The music pours onto the crowded sidewalk. It's not Sinful Serenade. It's another band, one that is all over the Los Angeles alternative rock radio station, KROQ.

There must be a hundred fans who want in the club. The show is open to the public, but from the frustrated looks, I'm guessing there are a lot of people here without tickets.

I smooth my pink, fit and flare cocktail dress, and brush my hair behind my ears. This is the nicest outfit I own. My makeup is on point. I can go up to that bouncer and tell him I'm on the list. No problem.

Deep breath.

I dig into my purse and pull out my ID, then I march to the burly bouncer. He looks me up and down, assessing my potential. It's the same way I look at people who seem out of place at the bar. Not a good sign.

"I should be on the list," I say. "Jess James. Uh, Jessica technically." I show him my ID.

He looks to the clipboard in his hands then to my ID then back to me. "You're in the VIP section. Stairs are on the right side of the club." He points to the door.

I'm in the VIP section.

How the hell am I in the VIP section?

The club is packed. It looks like it's meant to hold about three hundred people. There must be double that tonight. There are four guys playing on the small stage. I don't recognize them—I can't say I'm up on the alternative rock scene—but I've heard this song a hundred times.

The guys are cast in bright white stage lights. Except for soft purple lamps lining the walls, the rest of the room is dark.

Downstairs is a big dance floor and it's packed. I move around the edges of the club until I find the floating glass staircase.

I take careful steps. My balance in these wedges is questionable at best.

There's another slightly less burly bouncer guarding the VIP area. This time, I say nothing. I simply hold out my ID. He nods, looks to his clipboard, and lets me pass.

Damn. Upstairs is a lot more sparse—people sit at couches and arm chairs instead of packing onto a throbbing dance floor—but it makes up for it in sheer volume of beautiful people. A handful of teen soap stars, a top 40 pop-punk band, and a very famous lingerie model.

Suddenly, my department store dress and my comfort brand wedges feel insufficient. And to think I assumed a soundtrack release party would be full of people in band t-shirts and jeans. Downstairs, that's true. But up here, I'm clearly under-dressed.

"Hey, Jess!" Someone calls me over. Someone in the corner. Oh, it's Willow.

She's in Tom's lap and she's beaming. The girl couldn't be happier to see me.

How am I supposed to lie to her?

I nod a hello and walk over.

It's just her, Tom, and a tall, tattooed guy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. He's not in Sinful Serenade.

"Sit, sit." Willow pats the cushion next to hers. "Pete is talking to someone about—" She turns back to Tom. "What was he talking about?"

Tom laughs. He stares at her with every ounce of love and affection in the world. "He and Drew are fighting over the setlist."

"Pete doesn’t fight. I call shenanigans," she says.

The blue-eyed stranger clears his throat. His piercing eyes fix on me. "Jess, I take it?"

I nod. "Yes."

He extends his hand. "Ethan. Nice to meet you."

We shake. His piercing eyes pass over me. He's handsome. Incredibly handsome. The full sleeves of tattoos don't hurt. His lips curl into a cocky smile.

"You know that's Pete's girl," Tom says. "You better watch it."

I'm already Pete's girl? That's why they're being so nice. How would they feel if they knew it was all a bunch of bullshit?

There's no way they'd be this nice.

They might hate me as much as I hate Madison.

"Since when?" Ethan cocks a brow. "Saw him taking home a different girl last week."

Tom shoots Ethan a glare.

Ethan shrugs. He looks back to me. "Better to find that out sooner rather than later. Trust me on that."

I nod. "Been there, done that. I swore off men until recently."

The three of them are still looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to clarify the Pete x Jess relationship status.

"Uh… we're not labeling things." I smooth my dress. It's not technically a lie, but it's certainly not the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Willow's eyes light up. Tom is equally excited. I'm not sure why these two people are so invested in Pete's relationship status. Whatever the reason, I don't like the way my stomach is churning over this half-truth.

Ethan turns back to Willow. "Let me see that rock again."

She giggles and holds out her engagement ring. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Expensive." He looks up at Tom. "Fuck. Almost wish I hadn't dropped out of—what we were called—"

"Agents of Orange," Tom says. "Why you playing humble? Dangerous Noise is burning up the charts. You'll be bigger than us soon."

Ethan laughs. "Bigger than Sinful Serenade? Doubtful."

Tom looks to Willow with affection in his eyes. "We're old and ready to settle down."

He and Willow exchange a sweet kiss. Then they're both looking at her engagement ring.

Jeez. Do people really get this mushy? There's no sign they're faking it. Who would they be trying to convince?

Ethan looks to me. "They're cute enough to make you sick, huh?"

"You don't like it?"

"Never thought I'd see Tom settle down. Means I have to pick up the slack, but I'm game."

