Nothing like your bass player walking in to kill a moment. My neck cracks as I twist to see over the couch. “Well, first I was sitting. Then I was sleeping. Now I’m talking to Evie.”

“Evie?” The question is less who and more why.

“Yeah. Did you know she was rooming with Gobber?”

With his close-cropped hair and perma-scowl, James doesn’t look friendly at the best of times. But when he pulls his head back and gives me the WTF look, his true nature shines through. The guy’s a huge softie. Kind of like a pit bull.

I hear Evie shuffle as she sits up, and the couch cushion compresses as she puts her hand on it for leverage. “Um, hi, James.”

He blinks at her for a few seconds. Probably trying to figure out if we were really doing what it looks like we were doing, considering the view from where James is standing.

As much as I wish she were going down on me, I wouldn’t have been doing it where anyone could walk in.

Well, not this tour anyway.

James finally raises his hand and gives Evie a small wave. “Gobber, huh? You should get hazard pay for that.”

Evie’s shoulders relax as she stands up and moves toward the kitchen. “Yeah. I guess Grady figured I needed a good night’s sleep. I was in the other bedroom.”

“Oh. And I was in this room, so…” He shoves his hands in his pockets, looking back over his shoulder.

Great. Busted by my own fucking bandmate. Payback was going to be fierce.

“Anyway,” James was saying brightly. “I’m heading out to the racetrack with Dodge and Bax. Guess Dodge knows a guy who’ll let us race for a while. Want to come along?”

I shake my head. “Nah. What’s Noah up to?”

Say what you will about teenage girls, but James has an eyeroll that puts them all to shame. “Moping in guilt for hooking up with that waitress from the party last night?”

“Dude.” I push to my feet with more force than necessary and Evie takes a step further into the kitchen. “You didn’t even wallow like this.” Even though he was still broody as fuck about almost proposing to an ambitious woman who thought marrying him would give her an opportunity to make bank managing us. Hence, the don’t fuck where you work rule. Well, don’t fuck people you work with rule.

“Hey, leave me out of it. I have no guilt about hooking up with waitresses.”

From the kitchen, I hear a soft snort, then ice cubes breaking, as if she’s trying to cover her reaction. Yeah, there’s a really good chance I’m going to break that rule.

“Anyway,” James says, obviously having heard the snort. “I’m heading out. Put a towel on the door or something if I shouldn’t come back in.”

He waits just long enough to hear Evie cough on her water before he leaves.

***

As soon as James is gone, Grady walks over to the desk and grabs the room service menu. “So what do you want for breakfast?”

Should I be relieved or worried he doesn’t mention James’s comment? Maybe it’s best to just pretend it’s nothing. Seems to be Grady’s plan.

I wonder why he’s not heading out with the other guys, but it didn’t seem like a big deal to James, so maybe it was a regular thing. It’s not like I really knew any of them well. Or even many of the crew, now that I thought about it. I tended to stick to myself even when I wasn’t working. Less complications that way.

Today was full of complications.

“Just some eggs or something. Maybe a pancake. Whatever’s there.”

He drops the menu, giving me an even stare. “It’s a luxury hotel, Evie. They have twenty-two breakfasts and an al a carte menu. What do you want for breakfast?” He holds out the menu, but I’d have to get close to him to take it and that is not going to happen right now.

Pinballing from back dimples to James to breakfast is more than my brain can handle before coffee. Getting close enough to smell him or feel the heat from his body is too much. “Eggs and pancakes.”

“What kind of eggs? What kind of pancakes?”

How many questions can one man ask about breakfast? I take another step into the bedroom. “Just…however. It doesn’t matter.”

He sighs, but it almost sounds like a growl. Then one eyebrow wings up. “Tell me what you want or I’ll order one of everything.”

“You will not.” Because that would be ridiculous.

His grin is almost feral. “Oh, won’t I?”

I call his bluff. “No, you won’t.”

Then I stick my tongue out at him and close the door.

“Rock stars,” I grumble as I smooth shaving cream down my leg. This shower has a steam option, so I’m going all out and shaving right up to my hip. Why not bask in the luxury for a day or so, right?

I have a pair of cut-offs in my bag for outdoor shows, which will work just fine for napping out by the pool later. I’ll even be able to stick my feet in.

