I fought hard not to gasp as we entered The Sayers Club.

Damon was right. It was super cool. Inside, it had a renovated warehouse feel, and whoever had overseen the styling of the place was seriously talented. The floor was scattered with Afghan rugs in various patterns while leather armchairs and mismatched stools provided seating for guests in a similar haphazard fashion. Bare bulbs dangled from the high ceiling and candles flickered in red glass holders on small tables. Exposed bricks and concrete walls should have felt cold but didn’t because the entire space was like an oversized living room.

“How awesome is the bar?” Damon whispered in my ear.

I nodded, doing my best not to gape. The bar matched the rest of the furnishings. Wooden counters, rows of vintage stools, and a massive wall of bottles in open shelving that showed off the exposed brick behind. So maybe I shouldn’t be so sad about not getting Gabe all to myself tonight after all.

“Where’s the stage?” I asked. The entire space would fit a couple hundred people at most.

Damon nodded to the far wall.

“That’s it?” The stage was no more than a small platform with just enough room for a few people and a drum set.

“That’s the appeal. We’re going to be treated to a real intimate show tonight.”

I’d only ever seen Gypsy Hour perform in stadium settings and I felt my pulse spike at the thought of seeing them play up-close.

“Let’s grab somewhere close to the stage,” Damon suggested. Obviously he wasn’t worried about appearing too keen anymore and nor was I.

“No wonder there was such a crowd outside,” I said.

“Only the celebs and important industry names will get in.”

I spared an unsympathetic thought for the young woman with the big mouth and little dress who was obviously a nobody. There was no way she’d get to see the show tonight.

We chose a small group of sofas to the right of the stage and Damon immediately made himself comfortable.

“Buy me a drink?” he suggested, his dark eyes glinting mischievously in the dim light.

I shook my head and caught a nearby waiter’s eye. Never mind Damon wasn’t of legal drinking age.

*

THE MINUTE THE BAND filed onstage the room erupted into cheers and applause. In the short time it took for the guys to find their positions the crowd settled to an expectant hush. We all knew we were about to experience something special.

I barely noticed when a couple of women sat on the sofas opposite. The club was packed now and seats were in short supply.

For the next hour and a half we listened enraptured as Gypsy Hour performed for us. They played some of their biggest hits and did acoustic versions of a few of them. Johnnie made us laugh between songs, making it feel like he was chatting to a group of friends.

“God, that man has charisma,” Damon said in my ear, after Johnnie had us laughing again.

I screwed up my nose.

He grinned. “It’s an observation, not a confession of undying love.”

Apart from an initial nod in our direction, Gabe didn’t make eye contact. I wasn’t sure if it had to do with him keeping his concentration or not wanting to make his feelings obvious in a crowded room.

I tried not to take it personally, but as they played their encore I felt more uncertain than when we’d arrived. What would happen when the band disappeared offstage? I couldn’t exactly go back stage. Could I? What did one kiss—OK, two long kisses—mean? Were we boyfriend and girlfriend?

Suddenly I just wanted to go home and pretend I was a normal person. Pretend I wasn’t one of Hollywood’s most well-known child stars. Pretend Gabe wasn’t in one of the hottest rock bands in the country. I just wanted to be a regular girl who was free to navigate the awkwardness and uncertainty of falling for a boy without it resulting in headlines or secret paparazzi shots.

Or scary text messages from a crazy person.

I’d only had a couple of drinks over a few hours but now I wanted another one to take the edge off.

Until recently, my fame wasn’t something that had ever really bothered me. Now the idea of being forced to live out my love life in the public eye gave me a new appreciation of how far my fame reached. There had been my relationship with Jayden, but I realized now it had only ever been some fun. Two kids playing at having a high-profile relationship. Sure, I’d liked him, but not the way I liked Gabe. My feelings for Gabe were an aching need that left me feeling vulnerable—and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

While the crowd applauded and cheered, I touched Damon’s arm and acted out the universal gesture for a drink. I could have just as easily signaled for the waiter again, but I needed something to keep me busy. Damon nodded and I made my way to the bar.

I suppose I could have messaged Gabe and asked him what happened now, but I didn’t want to seem clueless. For now I’d just order some drinks. If the bartender knew who I was he pretended he didn’t and I was grateful.

I jumped when my cell buzzed in my clutch. I tried to steady my shaking hands as I pulled it out.

G: Enjoy the show?

You know I did.

I resisted adding, ‘Where are you?’

G: Good. It meant a lot that you came.

I wasn’t sure you saw us.

G: I saw you.

You didn’t make it obvious.

G: Wasn’t sure you wanted me to . . .

I bit my lip and stared at his message. Dammit. How to reply?

“Here you go.”

I glanced up at the bartender as he set two drinks in front of me. I flashed him a smile of thanks and quickly typed an honest reply:

When can I see you again?

I dropped my cell back into my clutch and picked up the drinks. I was so deep in thought I only noticed when I set the drinks on the table that Damon was chatting to the women who’d been sitting near us for the show.

“Hey, Chloe,” he said, as I sat down. “This is Harry and Mila.”

I blinked and one of the drinks sloshed dangerously as I put the glass down. When had Damon grown so confident? I’d never known him to talk casually to strangers before.

I did my best to smile politely at Harry and Mila. I hadn’t really looked closely at them during the show, but if I had I would have been tempted to stare.