So Tom was a slut and Ethan is a slut now. Nothing wrong with that. It's sensible really, never getting close enough to anyone that their betrayal will tear your heart in half.

Ethan scans the room. "Where is your boy?" He looks at me like he's considering me as a potential hookup.

He's cute, but he's no Pete.

"I don't know," I say. "How do you know Tom?"

He looks to me. "I was in one of the Steele brothers' bands back in high school."

He leans to Tom and whispers something in his ear.

Tom shrugs. "Not sure, but I wouldn't test him."

Ethan whispers something.

"Your funeral," Tom says.

Ethan nods to someone behind me. It's Pete. He's talking to one of the models. My cheeks flare. She's gorgeous with miles of legs and a tiny, toned lower half. A tiny, toned everything actually.

It doesn't make sense. He can ask some model/actress to play his girlfriend. She'll be used to the constant scrutiny. She'll benefit from any media attention.

The weight on the couch shifts as Ethan sits next to me. It's a little closer than platonic. Okay, I can put the pieces together. He's trying to see if Pete will get jealous.

It's incredibly immature, I know, but I want to know if it will work. If Pete has any interest in me beyond as his faux girlfriend.

I nod a go for it to Ethan.

He scoots a little closer as he hails Pete over. "Hey, Steele. You ever showing up to this party?"

Pete turns towards us. His eyes catch mine and stay there. It's like the model disappears. The way he's looking at me, I'm sure he's not interested in any of the other women in the room.

My cheeks flush. My breath picks up.

"You look amazing." He slides onto the couch and hugs me hello.

My lungs empty. It's the first time he's really hugged me. It's the first real hug I've had in a while—my family doesn't hug—and it makes me warm all over.

For a moment, all the sounds and sights of the club fade away. I feel nothing but Pete's arms around me, his hard chest against mine, his breath on my neck.

When he pulls away he shoots Ethan a get lost look.

Ethan moves to an empty chair with a smile. He's an instigator. I can tell.

He and Tom exchange a series of meaningful looks. I'm not sure how to parse them, but it's clear they're referring to us.

This lie is a big deal.

"Ethan give you trouble?" Pete slides his arm around my waist protectively.

"No. I was about to get some dirt about what you were like in high school out of him," I say.

Pete pulls me closer.

Ethan laughs. "Steele is secretive. Not sure I have much. Besides the emo glasses."

"Damn. I miss the emo glasses," Tom says.

Tom and Ethan spar. I can't say that their conversation interests me. Not with Pete's body next to mine.

His hand slides to the curve of my ample hips. Mmm. The fabric of my dress is thin enough that I can feel all the heat from his palm. He smells good. I bet he tastes better.

My head fills with all sorts of delicious mental images. I want to take him up on his offer.

Once I've decided what I'm going to do.

If I can get over how awful I feel lying to his friends.

A nasally voice cuts through the room. "You're due backstage now Tom. Mr. Steele."

Immediately, Pete pulls back. His posture stiffens. His eyes flare with frustration.

"Why am I never Mr. Steele?" Tom's voice is half teasing, half tense.

They're looking at a short, balding man with a ponytail. He's wearing a too tight suit in a shade of bright blue straight out of the 1980s.

"Cause you've got no class, Sticks." Pete's trying to joke but he's not selling it.

He stands. I stand too. It's a reflex, mirroring his movements. I do the math again—it will be a solid half an hour before we can be alone.

Pete motions to the ponytail guy. "Jess, this is our manager, Aiden."

The guy throwing his weight around. I study him in hopes of finding enough clarity to decide. There's something slimy about him. He's not a trustworthy person.

He seems like the kind of guy who makes due on threats just because.

"Nice to meet you." He leers at me as we shake. His gaze turns back to Pete. "Glad we're on the same page."

Tom's ears perk. His expression hardens. "What was that?"

"About the setlist," Pete says. "Drew wanted to test our new song."

Tom isn't buying this but he says nothing on the matter.

Aiden leers at me again. His gaze is slimy. He's judging my T&A. He nods, deeming it acceptable.

Gross.

He keeps his gaze on my ass as he speaks to Pete. "Glad you didn't go the model route. It's more—"

"Yeah. Jess has a fantastic ass," Pete says. "I understand why you want to stare, but she's mine. I get a little protective."

His glare says back the fuck off.

Aiden smirks, somehow pleased about this turn of events.

Pete turns to me with a forced smile. He opens his mouth like he's about to speak. Instead, he pulls me into a kiss.

Mmm. I'm sure it's for the sake of slime-ball Aiden, but it still feels good. I soak in the taste of Pete's lips. The feel of his tongue in my mouth. He moans with pleasure as his palm presses against my ass.

He really does find it fantastic.

"Break a leg," I breathe.

He nods goodbye and follows Aiden towards the upstairs stage entrance. Tom joins them a moment later. The brothers whisper over something but they both keep calm expressions.