Over the course of the afternoon we travel from one station to the next, hitting up five different interviews. At first I feel completely useless, along for no purpose other than to give the guys some sort of entourage. But mid-afternoon that changes when I get bored and pull out my phone to snap photos. With my top-of-the-line cell phone, I’m equipped with all the best filters and technology, and even I have to admit the photos almost appear professional.

Between interviews I show Trent.

“Wow.” His eyes widen as he flips through the photo album. “Wait. Can you post these on my social media accounts?”

“Of course.” His praise is the best kind of compliment. “Oh, and the executives from that distillery emailed again. They want to set up a conference call to discuss your involvement as a spokesperson.”

“Cool. Set it up for next week. Just make sure it’s when we’re scheduled to be on the road. Off Track has us booked solid almost every stop this tour.”

“You got it, boss.” I like this. My work actually means something. Sure, I’m setting appointments and organizing his calendar. But it’s important and purposeful. I tap on one of the icons, and schedule a reminder to contact the distillery. “Oh, one more question. I saw tomorrow we’re scheduled for a full stop, but there’s no show that night. What does that mean?”

“They build those days into the tour, usually along longer routes. Our driver stops to sleep for the day and we get to play hookie.” He meets my stare and when I don’t say anything he chuckles and raises his brows. “It’s a day off.” He bumps my elbow with his, just as the radio host for our next interview steps into the room.

“Oh, cool,” I mumble before he struts over to greet the DJ. A day to myself. Cool. But at the same time not. I don’t know what exactly a day off feels like. Or what I should do. Hopefully I can hang on the bus, but if not I’ll find some way to pass the time out of everyone’s way. A diner? Coffee shop maybe?

Out of the blue, a pang of homesickness hits me. Not for Destin, but for the way things were. What I wouldn’t give to be able to go home and visit Grams, sit down with her for a glass of sweet tea, or pick up the phone to give her a call. I’ve been doing a good job of not thinking too much, or longing for what can never be, but moments like these stop me right in my tracks. The sadness is as deep and aching as it was that first week she passed.

“Opal?”

I lift my chin to find Leighton holding the door open and everyone else gone from the room. Crap. I can’t get lost in my head right now. I need to focus on my job today, and be sad tomorrow. I force a smile and slide the strap of my bag onto my shoulder.

I expect him to smile back. To say something or make a joke, but he doesn’t quite meet my gaze. I pass through the doorway and his stare drops to the floor, wordlessly leading the way to one of the recording studios a few yards away.

Leighton’s been off since we arrived at the first interview. His carefree manner is wound tight and I don’t think it’s from the new glasses. Not that anyone else notices. They’re too caught up in playing their parts. Trent the charmer takes the lead in each interview like a seasoned pro. Austin has his dirty jokes. He’s shameless, and each time he opens his mouth I have to look away. Even without a mirror I know for certain my skin blotches with a deep blush. Sean the stoic man of muscle surprises reporters with his heartfelt answers. And Leighton, he’s the center of interest.

Maybe that’s what’s bothering him? I would hate to be badgered with personal questions about how he earned his place. Everyone is fascinated by the newest member of Three Ugly Guys. I don’t blame them. My own interest piques with each question and answer.

Where did you grow up? Who taught you to play? Musical inspiration. In each interview I learn a little something more about this talented man.

Best thing about being on the road with Three Ugly Guys? Of course Austin interrupts by shouting “women,” which leads to a twenty-minute debate between him and the DJ about different cities and their per capita ratios of beautiful women.

Aren’t you kind of young? Leighton’s jaw clenches with this question; it’s been asked at every single interview.

Who did you blow to get this audition? Someone actually asked that! Seriously, some DJs have no shame when it comes to ratings.

I step into this next recording room and find a chair out of the way to settle in for the interview. I pull out my cell and post a few of the photos I took to Trent’s social media accounts. It distracts me from most of the interview, but I can’t help but tune back in once I’m done.

“Girlfriends. Are we allowed to talk relationships?” the DJ asks.

Austin blanches and his efforts are rewarded with laughter.

Trent holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m happily off the market and take every opportunity to discuss my love for one Lexi Marx.”

“Yeah, they’re taping now, right? So, does this mean we’ll get an added bonus with her reality special?” the DJ presses. “An inside look at 3UG maybe?”

Trent shakes his head. “No way. The special is all her. They’re actually wrapping up along with her tour and I cannot wait to have my woman back in my arms. T minus thirteen days.”

