“You seem to know where you’re going.”

Gabe was right. I knew exactly where I was going. “Yep. My brother will be hiding out in his room.”

I’d led Gabe upstairs to the eastern part of the house that my brother and I occupied. Mama had the western side to herself.

“How old is your brother?”

“He’s nineteen.” I wanted to say a young nineteen, but that wasn’t really true. In some ways my brother was more mature than me.

“Levi’s right. This place is kind of huge.”

I looked across at him and noticed him taking in the endless hall and the numerous doors off either side.

“I don’t really notice anymore. When we first moved in I was terrified of all the space, especially when Mama said her bedroom would be down the other end. Damon and I shared a room for the first year.”

“I’m not surprised.”

I glanced down at our hands again then looked away. “Anyway . . . ” I was beginning to hate that word. “When we eventually moved into our own rooms, we decided to stay close by. I’m away a lot filming so we don’t really get in each other’s way.”

I continued down the hall and as we got closer to my brother’s bedroom door, I grew more nervous. When we were a few feet from it, I stopped and turned.

Or at least that’s what I’d intended to do. Being intoxicated didn’t make sudden movements easy.

“Whoa.”

Gabe dropped my hand and grabbed me with both arms to steady me right before I tripped over. He caught me from behind the way a footballer might go in for a tackle. We stood frozen for a moment, my back pressed against his chest and his arms wrapped around my waist.

He smelled good. Really good. I inhaled a breath slowly, attempting to memorize the scent that was Gabriel da Silva—leather, warm spice and . . . sweat. Although he had changed shirts since their performance the salty tang of sweat clung to his skin and I found it way more alluring than I thought I would.

“Alright?” he said in my ear.

No, I was not alright, but I needed to pretend like I was. I straightened and he loosened his grip but didn’t let go as I turned to face him. He left his hands resting on my waist.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I blurted. I ignored the thumb that was doing a tap dance on my left hip because I was pretty sure he wasn’t aware of it. “My brother is a huge fan.”

Gabe smiled wryly. “Yeah, you told me that.”

“No,” I corrected. “He likes Gypsy Hour but he loves you.”

The smile was lost to a confused frown. “Me?”

I stared at the deepening lines in his forehead in fascination, then caught myself. “Yes. Why is that surprising?”

He shrugged and dropped his hands from my waist, taking a step back. “I don’t know. I’m the drummer.”

I huffed and without thinking about what I was doing closed the distance between us. “So?”

He shrugged again. “Johnnie and Levi are the ones who get most of the attention.”

Before I could help myself, I gave him a shy smile. “Not all the attention.”

Gabe’s gray eyes widened and I silently cursed the champagne again.

“Thank you, by the way,” I rushed on quickly.

“Thank you?” For the first time since we’d met I sensed he was nervous.

“Yes. Performing the Queen song was fantastic. How did you know?”

His hands were now behind his back but I suspected his thumb was still moving.

“Like I said, the YouTube video.”

“Why were you watching YouTube videos of me?”

I felt rather than saw his body still. “I was researching you.”

All the breath left me and I stared at him, speechless.

He shoved a hand roughly through his hair. “Shit. And that just sounds creepy.” His eyes met mine and it was as if storm clouds were rolling through them.

I found my voice and offered him a smile. “No creepier than Johnnie.”

He closed his eyes and laughed and I felt myself light up at his reaction.

When his laughter subsided, he gave me another apologetic look. “Sorry, what I meant to say was that I was preparing for the show. I wanted to get an idea of what sort of music you liked—apart from Gypsy Hour that is. You know, do something unique to kick off the show to make it more personal seeing as tonight wasn’t just another gig.” He cleared his throat, still looking embarrassed. “So, your bro’s a major fan?”

I let him change the subject. “Massive. He’s a drummer, too.”

A genuine grin split his face and it occurred to me that Gabe smiled a lot more when he was comfortable. “Nice. Well, what are we waiting for?”

I turned so he couldn’t see my expression and walked the last few feet to my brother’s bedroom door. Damon was going to kill me.

I knocked before I could think any better of it.

“What?” my brother called out.

“Open the door,” I demanded.

There was a pause and then we heard the door unlatch. Damon still kept it locked like he was a secretive thirteen-year-old—not that anyone ever bothered to go in there. It was a pigsty and the cleaners refused to venture into his room unless he did a general tidy up first, which happened rarely.

“Chloe?” Damon’s head appeared in the crack. “Is everything alright? Why aren’t you at the par . . . ” His dark eyes widened when he registered Gabe standing beside me. After a moment of silence he blinked once, twice, three times and then slammed the door.

I bit my lip and hid a smile.

“Big fan, huh?”

I liked the sound of laughter in Gabe’s soft voice. It reminded me of sunshine. Or maybe I was still inebriated.

“I’m not giving up.” I knocked on the door again. “Damon.”

