managed to get here on time.

But before I could act on that smugness, Austin gave me a slow once-over.

“Nice outfit,” he said.

Dammit.

I had completely forgotten to change after work, and therefore was wearing my very nice, work-appropriate clothes—a pair of jeans, flats and a nice blouse. All of which looked totally ridiculous—and very uncool—in our current setting. No wonder the bouncer hadn’t wanted to let me in.

“Someone didn’t give me much warning,” I snapped at him.

Why did I always feel like I was on the defensive with him?

“You look great,” he said, with a teasing note in his voice. “Very librarian-chic.”

I glared at him.

Before we could get into it, though, a tall lanky dude ambled over to us. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He also looked as much of a badass as Zoey did, which made my unintentional normcore outfit seem all the more out of place. He wore a sleeveless shirt—somehow managing to make it look cool and effortless, a feat that was probably due to the gorgeous and intricate tattoos snaking up and down both of his arms. The rest of his outfit was all black—black jeans, black boots, black belt. His hair was long and shaggy, lazily pulled back into a bun, while his hands were occupied by a pair of drumsticks, which he was casually drumming against his leg.

When I saw them, I realized where I knew him from—he was the drummer from Austin’s old band. Unlike Austin, who had been thrust into the center of attention just by being the lead singer and guitarist, and Danny, the bassist, who had grabbed the spotlight whenever he had a chance, their drummer had remained fairly unnoticed by the press. In fact, I couldn’t remember seeing a single story about him during my research today.

“Dude,” he said, drumming gently on Austin’s shoulder before glancing up at me. “Hey.” He gave me the standard cool-guy head nod as a greeting.

“Royce, this is Mia,” Austin made the introductions. “Mia, this is Royce, our—”

“Drummer,” I finished for him, reaching out and shaking Royce’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Big fan of your work. The beat in ‘Juniper Drive’ is one of my favorites.”

Royce’s eyebrows went up, and I could see the quick, silent exchange that occurred between him and Austin.

“She’s a music nerd,” Austin said as an explanation.

“Rad,” Royce responded before turning back to Austin. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got some questions about the line-up.”

“Sure,” Austin said, glancing over at me. “Here.” He dug something out of his bag and tossed it to me.

It was a pass to watch the show backstage. I took it, even though I knew I was going to watch from the audience. In my opinion, it was the only way to experience a show. I wanted to get the crowd’s reaction and fully immerse myself.

It was clear that Austin and Royce had work to do, so I bowed out of the conversation gracefully and headed to the other side of the room where Zoey was talking to one of the roadies. If she was his manager, she was a perfect source for some background stories, details for my profile.

“So,” I started, trying to sound casual. “How do you like working for Austin?”

She looked at me and laughed. “He told me you were relentless,” she said.

“He would,” I sighed.

“He meant it in a good way,” Zoey added quickly. “I think.” She glanced over at Austin. “He appreciates ambition. At least, that’s the impression I got when he hired me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, wanting so badly to take out my phone, but I knew that it was better to get people to warm up to me before I pulled out my recorder.

“Well, I was just an assistant with Method of Madness,” Zoey told me. “Which made sense—I was just out of college and just wanted to work where the music was. Still, Austin gave me a chance there, and then when he decided to go solo, he offered me the opportunity to manage him.”

“And you like it?”

Zoey laughed. “I love it. Being a woman in the industry, when you find someone who has your back, you stick with them,” she added. “Austin doesn’t take any crap on his tours—for him or anyone else.”

I was surprised. I always knew that Austin was ambitious himself—that he was focused and talented and driven—but it was a nice surprise to know that he encouraged and rewarded that in others.

Zoey checked her watch.

“Show should be starting soon,” she said. “If you want to head to the stage with me.”

“I’m going to watch from the audience,” I told her. “Get a feel for the scene.”

“See you later then.”

There were so many things I wanted to ask her—mainly regarding what had happened between Danny and Austin. There were plenty of rumors to go around—both of them being divas, both of them wanting the spotlight, both of them feeling underappreciated. There were stories about how they’d slept with each other’s girlfriends or groupies or whatever. I found it hard to believe most of the rumors, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to know the truth.

Before I left the VIP room, I cast one last look in Austin’s direction. He was still working with Royce, both of their heads bent over the set list. He looked completely focused, completely lost in the work. Annoyingly, my body responded, getting hot and tingly. Austin was hot—a focused, driven Austin was even hotter.

But he had always been that way. And it had been one of the things I had admired about him.

I headed out into the club and found a spot up front in the pit. It was a lot of dudes, but there was one young woman about my age up near the stage. I moved towards her, unable to take my eyes off of the beautiful leather jacket she was wearing. It was old and worn and definitely had seen quite a few rock shows.

“Nice jacket,” I told her.

She turned and smiled at me. “Thanks,” she said, her green eyes sparkling.

She was pretty and petite—even shorter than I was—her red hair pulled back in a loose braid, and her eyes done up in a wicked good cat-eye with some sort of glittery eyeliner. Underneath the jacket, she was wearing a flowy red dress that gave her a Stevie Nicks vibe. She didn’t look like most of the crowd—everyone else seemed to be wearing black—but she definitely looked like she belonged.