One was a tiny Asian girl with tattoos covering her surprisingly muscular arms. I could tell this because she wore a tank that exposed not only her arms but the black bra she wore as well. Her hair was cropped short and sat up in all directions. She and Damon had obviously been to the same make-up class, because her black eyeliner bordered on dangerous.

“Hey.” She—Harry? Mila?—nodded at me.

“Hi.”

“Ignore Harriet. She’s not very good with people. I’m Mila.”

The other woman held out her hand and I shook it gratefully. Mila was the exact opposite of Harry. Tall, blond, blue-eyed and built like a pro-wrestler. These women both spent some serious time at a gym.

“I can’t believe we got in,” Mila said. “I thought you were crazy suggesting it.”

Damon grinned. “Maybe, but you’re here, aren’t you?”

I paused reaching for my drink, my arm hovering in midair. Damon knew these girls? I shot him a questioning look.

His gaze darkened. “What? You don’t think I have friends?”

I forced myself to pick up my drink, in need of the alcohol more than ever. “I didn’t say that.”

“Something tells me your sister doesn’t hang out at the same places we do.” Harry’s dark eyes flickered wickedly in the dim light.

I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Damon doesn’t tell me much, so I wouldn’t know where you hang out.”

“And I’m not going to be the one to tell you,” she replied lightly with a dangerous grin.

“Like I said, ignore her,” interrupted Mila. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Damon raves about you.”

A pink flush colored Damon’s cheeks and my discomfort eased. At least he wasn’t embarrassed to talk about me to his friends, even if he hadn’t introduced them before now.

“You’re busy filming a lot, aren’t you?” Mila continued.

“I am. It’s pretty rare we get to go out like this.” Saying it out loud made me realize how much I missed spending time with Damon. When we were younger, he used to tag along a lot more, but he was nineteen now and it was only right he should have his own life.

“So, ah, how did you all meet?” I asked.

Harry smirked and Mila smiled. She seemed happy to be the spokesperson. “When we interviewed him for a job.”

I didn’t bother to hide my surprise this time. “Damon has a job?”

“Had a job,” Harry corrected. “Until he broke a nail.”

Damon held out his hands and surveyed them. “Washing dishes is murder on the hands.”

“And we couldn’t let the talented drummer risk his hands,” Mila added.

“Hang on. Hold up for a second.” I shot Damon one of my best big sister looks. “You were washing dishes?”

“Yeah, for three months in Harry and Mila’s restaurant. You might know it: SpicerWu.”

I set my drink down carefully on the table not worrying at all when some of it sloshed out this time. I regarded Harry and Mila with awe. “You’re the Harry Wu and Mila Spicer?” Holy crap. They only had one of the trendiest Asian fusion restaurants in town. “Aren’t you getting your own show or something?”

Mila rolled her eyes. “Not if Harry has anything to do with it.”

“They totally are,” Damon said. “I told them that’s why they would get in tonight. It’s all over the media. Harry will be like the next Gordon Ramsay, but with way more style, of course.”

Mila sat back in her seat and raised her eyebrows. “So what does that make me?”

“The one everyone will love, of course!”

Mila laughed and Harry grunted.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I said. “Truly, but can we just jump back a step for one moment? Damon was washing dishes?”

Harry shrugged and I noticed the eyes of a fierce tiger tattooed on her arm glaring at me. “Apparently he was bored.”

I turned to my brother. “Mama will kill you if she finds out.”

“I know, right? I’m kind of sad she didn’t. Wouldn’t that have been fun?”

There was fun and then there was fun—Mama discovering her baby boy was working in a restaurant was not my definition of fun.

“But why?”

“Like Harry said, I was bored. I was curious about learning to cook, too.”

Cook? Since when did Damon cook? Or wash dishes for that matter.

“Yeah, that lasted for all of a second when he saw my kitchen,” Harry said.

“Totally,” Damon agreed. “I’m not tough enough.”

Mila shook her head. “You needed to focus on your songwriting course.”

Alright, that I did know about. Damon had been doing an online course for the last six months. It still didn’t answer all my questions.

“So you applied for a job with them?” I asked, trying to make sure I didn’t sound too incredulous. I took a sip of my drink hoping that would make my question seem more casual.

“No, we met your brother at a gay club.”

I choked on my champagne—bubbles had been a stupid choice—and Mila patted my shoulder and took my drink while I recovered.

Damon shrugged. “What? I may not be publicly out, but there’s no reason I can’t try to meet people.”

“But, but—”

Harry crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes as fierce as the tiger tattooed on her arm. “But what?”

Oh, this really wasn’t going well. “I have no issues with Damon’s sexuality,” I assured her. “I just thought he’d be worried about being seen. He’s always been kind of shy.”

“You’re the famous one, not me,” he said. “The last time I was in the media with you I was a kid. No one knows who I am now.”

He was right. “That must be nice.”

The defensiveness in his eyes faded. “Yeah, it is actually. I’ve probably ruined it being seen with you tonight. But you know, Gypsy Hour.”

Harry nodded in the direction of the stage. The band members were filing into the room out of a door next to the stage.

The crowd murmured with excitement and people moved toward the group like a wave heading to shore.

What did I do now? Approach Gabe? Or just act casual?