I glanced over at Gabe when there was no answer.

“Damon.” I dropped my hand. “Shit. This calls for underhanded big sister tactics. He won’t be able to handle it if I take you into the studio for a look round. Come on.”

I grabbed Gabe’s hand without thinking and dragged him up the hall until we reached a door three up on our left. I pushed it open and switched on the lights as I tugged Gabe in behind me.

He let out a low whistle. “Very nice.”

“This is the one room where Damon forgets about his shyness.”

I watched with a satisfied smile as Gabe walked around the home studio. A Ludwig drum set sat proudly in the center of the room. There were a few guitars and a bass neatly resting nearby. The wall opposite was where he kept all the technical stuff. ‘Stuff’ because I didn’t know what half of it did. Damon had a computer hooked up to a mean looking set of speakers and there was a mixing board thingy, but that was about the extent of my knowledge.

My eyes were drawn to Gabe as he did a slow circle of the room. I saw him taking in the posters and prints on the wall. All of Damon’s favorite bands were there.

“Huh,” he muttered, and stopped in front of a print of Gypsy Hour.

The shot had been taken at a live performance from an angle and it captured Gabe, arms raised mid-drumbeat with a spray of sweat glistening under the stage lights.

“That used to be Chloe’s.”

I let out a squeak and swung around—nearly unbalancing myself again in the process—to see Damon standing in the doorway.

“Hey man,” Gabe said, like the same guy hadn’t slammed the door in his face only two minutes earlier. “Sweet set up.”

“Thanks.” Damon took a tentative step into the room like he didn’t own it.

The big sister in me wanted to rush over and squeeze him because I knew his heart would be beating a million miles an hour right now. Instead, I walked over and took his hand and gently tugged him further into the room. Like me, he had a slight frame but he was much taller. I hated the way he always slouched like he wasn’t comfortable with his full height.

Up close I could see his dark eyes better. He had the same fair complexion I did, but with the wispy dark hair that covered his eyes and his all black outfit, it made him appear paler.

I held back a frown when I saw that his eyes were bloodshot. He gave me a sideways glance and a slow, lazy smile. Dammit. He’d just smoked some marijuana. I dropped his hand, trying hard to hide my disgust.

I’d told myself a million times to be thankful that it was only marijuana, but I hated the person Damon became when he smoked pot. It was like taking a brilliantly sharp knife with gleaming edges and dulling it until it was an ordinary butter knife. I especially hated how his sweetness was lost to a sly young man I didn’t recognize.

As if he sensed my unease, Damon’s smile turned into an evil grin. “Chloe had that poster on her wall until about a year ago.”

I glared at Damon with my best big sister look of superiority, then faked a bright smile when Gabe twisted to face us.

For a split second it was as if he registered the mood, but then he shrugged. “It’s a great image. I’ve been really lazy about getting some good shots framed.”

“Don’t you have people for that?” Damon said.

Ugh. I resisted backhanding my annoying brother.

“Probably.” Gabe nodded at the drums. “How long you been playing?”

“Since he was thirteen,” I answered.

“Twelve,” Damon corrected, shooting me his own ‘back off big sister’ look.

“And the guitars?”

“I picked that up a couple of years after.”

“He still prefers drums,” I said.

“I get that.” Gabe wandered over to the guitars and gestured to the acoustic one. “Do you mind?”

“Go for it.”

Damon and I watched as Gabe slung the strap over his shoulder and then perched on the edge of a stool nearby. My earlier exasperation evaporated as the sound of Gabe plucking an intricate chord progression filled the room.

“You play guitar?” I breathed. God, how did I not know that?

“Some,” Gabe said, his gray eyes settling on me while he effortlessly continued playing. “I keep it to myself though.”

More than some, I wanted to say, but didn’t. And if he kept it a secret, why was he playing in front of us now?

Damon nodded with one of those male frowns that indicated he was seriously impressed rather than upset. He edged toward the drum kit and I saw him eye the sticks resting on one of the drums.

“Needs a beat,” Gabe said, indicating for my brother to sit down.

I gave up all pretense of appearing cool and pulled up another one of the stools to gape as my little brother started playing drums with Gabe.

Perhaps the pot he’d just smoked was a good thing. When he was his normal self again, he would pee himself over this.

“Needs more hi-hat,” Gabe suggested, and Damon nodded reverently. One of the cymbals danced up and down as he increased its pace.

“Nice, now listen for the bridge and see what you’d do there. I’ll keep playing it until you get that down.”

I stared at them in awe. Damon was jamming with Gabriel da Silva. I was going to pee myself too! God, I wished I had my cell right now so I could shoot some pictures of them for Damon to drool over later.

And he would definitely drool over this for weeks, probably years, to come. Sure, he might appear comfortable behind the drums in his drug-induced calm, but I knew something many people didn’t.

My shy, sweet younger brother was gay—and he had just as big a crush on Gabe as I did.