Poor Nate. That sweet motherfucker turned six shades of red last night when Gracyn brought up Kane.

God, if she knew half the shit Kane’s into, she’d have been redder.

The cold October wind whips around me, permeating the leather of my jacket, tightening my skin into goose bumps. All of it, every last inch of flesh, pulls tight, my nips suffering tragically with the metal bars stuck through them. Love and hate relationship right there. But losing a bet to Kane comes with payback, and piercing my nips was better than his alternate offer.

Pulling my beanie low over my ears, I quickly step through the door and up to the platinumed-out chick at the mirrored pedestal. “Hey, is Sasha in back?” I have a serious need for my sister’s brand of magic before I meet up with the guys to work on “One,” our final song for the new album.

The chick runs her fingertips through the crispy-looking ends of the ponytail swinging from high on her head. Even with my shades and beanie, she’s picking up on who I am. Licking her lips and giving me the groupie assessment.

Saved by my big sister, Sasha bellows from the kitchen door, “Stop flirting with the help, Leesa. He’s just here to collect his fifty bucks for playing the other night.” Sasha looks all badass in her checkered pants and white chef’s coat. Her hair is tucked up in a one-of-a-kind UnBroken ball cap. That shit needs to stay in the country music world.

“Sash, you can keep your money. Buy a decent hat or some shit. You know what I’m here for,” I practically growl, fingers wiggling out in front of me as I do the gimme shimmy in her direction. “Gimme some sugar, darlin’. That’s all I need from you.”

Leesa gasps behind me, waiting for the public porn sesh she had playing through her feeble mind as she mentally undressed me on my way in. My family is tight but not that kind of tight.

Laughing, I wrap my fist around Sasha’s neat bun and pull her head back until she’s got no choice but to look up at me.

“Stop pulling my hair, you ass. Jesus, I’ll get you a bucket of tiramisu if you let go, jackoff.”

Before letting her loose, I plant a big, sloppy kiss on her cheek and mess up her perfectly spiraled bundle of hair. “Thank you, Seester Baby,” I say, using the nickname I gave her when I finally learned to talk.

She shoves me hard in the gut and starts tucking her hair back in place as she backpedals toward the kitchen. Without missing a beat, Sasha points over my shoulder at the bimbo by the door. “Leesa, set up tables twelve and thirteen for a party of six. We had a request from that Richard who was in the other night. Make sure his shit is straight, so we don’t have to hear him whine again, got me?” Lowering her voice so that only I can hear her, she adds, “You wouldn’t believe the shit this asshat launched into us for. God, what a Richard. Gav, this is Bastien …” And Sasha launches into introducing me around the kitchen.

This is her stage, where she performs feats of magic, turning ordinary ingredients into unbelievable confections. The guys she works with bullshit and banter with her, like she’s one of them. All of them, except one. Bastien looks at my sister like she’s got no right, being here.

Bastard is more like it.

He picks through her every move, waiting to find the thing that he can latch on to and use to take her down. This business is cutthroat. So much so that it makes perfect sense why her buddy from the Culinary Institute of America up on the Hudson is slinging wings and nachos down in Destin.

My phone buzzes with a message from none other than Kane.

“Rude. You tweeting about the fangirling going on out there?” Sasha nods to the front of the house as she pulls a small tub out of the fridge under her station.

Sweet Jesus, I hope that’s for me.

Unable to take my eyes off what she’s sprinkling with a hefty dusting of cocoa powder, I drop my phone in my pocket, bracing. “Not at all, but …”

“But what?”

“Uh, Kane’s on his way. He wants to grab a bite, but I’ll meet him out front. Tell him you had to run out or something.” Shifting my weight, I sidle back toward the dining room, afraid to turn my back on my five and a half feet of raging fire of a sister.

They have history, and last I knew, it was all bad juju.

Sasha looks up and to the left before nodding. “Sweet, set yourselves up at the bar, and I’ll bring you something special in a few.”

Not the reaction I was expecting, not at all.

“You sure? I can drag him out for a street dog or something.” I hitch my thumb over my shoulder, really torn. Lunch and dessert made special by my big sister is my deepest, darkest desire right now, but it’d probably be best to keep Kane far away from her knives.

“Yep, go sit. I’ll be out in a bit.”

And, with that, I’m summarily dismissed from her kitchen.

Out in the dining room, Kane is getting the same eye-fucking from the hostess, but as he leans his arms on the shiny pedestal, it’s obvious he’s making actual plans to bring Leesa’s dream to life. He raps the top of the small table with his knuckles and shoots the girl his panty-dropping grin as he straightens and saunters down the length of the bar.

“S’up, brother?” He slaps his hand out to me, doing the shake, chest-bump, hug thing.

“You wanna grab a bite somewhere else? Get to Rand’s and get to jammin’?” It’s foolish to still be holding out hope, but I’m a fool, so—

“Nah. She here?” Kane’s eyes are bright as he looks around me.

“Yep. Said she was making you something special. You up for the gamble? She could poison the shit out of you and probably be justified, man.”

We set up at the end of the bar closest to the kitchen with a couple of beers and shoot the shit for a few until Sasha hip-checks the door, two loaded-down plates in her hands.

