I remembered the sex. I remembered the drinking and the smoking. I remembered dropping my ring twenty stories, letting it fall to the pavement below. I remembered playing Plants vs. Zombies on Tyler’s iPad, taking turns killing zombies with pea shooters and tossed cabbages, completely enamored with Tyler and how he took it so seriously. I remembered everything, in minute detail, and I was glad, even though I was more hung over than I’d ever been in my entire life. And that included senior year when we went to Cedar Point and I drank a fifth of tequila mostly by myself after eating fair food all day.

“Oh my God.” I didn’t even want to open my eyes. I was surprised I could talk at all, I had so much cotton in my mouth. “I think someone replaced my head with a watermelon overnight.”

“Nope, same little head that was giving me head last night,” Tyler replied, mid-yawn.

“Very smooth.” I groaned. “I’m in no mood for jokes.”

“Poor pretty head.” He pressed his lips to the top of it as I buried my face in a pillow.

“You can’t kiss this ouchie away,” I told him, my voice muffled.

“Oh, I can fix it,” he assured me. “Trust me. I am the fixer.”

“No that’s okay.” I lifted my head and it was like lifting a bowling ball. “I’m just going to crawl into the bathroom, throw up, and die a little.”

“Want me to hold your hair?” He brushed it out of my face and peeked under the blonde curtain.

“That’s a sweet offer.” I gave him a half-smile. “But I’m pretty sure that’s way below your pay grade.”

I managed to get to the toilet before I gagged, but nothing came up. Beer before liquor, never sicker. I really needed to remember that rule before I decided to do shots. Before I helped rock god Tyler Cook drink a fifth of Jack. Before I smoked half a joint and took some Oxy to finally fall asleep, my whole body buzzing like I was filled with thousands of sticky honeybees.

“Are you all right?” Tyler Cook was knocking on the bathroom door, asking if I was all right. I could have been bleeding out my eyes and I would have said “Yes”. There was no way to be in the man’s presence and feel like there was anything wrong in my life. Maybe I was being a little myopic, but he was all I could see.

“Fine!” I called, crawling over to the shower and reaching up to turn the knob. “I’m just going to shower!”

“I ordered room service.”

Room service. Was he fucking kidding me? I felt like I could throw up my own tongue. I got into the shower and closed the clear shower door. The water was only lukewarm, but I didn’t care.

“I’ve got the perfect hangover cure.” He poked his head in the door, eyeing me in the shower. “I’ll fix you right up.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

I leaned my forehead against the tile, closing my eyes and wishing I was dead. Or at least unconscious. The only thing that made it better was knowing that Tyler Cook was in the other room waiting for me. That was almost enough to clear my aching, fuzzy head. Almost. When I looked up, Tyler was gone again.

It took me forever to shower. I kept dropping the soap and every time I reached down to get it, my head would light on fire and I’d have to rest for five minutes before I started again. Then I forgot to wash my hair and had to get back in. Then I just forgot how to wash my hair altogether. It involved shampoo and water and some sort of horrible scrubbing motion that made my head feel like it was going to wobble right off my body.

By the time I dragged myself out of the bathroom, room service had arrived, and Tyler was lifting silver lids off the dishes, setting them aside on the cart. The smell of food was enough to make me gag.

“There better be coffee.” I sat on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in a towel, and squinted at him. “Lots of coffee.”

“Caffeine will just dehydrate you.” He shook his head, handing me a full bottle of Dasani water. “Here, drink this.”

“This is clear.” I looked at the bottled water like it might bite me. “This is not coffee.”

“Drink it.” Tyler took it back, twisting off the cap, and handed it to me again.

When I didn’t do anything but sit and look at it, he sighed and lifted the bottle to my lips. I couldn’t do anything but swallow when he tipped it back.

“Ugh, I’m gonna puke!” I gasped, pushing it away. My stomach revolted like it had an army of French peasants in there with pitchforks on the way to show Marie Antoinette they meant business.

“Good.” Tyler handed me the bottle. “Drink all of it.”

I sipped. Every time he looked over at me, I lifted the bottle, though, with a fake “See, I’m drinking!” smile.

