Lauren’s lying across the foot of my bed filing her nails. “You know, Rush is actually really humble.”

I nearly choke on my spit. “I’m sorry? Are you high?”

“No.” She smiles. “He’s really not so much of a dick when you’re alone with him.”

I stare at her for a minute, my mouth hanging open. “Uh, yeah, it’s kinda hard to be too big of a dick when you’re balls deep in someone.”

She shakes her head. “No, I mean afterwards, he’s a cuddler.”

“A cuddler?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, a cuddling manwhore,” I say. She’s got this dreamy haze in her eyes. One I know all too well. “No. No, Lauren.”

“What?” she tosses the file down and sits up.

“Don’t even think about it. Don’t even wonder about it.” I point at her. “Rock stars are not boyfriend material, hell, they aren’t even fuck buddy material.”

“Oh my god. You are insane.”

“I’m well-versed at this shit. Half of my DNA is from one of those shitheads.”

“You dated Voss, Phoenix. Voss!” She shakes her head. “Pot meet kettle.”

I glare at her. “I was weak. Have you seen his leather pants?”

“I have, and have you seen Rush Wilder’s peen?”

“No,” I groan, “and I don’t want to.”

“It’s magnificent, and besides…” she shrugs, “I’m not trying to date him. Make it into a tabloid or two, have some rumors that I’m an incubator for his love child– maybe.” She grins. “God, I remember when you used to be less cynical.”

Her phone dings with a text. She grabs it and is all smiles. “See.” She hands her phone to me. Vomit hits the back of my throat when I glance down at the picture of a massive dick fisted in a heavily tattooed hand. “Ugh. Really, Lauren?”

“Tell me it’s not pretty.” She points at the screen.

“It’s the color of Subway ham.”

“What?” She grabs her phone from me and stares at the screen. “Oh my god, way to ruin a perfectly good penis for me, Phoenix. Thanks.” Groaning, she tosses the phone down on my bed.

“That,” I point to the phone, “is not a perfectly good penis. It’s been in more vaginas than the entire Trojan brand has.”

She rolls her eyes and falls back on the bed. Her phone dings again, and I snatch it up. This time it’s a text: Come to practice with your friend.

I don’t even get a name. Just ‘your friend’. He’s so humble, but at least if she goes I won’t have to be alone with them. “Wanna go to practice with me?”

She sits up and grins. “Of course.”

I ring Jag’s doorbell and Lauren looks up at the mural of Pandemic Sorrow painted above the porch. “Does Rush have an erection in that painting,” she says.

“Yep.”

“You know, you’d think I’d be used to this shit with you, but I’m not.” She claps her hands. “I know you hate Henry, but god, I fucking love him. When we’re old, we’ll look back on this and smile.”

The door swings open and there stands Jag in a pair of black jeans and nothing else. His gaze drifts from me to Lauren, then he flips me the bird. “You’re late.”

“And you’re high,” I say, stepping into his foyer.

“Nice house,” Lauren says. Jag grunts.

We follow him down the hallway, Lauren stops and swipes her finger over the Moonman Award on one of the shelfs.

“Don’t touch my Moonman,” Jag says.

“Sorry.”

Glancing at her, I roll my eyes. Jag opens the studio room door and, as always, pungent smoke billows out into the hallway. I wave my way through the cloud. Rush glances up and grins at Lauren. She waltzes over and hugs him. He smacks her ass, grabs it, then says something in her ear that makes her blush.

“The color of your penis,” I say, grabbing a guitar and strapping it over my shoulder, “should concern you.”

Rush glares at me.

“Two words,” I say, “Subway ham.”

All the guys laugh, and Stone glances at me and winks. “Below the belt, babe.”

I fight a grin. “Don’t call me babe.”

“Yeah, yeah…” he strums over his strings.

Pax taps away on his drums, then stops. “Can we just get this over with, dick?” he says.

I turn around and Rush has Lauren pinned against the wall, his tongue down her throat.

“Rush!” Jag shouts, but Rush just keeps sucking Lauren’s face. Jag struts over and whacks him on the back of his head.

“Damn,” Rush says, turning around. “Fine.” He shamelessly adjusts his dick and grabs his bass from the stand. “Two run throughs and then…” he winks at Lauren, “I’m running through you.”

“Oh my god… Lauren.” I say, “please tell me you realize what a nasty fuck he is?”

All she does is grin. I swear, when she ends up with the clap, I’ll have no pity. None!

Pax goes at the drums again. Stone strums over his guitar, followed by Jag and Rush, and I grab the mic, closing my eyes as I sing out the first lyrics to the song. It’s moments like this when my eyes are closed and all I can hear is the music when everything else goes quiet. Moments like this when nothing else matters. To hell with Pam and Henry and all these other idiots. All I need is music.