I set my book of the moment on my lap and nodded over at Mase with a straight face. “Okay. I’ve always wanted to see what a hermaphrodite’s body looks like.”

Gordo snickered from his spot across the living space from his bandmate and me. We had a day off for the first time in nearly three weeks thanks to a twenty-hour drive between cities. At the eighteenth-hour mark, the cabin fever and boredom was beginning to reach epic proportions. Not even Mario Kart could ease the hysteria bubbling up through all of us—or at least those of us who were awake.

“You know I’m a man,” Mason objected, yanking on my earlobe in retaliation.

I smirked in his direction, eyeing the black hair that was in need of a good washing. “If it looks like a woman and screams like a woman—it’s probably a woman.” Tapping the tip of his nose as he scowled, I smiled slyly. “You sure sounded like a lady when you screamed bloody murder when that rat ran across your foot yesterday.” I pinched the tip of his nose.

In all honesty, I had screamed too, and the rat hadn’t even gotten within ten feet of me. The point was that Mason had pulled a horror movie actress on us and screeched like he was auditioning for the role of the hot, horrible-decision-making, half-naked girl in a bad scary movie. Only he, Gordo, Carter and I had been outside when it happened. If Eli had been there, every person on Ghost Orchid’s Facebook page would have known about what happened. Eli had a knack for filming things that ended up going terribly. Like at Rafe’s college graduation, when a girl walked off the stage. Sure she could have hurt herself but she didn’t, so it was okay to laugh at the video about a dozen—or five dozen—times.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

Those blue eyes that I loved in a brotherly way glared at me. “That mutation was the size of a possum.”

“I’m pretty sure it might have been a mouse,” I corrected him.

“Potatoe, potato, shut the hell up, Flabby,” he huffed. “You would have done the same.”

Gordo leaned forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. “Bro, I’m surprised you didn’t start crying.”

Mason scowled before going on a rant about how much of a girl Gordo was because he got teary-eyed when we’d watched The Blind Side a few days ago.

I sat there listening to them go back and forth until Sacha came out of the bunk area a few minutes later. The man slept so much it bordered on being a coma. His face was soft, a little puffy and creased as he made his way through the kitchen, bumping knuckles with Mason and Gordo before he plopped down on my other side. “Morning, Jean-Claude,” he yawned, slouching as his legs fell open. One hairy knee relaxed against mine. The shorts he slept in were bunched up high on his thighs.

I tried not to think about the realization I’d come to the night before—the stupid one—but it was a lot harder to do than I expected. The only rationalization I could reach was: Who wouldn’t like Sacha? He was handsome, funny, kind and incredibly talented. Wouldn’t there be something wrong with me if I didn’t like him?

I could deal with a little crush. No big deal. I couldn’t browse the Internet without finding a picture of some attractive guy I would never meet.

And that was the story I was going to go with.

I mean, I could admire him from afar without it meaning anything, right?

“Good morning.” I smiled over at him as platonically as possible. Even with a bit of dried drool on the corner of his lips and part of his hair smashed against his scalp, he was a looker after waking up.

Then there were people like me in the morning. Once in my teens, I’d woken up to find the three spawns of Satan hanging out in the living room early in the morning playing video games. My brother had pulled one of our mom’s largest crucifixes off the wall and held it in the air at me while he hissed, “I banish thee!”

“Morning,” Sacha replied with a yawn. He blinked those sleepy crystal-clear gray eyes and long black lashes. “Are you going to the movies with us?” he asked.

“Morning, Mariah.” What movies was he talking about? I shook my head. “I didn’t know anyone was going to the movies.” Awkward.

He lifted a shoulder as he rubbed at an eye with a balled up fist. “I just told you. Come with us. After we grab a shower, Matt—” that was our bus driver’s name “—said he’d park at a mall with a movie theater.” When I didn’t immediately reply, he blew out a long breath of air directly into my face, making me wince. “I’ll even let you share whatever you buy with me.”

“I have a feeling that even if I don’t agree to share my stuff with you, you’d take it anyway.” I leaned back and asked in the nicest voice I could muster, “When was the last time you brushed your teeth?”

Sacha cupped a hand over his mouth, making it seem like he was blowing into his palm and breathing it in with a wince. “Your guess sounds about right, and I brushed them last night.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes playfully. “It’s time you brushed your teeth again, and you’re lucky that I don’t have a problem sharing as long as you wash your hands first.”