“How are you not hung over?” I asked, studying the last few inches in the bottle, wondering how I was going to manage to get it down.

“I’m no lightweight.” He was putting food on plates. Actual food. Food he wanted me to eat. This man was tormenting me.

“So, you do that every night?” I lifted the water bottle to my mouth again when he looked my way.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Like mine should have been last night.” I groaned when he actually started carrying a plate my way.

“Now eggs.” He sat next to me, armed with a fork and ready to use the damned thing.

“I can’t eat.” I shook my head, pressing my lips into a thin line like a two-year-old denying a parent runway access to the airplane utensil.

“Yes, you can.” Tyler smiled encouragingly, holding the fork full of cooked liquid chicken death food to my lips. “Open.”

I opened my mouth for him like a baby bird—a very reluctant baby bird who didn’t like worms—and he spooned in scrambled eggs. They were soft and easy to swallow without much chewing, which was good. I figured, the faster the food got to my stomach, the faster it would come back up, and we could stop with the torture fest.

“What is that?” I gasped when he lifted a cylindrical, dull green object off the plate and held it out to me. I thought it was some sort of garnish.

“A dill pickle.” He held that out too. It was dripping in vinegar and smelled like a cross between Easter eggs and the devil. Or what I’m pretty sure the devil must smell like, anyway.

“I can’t put that in my mouth.”

“Sure, you can. It’s not that big.” A slow grin spread over his face. “You did just fine with mine.”

“And yours was bigger.” So, I wasn’t hung over enough not to brag about my sexual prowess.

“Told you.”

“Egomaniac.” I groaned again as the death pickle got closer to my mouth. “Please, don’t make me eat that.”

“It will make it all better, I promise.” He wasn’t giving up. Seriously, he wanted me to take a bite of Kermit’s little green pickle. Was he joking? I wanted to look around for the Punk’d film crew or something. Finally, I opened my mouth and bit off the tip. And yes, I’m ashamed to say, some tiny part of me was pretending to bite off the head of this man’s enormous dick as punishment. I chewed it with relish—it was literally becoming relish in my mouth anyway—and grimaced at him as I swallowed.

“You’re a sadist,” I said as he offered me another bite of the magical healing pickle. Except I wasn’t feeling any better. In fact, my stomach thought I was giving it such a strange conglomeration of foods, it might just give it right back.

“Tough love, baby.” Tyler made me take another bite of scrambled egg. At least that was more tolerable than the damned pickle. But then he was offering me that too. Bite of egg, bite of pickle, bite of egg, bite of pickle, in some endless loop of horror.

“Oh my God, this is torture.”

“Just get it down,” he soothed. “I promise you, by noon, you’ll be back to your usual Katie self.”

“Snarky and sexy?” Last bite of scrambled egg. Thank fucking God.

“Right.”

“Will it make me rich and famous?” I refused the last bite of pickle. I just couldn’t do it.

“I didn’t say it could perform miracles.” Tyler popped the last bit of the pickle into his mouth, crunching happily. Then he reached for something else from the tray. “Now the banana.”

“I think you just want to watch me eat phallic objects.” I eyed him as he peeled it.

“You could be right.” He handed it over and I managed to take a small bite. Just the tip.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Probably.” He grinned, nodding at the long, yellow fruit in my hand. “Eat.”

“Yes, Daddy.” I took another bite.

“Mmm I like the way you say that.” He laughed when I hit him on the arm.

I managed to chew and swallow the entire banana, silently handing over the peel. I was still chewing, and I fully expected it all to come back up at about the speed of light. I’d spray the penthouse suite with so much undigested pickles, bananas and scrambled eggs they’d think a pregnant woman blew up in there. And I kind of wished it would be soon, because Tyler was looking far too smug for his own good.

Then he leaned over and kissed my forehead. His lips were warm and soft, and he slipped a hand behind my neck, so he could press them firmly there, like a mother checking her child for a fever.

“You’ve got a bruise.” He stood, looking down at me thoughtfully. “I’m going to take a shower. I’ll leave the ice bucket if you decide you’re going to puke and can’t make it to the bathroom.”

