It’s been over a week. Nine days to be exact since Coy and Jess moved into the house. Why am I counting? Because it’s the same number of days Bedo’s had us sequestered. Someone leaked our drunken escapades from Paulo’s to TMZ. A short video clip of us staggering through the restaurant’s kitchen. Nothing too scandalous, but enough to get Bedo’s panties in a twist.

No matter, though. We’ve been practicing every day and we’re ready to hit the studio next week to wrap up the album that should already be complete. But there’s no rest for the hustlers. Tonight we’re scheduled to play a gala for the San Diego Children’s hospital. We’ve also booked a mini-press junket, all Bedo’s idea, to shed some light on our humanitarian efforts, and I hope for all our sakes we can all keep it together. The reporters will be ten times more interested in digging for dirt on the band than why we’re raising money for sick kids.

Regardless, it’ll be good to get away for the night and do something other than practice music and work out. I’ve always kept to a regular exercise routine because it’s something I need to keep me sane and healthy, but now that we’re stuck in the house, everybody else has jumped on the fitness train. I love Trent and Austin as if they were my own brothers, but I’m in need of some solo time. Which is why I woke up at six this morning and snuck out of the house for a run through the neighborhood.

I need a break from everything. To stop worrying about Iz; stop wondering whether Coy’s as good a fit as we all want him to be; stop thinking about his girlfriend when I jack off in the shower every morning. It’s completely inappropriate, but I can’t seem to quit. I blame it on those big brown eyes. They’re laced with just enough innocence they beg to be violated, but thinking about how they’d look with her lips wrapped tight around me . . . fuck. I need to stop. She’s totally off limits.

Again. Another reason why I opted for a five-mile run today over sleeping in, and shit, if these hills aren’t doing the trick. I can hardly suck in a full breath of air, let alone fantasize about gorgeous brown eyes. The muscles in my legs strain and ache to push my body back to the house. Music, angry and harsh, pulses into my ears and cheers me forward. I turn the corner, almost home, and the sound is cut short, interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call.

A glance down as I pull my cell from my pocket shows an unknown number and I consider letting it go to voicemail. Fuck it, I’m almost done. Switching my gait to a walk, I accept the call. “Hello.”

A scuff much like the rustle of fabric scratches through my wireless earbuds. Fucker. Probably time to get a new number. Someone leaked it, I’m sure. Pain in my ass. I reach for my cell to end the call but before I can, I’m stopped by a greeting I didn’t expect.

“Sean.”

“Iz!” I can’t believe it’s him. God, it’s good to hear his voice. “How are you?”

“Eh, I’m still truckin’.”

“How are things going? Rehab is good?” Fuck, that sounds stupid even to my own ears, but I’m not really sure what the protocol is here. There’s no sensitive way to ask. Reaching the house, I plug in my code to the front gate and opt for a walk around the side until I’m in the privacy of our backyard.

“They aren’t letting me get high, so, that’s a win. I guess.” His throaty chuckle brings a grin to my lips.

“That’s great.” It really is, and though I have so much more I want to ask, I’m kinda tongue-tied. Iz was always the guy in the band you could sit next to and not say much without it being uncomfortable. Now, as the silence stretches through the line, I can’t help but wonder if that was more because he was high, or how a friendship with him will be now that he’s sober.

“I’m sorry I didn’t check in sooner. Things have been . . .” The static of his exhale buzzes through my ears. “They’ve been intense. And I didn’t know whether you’d even want to hear from me.”

“Don’t say that. Of course I do. We all want to know you’re okay.” That’s a stretch, actually; I’m not sure Trent and Austin think much about Iz these days. They’re still pretty pissed off and hurt, which I’m trying to be sympathetic to. We all deal with things differently.

“I . . . uh . . . shit, man, I don’t really know how to bring this up without coming off as a selfish prick, so I’m just gonna say it.” He clears his throat with a cough. “Would you come visit?”

“Of course, Iz. Yeah.” As if there was even a doubt. “When?”

“They set up a family and friends visit tomorrow. It’s at ten.”

We have the charity gala tonight, but I think I can swing that. No all-night after party for me, but this is more important. Hell, I’m sure Bedo’ll be thrilled. “Sure, man. Count me in. Get me the address?”

“Yeah. I will. Thank you, Sean.” I can’t tell, but it almost sounds as if he’s about to cry.

It’s enough to bring moisture to my own eyes. I know he’s where he needs to be, but it’s got to be incredibly lonely. “So . . . I guess we’ll talk then?”

“Yeah . . . uh . . . I tried to call Austin and Trent. They didn’t pick up. I don’t want to put you in the middle, or cause any more problems for the band . . .” I know what he’s asking and although their avoidance isn’t surprising, it’s still a little disappointing.

Not wanting him to be discouraged, I answer with a fake enthusiasm I hope is convincing. “I’ll tell them about it.”

His chuckle says I fail miserably. “I understand if they don’t want to see me. Fuck, I don’t want to see me.”

“I can’t promise they’ll come, but I’ll pass it along.”

