In all the years my father managed to get us great seats for Trouble concerts, we’d never gotten backstage. I’d been backstage at a few other concerts when I was a tween—back before my father left my mother and moved to California—but he already had another wife and family by the time Sabrina and I started going to see Trouble, and I’d fallen way down on the priority list. I had to beg him every year to get us good seats to Trouble, and I knew I was being a nuisance to him.

Not that I had a problem being a nuisance. I was good at it. And my mother always said you should do what you’re good at.

But no matter how much of a nuisance I made of myself, calling my father every day, usually leaving a message with his secretary, or his new wife if I was calling the house, we never managed to get behind the scenes. I’d even threatened to toss my panties on stage or flash the guards, thinking it might activate my father’s parental instincts, but that had been a no-go. My father avoided my calls, but still managed to come through with front row seats. That was the best he could do for me, which was, as usual, never quite enough.

We had to run smack into Trouble to get backstage.

And now that we were finally there, I wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass me by.

I was standing at the beverage table, opening another beer—the room was full of food and people—when Trouble came into the room. I met Sabrina’s gaze. She was sitting on the other side of the room, and even with the short skirt and the hooker boots, she still looked like an elementary school teacher. Her back was straight, legs crossed, hands over hand on one knee. She couldn’t have looked more prim and proper, or more out of place, if she was a nun in a stripper joint.

I waved her over, but she just shook her head imperceptibly, looking at Rob, who was already surrounded by fans, most of them female. I felt bad for Sabrina. She had it tough, being madly in love with Rob Burns. Tyler was just as hot—hotter if you asked me—and far more attainable. Besides, if I’d glommed onto Rob, the way Sabrina had, we’d be fighting over the same guy—even if it was just fighting over a fantasy—and I knew better than that.

We’d lived through that once before, over a real guy, in tenth grade. Mark Ryan hadn’t been worth the trouble, in the end, but it had nearly ended our friendship. He’d led both of us on, mostly for the sex, I think—typical guy—although I’d tried my best to keep that secret from Sabrina. Mark had been my first—in spite of my reputation, I hadn’t ever let a guy go all the way before then—and it kind of just happened. I said no, but he just sort of did it anyway. After that, I kind of didn’t care anymore.

But I did care about my friendship with Sabrina. I was sleeping with Mark, and she was madly in love with him from afar. Or so I thought. For weeks, I went behind her back, knowing she liked him too, thinking I was betraying our friendship—when all along, she was doing the same thing. Mark had been trying to get into her pants too, although he hadn’t succeeded on that front yet. I finally confessed everything to her, after seeing Mark kissing a third girl—Alexis Platt—in the hallway between classes. I thought it would end our friendship for sure, but I couldn’t keep lying to her anymore. That’s when Sabrina told me that she’d been seeing him too, and not telling me.

We promised then and there that we would never, ever go after the same guy again.

So, when we started listening to Trouble, and I saw that sparkly shine in my friend’s eyes every time Rob Burns came on the screen, I decided, fantasy or not, I wasn’t going to lust after the same guy. Instead, I’d shifted my attention, a little to the left. Rob’s immediate left. Tyler Cook caught my eye, with his smirky smile, smoldering gaze, and that wry sense of humor of his, always bantering back and forth with his bandmates.

It was easy to fall in love with the lead guitarist instead of the lead singer, and it kept our promise, even if we both knew nothing would ever really come of our silly fantasies about two sexy rock gods falling in love with their two biggest fans. It just made it easier, when we played a game of, “What if,” as in, “What if we meet Trouble” and “What if we go back to their hotel room,” and what happened after that involved every possible sexual position on the planet followed by an instant proposal of marriage and life on the road with Trouble.

We were both happy fawning over them, squealing like teenagers, screaming ourselves hoarse at their concerts every time they came to town. Sabrina loved it when I fantasized out loud about following the tour bus, going all groupie on the road with them, but I knew she was too practical to really do it. In spite of my horrible influence, she’d managed to keep her head on her shoulders and make all the right choices. My mother often held Sabrina up as a perfect example of what she wished her daughter would be like—but I liked to hold Sabrina’s parents, with their intact marriage and stable jobs, up as an example of what it took to raise a daughter like Sabrina. Fun times.