He put the empty ice bucket beside me on the bed and headed toward the bathroom.

“Okay,” I called, flopping over onto my side, everything in my stomach sloshing and making me suddenly very nauseous. “I’m going to die now.”

“Not on my watch.” He winked before closing the door behind him.

I think I fell asleep while he was showering. And I think it was a long damned shower too, because when he opened the door, a cloud of steam followed him like a rolling fog off the lake. I only opened one eye, seeing him approach the bed, a towel wrapped around his slim hips. There were those two, delicious, mind-blowing ridges I’d licked last night, one near each hip bone, like two commas that just screamed, “Wait a minute there! Pay attention to me!” And I did. I was.

“Feel any better?” He stroked my still-damp hair away from my face.

“You know what?” I narrowed my eyes at him as I slowly sat, hugging my towel back around my middle—it had fallen askew while I slept. “I actually do. What sort of black magic is this?”

“Told you I’d fix it.” He gave me that smug smile, the one I wanted to kiss right off his smug face.

“I’m just grateful not to feel like Pumpkinhead,” I admitted. “Listen, now that I can do more than crawl, I’ll get out of your way.”

I stood, looking around for my discarded clothes. They were all underfoot.

“I kind of like you in my way.” Tyler stood in mine, blocking my escape.

“I should go home...” I said, mostly because I wanted to say the right thing. As much as I would have loved to stay, I knew I couldn’t impose. There were one-night-stand rules to follow, after all, and number one usually involved taking your wet panties home in your pocket and slinking away in shame.

“To the fiancé?” Cocked eyebrow, dark stare, like he was actually jealous.

“I told you, that’s as over as over gets.” I rolled my eyes. “And we never lived together. I was too much of a slob for Alex.”

“So, what?” Tyler sat on the bed, pulling me between his open thighs. This parted his towel and drew my gaze downward. “You have cats to feed? A dog to walk?”

“No...”

“Hamsters? Gerbils? Fish?”

“None of the above.” I shook my wet head, smiling.

“So, you need to go home… why?”

“Well… because...” I shrugged, glancing around the bedroom. “I don’t live here.”

“Neither do I,” he reminded me. His hands slid up under my towel. I was still clutching it to my chest. “So?”

“Tyler...” I met his eyes. They were dark, dancing, devilish. “Are you asking me to stay?”

“I asked you to stay last night. Don’t you remember?”

“You were serious about that?”

“You want me to clear it up for you?” Those hands were at my hips, gripping them under the terrycloth.

“Yeah, I think some Windex might be helpful here,” I quipped.

“That was bad.” He snorted a laugh.

“I’m a bad girl.” I swallowed when he parted my towel like a curtain, looking at my naked body in the bright light of day.

“Does this help?” He planted a little kiss on my navel, licking it for good measure as he pried the towel from my hands. I had no choice but to let it go. It dropped to the floor at my feet.

“A little less cloudy.”

“How about this?” His hands slid around to grab my ass, his tongue searing across my abdomen, licking his way up to my left nipple.

“Definitely clearing up,” I murmured.

“Umm, how about this?” He grabbed me and tossed me, making me squeal and knocking my breath completely out of me. We wrestled on the bed until he pinned me, my wrists clasped in his hands above my head. His towel was gone, and his aim was impeccable. His cock slid into me and I cried out.

“Clear yet?”

Oh my God, that look. This man owned me. And he fucking knew it. Smug little bastard.

“Crystal.” I bit his shoulder as he started to move, giving him my own self-satisfied grin when he swore and pulled back to scowl at me.

“Brat.” He kept my wrists clasped in one of his big, calloused hands, in spite of my feeble attempts at escape, sliding the other one down my body to grip my ass. “I’ll teach you to bite me.”

“You will?” I snapped my teeth at him, teasing. “Where?”

“Wherever I want.” He nipped my earlobe, making me squeal and laugh, but by then he’d grabbed a condom, fisted it on, and he was fucking me.

By then, I wasn’t laughing anymore.