“Thanks, Sean.”

“Of course, man. The band, we’re family. I’m glad you’re doing well. I really am.” I say good-bye and end the call feeling much better than when I started the run. Even though it’s mid-March, Los Angeles weather is a temperamental bitch. Sweat drips down my back and off my brow from where my hair is soaked. Pocketing my cell in my shorts, I peel off my Dri-FIT long sleeved shirt and use it as a towel to wipe my face. I turn toward the pool, considering a quick dip in the hot tub, but stop short.

Oh, fuck me.

Big brown eyes follow my every move from above the top of a magazine. But that’s not what has my entire body taut with tension. No, it’s the virginal white one-piece bathing suit she wears that leaves very little to my imagination. Not that my imagination hasn’t already traced every single curve, but still, now I know for certain her body’s as banging as I thought it’d be. God, I’m such a pervert. Not moving or saying a damn word since I caught her staring.

Not like she’s moved or said a word, either. I study her with the determination of a straight A student preparing for a final exam. Knowing I won’t get to look again, I memorize everything I can, right down to the little mole on her left thigh. Shit.

“You always start your day with a little eavesdropping?” I didn’t notice her when I came into the yard, but she had to have heard every word of my call. I notice her magazine. “And celebrity tabloids?” It was meant as a joke, but my brows furrow with the realization that I know nothing about this woman. She seems sweet and innocent enough, but if she’s reading that shit . . . She could easily make a quick buck by selling insider secrets.

Her eyes widen, bigger than I thought they could, and she snaps the magazine shut, holding it over her breasts. “I thought I’d be alone out here.”

“Yeah? So what, you come out here and read about the lies of the rich and famous while tanning in a luxury backyard of a home you don’t own or pay rent on? What’s your game, Jess?” My tone is harsher than I intend, and I almost feel bad when she slinks further back into the chair.

“Game?” Her brows pull together and she shakes her head. “No game. I swear it.”

“Coy appreciate you reading that crap?” I nod to the magazine and her fingers release it as if the thing just caught on fire. I can’t imagine he does, but my words were only meant to rile her. Maybe draw out her intent, not send Jess into a ghost white panic.

Even her lips lose their color as she tucks her legs up and wraps her arms around them, placing a barrier between us. “I . . . um . . . Please, don’t . . . I’m . . .” Her words are barely audible as her entire body trembles.

Shit. I close the space between us and prop myself on the edge of the loveseat, my hand rubbing small circles at the center of her back. “Breathe. Just breathe with me. Deep breath in. Let it out.”

Thankfully she does, and color comes back to her face after a few breaths. She won’t meet my gaze, but I consider it a win that she’s not shaking anymore. I try not to ogle her body. I really do, but there is something about a woman in white fabric that pulls at the inner caveman. There’s nothing I’d like more right now than to claim her lips. Kiss that apprehension away and then use my mouth to memorize a map of every dip, valley, and curve of her gorgeous body.

“You won’t say anything?” She finally tilts her chin and meets my hungry gaze.

The magazine. Right. I also won’t be telling Coy how much I fantasize about his woman. I won’t be telling anyone that. “I won’t say a word. You’re new to all this,” I say and she nods. “So you don’t understand how apprehensive we can be about tabloids. It’s all fun and games until you’re the one they’re talking about.”

“Outfits,” she blurts and scoots over, putting a few inches of space between us.

I drop my hand from the small of her back and cock my head with a slight smile. “Come again?”

She blushes. It starts at the top of her breasts and goes up her neck to stain her cheeks. “I look at this kind of magazine for the outfits. Clothing, jewelry. You’re correct. I’m new to all of this, and I’m terrified I won’t look the part. I’m sure you’ve already guessed I don’t come from money.”

“Hey, I don’t come from money, either.” I wait until she meets my gaze again. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I just don’t want to make the band look bad.” She nibbles on the inside of her lip. It’s her nervous tic. She has no fucking clue how desirable she is, and because of that she’s even more appealing. The media, though, they’ll eat her up in a minute.

“Practice. It comes with practice. You can’t let them in.” I want to touch her again, and I know that’s wrong. I shouldn’t, but I strike a compromise with my desire and lift my hand to tap the side of her brow. My fingertips brush a few loose strands from her forehead and I tuck them back behind her ear. “Fake it ’til you make it, and maybe have Coy take you on a shopping spree. I always feel like a million bucks when my clothes play the part.”

“Oh, I don’t want to bother him with that. He’s got so much to do before tonight.”

“You don’t have a dress for tonight?” I frown because if Jess were my girl, I wouldn’t let her worry about this kind of crap. I’d give her my credit card and set her loose in Nordstrom with a personal shopper. “Borrow my car?”

“I couldn’t do that.” Her eyes go wide with alarm and I wonder why a woman like her is so opposed to a favor like that. I need to know. I want to know everything about her.

Raising a brow, I smile. “You must. I insist.”

“I can’t,” she says, and I catch her chin tremble before her lips pull wide and a laugh escapes them. “Like, I seriously can’t. I don’t drive.”