“I think it’s time you brushed your teeth again—“

I blew into my hand too. “My breath doesn’t smell,” I argued.

“And I’m very glad to know that you are willing to share.” I grinned at him, earning one back in return. “Just for you, I’ll brush my teeth now. Happy?”

I nodded. “Very.” I wanted to add that a hot guy with morning breath was a tragedy but I didn’t. Admitting out loud that I found him attractive would be terrible, embarrassing and pathetic in no particular order. Even though I had a feeling Sacha wouldn’t be one of those people who would make a friendship awkward after a declaration of that proportion, I wasn’t going to rely on it. Plus, with my luck and his goofy nature, he’d probably make fun of me for it. I sighed in my head and cast a glance at him. “What movie are we watching?”

---

Hours later, after we’d gotten off the bus to shower at yet another travel center, I’d convinced Eli via text message to braid my hair. I hadn’t felt like a real girl in what seemed like forever. Being around these guys who had witnessed me go through puberty, braces, the immediate effects of having my wisdom teeth removed, every bad haircut I’d ever had and came to visit me post-surgery when I was high as a kite, drove me to basically not give a single shit about my appearance.

The last time I’d worn make-up other than lipstick and eyeliner had been the first day of tour. I hadn’t even bothered putting concealer over my bruise. The last time I wore something other than shorts and sweats had been the same day; wearing shirts without stains on them was the extent of my vanity. Body odor was also a regular worry. I’d been more focused on being comfortable than trying to look cute despite my brother’s constant teasing about how I looked haggard. People that came by the merch booth seemed to be okay with me wearing a tank top, having non-stinky breath and a ready smile, so what was the point in trying harder? I’d been making more tips over the last few days than I had before, and I had a feeling it was because of the purple and red coloring along the lower bones of my face.

But each night, I faced girls who had taken time with their appearance, and it made me feel a little down day after day, though I knew there wasn’t a point in trying when there was a show. I’d look like a drowned clown by the time we had to get back on the bus regardless of how much or how little make-up I applied.

Laila had always told me that she felt better when she knew she looked nice. In my case, I’d take feeling like a normal, clean girl in a heartbeat. There was nothing that a shower, the dress I’d grabbed from my suitcase and a good braid couldn’t give me a kick-start to.

Eli snuck into the back room of the bus with me after agreeing to shower quickly so we could lock the door and get to business.

“You have a lot of split ends,” Eli claimed an entire minute after I’d sat on the floor in front of him cross-legged. His fingers parted my hair with no care or gentility, but I knew better than to complain about how rough he was being. It was the usual.

“I’m pretty sure I asked you to braid my hair, not for your expert opinion on whether I need a haircut or not, Vidal Sassoon,” I laughed, digging my elbow into the meaty part of his inner thigh.

The bastard yanked on my hair hard while snorting. “I hope you go bald.” His large hands brushed through my hair once more before parting it again the way he wanted, not that there was that much hair on one side of my head anyway.

I was not going to whine about the shaved section that made my bone structure look rounder. Nope.

Eli had learned how to braid my hair when we were nine because Mom had broken her hand and couldn’t do it for me. What had started as a simple braid down the back of my head had turned into a full-blown interest that led him to learn how to French-braid the hell out of my hair. He’d even nailed a fishtail at some point; when or how he did it, I wasn’t sure, and I sure as heck wasn’t going to ask either.

The fact was, he was better at it than our mom had ever been. His talent was also one of those things that we kept between the two of us and our parents. Gil and Rafe had never said anything about it so I wasn’t even sure they knew. I never gave Eli shit about braiding; it was something he’d learned how to do because he loved me—and I’d begged. I didn’t want to taint it with jokes and ruin a good thing.

“I still can’t believe you punched Brandon in the throat,” he snorted as some of his fingers grazed over the buzzed section above my ear.

I really was quite proud of myself, and I’m pretty sure I preened at Eli’s compliment. Then I remembered what Brandon had said and my good mood plummeted. That fucking prick. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Not all of it. I heard bits and pieces when you were yelling at him, but then you got this crazy-ass look on your face, and it got me wondering why the fuck you were smiling like that.” He didn’t even pretend to not be nosey. “What’d he say?”

I sighed and reclined against the seat more, the sides of my twin’s gigantic thighs pressing against my shoulders. “He pretty much admitted he started talking to that girl he’s dating before we split up, and that it’d been a hard decision and he didn’t want to hurt my feelings…”

“He cheated on you?” my brother asked slowly, and I couldn’t help but smile over the indignation in his tone.