He fucked me so thoroughly I forgot how to think. His body was long, hard, and lean, his hips so expert and experienced in those damned, possessive little circles, I was kind of afraid of how they’d gotten that way. Like his guitar skills, his sexual prowess came from hours and hours of practice, I was sure. Not that it mattered. Six orgasms and one mind-blowing G-spot climax later—at least, I thought that was what that was, since no one had ever found my G-spot before—I was mentally thanking every woman on the planet who had done her part to make Tyler Cook the sex god he was.

It didn’t matter how many women he’d had before, because now he had me, and for now, I had him. If nothing else, I was good at living in the moment, and this one was perfection. Nothing was better than watching Tyler finally give in to his own pleasure, hearing the low growl of his surrender in my ear as I milked his cock with the final shuddering spasm of my own climax. It made me crave that moment like a drug, a hit I just couldn’t get enough of.

I sighed, already missing him when he slid out of me and slipped off the condom, expertly knotting it before tossing it toward the trash can next to the bed. I couldn’t keep my hands off him, running the flat of my palms over the hard planes of his back as he stretched out on his stomach on the big bed beside me. I told myself to memorize this man, his body, his lazy smile and sexy, half-lidded look. I would live on this moment for the rest of my life.

“Is there anything to do in this town?” Tyler complained, his face buried in a pillow. “I’m bored.”

“Sadly, I’m afraid you’ve done it all already,” I told him truthfully, my fingers moving through the thick mop of his hair.

After all, this was Detroit. We didn’t have an amusement park. We did have a zoo, but most of the exhibits were closed in the winter. Besides, I found the zoo depressing. I couldn’t think of one place to take him that would alleviate his boredom.

“I’ve got the entire day off.” He rolled to his back and found my hand under the covers, linking our fingers. “Do you know how rare that is? I feel like I should be doing something.”

“You just did me.” I grinned when he shot me a dark, lusty look.

“I could spend all day doing you and it wouldn’t be enough.” He reached over, grabbed my hip, and rolled me to face him. Now we were belly to belly and we both needed another shower. “I want to take you out somewhere nice. Show you off.”

“I’m no prize.”

“You underestimate yourself, Katie Monroe.” He rubbed my nose with his. My mother used to call those Eskimo kisses. “Where can we go?”

“Somewhere nice?” I bit my lip, thinking. “How nice?”

“You know, a go on a date sort of nice. A place Mr. Responsible couldn’t afford to take you.”

“Oh, that kind of nice.” I laughed. “Do you have a passport?”

“We don’t have time to go to Paris.” He actually looked disappointed by that.

“No, but Windsor is right across the river.”

“Let me find out.” He brightened, reaching back for his cell phone on the night table.

“You don’t know if you have a passport?” I asked as he sat, flipping through the numbers.

“I don’t know if I even have a driver’s license anymore.”

“Who are you calling?” I peeked over his shoulder and saw the name Celeste fill the screen.

“Our tour angel.” Tyler glanced back at me, smiling at my knitted, jealous brow.

“Tour angel?”

“Trouble’s assistant,” he explained. “Well, really, she’s Rob’s… Celeste? ... uh… last night… he left with some girl… Rob’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

So, Sabrina and Rob were probably still together. That thought made me smile.

“Look, Celeste, stop with the interrogation. I just have a question. Do I have a passport?” Tyler asked. “Right. Well, can I get it? ... How long? ... Yeah, okay, if he calls me, I’ll call you.”

“Well?”

“She’s sending someone up with it.” He put his phone down and turned around to tickle me. I giggled and squirmed under him as he nuzzled and scratched at my neck with his beard stubble. “So where am I taking you?”

“Little steakhouse on the other side of the river called Nero’s.” I put my arms around his neck. “I bugged Mr. Responsible to take me, but he said it was overpriced, especially since the dollar is so weak these days. We might as well be spending monopoly money over there.”

“Mm!” He lifted his head, licking his lips. “Steak sounds good.”

“Ughhhh how can you think about food?” I pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. For being so lean, he was surprisingly solid. “I’m still queasy.”

“Well now that we’ve got my hangover cure in you, we can move on to the next course of treatment.” Tyler bounced up off the bed.