“You don’t . . . Where the fuck did you come from?” I laugh and take delight when she joins me.

“Nowhere, USA.”

“And they don’t have cars there? Still riding horses and shit?”

She shakes her head. “No. I’ve never been on a horse either.”

“Damn, girl. This really is a whole new world.”

“You don’t even know.” She sighs and for the first time since I caught her back here, she appears comfortable.

“Trent’s mom.” I smile with the idea. It’s perfect, really; she always wanted a daughter.

“Pardon?” Jess’s stare is apprehensive again.

“Deb. She’ll take you out today. We’re not heading down to San Diego until two o’clock for the gala stuff. That gives you plenty of time.”

“That’s really sweet, but I don’t have much . . .” Her voice trails off and I realize what she must mean. Money. Well, good thing I have a hefty supply.

“My treat. I insist on it.” I can sense the wariness in her eyes and I stop to consider my intentions. Fuck, yeah, I want to play the knight in shining armor. Pick her up and save the day, but it really isn’t my place. She’s not mine. However, Coy’s one of us now. He’s part of the band. Family. And family looks out for each other. Before she can open her mouth to object again, I stand up. “Pick out something to knock Coy’s socks off. Something that makes you feel like the famous girlfriend of a famous rocker. ’Cause that’s what you are now. Play the part, Jess.” I dip my head to the magazine lying open on the ground. “They’re easy to impress. They like shiny and new things.”

With that I turn and walk away before I’m tempted to say more. Before I insist on taking her shopping myself. God, what I wouldn’t do to wait while she undresses and changes into outfit after outfit. Offering her body for my approval each time. Yeah, that’s not cool and I know it, but fuck if that’s not what I get off to in the shower.

After I’ve washed away my sweat and inappropriate thoughts, I quickly dress and hunt down Trent’s mom to employ her assistance and hand over my credit card. Even she gives me a strange look. She’s right to question my motive but doesn’t refuse, and I know it’s because Jess has already won her over too.

* * *

Packed up and on the road by three, we split up into four cars for the ride down to San Diego. Trent’s staying two extra nights because Lexi’s flying into town on a short break from her solo tour. I’m happy they’re making this two-separate-rock-careers relationship work. God knows it has its challenges, but I can’t imagine a world where those two aren’t together.

Coy and Jess take off in his Chevy, but I catch Deb’s wink to Jess on their way out the door, along with the shy smile she returns. I did the right thing there. Trent’s mom and Jess were gone all morning shopping. Deb hands me back my credit card once Jess heads out with Coy, then gives me a hug, assuring me I’m a good man. A twinge of guilt, because my motivation isn’t one hundred percent altruistic, but if the end result brings Jess a little extra confidence tonight, that’s enough for me.

Austin’s up to God knows what, claiming he needs to drive his own car to the event. I don’t ask because honestly, I’m good with the space. It’s surprisingly therapeutic to crank the tunes, windows down, while we caravan along the highway. Tonight’s gala is at The US Grant, and we’ve all booked rooms to stay the night. No curfew or house arrest tonight!

But it’s not play time yet. As soon as we arrive, we’re given instructions to haul ass to one of the conference rooms for the interviews with local media that Bedo booked for us. It’s only then, in the elevator with Austin, Trent, and Coy that I remember the phone call from this morning.

“Hey, I forgot to mention. I talked to Iz today.” I clear my throat and prepare for the hate-er-ade.

Trent’s lips pinch together with disapproval and Coy’s brows narrow from beneath his shades.

“Why the fuck are you still talking to him?” Austin furrows his brow.

I knew they’d react like this, but frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Iz was a part of this band, so they can be irritated all they want. “He called. I thought you might like to know.”

“That’s great.” Trent says, but not like he means it.

“Dude, I’m standing the fuck here.” Coy scoffs and throws up his hands.

I almost roll my eyes at his mini-tantrum. Just because he’s the new drummer doesn’t translate to cutting off all contact with our former one. I ignore them all and watch the numbers count down from the top floor. I should keep my mouth shut. I get that they’re still angry, but when are they gonna let it go? It’s not as if we didn’t play a part in his addiction, looking the other way for almost a solid year. “He’s sorry.”

The elevator doors part and Trent reaches out to push the button to close them again. He twists around and blocks the exit with his body before any of us can escape. “That’s nice, Sean, but we’re about to go into an interview. With our brand new drummer. This maybe isn’t the best time and place to discuss this. Yeah?”

This time I do roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I’m not exactly sure there’s ever a good time to have this conversation.

“Not whatever.” Trent says it like a warning. He glances around and gives each of us a pointed glare before the elevator doors slide open again. He takes one step backward so he’s between them. “We only look forward. That clear? Only forward.”

I give a curt nod, even though I’m not sure we need to cut Iz out completely. That seems harsh and unnecessary. But it’s clear by looking around at my friends that I’m the only one who feels this way. No matter. They don’t have to make peace with what happened with Iz. I do.