“He said he didn’t while we were together, like that matters. Can you believe it? That’s why I punched him in the throat. I hadn’t even considered he’d been talking to someone else before we split up, E. I felt so stupid—“

His thigh nudged my shoulder. “You are pretty stupid, but he’s an idiot, Flabby. You can’t be that surprised about it. You wanna be with some guy for the rest of your life that crab walks across the stage and wears tighter pants than you? No. No, you fucking don’t.”

I started laughing. “Yeah, I know. Shut up.”

“I know it’s hard to try to find somebody that can live up to me…” he began to say.

“Your mother,” I snorted.

Eli chucked behind me. He messed with my hair for a few minutes before finally speaking up again, his voice lower than normal. “Look, my lease in New York is gonna run out in three months. I’m kinda tired of living there, and I was thinking about moving back to Dallas for a while after this tour ends. We could get a two-bedroom apartment or a house or something, if you want. I’ll even let you split rent with me.” He nudged me again. “Think about it.”

With the amount of crap we talked about each other, to each other, it was easy to underestimate our bond. We were a tag team. We had always been one, and I would bet my life we’d be in our seventies still picking on each other. Just as I opened my mouth to tell him I would definitely think about his offer, someone banged on the door.

“Hey! Can I come in?” Mason’s voice bellowed from the other side.

“No!” we both yelled simultaneously.

He didn’t immediately respond, like he couldn’t fathom why he couldn’t. “Why?” he finally asked, sounding confused and disturbed.

“Eli’s showing me how he puts a tampon in,” I snorted, earning another sharp tug of my hair from my brother.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a minute, allowing Eli to finish my braid. It had always seemed like a miracle to me how gentle those big paws could be when they wanted. I’d seen them beat the crap out of toms, cymbals and faces alike. Hours later, those hands could make the most intricate designs to my shoulder-length hair. No one could say Eli wasn’t a multi-dimensional son of a bitch.

“I don’t get it… why can’t I come in?” Mason’s voice finally mumbled through the door again.

I hopped up and threw my arms around my brother, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek while he frantically tried to pull away in disgust. “Thanks, loser. You’re going to make my future niece a wonderful mother one day,” I told him right before he licked his index fingertip and dipped it into my ear. I made a face and swatted his hand away, afterward getting up to unlock the door.

Mason slipped in, clean-shaven and wet-haired. His alert blue eyes shifted across the small room curiously. I sat down next to Eliza, gently touching the neat strands of hair tucked across my head.

When Mason’s eyes landed on me, he frowned and ran a hand through his hair, pushing the damp strands away from his forehead. “You look like a girl.”

“I am a girl.”

Those same cobalt blue eyes narrowed and then further narrowed as he glanced down the length of my outfit before he flicked his gaze over to Eli. “Are you letting her go out like that?”

“Since when does she listen to me?” he scoffed, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “There’s nothing wrong with my Flabby if you don’t look too closely at her face.”

I laughed. Sure his wording wasn’t exactly telling me that I looked nice, but for his standards, it was as good as I would ever get.

“Why don’t you ever dress up for me?” Mason asked, taking a seat across from us.

“There’s no point; we both know you like your ladies with more facial hair than I have,” I snickered.

The imp shrugged and winked at his self-proclaimed soul mate, the man sitting next to me. “True.”

The gentle movement of the bus as it slowed to a stop made us shift slightly. There was loud talking from the front before the familiar sounds of the door opening and the guys piling out let me know we’d made it to the mall. Slapping my twin’s thigh, I told him I’d see him later before walking out. My idiots and some of the TCC guys had been planning on going to some bar that carried over three hundred different types of beer, and I wasn’t in the mood to sit through that experience. Hanging out with Sacha just seemed like a bonus. A very pleasant bonus. A very pleasant, platonic bonus, like spending time with Carter would be.

Right.

I’d barely jumped off the bus’s steps, slipping the strap of my purse across my shoulder, when I spotted Sacha and Isaiah outside waiting.

“Is it only us going?” I asked, walking up to them.

Sacha’s eyes slanted over in my direction, his mouth already opening in a certain way that let me know a smart-ass comment was going to be coming out of it in a moment, but nothing actually came out. He looked at me—my face, the bare skin of my chest above the purple cotton of the sundress, and then down the length of my body slowly. It made me self-conscious and I fidgeted. It was second nature to want to pull the front of my dress up but it wasn’t like it was low to begin with.

