Sitting in the tour bus office chair, hunched over my laptop, I was undisturbed by the commotion in the front. Noise-cancelling headphones over my ears muffled the distracting sounds.

August, Damon, and the other guys were playing a game. Each band member had a turn on the guitar in an attempt to create the most horrendous noise possible. Taking the opportunity to get some work done, I holed myself up in the office area and tuned them out.

I hadn't had a chance to sort through the photos yet. I needed to narrow them down from thousands to dozens, choosing only the best shots. Then I needed to edit them and re-touch them, making handfuls of small changes. Changes no one else would notice, but as the photographer, I would.

I caught a glimpse of blond hair out of the corner of my eye. I was so focused on my work, I took only vague notice of it. Either the game was done or August had enough of it. The image in front of me still needed my attention, so I put it out of my mind.

I felt a warm presence behind me, my only warning before a firm chest pressed against my back. Two hands lifted my headphones off my head, careful not to tug and pull on my hair.

"How's the work coming?" August murmured in my ear.

I smiled. "It would go faster if someone didn't keep distracting me."

August swung my swivel chair around until I was facing him. He looked as gorgeous today as ever, longish-hair falling over his jaw, blue eyes peering into mine. He brushed my hair from my face.

August had been doing this lately. Coming up behind me, murmuring in my ear, giving me small, innocent touches here and there. At first, every husky word made my insides quake, every touch of his skin made my heart beat a small thrill.

I was getting used to it now. I took note of the feelings, then brushed them aside, compartmentalizing. I was learning to focus and speak in full sentences even as he touched me. I was becoming desensitized to it, no longer overwhelmed.

Maybe that was his plan.

"Is that all I am? A distraction? Harsh." His tone was light and amused.

"If you want these photos, you need to let me edit them."

He leaned over my shoulder to peer at my screen.

"That one's not bad."

I wondered where not bad fell on the awful-to-amazing scale in August-speak. From his approving tone, I took it as high praise.

"I don't know why you need a dedicated photographer for this," I said. "Anyone with a camera phone can do what I'm doing."

"No one else can do what you do," he countered.

"I doubt many other bands care this much about the photos they post online," I said.

"Other bands aren't Darkest Days."

It made sense August would have high standards for all aspects of his career, not just in his music.

"Have you ever done anything half-assed in your life?"

"No." His lips twitched upward. "That's why I can get away with so much. You think music execs give anyone as much leeway as they give me?"

"I thought it was because you bribed and threatened them."

"It's partly that," he acknowledged with a sly smile. "It's also because I've proven I know what I'm doing. I never failed at anything I put my mind to."

"I bet that puts a lot of pressure on you."

August looked taken aback for a moment.

"How so?"

"Pressure to continue succeeding," I clarified. "You probably feel like you can't ever make a single mistake or take one misstep. Everything has to be perfect all the time."

He gave me a quizzical look.

"I suppose that's one way of looking at it."

"Perfectionism isn't a good thing," I warned.

"Seems to be working out for me so far."

"What's going to happen the first time you fail?"

"I won't," he said easily.

That troubled me. It was one thing to demand perfection. It was another to expect perfection all the time, especially from yourself.

"Don't look so worried," August said. "I'm the one who's supposed to worry about everyone, remember?"

He craned his head back toward the front of the bus. It was suspiciously quiet. Usually the guys were always making some kind of noise.

"We put the game on hold for a minute." He cocked his head at me. "Want to play?"

"I don't know how to play guitar."

"That's the point. You win if you make the worst noise possible."

"Then I'll probably beat the pants off all of you."

August clicked save on my photo editing program and closed the laptop.

"You should take a break."

"Says the workaholic perfectionist."

"Maybe I just want an excuse to spend time with you."

Glancing at him, I tried to gauge whether he was just teasing, or serious. His eyes were alight with good humor.

August took my hand and led me to the living room area where the guys were gathered. His long, warm fingers engulfed mine. I stared at our hands, laced together.

Those butterflies in my stomach returned. They were a welcome feeling now.

"We've got one more joining in," August said. "Better bring your A-game."

"No fair, making us play against an amateur," Cameron complained.

"Playing terribly is as much a skill as playing well," Ian replied. "You need to understand how the notes fit together to know understand they won't."

"Always the optimist," Damon said. "You're going to get your ass kicked."

August placed an acoustic guitar in my hands, handed me a pick, and guided me to sit on one of the sofas. He took a seat beside me.

I fumbled to put my arms and hands in the right positions. The guitar was big, and sat heavy in my lap.

"Do I hold it like this?" I asked the guys.

"Sure," Damon said breezily. "Just like that."

"So that's a no, then?"

Taking a deep breath, I put the pick to strings and strummed an experimental note.