So, when Trouble came into the room, and I saw that reality-meets-fantasy look in Sabrina’s eyes, I knew she wasn’t going to go for it. Never in a million years would she approach Rob, like those girls who practically crawled all over him, asking for autographs and maybe even offering, in whispers with hot, bubblegum breath, to give him a quick blowjob in the back room. Sabrina was going to sit on that stool until the bus pulled out of the lot, but not me.

It wasn’t Rob I wanted anyway.

“Hey Tyler.”

He’d already finished signing autographs for the girls who wanted them, followed up by selfies and kisses. Once that was over, the girls didn’t seem to know what to say. They milled around, kind of looking at him, but most of them giggled and grouped together like schools of fish after their encounter, like he was some shark who might decide to make them his dinner.

Me, I just walked up to him and said hey. Like a lion tamer, opening the lion’s mouth to peer inside. Only with a shark. Or, a rock star. Anyway, I went up to say hi once all the other girls giggled themselves into a corner, whispering and pointing, but not daring to come back for more.

“Well, look who’s here.” Tyler gave me that trademark lopsided smirk as I approached. He didn’t look surprised to see me. “You still a smart ass?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?” I glanced behind me, like I was trying to see my ass.

“I think I’d have to get a better look.” His smirk turned into a grin.

“Would you like me to bend over?”

“Is that an offer?” His eyebrows shot up.

“Sorry, I’m not that easy.” It was a lie, and I think he knew it. “So what town are you guys off to next?”

“I have no idea.” He shrugged. “Hey, Kenny, what’s our next stop?”

“Cleveland,” Kenny, Trouble’s drummer, told him, a beer to his lips. Kenny was short, balding, and kind of chubby, but he had girls hanging on him anyway. “But we got tomorrow off, bruh!”

“Really?” Tyler exclaimed. “How did I not know this?”

“You were too busy playing Plants vs. Zombies,” Jon, Trouble’s keyboard player, called over with a laugh. Jon had girls hanging on him too, even though he was freakishly tall and wore glasses that made him look bug-eyed. Nick, their bass player, was the cute one, right up there with Rob and Tyler, with longish dark hair and big blue eyes. He was laughing along with his band mates.

“Shut the hell up.” Tyler gave his band mates the finger.

“You were playing Plants vs. Zombies?” I snorted. “I figured you for a Call of Duty kind of guy.”

“Nah.” Tyler shrugged, actually looking embarrassed. He gave his band mate a dirty look, but Nick just laughed and dropped me a wink.

“Assassin’s Creed?” I asked, naming one of the games all the guys our age played—at least all the ones I knew, including my ex-boss and ex- fiancé, Mr. Responsible. “Halo? GTA5? Maybe World of Warcraft?”

“That game is fucking addictive!” Tyler snapped, and all three of his band mates cracked up. He turned his back to them, blocking their snickering from my view. He obviously thought it made the big rock star look uncool, but I actually found it kind of endearing. “Besides, Internet is spotty on the bus. I can play Plants vs. Zombies on my iPad when I can’t sleep.”

“Insomnia?” I asked, giving a knowing nod.

“Big time.” He grimaced.

“Huh. Me too.” I could sympathize. “I’m a night owl. If I didn’t have to go to work in the morning, I’d stay up until four a.m. and sleep until noon.”

“That’s pretty much my schedule.” He grinned.

“Guess I should become a rock star.” I laughed. Or marry one, I thought, smiling to myself. Wasn’t gonna happen, but I could dream, right?

“What do you do?” Tyler cocked his head at me.

“I get fired,” I snorted, rolling my eyes and he laughed.

“What did you get fired from last?”

“Dental assistant.” I sighed, remembering my ring. I’d meant to take it off and tuck it into a pocket in my purse, but after the whole stairs fiasco, I’d forgotten. Now I slipped my hand into my pocket. “My longest term of employment ever. Landed me a fiancé and everything.”

“Well congratulations.” Tyler glanced down at my hand shoved into the front pocket of my jeans. “I noticed the ring.”

He noticed?

I looked up, meeting his eyes. Yep, he noticed. I pulled my hand slowly back out of my pocket, holding it out and gazing at the ring. It was nice enough, gold with a two-carat diamond in the middle. It was a perfect engagement ring. I was wearing my mother’s dream on my finger—the assurance that someone smart, stable and responsible would marry me and take care of me for the rest of my life, relieving her, and by proxy, my father, from the burden.

“I got fired from that too.” I sighed again. “At the same time. Same guy.”

“You were engaged to your boss?” Tyler’s eyebrows went up some more.

“Yeah, but it was a mistake.” I shrugged.