“It’s only us,” Isaiah’s low drawl answered. He looked at me evenly. “I like your hair.”

Unfortunately I was one of those people that never knew how to handle a compliment well from people I wasn’t close to, or even know what to say afterward. My face got a little warm and I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

I smiled at him once more before looking back at Sacha who was busy inspecting my face again. He smiled but it was a distracted, distant sort of look. The entire walk through the parking lot and the mall was surprisingly quiet. Isaiah hadn’t really spoken more than two handfuls of words to me in the nearly three weeks we’d been on tour, and Sacha was strangely silent. After buying our movie tickets, I nudged my gray-eyed friend when Isaiah said he was going to the restroom. We got in line at the concession stand.

“Is he usually really quiet around everyone?” I asked, gesturing with my head in Isaiah’s retreating direction.

“Isaiah?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Sacha nodded his head, keeping his eyes locked on the menu mounted from the ceiling. “Yeah. He doesn’t talk much.”

I wasn’t much of a talker unless I felt comfortable around someone, and it just so happened that I was surrounded by three of the people that already knew the best and the worst parts of me. If I couldn’t be myself around them, who could I be myself around? For some reason, something about Sacha put me at ease and he happened to be an exception.

He didn’t say anything else as the line ahead of us shortened, and it was really beginning to weird me out. Why was he being so quiet? It wasn’t like I needed to talk all the time, but still. Everything had been fine before I’d showered, so the change in his attitude was pretty confusing.

“Are you okay?” I finally tapped into my imaginary balls to ask, turning just slightly at the shoulders to glance at him.

He frowned, still keeping his gaze on the menu. “Yes, why?”

“You’re being really quiet,” I said.

Sacha finally looked down at me. He hadn’t put on any hair products and his hair was loose and shiny, the longer length falling to the side over the shorter side of his scalp. “My mind is somewhere else,” he said apologetically. His light eyes glanced at the neckline of my dress so briefly I almost missed it.

What I didn’t miss was his fingers going up to touch the braid draped over my shoulder.

“You look really nice,” he commented.

I would have preferred “pretty” but beggars can’t be choosers. “Nice” was polite and not at all creepy or aggressive. I smiled at my friend, one of the best-looking friends I’d ever had in my life. “Thanks.”

He blinked at me, smiling that distant smile one more time, making me wonder where exactly his mind was. “Want to share a popcorn?”

“Are you asking if I’ll get some so you can eat it?” I stared at him suspiciously.

He shrugged the same way he always did. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Well, I always did appreciate people who were honest.

“I’ll buy a drink if you get the popcorn,” he offered.

I snuck another glance at him. He was wearing the same thing he usually had on when he wasn’t onstage: running shorts, a T-shirt and his good pair of green-and-black tennis shoes. “Done.”

He curled his lips behind his teeth, giving me a hopeful look. “Butter?”

“Butter.”

A few minutes later, we settled into our seats in the theater with our concession-stand purchases. He gestured toward the extra-large water bottle he’d bought. “Want some?”

“Sure,” I said, already taking it out of the cup holder. I twisted the lid off, held it up a couple inches above my mouth and was about to pour it when he groaned.

“Drink from the bottle. I don’t have cooties.”

“You never know,” I mumbled, putting the opening to my mouth. He plucked the medium-sized bag of popcorn from my lap while I took a sip.

Handsome, perfect Sacha, with a voice that gave me goosebumps every night, grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved half the fistful directly into his mouth. “So good,” he moaned through an overflowing mouthful.

Isaiah hadn’t reappeared since he’d left for the restroom. Sacha had sent him a text message telling him we’d wait for him inside the theater. Nearly at the same time, we both kicked up our legs to rest our feet on the back of the seats in front of us.

My new friend grabbed more popcorn and shoved it into his mouth.

I ate a small amount at a time, too busy watching him ingest handful after handful. It was amazing. It was seriously amazing watching him eat so much so quickly. “Are you planning on eating it all, fatty?”

He gasped in the middle of grabbing more. “You think I’m fat?”

“Yes,” I lied, eyeing the flat slope of his stomach like I hadn’t seen him shirtless nearly every night. If I were ever honest with myself, I would admit I could draw his six-pack from memory. “Do you only run?” I couldn’t remember ever seeing him work out. On the other hand, he was usually always eating.

He mumbled something between a mouthful of popcorn that sounded like “I lift weights too.”

“When?”