The off-pitch squeal that sounded throughout the tour bus made everyone wince, including myself.

"Keep going," August encouraged.

I changed the position of my fingers on the neck of the guitar — I think it was called a fret board — and strummed vigorously, trying to imitate how I'd seen the twins play on stage.

"Ugh," the twins groaned in unison, covering their ears with their hands in an odd symmetry.

"For the love of god," Damon said.

"Please stop," Ian continued.

"Our ears are bleeding," Damon added.

"No." Cameron shook his head mournfully. "Just no."

"That's awful," Noah said flatly.

I laughed. This was fun. Hanging out with the members of a popular rock band like Darkest Days wasn't as daunting as I'd initially imagined. They were chill, a normal bunch of twenty-something guys, minus the messy bathroom and smelly socks. The lead singer Noah was a bit stand-offish, but the rest of them were friendly. Damon had even opened up about his troubles with his twin.

"Game over," August declared. "Cassie's the winner."

While the guys gave me a round of ironic applause, Cameron's phone rang. His smile brightened when he saw who was calling. He put the phone to his ear.

"Hey Angel. You miss me?"

Ian and Noah both took that as an invitation to pull out their phones, no doubt planning to call or text their girlfriends. They each wandered to the back of the bus for privacy. Damon's face twitched, as if fighting back a scowl. He caught me staring at him. His struggled to smooth his face and gave me a wry smile.

"I'm trying, okay?"

He stalked off toward the kitchen and pulled opened the fridge, rooting around in it. August stayed behind.

"So what do I win?" I asked him.

"Guitar lessons," August said. "Let me show you a few chords."

August shifted to place himself behind me. His firm chest pressed against my back. One leg curled around my hip.

"This is how you hold it," he told me.

Wrapping his arms around me, he took my hands in his.

His movements weren't seductive or suggestive. He put my hands and fingers in the correct position, then let go, allowing me to get a feel for the instrument on my own.

My fingers were barely long enough to reach the correct positions on the fretboard. They felt awkwardly placed as I stretched and strained to press down hard enough on the strings.

"That hurts," I complained.

"Why don't we do it this way?"

Replacing my fingers on the fret with his, he took my other hand and positioned me to strum only.

"Use the pick and strum from the top to the bottom."

I did as he said. A pleasant tune reverberated throughout the guitar.

"Do it again," he coaxed.

As I did, he changed the position of his fingers, changing the sound with each of my strums. We continued playing that way, with me strumming and him spidering his hand across the strings.

We weren't playing anything I recognized. It might have been a made up tune. Still, I was having fun. I grinned and turned around to face August. His eyes were bright, looking as satisfied as I felt.

"Does this count as playing guitar?" I asked.

"You've got the strumming down, so you're fifty percent of the way there."

"I don't think I have the patience to learn the other fifty percent." I placed my hands flat on the body, the smooth wood cool to the touch. "I didn't know you played guitar as well as drums."

"I play quite a few instruments."

I suppressed a smile.

"Of course you do. You're August Summers. I don't know why I expected anything different. Let me guess." I paused thoughtfully. "Piano?"

"Yes."

"And… violin?"

"Yes." His eyes sparkled. "Any other guesses?"

"Don't tell me you play something weird like the tuba?"

"No. But I do know how to play the saxophone."

"You're a one-man band," I teased. "Why do you need the others?"

"I could do it all myself, if I wanted," he acknowledged. "But each of the guys bring something special to the group. Something unique. We all work together to create something bigger than ourselves."

"That's kind of beautiful."

"It is."

We went silent, staring at each other. I was practically in his lap, our legs tangled together.

"My art is very solitary," I said softly.

"Does it ever get lonely?"

"I never thought about it that way. I had fellow students. I had instructors, mentors."

"But you don't need them to do your work." August examined me. "I'd like to see it."

"See what?"

"You. Taking photos."

"You see me taking photos every day."

"Not for the tour. For you. I'd like to see you in your element." He brushed a strand of hair from my face. My cheeks tingled where his fingers touched. "I'd like to see you break into abandoned buildings like a delinquent."

My face was flushed even as I protested.

"I was half joking when I said that."

"Only half?" August raised an eyebrow playfully. "Exactly how many times have you unlawfully trespassed?"

I eyed him. He seemed serious.

"You really want to come with me while I do my street photography?"

"We've got a two-day stop coming up. Why don't we do it then? We can sneak off after the concert."

"If we get arrested, I'm blaming you."

"I've got more than enough money for bail."

We shared a secret smile.

It was an odd sort of date, if you could even call it that. I'd normally balk at something like this. Letting someone watch me while I worked was all sorts of nerve-wracking.

I was supposed to move out of my comfort zone. To challenge myself.

Being with August Summers wasn't challenging.

It was starting to feel like the most natural thing in the world.