Category 5 fans everywhere should be rejoicing today! Charlie Stone, one of the five-member crew, has confirmed that the band will be reuniting for an intensive worldwide tour to begin early next year, with a brand-new album to follow. The five haven’t performed together since their contentious split ten years ago, but Stone says all bridges have been mended and the boys are eager to get back on the road.

My hand clenches as I read the article on my laptop’s screen again. “This is bullshit, Terry. Total bullshit. And Charlie knows it too.”

Terry Ramsey’s voice crackles out of my phone. These days the head of my management team is on vacation more often than he’s not. I think he’s out in the West Indies or something at the moment. Of course he would be when this fuckery is going down.

“But you did have lunch with the reporter,” he says.

“I left early. I didn’t confirm anything about a reunion while I was there. And I told Charlie I wasn’t interested in any re-launch. He can’t make decisions like that for the entire band.”

“No,” Terry agrees. “But you’re going to disappoint a lot of people if you back out now.”

“It wouldn’t be backing out when I never said I was doing it in the first place.” I tug at the sleeves of my suit—my favorite, but right now it’s feeling uncomfortably stiff. I’m supposed to be picking up Maggie for her reunion—the only kind I want to be involved with—in fifteen minutes. My surprise is already waiting downstairs. So Charlie is not only managing to fuck everything up, but with incredible timing too.

“Are you sure it would be such a bad thing?” Terry presses. “We could have them scale back—a smaller tour, just an EP instead of a full album—”

“No.” He just cares about getting a fatter check with his cut. The buzzer for the front door goes off. I stalk over. “You don’t have a contract, so as far as I’m concerned, this doesn’t exist. Hold on.”

I press the intercom button. Charlie’s voice carries up from the lobby below.

“Hey, Drew. I got your message, figured since I was in the area I’d just stop by. Always better to talk in person, right?”

I’m not so sure about that. I’d rather punch him than talk at this point. But I grit my teeth and buzz him in.

“Charlie’s here,” I tell Terry. “I’ll see if I can get anywhere with him. You start figuring out my best options for getting distance from this story.”

“Drew,” Terry says, slickly soothing, “take some deep breaths, hear Charlie out, and really think about it. A lot of good could come from this for everyone. If you’re still against it after you’ve slept on it, give me another call in the morning and you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

He hangs up before I can tell him where to stuff his deep breaths.

Charlie has his hands up when I open the door, as if he knows what’s been going through my mind. Well, the message I left him wasn’t exactly subtle about my feelings. Still, he ambles over to the kitchen island and plops himself down on one of the stools as if this is a regular hangout. He arches an eyebrow at my suit.

“Going someplace fancy?”

“I have a date,” I say tightly. “A date I’m running late for.”

“Oh, with that bakery chick? Good find there, Drew—great body and a great cook!”

“Charlie,” I say through clenched teeth. Deep breath. “We’re not going to talk about Maggie. We’re going to talk about you lying to that reporter. You know there’s no reunion.”

Charlie gives me that sly grin and a shrug. “It seems like there is now.” I take a step toward him, and his hands shoot up again. “Okay, okay! Look, I’m sorry about taking you by surprise. But don’t you see how good this is for us? The fans are already going crazy. There’s chatter all over the internet, speculation about what cities the tour will hit, people posting dream playlists—people are even more excited than I was hoping.”

“Maybe it’s good for you and your reality TV bid. I didn’t need this.”

Charlie cocks his head. “Are you sure? There isn’t any part of you that misses being on the road? The stadiums full of people cheering for us? Getting to let go with the music under all those spotlights? You loved it, Drew. We all did. There’s nothing wrong with getting a second shot at the glory.”

I hesitate, just for a second. Of course I remember how amazing those parts of the Cat-5 days were. I’d be lying if I said I never wished my solo career had worked out after all, that I could have kept performing instead of staying behind the scenes.

But I also remember the parties gone bad, the fights—all the things that led to the split. I sure as hell don’t miss any of that.

“Are the other guys in on this too?” I ask slowly. “You said you hadn’t talked to them in ages.”

“I haven’t. But I don’t need to. If you okay this, they’ll jump on board in an instant. You were the front man, Drew. Everyone knew that. You led the way. That’s why I brought it to you first.”

“I wouldn’t call leaking a false story to a reporter ‘bringing’ anything to me.”

“I already apologized for that.” He fixes his gaze on me, his expression suddenly, uncharacteristically serious. “It’s easy for you to say no without even thinking about it, Drew. You got all those song-writing credits, the royalties still rolling in. The band is still working for you. The rest of us aren’t so lucky. You know we got fucked in those deals back then. We need this. But we can’t do it unless you’re on board. How about sharing a little of that good fortune?”