They also make my ass look good. A bonus that makes me smile as I walk back to the living area, rubbing over my hair with a towel.

“So what did you ord—”

There’s a dozen carts, at least, scattered throughout the room, each with several silver domes. At the end of the hallway, two bellhops push two more carts in and then Grady appears, pulling bills out of his wallet. By the looks on the bellhops faces, he’s a good tipper.

When Grady strolls back into the room after seeing the bellhops out, I’m still rooted to the spot, towel hanging half off my head. “You ordered one of everything.”

“Told you I would. There’s two orders of eggs benedict, so we don’t have to fight over that one.” Lifting a silver dome, he smiles. “Yes! Pineapple. That’s my favorite. So what do you want to start with?”

My eyes keep bouncing from one cart to another, a total scrolling through my mind. It’s a large number. “You ordered one of everything.”

“Yeah…” He draws the word out, like he’s waiting for a follow up.

“Why would you order one of everything? Are more people coming?” That would make sense. Maybe the rest of the band got tired of the track and are on their way back? “There’s no way two people can eat all this.”

One shoulder lifts and falls. “Breakfast is my favorite meal. I could eat it four times a day, easy. So now I’m set until we head out in a few days. And so are you.”

He smiles at me, then his face falls. “Unless you hate breakfast. How can you hate breakfast? It’s the best meal of the day.”

“I don’t hate breakfast.” I finally pull the towel off my head and toss it over a stool at the kitchen counter, slowly making my way to the first cart. The scents of carb goodness and sweet treats has finally infiltrated. And coffee. From somewhere there was good coffee, fresh and hot and I had to get some. Now.

There. On the cart closest to the slider leading to the pool area. Carafes.

“None of these better be decaf, because I’m going to need it all.”

“Decaf? Are you insane?”

“Only before I’ve had my coffee.”

“Acceptable.” There’s clinking and clanking of plates and cutlery behind me, but coffee is close, too close for me to bother looking, until I finally raise the mug to my lips and the perfect beverage ever slides over my lips. I should have let it cool a bit, maybe, but it doesn’t burn too bad, so I take another sip.

“I’m making you a plate, since you’re so lackadaisical about what you want. Mind pouring me a cup and taking it out to the table? It’s gorgeous out there so I figured we could do the al fresco thing.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“Sugar. Tablespoon or so. I’m easy as long as the coffee doesn’t suck.”

“This coffee definitely doesn’t suck.”

Maybe it’s the caffeine already starting to kick in, but his laugh makes the butterflies flutter a bit in my stomach. I take our mugs, and the carafe, out to the deck.

He joins me a moment later, sliding a huge plate, fully loaded with every kind of breakfast food imaginable, onto the table in front of me, then pulls out a chair.

“Someone taught you some manners,” I joke as he helps me push the chair in then rounds the table to his own seat.

“That would be my mama,” he says, opening a napkin with a flourish before setting it on his lap. “And yes, I am a mama’s boy, and no, I’m not embarrassed about it. My mama is awesome.”

He takes a long swallow of coffee and closes his eyes. The “mmmm” sound he makes does something to me far lower than the butterflies.

“My dad, on the other hand, is less than awesome in most parental categories. But he is what he is. How about you?”

“Oh, I am totally awesome. All pyrotechnicians are.”

He pauses with a forkful of waffles and whipped cream almost to his mouth. “That bad, huh? Sorry.”

I move a bit of scrambled egg around on the side of the plate. After a good night’s sleep, I’m willing to concede that maybe there is a bit more to Grady Baker than hot arrogant rock star. Which is a Danger! Falling Anvils! problem all on its own, but since he’s not demanding answers, I give him one. “No, they were awesome. Then there was a car accident when I was fourteen and I lived with my grandparents until I graduated high school. Who were also awesome. As grandparents. They weren’t sure what to do with a grieving, hormonal fourteen-year-old girl full time.” I shove the egg and some sausage into my mouth. “Wow. This is really good.”

“That really sucks. I’m sorry. Are they still around?”

More coffee. I need more coffee. “My grandfather died my sophomore year of college. My grandma about four years after that. I have a brother, who was already in the army when our parents died. We’ve never really been close. Age difference, blah blah blah.”

