Sometimes you just gotta suck it up and scrub the toilet.

It was one o’clock this morning when I unlocked the front door of my tiny apartment and fell straight into my bed. After five weeks on the road, two of them sharing nights off in hotel rooms with Grady, I’m ready for some downtime. The damn man is getting harder to resist. So is the family vibe of the crew they’re close to who are welcoming me more and more even as the other part of the crew is upping the dirty looks game.

Not that they have anything more than speculation. Outside hotel rooms, Grady’s been keeping his hands to himself. His eyes too, for the most part. Though the long perusals I’ve gotten from him during shows have been a bit disconcerting.

The hotel rooms haven’t been suites since Las Vegas. Just regular rooms separated by a floor or wing from the rest of the crew. From the outside, it looks like I’m still rooming with Lass, as her room, Terrel’s and the head of security’s are closer to the band.

In those hotel rooms though? That’s all cuddling and playful pecks and more of those panty-melting kisses. At this point, I should just go commando and save the extra laundry.

It’s time to sit down and have a serious think with myself. Something I can’t do with all the camaraderie and sexy rock star coming my way on tour. Irresistible, thy name is Grady Baker.

I rent this studio from Sparks and his wife, who’s kind enough to air the place out before I come home. It doesn’t get dirty while I’m gone, but still. I snap the rubber gloves on and get to the scrubbing.

The garage downstairs is barely big enough for the classic muscle car Sparks keeps under a thick tarp and my tiny hatchback, no tarp required, so I don’t have a lot of square feet to manage. Or a lot of stuff.

But scrubbing the bathroom is my least favorite chore. Ever. I’d rather scrub melted plastic wrap off stages than scrub a toilet.

I’m getting ice cream after this.

My hands are washed and holding keys when my phone rings. Grady’s face, a quick snapshot I took a few nights ago before the encore, pops up on my screen.

“Good day, rock star.”

“Good day, fire woman. Doing anything fun?”

“Scrubbing my toilet. You?”

Silence.

I pull the phone from my ear to make sure he hasn’t hung up. “What?”

“Scrubbing toilets is…fun?”

“Sarcasm. Familiarize yourself with it.”

“You mixed bleach and ammonia, didn’t you? That’s why you’re being surly with me. You need some fresh air.”

“One, I work with chemicals all the damn time, so no, I did not mix bleach with ammonia. I’m impressed you know what those are though. Two, I thought you enjoyed my charming disposition? And three, I was just going for ice cream, which involves fresh air.”

“Come to my place instead. People are here. It’s fun. I have a pool.”

“Do you have ice cream?” I ask, telling myself I have no intention of going over, tempting as Grady in a pool is. Hanging out on the road is one thing, but this is the real world, and mixing work and play is complicated here.

There, look at me doing the responsible adult thing.

“Seven different kinds. And extra chocolate mint because that’s your favorite. Where do you live? I’m sending someone to pick you up.”

I blow out a breath and count silently to ten.

“You’re about to call me a cockbag, aren’t you?” There’s a smile in his voice.

“I’m really thinking about it.” At least the man has learned his presumptiveness is not appreciated.

A female voice in the background is too excited when she asks, “Is this the chick who calls you a cockbag?”

“Yep.”

There’s a scuffle and then the female voice comes through clearly. “Please come over so I can shower you with all the confetti and glitter you deserve.”

Then another female voice comes on the line. Lass. “You are not getting out of this. I know where you live and I’m telling. You have forty-five minutes to make yourself bathing suit, preferably bikini, presentable.”

The line goes silent. I blink as the screen tells me the call has ended. I blink three more times before a text comes through. Also from Lass. I am not kidding. Don’t make me flip my Brit switch.

I type a quick text back. Are all Englishwomen this hostile?

Just those of us with news to share. And meddling to do.

My head falls back and I blow a breath at the ceiling as I tap my foot. Pushy damn people.

There’s a red and black string bikini tucked in my bottom drawer that I’ve never had a chance to wear. And all the hauling of equipment came with an unexpected side effect – toned muscles. It’s sort of a work thing if other crew are there, right? And what’s a little friendly payback in the sexy distraction department?

I am amazingly good at lying to myself.

I jump in the shower, remove all unwanted hair, then slather myself in sunscreen and pack a quick bag so I can change out of my wet suit later.

Which leaves me five minutes to mull over how bad of an idea this is before my doorbell rings.

The woman on the other side of my door is about my height and build, with the shiniest strawberry blonde hair and greenest eyes I have ever seen. She is not, thankfully, holding confetti or glitter.

“Damn. Calls him a cockbag, and you’re wearing black in hundred-degree heat. You may be perfect. I’m Darcy, keeper of cars. And I hope you’re Evie, exploder of fire, because otherwise this is really weird.”

I do a little curtsey, because I like her already and why not? “This is the worst idea I’ve been swept up in since I started this job, isn’t it?”

“Pffft. This isn’t even the worst idea since lunch. Get in the car.”