“What’s that?”

“Some more veg.” He grabbed the baggie of weed that had been delivered to the door last night.

I looked askance at him. I drank on the weekends with friends and smoked when someone had weed, but I didn’t go out of my way to find it, nor did I do it all the time. It was hard to be a bad girl, I discovered, when you were engaged to Mr. Responsible. Which had kind of been the point, I suppose, if I was admitting things to myself. But now he’d cut me loose and I was pretty much just dangling by a hair, waiting to fall, as usual, to my doom. I figured I might as well enjoy the ride down.

It was going to happen eventually, I realized, watching Tyler light the joint he’d rolled, so why not go out in style? I couldn’t think of a better way to ruin my life than spending it getting drunk, high, and blowing all my money with Tyler Cook. It would be a story I could tell my grandkids one day. I wouldn’t tell my kids of course—no sense in them knowing what a wild, wanton slut their mother was. But my grandkids? By then I’d be too old to care.

I was still in a towel, feeling nice and buzzed and not nauseous at all anymore, and Tyler and I were naming all the toys we could remember playing with from our childhood—Polly Pockets, Furbies and Bratz dolls for me and Gameboy, Tamagotchis and Beyblades for him—when someone knocked on the hotel room door.

“I got it.” Tyler grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on, walking barefoot into the living room area to answer it. I smoked the joint all by myself while I waited, feeling increasingly mellow, as I listened to another conversation about Rob and his whereabouts.

“He didn’t come back here last night at all?” the woman asked.

“Sorry, Celeste, I haven’t seen him since the meet and greet last night after the show.” Tyler didn’t sound concerned, but the woman, Celeste, did. She sounded downright panicked. “He went out to the bar with some girl. I’m sure he’s just somewhere sleeping it off.”

“It’s not like him...” Celeste’s voice trailed off. “You, I expect to chase around town if we’ve got a break. But Rob?”

“Thanks.” Tyler laughed, and I heard the bitterness in it. I wondered if she did. Everyone expected Tyler to fuck up, apparently. Kind of like me, only on a grander scale. I supposed if I had more money, I’d get into far more trouble. Poverty was just helping me along, apparently.

“Oh, come on, Ty, don’t pretend I don’t have to babysit you on tour. Do I smell weed?”

“I got room service.”

“Ty, please don’t make me have a talk with the roadies again.” She sighed. “You know what Rob said. If anyone gets caught giving you anything like that...”

“I’m a big boy, Celeste.” Tyler laughed. “I’m wearing my big boy pants and everything.”

“You know I’m just looking out for you.”

“Right. I know. Thanks, Mom.”

“Tyler...”

He sighed.

“I’m fine, Celeste. I’m clean,” he insisted. “A little smoke isn’t gonna gateway me back into heroin, all right?”

Heroin? Jesus Christ.

“Is there someone here?” she asked, sniffing the air like she could scent me.

“A girl.”

“Oh Lord.” She groaned. “Did you use a condom?”

“Five of them,” he informed her smugly. I could hear the grin in his voice and I actually blushed, even though I was in the next room. “Would you like to inspect the garbage?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” She sighed again. I had a feeling this woman had cause to sigh a lot. “Listen, Rob was supposed to meet with the Detroit Trouble fan club downstairs at one. Do you think you could fill in?”

“They’re going to be pissed when there’s no Rob Burns.”

“Why do you think I’m looking for him?” she snapped.

“Because he’s your meal ticket?”

“Tyler!” She actually gasped out loud.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry,” he replied, contrite. “Don’t give me that look. I said I was sorry. Come here. Hey… you’re really worried, aren’t you?”

“He just doesn’t do this, Ty.” Her voice sounded muffled and I knew he was hugging her. “Something’s different. Wrong. I don’t know.”

“Listen, I’ll call him on his cell,” Tyler soothed. “He’ll answer for me.”

“Would you? Please?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Now cheer the fuck up. Want to come smoke some weed with us?”

“As tempting as that offer is, I have to stay sober and run this little ship. I’m missing three roadies, on top of not being able to locate our lead singer. I swear I’m going to put a tracking device on him.”