“That also sucks. The whipped cream on those waffles will help make up for the awkward conversation I started.”

Charming self-deprecation is a trait I didn’t expect from Grady. But it works. I smile. “Oh, will it now?”

“Absolutely.”

He finishes half his plate and I finish a third of mine. Plus another cup of coffee each, which is all the caffeine I need to ask an awkward question of my own. “So why are you stockpiling breakfasts? There must be a thousand restaurants in Vegas, most of which would die for a chance to host you guys. And you didn’t go to the race track either.”

Reaching for a napkin, he swallows and wipes his lips, seeming to ponder how to answer. I’m just about to retract the question when he says, “I don’t go out much these days. It’s too hard. Too much to always be the guy people want to meet, to see.”

“You mean the guy they see onstage?” Who was, it was glaringly apparent, not the same guy sitting across from me.

“Yeah. I love being up there,” he adds in a rush. “On a stage, holding the crowd right here.” He puts out his hand, palm up. “It’s a lot to maintain offstage though. If I don’t turn it off sometimes and recharge, I could burn out like my dad has numerous times. And nope, don’t want that. So what do you do when you’re off tour?”

“Off tour?” I give him my best confused expression, complete with a mimic of his head tilt. “What is this off tour you speak of? Roadies don’t get to go home after the last show, rock star.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He looks appropriately sheepish, so I let him off the hook. “When I do have time off, I mostly watch movies, read books, go to a museum or something. I have tickets to one of the shows on the strip tomorrow night. I want to check out the pyro, see what they’re doing when they don’t have to move it all every show.”

“Want me to call and see if I can get you backstage with their tech?”

There may be perks to being friendly with the clients, but I still feel like I’m taking advantage. Besides, “I know the guy. Not well, but we’ve met a few times in passing. Enough he’s letting me come back after the show while he gets stuff cleaned up.”

“Oh, okay.” Before I can process why he sounds disappointed, he says, “So when I ordered breakfast, I made massage appointments too. They come to the room, so we don’t even have to go down to the spa. We can do it in separate rooms if you’re going to be all shy, but it might be nice to do it out here. There’s plenty of shade with this pergola.”

Several blinks later, I finally blurt out, “You really excel at changing subjects, don’t you?”

“Out here it is then. Are you coming to the show tonight? I know you don’t have to, since there’s no pyro, but small club gigs are fun. Lass is going.”

“Grady Baker, you are exasperating. Also, exhausting.” I should tell him no, but Lass did tell me to enjoy the perks. A massage can’t be that expensive, anyway. Maybe I’ll pick him up a thank you gift once I find out what he likes.

Pushing his empty plate out of the way, he leans over the table and crooks a finger at me. Knowing better or not, the sly grin on his face pulls me toward him like a magnet. “Wanna know a secret?” he asks, voice a rough whisper.

I nod despite myself, a grin tugging at my lips.

“I’m also fun. And a pretty good lay.”

A laugh catches in my throat and I grab my coffee as I push against his forehead with my palm. He sits back, chuckling. “So say you, but I’ve seen no evidence. On either account.”

Which is bullshit, because I haven’t had this much fun in forever, and his reputation in the lay department is well known.

“Anytime you want to find out.” He shrugs and picks up his coffee. Before it reaches his lips, he says, “You know, instead of just ogling my back dimples.”

Coffee spittle flies from my mouth and almost reaches him across the table. This only makes him laugh. Hard enough he grabs one of his sides. “I fucking knew it!” he finally says as I’m coughing on the liquid caught in my throat. He gets up and brings me a glass of water.

“Knew what? That a human can choke to death on coffee?”

“Already knew that, actually. Ask Bax about The Diner Incident sometime.”

I make a mental note to never ask Bax about anything infamous enough to have a title.

“I thought you were checking out my ass the other show. Which is fine, I do enough lunges and squats and run enough miles I better have a fantastic ass. But that’s not really your style. But back dimples?” He wags his eyebrows at me and I throw a napkin at him.

Undeterred, he refills both our mugs and tosses me a wink. “You can thank my mama for those, by the way.”

Slouching into the comfy chair, I shake my head and stop fighting the smile. Later I’ll think about how he managed to break through this fast. “You really are a cockbag, you know that?”