Checking cellphone messages from Krissy, who’s spending some quality time with Monica in the city, Mike walks into my dressing room. “Big one tonight, man. Just three nights to go.”

I nod idly; too busy responding to Krissy’s latest kinky message.

“Can’t believe we’ve gone all the way to San Francisco and back without a single drama,” he says.

Mike starts searching through some travel bags that rest against a small amp case. “What are you looking for?” I ask him.

He mumbles to himself.

“Mike?”

“Ah, here the little bastards are.” Turning on his heel, he holds up some drum sticks. “My lucky pair.”

“We don’t need luck.”

“I do. Every time we play San Diego I bump into Sally.” He smirks. “I’m wearing my lucky boxer shorts, too.”

I snigger. “Not still chasing after her, are you?”

“Hey, I’m not drowning in pussy like you . . . look at me, three hundred pounds over here.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re in the biggest rock band in the world. You got no trouble.”

“I’m the drummer, remember?”

“So?’

“So, drummers don’t get noticed. When people talk about the Beatles they talk about John and Paul . . . George at a push.”

“Ringo’s cool.”

He frowns. “Yellow Submarine?”

“Point taken. Why her though? You’re still famous. You could take your pick.”

He starts over to me, stretching out the drum sticks in his hand. “She’s the one I’m telling you.”

I laugh.

“Maybe I’m mad for thinking it,” he says. “But I’m gonna marry that girl. You just watch.”

He pushes in for a man-hug, patting me on the back. “Have a good show.”

“You too, buddy.”

My phone beeps. Mike pulls back and looks down at my jean pocket. “Krissy?”

I fish out my phone. “Oh yeah.”

“You sure you want to stick to just one girl?”

I stare at Mike dead in the eye. “For the first time ever . . . yes.”

“Fair enough.” He smiles. “I’m just glad to see you happy again.”

We both walk out of my dressing room and see the rest of the band spill out from the one next door. As standard, we come together to form a tight circle. We’re a gang—arms linked, saying a prayer for another gig we’re going to smash out the park.

The crowd roars.

That’s our sign. It’s show time.

This is fun again . . . all thanks to my Krissy.

* * *

Rolling down the corridor backstage, the band all laugh and cheer. A line of beautiful girls hang off each member of the band’s arms. Bottles of beer and champagne are held high. For the first time in months, almost years, I’m celebrating with them.

Scott digs me in the arm, as some nameless red-head chews on his ear lobe. He motions me inside the band’s dressing room, looking over at two hot blondies who make themselves comfortable. “Twins . . . you coming?”

I shake my head. No way am I fucking things up now. Krissy is all I can think about.

* * *

Away from trouble, I shut my dressing room door. My phone sits on the armrest of a leather couch in the middle of the room.

I scoop it up.

Rude messages await, one telling me I should expect a surprise. I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to see her again. My balls are fit to burst. I don’t follow the girls into town, though. I’m the rock star here; a little distance helps create mystery, anticipation.

Whipping off my t-shirt, I start over to the dressing table. As I reach into the usual bucket of booze, something catches me off guard. Leaning against the mirror is a glass vase full of roses.

I hate flowers but smile—weird, but thoughtful.

Just as I inspect them, the dressing room door swings open. I turn my head. “Krissy!”

“Missed me?”

“What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” She props herself against the door frame. Her thumbs are hooked on the belt of her slim-cut black velvet pants. She’s wearing a tight, lime-green halter top and her dark brown hair is straight ironed and draped over her supple shoulders. She looks so damn fuckable. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans in an instant.

“Well,” I say, slowly creeping toward her. “You’re just full of surprises, tonight.”

Her brows meet. “What do you mean?”

I jerk my head toward the vase on the table. “Them. Isn’t it supposed to be a guy’s job . . . buying flowers for his woman?”

She laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I take her wrist and pull her in close. Her perfume is crazy sweet, like lush nectar to a bee. “Don’t mess with me, Krissy, or I may have to spank you.”

Her lips curl up and she raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You’re cute but I still don’t know what you mean.”

“The roses,” I gesture to them again. “Thanks . . . but a little too girly for me, angel.”

“I didn’t buy them.”

My jaw opens to say something else, but I fall short of speaking. Instead, I pace over to the vase.

“Looks like you have a secret admirer,” she says.

Inside, a piece of paper is nestled between two stems. It’s half-submerged in water. I take it out and unfold it.

My heart sinks when I read what’s written.

“Jay?”

I don’t answer. Trying to compose myself, I feel Krissy’s hands glide over my shoulders from behind. Spinning around, I push her to the wall with measured force. Her face stretches in shock. “Jay, what’s—”

I don’t let her finish. I crush my mouth to hers, craving that sugary taste from her sweet lips. Ripping at her clothes, I’m crazed—a whole different level to the man I’m sure she thought she knew. I want to feel her, drive myself deep inside. Her tight body, her smell . . . the way her lips move with mine.

It doesn’t take long before I’m spreading her pussy lips apart and digging in. As she moans and writhes, I pull down my jeans. I want her to see how hard I am for her. My god, she’s like an addiction. I kiss and suck on every part of her exposed flesh. She tastes like honey and milk.

No.

Damn it . . . NO!

Fighting every flicker of burning compulsion that runs through me, I pull away.

“I want you out,” I tell her. Just like that—ice-cold.

She starts to protest but I don’t listen. Grabbing her arm, I drag her toward the door.

She kicks and fights but I soon get her out.

Slamming the door shut in her face, I hold it closed. I don’t want to see those pretty eyes of hers beg with me. I couldn’t bear it. This hurts, but the consequences will hurt so much more if I don’t save her from me. She’s banging on the door, raving and crying.

This has gone too far. I can’t have her involved. It’s a bitter medicine to swallow but it has to be this way.

Through the breeze block walls that divide the dressing rooms, I hear the band party away. I wait for a moment, listening out for Krissy. When I’m sure she’s disappeared, I send a text to Mike. He’s the only one who can help; the only one in the band who knows the shit I’ve been through.