“He’d probably let you.”

“But not you, eh, Tyler?” She said this with a tone in her voice I was quite familiar with—that “what the hell am I going to do with you” sort of tone.

“Not me, baby.” He laughed, and it was genuine this time. “I’m wild and free.”

“Just don’t get too wild, all right? Promise me?”

“I promise,” he agreed. “Hey, can you send me up a nice dress? Something really sexy… and expensive. Designer. Something you would wear, only showing more skin.”

“What size?”

“She’s… about a six?” Tyler guessed. Then he called, “Katie?”

“Six!” I answered back.

“Bra size?” Celeste asked.

“32B,” I called, wincing. Had I really just called out my bra size in front of Tyler Cook?

“How perky,” Celeste remarked.

“You have no idea.” Tyler’s words actually make me blush.

“So, I’m assuming you’re going out?” Celeste asked. “With the passport and the dress?”

“The dress is for her—but yeah. I’m taking her to dinner at a steakhouse in Windsor.”

“You taking the limo?”

“Well I can’t drive.” He snorted. “Shit, will they let me across the border?”

“It’s a sealed record, Ty. They won’t even see it.”

“I meant the possession charge.”

“Oh, I forgot about that.” Celeste sighed again. Poor lady. She was just Dorothy trying to lead her charges to see the wizard, and they kept getting in trouble—ha—along the way. Heroin and possession and sealed records, oh my. “Yeah, you did your community service, you’ll be fine. Just please, stay out of trouble.”

“Too late, I’m already in Trouble.” Tyler snickered.

“That never gets old for you, does it?”

“Nope.”

“Call Rob for me?” she reminded him.

“I will. Send up that dress, yeah?”

“Sure.”

I heard the door close and then Tyler was back.

“So that was the tour angel?” I asked, looking at him, the way those jeans liked to ride low on his hips, just like me.

“Rob’s assistant, yeah.” He flopped on the bed beside me. “Hey, give me some of that, greedy girl.”

“I feel a lot better.” I handed over the joint. “And I’m hungry now.”

“I bet.” He smiled, taking a long hit and holding it a while. Then, blowing out smoke, he said, “I’m getting you a dress.”

“I heard. Thanks.” I smiled and snuggled up to him, putting my head on his chest. “You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.” He offered the joint to me, but I shook my head. “I wanted to.”

“So, there’s some fan club thing?”

“Yeah, sorry.” He shrugged. “You can come though, if you want.”

“Sure, why not?” I couldn’t help thinking that, this time yesterday, that was me. A fan, on the outside, looking in.

“Hang on, I told Celeste I’d call Rob.”

This time I took the joint when he handed it to me, enjoying the sweet, heady feeling as I took a drag and watched him call the lead singer of his band.

“Nothing?” I asked when Tyler sighed.

“Voice mail,” he replied, talking into the phone. “Hey, bruh, it’s Ty. Celeste is about to have a coronary. You were supposed to meet with your fan club at one. You coming? Call me back.”

“What time is it?” I had no idea, but from the light streaming in the windows, I knew it wasn’t morning anymore.

“Eleven.”

“Time for elevensies!” I exclaimed, handing him what was left of the joint—we’d smoked almost all of it.

“Looking for your second breakfast, my little hobbit?” He licked his fingers and pinched off the lit end. He didn’t even wince, but with the callouses he had from playing guitar, he probably had no feeling left there anyway.

“I can just go raid the vending machine. It’s time for Cheetos!” I grabbed my jeans and pulled them on, leaving my very, very dirty panties on the floor. Tyler watched me pull a t-shirt over my head—no bra—and shake out my damp hair. I grabbed my purse. “Coming?”

“Sure.” We walked down to the end of the hall together.

“Crap, I don’t have any cash.”

“I’m buying.” I pulled several dollars out of my purse, feeding them into the machine. “Cheetos… Doritos, Cool Ranch, of course...”

“I like the original,” Tyler said and shrugged when I gave him a look. “I’m a purist, what can I say?”

I pushed A4 for nacho cheese Doritos.