I wince. Part of me wants to say it isn’t good fortune, that I earned what I’ve gotten. It’s not my fault if Charlie frittered his piece of the pie away. But the twist of guilt in my gut won’t let me dismiss his point completely. “Mr. Right-Now” may have been a cheesy slice of pop trash, but as the sole credited songwriter, I still see decent royalties from radio airplay, streaming, and soundtracks, plus the other tracks I worked on with the professional songwriters back in the day. Thanks to our draconian contracts, the rest of the band barely make ten percent what I do, and back in the good old days, that difference was numbered in the millions. Sure, I worked for it, but I’d be an asshole if I pretended there wasn’t a healthy dose of luck involved, too.

I glance at the time. Shit. I’ve got to get to Maggie’s.

“Look,” I say, “I will think about it. Okay? That’s the best I can tell you. While I’m thinking about it, can you manage not to spread any more info around?”

“Sure,” Charlie beams. He hops off the stool. “Take the time you need. Just remember we’re counting on you. Chris’s kids won’t get to college on their own!”

Way to twist the screws. I usher him out and head downstairs myself. I can’t think about him or the reunion now. Tonight is for Maggie.

Also for Maggie: the rental limo parked out front. White, stretch, with rhinestones on the license plate. Despite my inner turmoil, I smile when I see it. I asked for the tackiest thing they had, and boy, did they deliver. “Take the fastest route you can,” I tell the driver after I give him the address, and we manage to pull up outside Maggie’s parents’ house only five minutes later than promised.

She opens the door a crack as I’m coming up the front steps. Her eyes widen when she sees the stretch. “What is that?” she says, but with a giddy note in her voice that tells me I chose right.

“That is our ride to the reunion-prom,” I say. Then she opens the door the rest of the way, revealing the full glory that is her dress, and for a second I can’t do anything but blink. Damn. How did I get this lucky?

Her cheeks turn pink. “Is it overboard?” She pushes at the expansive skirt, setting the tiny silver beads twinkling against the deep blue.

“No. Definitely, absolutely not. You look like a queen. A frothy, gorgeous queen.” I trail my finger across her bare shoulder. My voice drops. “You aren’t allowed to be embarrassed for even one second tonight, Maggie. Every guy there is going to be jealous that I got to turn up with you.”

She snorts, but she’s beaming too. I’d lean in and kiss her right there if I didn’t spot her mom hurrying over behind her at that exact moment.

“Drew!” Mrs. Hayes says. “Isn’t this exciting? Doesn’t she look lovely? I know you two will have a wonderful night.”

“Mom,” Maggie says. “It’s not an actual prom, you know. We’re just playing dress-up.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy yourselves. Get in here, Drew. We need pictures of this.”

I’m game. We pose in the hall, me with my arm around Maggie, her fighting giggles. Then Mrs. Hayes insists on having us stand by the limo so she can grab a bunch of shots with that in the picture too. “Okay, okay, Mom,” Maggie says after several minutes. “We do have to actually get to the reunion at some point.”

“I’m just doing my parental duty,” Mrs. Hayes says, and winks at me.

Maggie mutters something under her breath, but she’s smiling again as we slide into the backseat of the limo. She runs her fingers over the smooth leather and shakes her head.

“You really didn’t have to go the whole nine yards.”

I sling my arm over her shoulders. “Hey, you never got to have your real prom. I figured this goes toward making up for that.”

She looks up at me, emotion shimmering in her eyes, and I’m abruptly very, very glad that one of the features that comes standard in limos is the privacy screen between us and the driver. I shift forward just long enough to tell him to take us to the school, and then I hit the button to send it up.

“Hmm,” Maggie says, her expression turning mischievous. “Why did you figure we need that?”

“Because I’m about to do this.”

I pull her into a kiss. Her fingers curl around the label of my suit, tugging me even closer. I should be mindful of her makeup, her hair, but when she opens her mouth under mine, I can’t think about anything except the hot rush of her breath and how fucking good just kissing her feels.

My hand grazes her skin just above the bodice of her dress, the tops of her breasts too tempting to ignore. She murmurs encouragingly and scoots even closer. I fondle her curves through the fabric. She arches against me with a muffled moan, and I’m this close to tipping her back and seeing if I can take her to at least third base in the short drive to the high school.

You know, for old time’s sake.

I kiss her again, stroking her face, but all at once my throat feels full of all the things I might have to say to her.

Like the fact I might be leaving on tour soon. Category 5 2.0. I do owe it to the other guys. Maybe it’d even be good for me, once I get over my instinct to balk. I could wrap up my current production jobs in the next couple months. It isn’t impossible.

But if I give in to Charlie, if I give it a shot, I’ll be leaving town, traveling for who knows how long. Would Maggie be OK with that?

Would I want her to be?

“Penny for them?” Maggie asks, and I realize I’m spacing out.

I shake my head. “Nothing. It can wait.” I see the lights of the high school ahead of us, and push back my thoughts. “Tonight, we’re going to party like it’s 2007!”