“Usually during the opening band,” he explained. “We have dumbbells and a bench in the back of the trailer.” The timing made perfect sense. I rarely saw any of the guys after doors in the venue opened.

“You?”

“Just cardio.” I held up my arm and slapped the bottom of my upper arm. “See? No muscle.”

He licked his salty lips, looking at me intently. “Where do you live?” he asked out of the blue.

“In Dallas. You?”

“San Francisco.”

“That’s cool,” I thought for a second. “Aren’t we stopping there next week?”

The quick, enthusiastic nod he gave me in response made me smile. Excitement radiated through his pores. “Yeah. You can meet my friends.”

“Okay.” I smiled and nodded, remembering a prior conversation. “What about your family? They don’t live there?”

“Not anymore. My mom lives in Australia now; my dad is back in Russia—”

“Are you Russian?” I finally asked. I mean, I’d been wondering where he got his name from and I’m surprised I held off asking for so long.

Sacha nodded. “My parents are. My two older sisters were born there but the rest of us were born here.”

I set my elbow on the armrest and looked at his face. “Huh. That’s really neat. What’s your last name?”

“Malykhin.”

“Spell it.”

He did.

“And your sisters?” I asked.

“They’re everywhere. One is in Africa, one is in the UK, one in Alaska, and another in Hong Kong.” He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t get to see them much anymore unless I go visit or we meet up somewhere for the holidays.”

“Do you miss them?” I was well aware of the fact I had no right to ask, but I did anyway.

Surprisingly, he answered without even thinking about it. One single shoulder going up in a fraction of a shrug. “A lot, but I’ll get to see my mom soon.”

“That’s nice.” I nudged his elbow with mine. “If you ever want a brother, feel free to borrow Eli. You can keep him too.”

His lips fluttered with a raspberry before he laughed. “That’s very generous of you.”

“Just saying. If you’re craving being terrorized, made fun of and farted on, he’s yours.”

Sacha slid me a look out of the corner of his eye. “I already get two of those three.”

He did? I tried to think about the way he was with the TCC guys but they all seemed to get along really well, if a little distantly, and they were more mature than GO’s morons were. “From who?”

He nudged me again. “You make fun of me on a daily basis… I fear for my safety when I’m around you…”

“Oh, shut your trap!” I started laughing.

“All I need is for you to start farting on me—“

“I would never do that!”

He made a face that made me laugh harder.

“I would never do it on purpose, at least!”

Sacha gave me this huge grin, his straight white teeth on display. “That sounds more like it.”

Oh God. I shouldn’t think it was funny that he would think I’d fart on him— because I wouldn’t—but I did. Especially when he started nudging me with his elbow. I just nudged him right back.

The next thing I knew, we were both elbowing the other, each of us trying to aim for the other person’s thigh until he hit his target and I squealed like a pig, making him laugh so loud the people in the rows in front of us turned to see what the ruckus was about.

I smacked his shoulder with my open palm. “You ass.”

With another big grin, he grabbed my hand with both of his much larger ones. His fingers were cold. “Do you think I’m mean to you?”

“Yes,” I said it but I really had my attention focused on the fact that he was holding my hand between his. Did I try to pull away? No, as stupid as it was.

“I’m not joking. Do you think I am?” he asked, his husky voice lowering in what I could assume was an attempt to be serious.

I smiled at him. “No. Why would you think that? I like the way we play around,” I told him because it was the truth. Sure, I played around with Eli and Mason but that was different. Even my ex didn’t like to joke around with me a quarter of as much as Sacha did.

“Are you sure? Carter is still mad at me for the whole penalty kick incident.” His thumb grazed over the knuckles of my hand gently once and only once. His gaze strayed to my still-bruised jaw.

“Yes. I mean, you’re an asshole for kicking the ball at my face but it’s fine,” I told him, watching his pale eyes drift to my chest quickly. “But you bruise my money-maker again, and I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

We both laughed at the same time that the lights in the theater began dimming. Isaiah appeared at the bottom of the stairs, walking up with his hands full of treats. I pulled my hand out of Sacha’s grasp to grab some popcorn from the bag that at some point had ended up on his lap.

He raised an eyebrow at me when I stuffed my mouth just like he had, but before he could pipe in, I hissed, “If you call me fat, I’ll make sure Eli farts on you.” The words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Sacha shrugged before leaning toward me. “If it goes to your ass, I won’t say a thing.”

I couldn’t…

I was…

Pleased. A little too pleased.