“Us, too. He’s a lovesick pain in the ass without her.” Austin rolls his eyes, but by the smile in his voice, I don’t think he really minds.

“What about you, Sean? We haven’t seen much from you since your backyard adventures went viral.” He’s referring to the X-rated photos of Sean and Jess, and as Austin clued me in, the catalyst for kicking their former drummer out of the band.

“Yeah.” Sean’s jaw clenches back and forth. “Amazing that a breach of security is an acceptable and celebrated practice in today’s world.”

“What about your fans? They support your music. They want to know everything about your lives. Don’t you think this kind of comes with the territory?” Oh, this guy has balls. That or he’s trying to get a rise out of Sean.

“They wanna know whether I’d rather eat pancakes or waffles? It’s waffles, by the way. Or my exercise routine? Sure. But when it gets to the point that someone’s photographing me and my girlfriend while we’re in the privacy of our backyard, and it’s rewarded with a fat check?” Sean blows out a harsh breath, and his jaw knots with anger. “I think it’s taking things too fucking far.”

By the DJ’s nervous expression, he wasn’t completely prepared for Sean’s rant. Trent’s jaw ticks as if he’d like to say something, but doesn’t.

Leighton studies the floor with an almost bored expression. Seriously, what gives with him today?

“Send the photogs my way instead.” Austin breaks the tension. He reaches behind his back, grabbing the collar and pulling off his shirt. Dear Lord.

The DJ barks out a laugh. “Uh, you do know this is a radio show, right? We don’t have cameras in here.”

Austin’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Yeah, well, one can never be too prepared.”

“For all you listeners, Austin Jones has removed his shirt right here in the studios of SLAM 96.7.” His board lights up with incoming calls. The disc jockey claps and he’s practically giddy. He points to the rest of the guys. “You all don’t seem one bit shocked about your friend getting naked.”

“It’s more surprising he didn’t start with the pants,” Sean deadpans.

The DJ raises his brow. “Kinky.”

“You have no idea.” Austin winks, flexing his arms and folding them across his chest. His tattoos pop under the lighting above. I could stare all day. His eyes find mine.

Busted. I glance back at my phone and pretend to do something important, but I can feel the heat that floods my cheeks. I can’t help it. He’s ridiculously gorgeous in that bad boy rock star way.

“That’s it, I need a selfie. Social proof we’re not making this up.” The DJ hops off his seat and poses with Austin for a second before finding his place in front of the mic again. “Okay, back to business. We only have a few minutes left so we’re gonna do a lightning round. The only rule? One word answers. No explanation.”

The guys nod, and a trace of entertainment plays in the air. I don’t blame them. After a day of the exact same questions, this format is refreshing.

“What’s something you hate?” The DJ glances up from the paper in front of him.

“Rules.” Austin flashes a wicked smile.

Sean leans back in his chair. “Shellfish.”

Trent leans forward, his elbows on the counter. “Liars.”

Leighton winces. “Losing.”

“Favorite sex position?”

“Fifth.” Sean answers first.

The DJ’s brow scrunches. “What’s that? I haven’t heard of fifth.”

“That’s what I’m pleading.”

Everyone laughs.

“Cowgirl,” Trent says and then lets loose a chuckle that causes me to look away. I do not need specifics on how my sister and her man get it on.

“All of them.” Austin grins.

“That’s three words.” The DJ raises his brows.

Austin shrugs. “Remember, I hate rules.”

Leighton taps his fingers against his knee at a frantic pace, but doesn’t move to open his mouth.

“Still need your answer, Leighton.”

“Come on, kid. No going green on us now. That is, unless you’re still a virgin,” Austin goads and it’s enough to draw a reaction.

Leighton flips him the bird, lifts his gaze to the DJ and leans into the mic. “Doggie.”

“Don’t we all, kid.” The DJ laughs. “Okay, last one. What’s something you’ve never had, and always wanted?”

“My own island.” Austin really doesn’t play by the rules.

“A wife,” Sean says through a smile. He’s totally smitten, and my inner romantic swoons at his sincerity.

Trent runs a hand through his hair, tucking the longer locks behind his ears. His gaze is somber. “A father.”

This time Leighton’s ready. “Love.” His answer flies from his lips with conviction. That one word rumbles from his chest and it’s enough to grip my heart, pull the strings, and strike a chord within my soul. In one word he detonates any good sense I had to guard my heart, because what he wants? I desperately want it, too. To be loved, and to love. To belong and to be desired. To be tethered to this world in something more than a passing moment.

And for one crazy second I wonder whether I might be the one to give it to him.