That was, like, the understatement of the century, but it was all spilled milk now. Like, gallons and gallons of the stuff. A Niagara Falls of milk. I still didn’t quite understand how I’d ended up engaged to Alex Bishop in the first place, but I had to own it. I’d made the choice, but the fact was, when I’d said, “yes,” all I could see was the excitement on my mother’s face when I told her I was engaged to Mr. Responsible. One of the few moments in my life I made the mistake of trying to please my parental units instead of rebelling against them.

“The job or the fiancé?” Tyler asked.

“Both.” I shook my head, shoving my hand back into my pocket.

“But you’re still wearing the ring?” Now just one eyebrow, cocked at me. “Still have a thing for him?”

“Nah.” I shrugged. “I just use it as jerk repellant.”

“Well I’m sorry about the fiancé.” The look in his eyes was actually concerned. It was kind of sweet. “And the job. But you know what Carl Jung always used to say when someone lost a job?”

“No.” I shook my head. Now my eyebrows were raised. A rock star quoting Carl Jung? I wasn’t just surprised, I was impressed. “What did Carl Jung say?”

“Congratulations.” He gave me a wink and I laughed.

“When one door closes, another opens?” I asked. So much for the quote, but he’d made me laugh, and he looked proud of that. “That sort of thing?”

“You never know what’s around the next corner.” Tyler nodded sagely. “Or behind the next door.”

“Sometimes it’s a rock star who hits you in the head.” I glanced over at Sabrina. Rob had wandered over there—the rock star had gone to her, instead of the other way around. Why didn’t that surprise me? Sabrina never had to try hard at anything.

“She seems okay.” Tyler nodded toward my friend with a little smile playing on his lips.

“She’s fine.” I rolled my eyes. “She’s totally in love with him.”

“Who isn’t?” He gave a short little laugh, one that made me look at him a little harder. He seemed so cocky most of the time. Rob Burns might sing lead for Trouble, but Tyler Cook was no less of a star. Rolling Stone had done a piece on them last year and had compared Tyler to both Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix, which was pretty impressive, given that a lot of the media wanted to paint them as a boy-band. Did he really believe he played second fiddle to Rob Burns?

“Me,” I said softly, my hand on his arm. Damn, even his forearm was tight with muscle.

“Not a Rob Burns fan?” Tyler looked askance at me, like he wanted to believe, but didn’t, not quite.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I replied honestly with a shrug, crossing my arms and looking over at Sabrina and Rob. It was still crazy to me, that I was standing here backstage after a Trouble concert, right next to Tyler Cook, while Sabrina talked up Rob Burns on the sofa. Was I dreaming? Was this just one of the little fantasies I spun out for us gone crazy? Was I high? Because it was hard to believe I was actually awake, that this was actually happening.

“What?” Tyler nudged me, and I looked up at him, smiling slowly as our eyes locked. The man looked at me with so much heat I thought my panties might actually catch fire.

“I’m a Tyler Cook fan,” I confessed, not moving away from the press of his shoulder against mine. We were both leaning against the wall, our bodies half-turned toward each other, remarkably close.

“Just me?” Those raised eyebrows, always doubting.

“Well, all of you...” I said, giving him that caveat. It was true, I loved Trouble. It was their music that had drawn me in from the beginning, but it wasn’t the entire reason I’d stuck around so long. “But mostly you.”

“Uh-huh.” He took a swig of his beer, his gaze on Rob and Sabrina, who were laughing together about something. I rubbed my forehead, remembering how they’d come barreling out the door, running right into us. Maybe I was actually knocked out, and this was all just me dreaming up the usual Trouble fantasy in some morphine-induced coma?

“That door did hit you, didn’t it?” Tyler frowned, and I realized I’d been rubbing my forehead in front of him without even thinking.

“A little.” I lifted my bangs. I’d inspected it on a trip to the bathroom. There was a bump there, but no cut.

“Damn.” He reached out and brushed my hair away that had covered it up, running his thumb over the lump. “Come here.”

“What are you doing?” I looked up at him as he gripped my arms and pulled me closer, leaning in to kiss my forehead. It kind of hurt a little but the brush of his lips sent a little shiver through me. Some part of me was standing beside myself, squealing like a teenager that the lead guitarist of the biggest rock band on the planet was kissing my forehead! The real me, the one who was standing in front of Tyler Cook, face to face, was just breathless and staring and struck completely dumb.