Making an awkward reach across her body, she sets a plate in front of Kane and then me. She goes to lick a dollop of food from the thumb that was holding Kane’s plate, but then she stops just before popping that baby in her mouth and wipes it on her ever-present dishtowel instead. “Enjoy, boys,” she calls, grabbing a fry from my plate and popping it between her lips.

Jesus, he’s gonna be in rough shape later.

Kane makes short work of his food, practically licking his plate clean, before reaching over and starting in on my fries. Leesa drops another set of brews down in front of us, lingering longer and longer each time she comes by.

Sasha brings a loaded tub of my favorite dessert, setting it down on the bar next to me. “How was everything?” she asks, surveying the dining room, eyes registering the faces of her diners.

“Fantastic, baby cakes. Whatcha got for me over there?” Kane reaches across my plate, grabbing for the tub.

Slapping his hand away, she moves it out of his reach, scolding my friend, “Not for you, Kane. Gavin worked hard for this.”

The resulting tussle is straight-up reminiscent of junior high and the mess that went down every day after school. Kane and Sasha grabbing and smacking and me stuck right in the middle. Trying to separate them, I wrap Sasha up and plant a hand in the middle of Kane’s chest.

Ducking to the side, Kane closes in, a hand on each of our asses. “I like to earn my treats the haaard way,” he spouts, putting all his emphasis on drawing out the hard.

“Not here. Are you trying to get me fired?” She laughs, shoving him off.

“Never, Sasha darling. Besides, I’ll get what I need from Gavin later.” He winks and pats my ass like only this fucker can.

I lean in, planting one on Sasha’s cheek, and grab my dessert that there’s no way in hell I’m sharing with any of these assholes. “Gotta bounce. Catch ya.”

And, just as I did earlier, Kane turns on his gimme shimmy, hips gyrating, fingers wiggling at the white plastic container. “You know you’re gonna give me some, stud. Deep down inside that glorious body, you can’t resist me,” he purrs.

“Jesus, Kane. Take it down a notch.”

And a pompous, nasally whine floats over to me. Déjà vu hits me like a freight train, stopping me in my tracks.

“Leesa, I thought this establishment had raised its standards, but I might have to take my meetings elsewhere if this is the clientele you encourage.”

That asshole who was here with Gracyn is staring down his nose at me, and five of his equally uptight clones are standing behind him. A six-pack of dicks.

Poor Leesa the bimbo is torn. She’s obviously stuck between being starstruck and having to placate this guy. As her head swivels, one of the clones shows a small spark of brainpower.

“Brooks, man, you know who they are, right?” Yeah, the spark is catching, and this guy is a fan, eyes gleaming, bouncing on his toes like a toddler about to get a sucker. “These guys are amazing.”

“At what? Soiling the reputations of fine-eating establishments and stealing other people’s dates?” Brooks turns on the full sneer now, showing his complete disdain.

Sparky the fan slaps a hand to Brooks’ chest, wrapping him up like the frat boys they obviously were back in the day. “Man, this is the singer and guitarist of The UnBroken. These guys are fucking everything. Hey, Kane, you got any spare tickets lying around for your next date? I would give my left nut to be in on that action—”

“Mmm, what do you think, sugar lips? Should we invite frat boy to join us? Work his way into some tickets?” Kane’s eyes flick from Sparky to Leesa, but his arm is wrapped around me, reaching for the tiramisu.

“Jesus Christ, Kane …”

“No need for jealousy, Gav. You’ll always be my first, but a boy can play. Right, kids?”

Leesa’s cheeks flush as she shifts her weight, rubbing her thighs together. Sparky has that not-quite-sure look on his face, trying to figure out if Kane is serious … and whether he is, too. Fucking repressed frat boy is probably thinking about that one time in college and how it didn’t count because he’d smoked some weed.

And Brooks? Yeah, he looks like he just struck gold with all the shit Kane’s insinuating about him and me.

“Figures. No morals. Sex, drugs, and all that. Does Gracyn know about your proclivities?” Disgust bleeds through his every syllable, pulling all attention in the room our way.

“She knows me. And, really, she’s none of your concern, Richard.” I seethe, unable to stuff my ire down completely. “Gracyn’s a good girl, perfectly capable of deciding who she spends time with, and she didn’t look all that happy the other night to be hanging here with you.”

“It’s Brooks, not Richard,” the dickhead states, clearly missing my dig with the intentional name change.

Despite his portrayed crazy, Kane is ready to back me as always. Leaning into me further, he snarls, “This dick knows our G? Oh, hell no. Hell no. I will fuck you up, asshole.”

Kane feigns reaching for Brooks while shifting our bodies, so it looks like I’m holding him back from a fight. We’ve done this move countless times since middle school, and we have it down to a science. I swing us so that we’re backing out the door while Kane makes a feeble grab at Brooks, leaving a starburst of wrinkles in the guy’s shirt.

How much fucking starch does this guy use?

With Brooks consumed by his less than perfect appearance, Kane winks at Leesa and gives her the universal call-me sign as we back out of the restaurant and onto the street. When I finally release him, he steps to the curb, lifting his hand to an approaching cab.

“So, is this the Gracyn?” he asks.

Because, yeah … Kane has never met her, but damn has he heard about her over the past eighteen months.