“This isn’t a car,” I say as I settle into the soft leather seats. “This is like, an insurance nightmare.”

Darcy laughs and swings out of the narrow driveway like she’s graduated from every stunt driving course ever offered. Or she’s a wheelman.

The car seems to grip the road as she takes the corner at speed then shifts so smoothly I wouldn’t have known if I didn’t see her hand move.

“It really is. But it’s not my money I pay it with. Grady doesn’t drive this car much, so if I didn’t blow the dust out of it every once in a while, it’d be a mechanical nightmare.”

I don’t know too much about cars, but it’s obvious this one has been customized, on top of being expensive in the first place.

“How many cars does he own?”

“Three. This one, a boring sedan he drives most of the time, and an old truck that he’s finally letting me get fixed up. Thing is almost a classic, except for the rust. But that can be fixed.”

We roll to a stop and she leans over the wheel to check cross traffic. “The guys all went out and bought cars as investments a few years ago. Dodge and James kept buying cars. Which keeps me employed, so no complaints there. You’re going to have fun, I promise. This is nothing like the parties in the old days. Way lower on the crazy. Way higher on the extended family. Terrel even brought his kids and wife over for a bit to swim.”

“I’m that obvious, huh?”

Darcy grins at me and I like her even more. “So obvious.”

I try not to gawk as I get out of the car. I haven’t even looked at the house yet, but the view over the Hollywood Hills is amazing. Maybe I can snap a quick pic later without anyone noticing.

“Hey, the party’s in here!” Noah shouts out the front door. At first, the house doesn’t look so intimidating. Contemporary, but comfortable, with two stories and big windows. Then I step into the entryway, and learn once again that first impressions are shallow when it comes to Grady.

The house sprawls, across gleaming wood floors, down a wide metal staircase, up a matching staircase, and out to a pool reflecting sunlight. “Come on through,” Noah says, taking up host duties since Grady hasn’t.

It’s lived in, welcoming. Large photos in all kinds of frames line the walls, books are stacked in corners, and the furniture looks like people have put their feet on it.

Barking echoes off the high ceilings and I duck into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding get run over by a large wet mutt. Two small children follow, squealing happily as they slip on the wood floors.

“Watch the water!” Terrel shouts from the open slider in the kitchen. “I swear those two.”

“You love it.” I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s full of affection, and something akin to motherly wisdom. The combination squeezes my heart for a moment. The worst part about losing a parent so young is never knowing what will cause you to miss them.

“I love that they do it here and not at my house.”

“You love that Grady has to pay the housekeepers extra for cleaning up their mess.” This voice I know. Lass. Which draws me around the cabinets. She’s sitting at a huge island, Terrel now beside her. A blonde in cutoffs and bare feet is pulling bags of chips and other goodies out of grocery bags.

“There you are!” Lass shouts and waves me over. “Watch out for the puddles. You need these little roll-up things, by the way.”

“Do you need any help with the snacks?” I ask, setting my bag on a chair at the long dining table.

“No. I’m sure Grady’s mom radar is going off by now. He can help.” The woman looks up at me and smiles and the resemblance strikes me dumb. Suzy Baker is as gorgeous as she was in music videos thirty years ago, and Grady got his eyes from her, no doubt.

“Suzy, this is Evie, the pyrotechnician,” Terrel says.

“Yes, the pyrotechnician,” Lass repeats, enunciating every syllable.

“And that’s not obvious at all. For fuck’s sake.” Suzy brushes her hands on the back of her shorts and grabs a bottle of beer from the fridge, twisting off the cap as she walks over to me. “Here. I’m Suzy and I’m glad to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Sometimes even in words that are not poor euphemisms.”

“Um, thanks.”

“Come on over and have a seat. You really do need those roll ups. There’s spinach artichoke and chicken with cheese. There was a breakfast kind too but Lass already ate all those. You sure you’re not knocked up, too?”

My foot misses the bottom rung on the tall stool and I have to grab the counter to keep myself upright. Lass looks guilty. “Too?”

She holds up her left hand, where something big and sparkly catches the sunlight.

“Holy shit!” I shove the stool back and throw my arms around her. “Congratulations!”

“Yep. Cat. Bag. Etcetera. So now we don’t have to pretend not to know anymore. We’ll also take care of your hotel room situation. If we need to do that.” Terrel says this like a question, raising his beer to his lips.

“Again with the lack of subtlety.” Suzy takes a pull from her own bottle as the slider opens and Grady, soaking wet, steps into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mama.” He smiles as he leans close and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“What did I tell you?” She smiles at me, the same smile he just gave her. “Mom radar.”

It’s only then Grady notices I’m in the room. To be fair, I was smothered in Lass.

“Hey, fire woman. Mama, this is Evie.”

“Yep, we’re old friends. Terrel introduced us.”

Grady glares over my shoulder at him as he helps me push in the stool I’m finally sitting on. “Did he now? Thanks for the intro-block, dude.”