“What?” Tyler smiled and there was such a genuine sweetness in it, my heart broke wide open. “Didn’t your Mom ever kiss your ouchies?”

“Ouchies?” I gave a little laugh. “Between that and Plants vs. Zombies, I think they’re going to revoke your guy card.”

Tyler just kept smiling and slowly shook his head. “I could wear a skirt every damned day and they wouldn’t revoke my guy card.”

He was right. And my deflection hadn’t worked. He was still holding me by the arms, his hands warm, even through my jacket.

“Did your Mom kiss your ouchies?” I asked, reaching up to brush some of his dark blonde hair away from his forehead, although there was no wound underneath. At least, not that anyone could see. But there was something in his eyes when I asked him that, something deep and pained

“Nah.” The honesty in his voice hurt my heart.

“Mine either,” I told him. “She’d just tell me to go put a goddamned Band-Aid on it if I wasn’t bleeding to death.”

“Ouchies should be kissed.” Tyler gave a definitive little nod, leaning in and pressing his lips to my forehead again. So warm and soft. The kiss lingered there, his breath warm.

I was definitely dreaming, I decided.

“It works,” I told him as he pulled away to look at me. “I feel better.”

“See?” He smiled proudly.

“You should hire yourself out as a healer,” I joked. “Go around kissing ouchies. I’d hire you.”

“If you’d hire me, I just might do it.” His gaze dropped slowly from my eyes to my mouth. I could almost feel his lips on mine, even though he hadn’t kissed me there. But he’s going to. Tyler Cook was going to kiss me, right here, right now, and it made perfect sense, because I was only dreaming.

"Where else does it hurt?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Oh… all over,” I breathed, tilting my face up, anticipating. I even started to close my eyes, waiting for my dream kiss. It was going to be good, because this kind of dream always ended well.

“Hey, Katie?” I hadn’t even noticed Sabrina standing at my elbow.

Dreamus Interruptus. I was jolted awake and glared at my best friend like she was Satan interrupting a choir of angels. Which, basically, she was.

“Um...” Sabrina looked between me and Tyler, quizzical. “I told Rob I’d take him over to The Attic in Hamtramck. But that means I have to take my car...”

Hell’s bells! I gaped at her, stunned. Sabrina and Rob? Really? Okay, I was definitely still dreaming. This was just part of it, had to be. How many times had we fantasized this very scenario together? Life never happened like this. It was like a perfect fiction. I was going crazy inside, but I felt Tyler watching us, so I played it as cool as I possible.

“Do you think you could get me home?” I turned to Tyler with a little smile playing on my lips that just wouldn’t go away, even as much as I willed it to.

“Yeah, sure.” Tyler played it just as cool, slipping his arm over my shoulder. “Not a problem.”

Sabrina gave me a knowing look and practically skipped like a ten-year-old back to where Rob was waiting for her. Even in hooker boots.

“Looks like they hit it off,” Tyler remarked, his arm still around me.

“Looks that way.” I still couldn’t quite believe it. Any of it. “Rob’s calling you.”

Tyler frowned over at Rob, who was waving him over from across the room.

“I’ll be right back.” Tyler started forward, glancing back at me. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Are you kidding me?” I scoffed, tipping my beer at him. “There’s free alcohol!”

He snorted a laugh before heading over to where Rob was standing, waiting for him. They talked for a minute, but I couldn’t hear a word. There was a big screen TV with a very loud hockey game on, and the crowd hadn’t thinned out much. There were still thirty or forty people milling around, eating sandwiches and chips and taking advantage of the free alcohol. I finished my beer and grabbed another one, popping the top off and watching Tyler and Rob, their heads bent in conversation.

Sabrina was nowhere to be seen and I smiled to myself, knowing if there was a parking ticket on her windshield, I wasn’t going to get in trouble for it, even if it cost her a mint, because my little mistake had turned out to be the best thing that could have happened that night. Sabrina was heading off somewhere with Rob Burns, and I was going to expend every amount of energy I had to convince Tyler Cook I was the most irresistible woman he’d ever met.

Tyler and Rob did that guy hug thing, where they clasped hands in front of their chests and pulled each other close so they could slap each other on the back, and then Rob was off, wearing, of all things, a baseball cap and sunglasses. It was full dark outside, and I had visions of him falling down those back stairs, breaking his neck, and ending Trouble’s lucrative career. But then I didn’t have any more time to think about Rob, because there was a bleach blonde bimbo with the fakest tan I’d ever seen sidling up to Tyler, simpering and whimpering and pimpering—okay so there was no such thing as the latter, but if there were, it would involve a great deal of cleavage combined with an equal amount of camel toe—and generally being a nuisance.