“I like your shoes,” she told me.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure this whole outfit is making everyone here think I’m a narc or something.”

She laughed, and then shrugged off her jacket, and handed it to me.

“Here,” she said. “I think you look great, but I know what you mean about standing out. Sometimes it’s not that much fun.”

I looked at the beautiful jacket she was holding out. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I promise I won’t steal it.”

“Sure,” she said, pushing it at me. “It will look great on you.”

I shrugged it on. It was soft as butter. I sighed happily.

“Thank you,” I said, reaching out a hand. “I’m Mia.”

“Molly,” she responded. “Always nice to see another girl in the pit,” she told me.

If I hadn’t liked her already, that would have done it.

“Totally,” I said. “Female solidarity and all that.”

“Exactly,” she grinned.

Before I could ask her if she was here for Austin or for the other musician, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered. Molly included. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she let out a loud whoop, the volume surprising for such a small person.

Then, without any introduction, Austin and Royce rocked out on stage. The audience went wild. Molly put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Immediately, Austin’s eyes went to the spot where we were, and he grinned.

Guess I didn’t need to ask who Molly was there to see.

I felt a twinge of jealousy, and I hated it. In the five minutes that I had known Molly, she had already proven herself to be a quality person, and it was stupid of me to feel jealous towards her—especially in the case of Austin, someone I didn’t want to be thinking about at all. So I pushed those jealous feelings aside, and turned my attention to the stage. To the job I had been sent here to do.

Austin settled himself on a stool at the center of the stage, his acoustic guitar resting on his knee. Royce took his seat behind his drum set, looking completely unphased by the crowd that was cheering and chanting Austin’s name.

“Good evening, Boston,” Austin said, his voice low and calm. “I know a lot of you are here to see the talented musician I’m opening for—”

“No we’re not!” someone shouted from the audience.

“Well, you should stick around,” Austin told them. “Because they’re going to blow your mind.” He took out a pick and strummed his guitar. “But either way, I hope you’ll indulge me a few minutes of stage time.”

“Take all the time you want!” someone else shouted.

Austin smiled and my stomach did an annoying little leap. Dammit, why did he have to be so cute and charming? Not to mention talented, as was made abundantly clear when he launched into a slow, acoustic version of one of Method of Madness’ first singles: “Sara, Sara.”

It was a great song, and this version really put the emphasis on the lyrics, which were amazing. Soon, the whole audience was singing along. I glanced over at Molly, thinking she’d be doing the same thing, but instead, she was holding her clasped hands to her chest, her eyes nearly brimming with tears.

“Sara, Sara” wasn’t really a sad song, so I didn’t fully understand Molly’s reaction, but when it was over, she wiped her tears away and hollered and clapped with the rest of the crowd.

The set was amazing. Austin and Royce did a few more acoustic versions of Method of Madness songs. It was clear that everyone was hoping to hear some of his new music, but when the set ended without it, no one seemed disappointed. In fact, the energy in the room was that of awe and excitement.

And I was right there with them. I had forgotten how exhilarating a show like this could be, and Austin was simply magnetic on stage. Even though I had written him off as a player and a jerk in college, the music nerd in me hadn’t been able to resist going to a few more of his shows. And then, just like now, he had completely captured the room.

It was a little different now, though. There was something about Austin, about his performance, that was new. A new sort of maturity, or comfort in his own skin. He seemed completely at home on stage—which he always had—but now it felt like he was taking the time to savor it, to enjoy it. And the audience was doing the same. It was an experience we were all sharing together. And it was magical.

“Want to head backstage?” Molly asked, after his set finished.

“You know the band?” I was surprised.

She smiled. “A little,” she told me. “Come on, I can get you in.”

I held up my pass. “Actually, I’m invited as well.”

Molly’s smile wavered for a moment as she read my badge—most likely the part that declared I was press—but she quickly recovered and linked her arm through mine.

“Great,” she said. “Let’s go.”

---

There was nothing like the energy backstage after a successful show. Everyone was smiling and congratulating Austin and Royce. When Molly and I entered, Austin’s eyes immediately went to us. I saw him take in the fact that I was wearing Molly’s jacket, and I searched his face for any clues about how he knew Molly, and what their relationship was. But he was as inscrutable as ever as he came towards us.

“Nice jacket,” he told me before sweeping Molly up in a hug that lifted her off her feet.

Maybe I was just being hopeful, but it seemed more like the kind of greeting Luke and I would give each other, rather than two people who were having wild, passionate sex any chance they got.

“Great show!” Molly said once her feet were back on the ground.

Austin beamed at her. “Thanks,” he said.

“Loved the opening number,” she added with a wink.

Clearly there was something going on here that I didn’t understand. I desperately wanted to ask—purely for journalistic reasons, of course—but I sensed that this wasn’t the time or the place to dig deep into whatever pas—or present—Molly and Austin shared.

He glanced over at me.

“What did you think?” he asked.

“It was fantastic,” I told him honestly, surprising myself.