“Oh! Oreos!” I pushed that button too, feeding more money into the machine.

“We’re gonna need milk.” He pointed to the beverage machine beside the snack one. There was actually milk in little plastic bottles in there, white and chocolate, along with the soda and Gatorade.

“You get milk.” I handed over two more dollars.

“Big spender.” He grinned.

We ran back to the room, our arms loaded with munchies, and dumped it all onto the sofa. Then we sat on the floor at the coffee table to eat it all. I was starving, although it was hard to believe, considering how hung over I’d been when I woke up. Tyler had actually cured me, the bastard.

“Where you going?” I asked as he got up and headed to the kitchen. There was a working kitchen with a full-size oven, refrigerator, even a dishwasher.

“Glasses.” He returned with two small ones, wide enough to dunk Oreos.

“You are a brilliant man,” I said, pouring milk into the two cups.

“I know,” he replied, dunking his Oreo in milk and then popping the whole thing in his mouth.

“What are you doing?” I cried. “That’s not how you eat it!”

“Yesh it ish.” He licked dark colored Oreo cookie crumbs off his lips.

“Nooo.” I grabbed an Oreo. “First, you twist off the cookie. Then, you lick all the cream off...”

I demonstrated, and he watched like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

“I like licking the cream.” His eyes glittered as he watched me lick the last of the creamy center of the cookie wafer.

“Then, you put them back together like this.” I showed him, pressing the two leftover circles, making one unit. “And then, and only then, do you dunk.”

I dunked it, counting out loud, “One, two, three...”

Then I popped it into my mouth and chewed happily.

“That is a proper way to eat an Oreo,” I informed him.

“Thank you, Miss Manners.” He grinned, opening a bag of Cheetos. “God, I missed junk food.”

“I would think that’s all you eat, on the road.” I couldn’t stop eating Oreos. Addictive little buggers. Especially when you were high.

“Are you kidding me?” Tyler groaned and rolled his eyes. “It’s all juicing and wheat germ and hummus. Not that I don’t like hummus, but my God, just once in a while, a man wants a steak. Or some Doritos.”

He’d polished off his little bag of Cheetos and reached for the nacho cheese Doritos.

“So, it’s vegetarian on the road?” I made a face. I grew up in the Midwest. We were the meat and potatoes types, and it usually showed around the hips and the abdomen. I’d been lucky so far, I was pretty active and my metabolism high. Sabrina complained constantly that I could eat anything and not gain weight.

“Vegan.” Tyler shuddered. “Rob’s orders. Says meat makes everyone sluggish. The roadies make the coach go through the drive-thru at McDonalds at least twice a week when we’re on the road.”

“Rob doesn’t know?”

“Nope. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Do they do it while he’s sleeping or something?”

“They’re on a different coach.” Tyler laughed at my misconceptions about life on the road. Like I was supposed to know what being on a tour bus was like? “We’ve got about ten coaches for the roadies and staff alone.”

“Ten?” I gaped at him.

“But our ride’s pure luxury.” He winked, licking cheese powder off his fingers. Just watching that made me want him. Silly, but true. “I’ll show it to you. You wouldn’t know you were even inside a bus.”

A knock sounded on the door and we both jumped. Tyler got up to answer it, padding over in bare feet, still shirtless, in just his jeans. It was a devastatingly sexy look for him, but he walked around like he had no idea how hot he was. Which just made him even hotter.

“Thanks, Celeste,” he said, taking something from her. I couldn’t see Celeste, though, because Tyler was blocking my line of sight.

“Did you get through to him?” she asked.

“He didn’t pick up. I left a message. I’m sure he’s fine,” he reassured her.

“Well, that makes one of us.” Another sigh. She must sigh a thousand times a day, I thought.

“Hey, I’m gonna take my Katie-girl over to her place to get some clothes,” Tyler said. “Want us to stop by her friend’s? See if he’s just holed up?”

“Would you?” Celeste sounded thrilled at this idea. “I would really love it if you’d do that.”

“Sure, not a problem,” he said. “So, one o’clock—where do you want me to be?”

“I’ll come get you.”