Which pissed me off, because being a nuisance was my M. O. The more I watched her—and Tyler’s reaction to her—the more pissed I got. It wasn’t that Tyler was showing interest or anything. He was obviously being nice. He signed an autograph for her. He gave her an obligatory smile when she said something she obviously thought was hilarious and threw back her head and laughed like a drunk hyena. It was his lack of attention to her—and the way he kept glancing my way—that interested me.

Because Tyler obviously wanted to come back over, but the bleach blonde wouldn’t let him. She kept grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward her every time he tried to get away. I drank my beer and watched for a few minutes, deciding on the best course of action. I was going to just stay put and wait, but then she kissed him. And I don’t mean just a little peck on the cheek. I mean, she roped her arms around his neck like a noose and stuck her tongue down his throat like she was searching for his tonsils.

Even the bodyguards knew Tyler wasn’t down with that. I saw one of them get up from his post, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, and head over, but I got there first. I had no rights when it came to this man. He wasn’t mine or anything. But the way this girl groped him—she literally had her hand on the man’s basket, rubbing like she thought she could make it catch fire!—infuriated me. I grabbed her shoulder and yanked her away so hard she stumbled and fell against the coffee table.

“What the hell?” She glared up at me, regaining her balance and standing. She was a head taller than me, although she was wearing hooker boots—white instead of black, like Sabrina’s—with spiked heels and that accounted for a good five inches of it. “What’s your problem?”

“Okay, ladies...” The bodyguard was there, a big guy with huge arms he used to keep us both separate. “Let’s go.”

“This skinny bitch just pushed me!” Bimbo Blonde protested. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m with the band!”

I laughed. I didn’t know who she was—for all I knew, she was dating one of the other guys from Trouble—but I knew the type. I glanced at Tyler and saw he did too. The twinkle in his eye gave me all the permission I needed.

“Whatever service you’re providing for the band should come with a warning label,” I snapped.

“What?” She wrinkled her orange nose—her face was like an Oompa-Loompa’s—in confusion.

“I’m just saying...” I shrugged. “If you put a little sand in your crotch, it might make the crabs feel more at home.”

Tyler laughed out loud at that. The bodyguard even cracked a smile.

“Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?” Ms. Bimbo raged at Tyler.

“What’s that?” I cupped my hand behind my ear. “He can’t hear you with all that dick in your mouth, sweetheart.”

“Do you get off on being a bitch?” Ms. Bimbo sneered.

“Did you get up on the wrong side of the cage this morning?” I retorted. I could feel the eyes of the room on us. Our drama had definitely gotten some attention.

“I don’t know who you had to sleep with to get in here, but I hope they put a bag over your head!” Barbie glared at me.

“Come on, now.” Tyler tried to put on a serious face, but he couldn’t.

“Maybe you can eat some of that makeup you’re wearing,” I snapped back. “Then you can try to be pretty on the inside too.”

The exhilaration of going back and forth with her made my head buzz. Either that or it was the couple beers I’d already had. Or the heat of admiration in Tyler’s eyes when he looked at me. I didn’t even care if I was going to get kicked out. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true—I cared. But it might just have been worth it.

“Okay, enough.” The bodyguard put his big meanie face on again. He still had us both by the back of the shirt, but that hadn’t stopped either of us. “Junior high called, girls, they want their drama back.”

“Hey, that was a good one.” I nodded at him appreciatively, giving him a thumbs-up.

The bodyguard let go of me, just a little, at the compliment, and I grinned over at Tyler.

“Hang on. Sassy over here is with me.” Tyler took hold of my arm as the bodyguard tried to take both me and the other blonde by the scruff of our necks, like he was about to carry kittens. “I don’t care what you do with that one.”

“Are you serious?” she cried, trying to get out of the bodyguard’s grip, but he had the back of her shirt in a fist. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s called ‘fuck off’.” I pointed at the exit. “And it’s located over there.”

“Damn girl.” Tyler grinned as the bodyguard dragged the screeching blonde toward the door. “You’re good.”

“Sorry,” I apologized, watching the bodyguard talking to the girl. They hadn’t left yet. “Didn’t mean to fight your battles for you, but she got under my skin.”

