“The best,” I confirmed. Liar, liar, pants on fire . But if there ever was a white, pretty, hurts-nobody lie, it was this one.

“Did you hear about Winslow? Well, I guess they were talking about it the whole flight…” Nat fished. I wrinkled my nose, eyeing the mini bar from across the room. Life was too short not to eat minibar food on a billionaire rock star’s dime.

“Nope. He’s not much of a talker. I doubt he’d address it even if people claimed he was an alien who came here to suck the life out of nuns. Why? What’s up?”

“The thing that’s up is his dong, girl. A Hollywood starlet had her phone hacked—hell, if I can even remember who—and of course, she just happened to have saved pictures of Winslow’s cock. Apparently, horses have nothing on this dude. They showed some pixelated images on TMZ, but it could have been his arm for all I know.”

I chuckled into my fist, feeling my cheeks staining red. Classic Nat . Before she became a mother and a wife, she’d been a funny, happy-go-lucky cheerleader who was always down for a good dick pic.

“So, seeing as you’re single and he’s single and you’re both hot and you’re about to spend three months together on the road, I’d love a confirmation of that rumor.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I muttered.

“Why not, Indie? At least think about it. If you love riding your bike so much, just imagine what riding a celebrity would feel like.”

“Hardly the same thing.”

“How do you know? You’ve never ridden a celebrity.”

I’d never ridden anyone , and hell if I was going to start with Mr. Cocky Rock Star. Not that I was a virgin. I’d slept with my one and only boyfriend junior year before…before I’d lost my libido. Men had been low on my priority list since my family had crumbled.

I glanced at the time on the overhead clock. Half past five. I needed to take a shower and make it to the lobby in time for the pickup to the arena. How the hell Alex and the guys were supposed to do a show after a long flight, I didn’t know. Then again, they were professionals, even if they never acted like it.

“Gotta go. Send the boys my love. Also, please email me pictures of Ziggy. I’ll find a laptop sooner or later. I miss him already.”

“He misses you, too. Have fun and take pictures.”

“I will.”

“Of his dick.”

“I won’t,” I deadpanned.

“’Least I tried. Love you. Go forth and prosper.”

“All the love, Miss Horny O’rgasm. Ciao.”

The big irony was that the opportunity to see Alex Winslow’s privates presented itself an hour and a half after I hung up with my sister-in-law.

We were hanging out backstage before the first gig of the tour. To my surprise, Alex didn’t ask for a lot of riders. The dressing rooms were spacious and clean, platters of fruit and bottled water lined over rows of white-clothed tables, but that was the extent of it. No alcohol. No fancy food. No Jacuzzis. No strippers swinging on wrought iron chandeliers. Winslow was humble by nature. He only hired people who were considered close childhood friends, which was probably the only positive attribute to his otherwise tyrannical personality.

I was shadowing his every move in the Sydney arena and he, in return, played a game called let’s-tell-everyone-Indie-is-my-psycho-fan. Every time we passed by a colleague, an assistant, or a technician, he pointed at me with a serious expression and said, “Can someone please call security to escort her out? This bird’s been following me everywhere and she isn’t exactly my taste.” I ignored him, knowing full well that by not answering back, I was brewing a mini heart attack or developing multiple ulcers.

Don’t feed the troll, Indie.

The rest of his band was in their dressing rooms, drinking pop and warming up.

“Why do I play for the only rock star in the world who actually tries to stay sober?” Alfie moaned from his room at some point, loud enough for all of us to hear.

Blake was talking on the phone and pacing back and forth in the hallway next to us, and Alex looked like he was patiently waiting for the world to end. He was perched on a loveseat, frowning at his guitar like it let him down by not producing fresh, original tunes for him to use. At some point, he got up and walked aimlessly down the hall. The warm-up band on the other end of the blackened curtain was well into their fourth song, and Alex winced every time the lead singer referred to the crowd as “babes.” Other than that, his cool demeanor never once cracked or wavered, at least not until he took a sharp right to a smaller, narrower hallway and I stood up silently, following him to the restroom.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Alex sneered.

Alex turned on his heel, staring me down like I was a rancid cloud he couldn’t get rid of. To him, it probably wasn’t that far from the truth, which made my physical reaction toward him even more pathetic. Every time he looked at me, I felt warmer. Like his eyes were sunrays, caressing, kissing, and melting my logic and inhibitions away. Don’t get me wrong, I still hated him with passion I usually reserved for political villains who started world wars, but those rich amber irises weren’t even bedroom eyes. They were everywhere eyes. I bet girls let him bend them over in every single room in the house, be it the kitchen, bathroom, or the garage. And let’s admit it, maybe even the front yard for the whole world to watch.

“You can’t go to the bathroom alone, especially before a show. I’m required to accompany you to make sure you don’t do drugs. You’d know that if you bothered to read the manual.” I squared my shoulders, bracing myself for another argument. The sound technicians were walking back and forth between us. They skipped the heaps of cables snaking on the floor and nodded at Alex nervously like he was the principal of their strict, Catholic school.

“What if I have to take a shit?” Alex jerked his chin up, watching me through the length of his nose. His droopy, everywhere eyes shone with amusement.

I crossed my arms, jutting one hip out. “Then I’ll have to remind myself of how much I need the money and hope to God you don’t share the love for spicy food with Alfie.”

He chuckled, shaking his head, and resumed walking. I followed him. He walked fast. Maybe it was because he was skyscraper tall. Or maybe because he’d found another way to make my life less easy. Either way, my ragged breath made him smirk as I tried to catch up with him.