“That works.” He took a step back, swinging the door wider and glancing back to me. “I’m bringing Katie.”

“Hi Katie.” Celeste waved, and I was instantly struck with how pretty—and together—she appeared. She was tall, slim, dark hair pulled back tight, wearing a blazer and skirt combination that had to have cost a fortune. She was even wearing high heels. I’d imagined a frazzled den mother type, someone padded and motherly and clucking. This woman was definitely not that.

“Hi Celeste.” I waved back, my mouth full of Oreos.

“I’ll see you in an hour or so,” Celeste said.

“Okay, thanks.” Tyler closed the door.

“Wow. I can’t wait to see you in this.” He held a black dress up on a hanger as he came back toward me, laying it over the back of the sofa.

“Where did she get it?” I wondered aloud, wiping Oreo crumbs on my jeans so I could touch the silk—holy crow, it was real silk—of the dress. “It’s still got the tags on. Holy shit. How much?”

Three thousand dollars. Three thousand dollars. Where did you even find a three-thousand-dollar dress in Detroit? I gaped at Tyler and he shrugged, but he couldn’t help that little smug smile. He was showing off, all proud, and I knew it.

“This is amazing.” I put my arms around his neck and gave him a big, fat Oreo kiss, tasting Doritos in his mouth. It was a sexy, junk food combination. “You’re amazing. And Celeste? She’s a fucking miracle worker! What the hell?”

“I told you, she’s the tour angel.” His hands moved under my shirt in back, running up my spine. “She can get me anything I want. I could call her up and ask for an octopus, a hot air balloon and seventeen kiwis and she’d do it.”

“Except drugs,” I reminded him with slightly raised eyebrows. “No one’s supposed to give you those.”

“True.” He sighed, dipping his head so he could nibble at my collarbone. “But I’m a bad boy.”

“You get them anyway?”

“I get what I want.” He pulled me in tight, his mouth hot on mine, hands roaming.

“That sounds familiar,” I whispered when we parted, my arms around his neck, my hands in his dirty blonde hair.

“I bet it does.” He chuckled. “You’re a go-for-it kinda girl. I like that.”

“A bad girl needs a bad boy,” I whispered into his ear.

“Then we’re perfect for each other.” His arms tightened around me. Just hearing him say that made me feel kind of woozy all over, like I was swimming in midair. Tyler Cook thought we were perfectly matched. Well, would wonders never cease?

“Can you wear what you’ve got on?” he asked, pulling back to look at me. “Just until I can take you home, so you can get some clean clothes.”

“Yeah, although I’ll have to go commando.” I smiled at the light that came into his eyes when I said that. “My panties are too dirty to wear again.”

“Can I have them then?”

“Seriously?”

“Something to remind me of you on the road.”

“Sure, they’re yours.” I laughed, trying to pretend I wasn’t feeling slighted by him not asking me to go with him on tour. Just because I would have jumped at the chance didn’t mean I was going to be invited. That was the real stuff of fantasy. “I should have just tossed them on the stage for you with all the other girls’ panties.”

“I could pick yours out of a thousand.” He whispered this into my ear, the heat of his mouth, the press of his hands against my lower back, all making me feel like I was drunk or high or both. Then he said, “By scent alone.”

I think I died a little.

“I wish I didn’t have to do the whole fan club thing.” He licked my earlobe and then nipped at it, making me melt in his arms. “I’d like to fuck you until you’re sore.”

Jesus jumped-up Christ in a sidecar, this man was sex on wheels.

“I AM the Trouble fan club,” I teased. “Or… at least, the Tyler Cook fan club.”

“My one official member.” He chuckled.

“Dude, do you have any idea how many women want you?” I pulled back to look at him, incredulous.

“I don’t care.” He buried his face in my hair, breathing me in. “I just like that you want me.”

Want him? Fuck that. I was starting to need him, to crave him like a drug.

I didn’t know what I was going to do when I had to go home without him tomorrow, home to an empty apartment, an empty life. I’d loved Tyler Cook from afar for years, but now I was falling for him, really and truly falling head-over-heels for very real flesh and hot-blooded man. What in the hell was I going to do about that?