“Speaking of skin, did you get a load of that spray tan?” Tyler’s eyes widened in shock. “I know you don’t get a lot of sun in Michigan, but dude—that was like, skin sponsored by Cheetos!”

“Who is she?” I wondered aloud. She was still in a heated discussion with the bodyguard and I could tell she was trying not to cry.

“Hell if I know.” He shrugged. “But I’m not sad she’s gone.”

“Hey, go tell him not to kick her out.” I nudged him, frowning.

“After that display, you’re going to come to her rescue?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, even if she’s not going home with Tyler Cook tonight,” I told him, meeting those dark, dancing eyes. “She might get lucky with one of the other guys, right?”

“I thought you wanted to spare them the infection?”

“Hey, if they’re not smart enough to use condoms,” I replied, “then it’s likely their I. Q. tests are going to come back negative instead of their STD results.”

Tyler, still chuckling and shaking his head, jogged over to the door, saying something to the bodyguard, and then to the blonde. She scowled and sniffed but the bodyguard didn’t make her leave. She flounced off to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact altogether, which was fine by me. Tyler came back over, sitting in one of the cushy, empty chairs and grinning up at me.

“Ho ho, little girl. Why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas,” he said, patting his denim clad thigh.

“Christmas is over,” I said, but I wasn’t going to say no to the offer. I lowered myself into his lap, breathing in the scent of him. That sweet licorice smell mixed with liquor. It was intoxicating. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

“So, tell me what you want then.” Tyler tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear—although mine didn’t come from a bottle. Well, most of it, anyway. “And I’ll give it to you.”

“No one’s ever given me anything I wanted.” His fingers brushed my cheek. I felt his breath there too, full of alcohol and fire. We were so close I could see he needed to shave, and his beard was coming in with a slight red tinge to it I’d never noticed in pictures before.

“Never?” He frowned, his brow crinkling at my response. I just shook my head.

I noticed people watching us. Not overtly but paying attention. The bodyguard had taken up his position in the corner again, but he was watching. So were his band mates—Jon, Nick and Kenny seemed to stick together.

“Did Daddy not get you a pony?” Tyler smiled again, teasing, his fingers trailing over my collarbone. I felt his callouses from years of guitar playing, imagining those hands elsewhere as my gaze met his.

“Daddy got himself a new family.” I shrugged. “But he did get me front row seats to see Trouble.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. We just looked at each other, eyes locked. I was so used to snarking about my family, I didn’t expect the sadness in his eyes, the way his finger gently stroked the side of my neck. Goddamn, that made me want to start blubbering like a baby. What the hell? I straightened my spine and blinked at him.

“See, you got what you wanted.” A smile came back to his face, his eyes searching mine. He was teasing again.

“Almost.”

“What else do you want?” he inquired, his voice soft. I actually had to lean a little closer to hear him. The crowd had gone back to talking and laughing and generally getting drunk.

“Oh, I want what every girl here wants.” I smirked.

“And what's that?”

“One night with Tyler Cook.”

“One?” That look was smoldering. It set me on fire. “I don’t think I would settle for one night with you.”

“Agreed.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. I actually resorted to a hair flip. Oh, yes, I did. “If you had me once, you’d never be able to let me go.”

I waited for him to make some snarky comment about my ex-fiancé, but he didn’t.

“Besides, you’re wrong about these girls.” Tyler’s gaze skipped around the room. There were plenty of women, all of them dressed to reveal as much skin as they possibly could in the middle of a Michigan winter. “They want a night with Rob Burns—they'll settle for a night with me.”

“I don't settle.” I shook my head, meeting his questioning gaze.

“I thought you said no one’s ever given you anything you wanted,” he reminded me.

“That's true—I said no one’s ever given it to me.” I touched the dimple in his chin, feeling bold while I was sitting in his lap. “If I want it, I go get it.”

“You want to get out of here?” He gave me a look full of knowing and heat.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I slanted a look back at him along with a sly smile.

“Liar.” He grinned. “You knew I was going to ask.”

“Maybe.” I shrugged, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Where do you want to go?” I asked. “I don’t have a car.”

“That’s okay, I have a limo.”

“A limo?” My eyebrows rose. Of course, a rock star would ride around in a limo. What else?

“Yeah, but it comes with a bodyguard.” He made a face, nodding across the room at the guy who had come between me and the bimbo. “Unless we ditch him.”

“That sounds fun.” I brightened.

“Atta girl.” Tyler winked. “Let’s see if we can outrun Harry.”