“Thanks for getting my kids all hyped up on sugar, dude.”

Unrepentant as always, Grady just grins at him and pops a cookie into his mouth. “They still chasing James’s mutt?”

“All through your house, soaking wet.”

“Fantastic.” He says this like not only does it not bother him, but that’s he’s happy about it. Then again, he is standing there dripping all over his floor himself. Not that I’m noticing the way his trunks stick to him. Nope. Not noticing at all.

“Noah here yet? I got him some of those brownies he likes.”

“You can just hand those right here.” Grady holds out both hands, likely how he did as a little kid.

One of Suzy’s eyebrows slowly goes up.

“C’mon. I’ll make sure he gets some.”

The other eyebrow goes up.

“Please?”

Maintaining eye contact, Suzy lifts her beer to her mouth for another sip.

Grady tries one last time, an innocent smile that does not now, and probably didn’t then, look at all innocent.

Still, his mom says nothing.

With a huff, he drops his hands, his shoulders dropping as well. “Fine. He’s enjoying another type of brownie with Dodge. Back bedrooms.”

Picking a foil container from the counter, Suzy smiles then winks at me before sauntering toward a hallway on the other side of the large dining room. I wonder briefly if this is a method I could use on Grady, but then discard the notion.

I would have caved at please.

“Don’t tell my wife,” Terrel says quietly, “but Suzy’s mom game is on fucking point.”

Grady stares at Terrel until the big man looks up, then flips him off. Terrel’s deep rumble of laughter follows us as Grady grabs my hand and pulls me outside.

Picking up my pace so he doesn’t have to drag me the entire way across the wide patio, my momentum slams me right into his naked, wet chest when he stops abruptly and turns.

“What th—”

I barely register the faint chlorine taste of his lips before he’s pulling back just enough I can see into his eyes. They’re a little glossy, but his pupils focus right in.

“Been wanting to do that since we left…wherever we were yesterday when I saw you last.” His next kiss lingers a little longer, but he still keeps it PG-13. His fingers, cool from the pool, slip up my neck and tangle in my hair as he murmurs, “Everyone here is a friend, no one’s gonna talk.”

My agreement is a non-committal half shrug as I lean into him, scratching one nail down the ridge by his hipbone. Really, I can’t be held responsible for what I do when the man walks around showing them off all the time.

“Ugh. Really? And I’m the horn dog.” Dodge says this seconds before he grabs my elbow and hauls us apart. “Did you know we’ve been working on our own bourbon? Okay, not working on it ourselves, I mean when do we have time to do that? But friends of ours are expanding their distillery and our name is Bourbon Suicide, so we had to, right?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions today, Dodge.” We weave our way over to a stone and reclaimed wood bar under another pergola.

This place was made for parties. A quick glance around counts twenty or so people, all sprawled out and relaxed, instruments scattered here and there, pool toys and kids’ swim vests floating in a cordoned off area of the pool.

I’m settling on a comfortable stool when Grady comes up behind me. “He’s a lot stoned today, Evie.”

“We’re all gonna be a lot drunk today…both of you.”

“Truth. Also, understatement. Hit me, too.” Darcy, now sporting a triangle bikini top and two long braids, hops onto the stool beside me.

As soon as she looks up, Dodge reaches across the bar and with three fingertips, taps her on the forehead.

“Asshole,” she barks, then reaches across and stage-slaps him.

“They’re always like this.” Grady’s breath feathers over my ear, his voice low. “Give it a few shots and they’ll be wrestling.”

I tilt my head to side-eye him. “You have a mud wrestling pit in the pool house, don’t you?”

His wicked smile, the one his rock star evil other uses on stage, starts at the left corner of his full lips and spreads right up to his cocked eyebrow.

My own smile falls. “Holy shit. You really do.”

“It’s an oil wresting pit, actually, and it’s in the basement. We haven’t used it since I kicked Dodge’s ass last Thanksgiving though.” Darcy hands me a rocks glass with a few whiskey stones in the bottom.

Dodge pauses, the bottle tipped not-quite-enough for the bourbon to pour out. “Only because I ate too much and needed a nap.”

“He also threw up after taking an elbow to the gut. Which is when we banned oil wrestling on food holidays.” With a little help from Grady’s finger on the bottom, the bottle tilts just enough to cover the stones in my glass.

“Dude, we do not need to be telling that part of the story.” Dodge shakes his head, his shaggy hair tossing around his head, as he fills the other glasses.

Darcy raises her glass. “To always telling that part of the story!”

The glass is thick enough it clunks more than clinks. I prepare to burn my throat, but it rolls over my tongue instead. I take another sip. “Wow. That’s really good.”

“Of course it is. Enough with the pussy portions.” Dodge tops off each glass before calling to the others, “Hey! Come meet Evie!” I wait for him to add “the pyrotechnician” but maybe that was just for the meet-the-mom portion of the afternoon.

“We call dibs on her and Grady for Pool Volleyball Pong!”