His eyebrows went up. Apparently he had been expecting something sarcastic or dismissive—the kind of answer I probably should have given. But the smile that followed made me glad that I had told him the truth.

“Thank you,” he said, and it seemed, for a moment, that the rest of the room—all the noise and chaos and people—all just faded away. It was just me and him.

Molly cleared her throat, and the moment was broken.

“I’m going to go say hi to Royce,” she said.

Before she could go, I made sure to give her back her jacket.

“Thanks for the loaner,” I told her.

“Anytime, narc,” she teased before bounding over to Royce, who gave her a greeting similar to the one that Austin had given her.

“So, you met Molly,” Austin said. There was something cautious in his voice. Curious.

“Yep.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “She’s nice.”

“She is,” he said, and I could tell he was waiting for me to say more. I didn’t. It was nice to catch him off guard once in a while.

“So.” I rocked back on my heels. “No new music.”

Austin shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Will we get a warning when to expect the new music?” I asked.

“Are you asking for you or for ChatBuzz?” he wanted to know.

“Just assume that everything I’m asking is for ChatBuzz,” I responded. “They’re the only reason I’m here.”

Austin gave me a long look. The kind that had my toes curling in my floral flats and my heart beating in my chest.

“Are you sure that’s the only reason?” he asked.

“No, I guess not. There is one other reason I’m here,” I said, gesturing for him to lean towards me. He did, and I lowered my voice to a husky whisper. “I’ve always wanted to bang a drummer. Is Royce single? I was hoping you could make it happen for me.”

Austin pulled back, and for a moment I couldn’t decipher the expression on his face. Had I gone too far?

“Naw,” he finally said, smiling. “Drummers aren’t your type.”

My eyebrows went up. “Oh? And you know what my type is?”

He gave me a long, lingering look. “Oh yeah,” he said. “I know exactly what your type is.”

“I doubt it.”

He sidled up next to me. Even though the room was crowded, we were pretty much alone in the corner. His shoulder brushed against mine and every single nerve in my body stood up and paid attention.

“Your type is tall,” Austin said.

“Royce is tall,” I reminded him.

“He’s a human beanpole,” he pointed out.

“Maybe I like skinny guys,” I teased, even though I didn’t.

“Nope,” he said. “You like a guy whose strong enough to pick you up.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?” I laughed, even as my brain was working overtime imagining Austin picking me up and putting me on a table, a counter, a speaker, and stepping between my legs, pressing himself against me. I could still remember how he had felt, how his hips had leaned into mine in the most enticing way.

“You’re just the right size,” Austin told me, his voice husky.

The room felt very, very hot.

“So my type is tall and strong,” I somehow managed.

“And not a drummer,” Austin added.

“Why not?” I asked. “I’ve heard they’re good with their hands.”

“Not as good as guitarists,” he countered with a devilish look on his face.

Oh boy. This was getting dangerous fast. Austin was close enough that if I wanted to, I could just turn my head and our mouths would meet. And I really, really wanted to.

Just then, as I was considering turning my head, one of the roadies called out to him.

“Hey, Austin,” he shouted. “What do you want me to do with the groupies lined up outside to meet you? Send them in single file or in twos?” he asked with a dirty leer.

It was as good as a bucket of cold water.

I jerked away from Austin. How could I have forgotten the kind of guy he was? Sure, he was talented, but he was still a player, through and through.

“I should go,” I said, backing away.

“It was a joke,” he told me, but he wasn’t smiling.

“Ha, ha, ha.” I turned to go. “So funny.”

“Wait! You’re really leaving?” Austin looked surprised.

“I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.”

“You can’t drive back to the city tonight,” he told me.

“Watch me.”

Then, before he could stop me, I headed towards the door and fought my way through to the exit. Outside, the air was crisp and cool, and I looked around, trying to spot Ruthie in the parking lot.

“Mia, wait,” Austin’s voice came from behind me, and then his hand was grabbing my arm.

I whirled to face him. “What?” I demanded, my stress exploding. “This all might be a game to you, but I’m trying to do my job. And as you’ve so kindly pointed out to me, I’m not doing exactly what I was hoping to do at this point in my life. The last thing I need right now is some player rock star trying to make everything into a joke. If you want to feel like a big-shot by snapping your fingers and having me come running, then fine. Get it out of your system. All I want is to get this interview—and this assignment—over with, so I can go back to my life. Is that OK with you?”

My voice had gotten louder and louder, but we were alone in the parking lot, no one but Austin listening as I unloaded onto him. Because yes, I was mad at him, but I was mostly mad at myself. Mad at myself for wanting what I couldn’t have, despite knowing better.

“Are you finished?” Austin asked calmly.

I stood, breathing hard. I could feel that my face was flushed, burning hot in the cool spring night air. “For now.”

“You’ve changed,” he finally said.

“How?” I demanded. “Because I’m actually standing up for myself?” I pushed the hair out of my face. “Fine. Maybe I have changed. But so have you. You’re nothing like the guy I used to know.”

“Don’t say that,” Austin said, his voice quiet. “Some things are the same.”

“Oh yeah?” I demanded. “Show me one thing that’s the same.”

And then, without warning, he kissed me.