Tom and Willow are still cozy on the couch. They shoot us one of those I know what you were doing looks. I smile politely, feigning innocence as I grab my purse.

Pete doesn't feign anything. He shrugs as if to say and so what if I was getting her off on the balcony? Or maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

No, the way the brothers are exchanging knowing looks—they're communicating something.

Again, the question nags at my insides. Why is Pete lying to his family? I understand him needing to maintain a public image. But why not tell his friends and family the truth?

I can lie to strangers. I'm not sure I can lie to people who clearly love him.

Pete pulls me into a hug. Mmm. It's difficult to think with his body pressed against mine.

I rise to my tip toes so I can whisper in his ears. "Can we talk somewhere private?"

He nods. "Give me ten minutes. Gotta talk to Aiden." He presses his lips to mine.

I'm breathless when he pulls back and leaves in search of his manager.

Tom and Willow have half their attention on me. The rest is on Ethan and another guy from his band. They're talking about music, but Willow keeps looking at me.

Could be the conversation bores her.

Could be she doesn't buy that Pete and I are dating.

Could be a million things. No matter the case, I don't like the scrutiny. I need to clear my mind. Alone.

"Excuse me. I'm gonna get some air." I point to the not off limits balcony. "Tell Pete I'm out there."

"Sure." She smiles then turns back to her fiancé.

Without my rock star faux boyfriend, I'm not a noticeable party goer. I have no trouble shifting through the crowd and stepping onto the balcony.

There are two people smoking cigarettes in the corner. One is a musician known for sleeping with reality TV stars. I had a crush on him back in high school but up close he's not nearly as appealing as Pete is.

Damn, is it my fate to compare every man I ever meet to the sexy bassist? If so, I'm doomed. It's going to be nearly impossible to find someone who stacks up.

I move to the empty side of the balcony and breathe in as much clean air as I can.

I can get used to lingering hugs from Pete.

I can certainly get used to mind-blowing orgasms.

I can even deal with the looks people shoot me when I'm next to Pete—like I'm not hot enough to be a rock star's arm candy.

Even though it means lying to his friends and family, his offer is tempting.

I pull out my phone to check my loan application. No wifi and my data connection is slow. I hold the phone up as high as I can. There! It's loading. Loading. Loading.

Denied.

No.

It can't be denied.

I stare at the ugly red letters. They refuse to change. This was the last loan with a decent interest rate. There are others but I'll be paying them off until I'm forty.

The half of tuition I owe for the semester—my scholarship covers the other half—is a solid six months of working nights and weekends at the bar. Twelve months for the academic year.

I'm not sure how I can down that kind of money. I'm not sure I can ask for it either.

I contemplate my choices but answers refuse to come. The energy of the air shifts, warmer and more inviting, and I know he's here.

Pete slides his arms around me, pulling my body into his, my back against his chest, my butt against his crotch.

"What's that for?" I ask.

"You don't like me feeling you up?" He slides his hand to my ass.

"No. I like it."

"Mmm. Me too." He pulls me closer. "You good?"

I nod. "Just hungry."

"You want something here?"

Deep breath. I barely know my name when he's touching me, but I know I want to have him again. I can ask for that. "Let's go somewhere quiet."

"You sound tired."

I nod.

"Let's order something at your place."

"Are we going to…"

He slides his arm around my waist and nods to the exit. "We're going to talk."

* * *

It's a quick drive in Pete's quiet as a mouse black Tesla. The luxury electric car is another thing I could get used to. It has cushy leather seats, freeze your ass off powerful air conditioning, and all sorts of fancy digital controls.

Actually, his car is too nice for this shitty neighborhood.

I turn to him as I unbuckle my seatbelt. "You sure it's okay to park here?"

He cocks a brow. "If you want to go to my place, ask."

"No, I just… this isn't a good neighborhood and this is an expensive car."

His deep brown eyes bore into mine. "You're worried."

I nod.

"You worry a lot?"

I nod a yes.

He shifts out of his seat then out of the car. I follow his lead, squeezing my purse against my shoulder reflexively.

Pete moves close enough to whisper. "You don't have to worry about me. I know how to handle shit. Don't come from money."

"Oh."

The look in his eyes tells me he doesn't want to discuss this. Anyone else, I'd back off right away. I don't push people's defenses.

But I want to know more about him. I want to tear down the walls around his heart.

I drop my voice to a whisper. "Where do you come from?"

His posture stiffens. "Lived in a shitty neighborhood when I was a kid. Inland empire. Riverside. It's nicer now. Back then it was meth central. We had drug dealers next door. I know how to defend myself."

"Oh. I'm from suburban Long Island. We don't have much crime. We don't have much besides chain restaurants and Westfield Mall."

"There a non suburban Long Island?" he teases.

"Haven't you read The Great Gatsby? We have The Hamptons. Technically, Queens and Brooklyn are in Long Island."

His lips curl into a smile. "Guy who didn't go to college can't have read a classic piece of American Literature?"

"No, I just mean—" My cheeks flush. "Have you read it?"

He nods. "It's no Hunger Games."

I laugh and lead him up the stairs, through the door, into my tiny studio apartment.

There's about two feet between the kitchenette and my twin bed and another two between my bed and the desk.

He shuts and locks the door. "You like Thai food?"

"Never had it. I'll eat anything but I'm allergic to peanuts."

He nods. "I know a place that's good with modifications if you want to try it."

"Okay…"

He moves close enough to run his fingertips over my shoulders. He pulls out his cell then stares into my eyes. "Trust me. I've got this."

I trust him a lot more than I should, what with us meeting twenty-four hours ago. I nod a yes.

"What do you like?" he asks.

"Vegetables."

He laughs. "Really?"

"Yeah. They're good. Red peppers are my favorite."

His cheeks crinkle as his deep, throaty laugh fills the room.

"What the hell is funny about red peppers?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just never met someone who loved vegetables."

"Let me guess. You have a manly love of red meat?" I tease.

"Wouldn't turn it down." He smiles. "Prefer shellfish."

"Expensive tastes."

He nods and motions one minute. Then he's on the phone, ordering delivery. It's nearly midnight but it's not a problem. We'll have our food in half an hour.

Thirty minutes with Pete. And there's my bed. It's a perfect situation, really.

But I can't sleep with him until I've made up my mind about this.

I'm not ready to decide. I reach for anything else I can discuss. "Do you really have expensive tastes?"

"Don't think about it like that." He motions for me to sit on the bed.

His posture is more I'm going to take care of you than I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming.

I sit anyway.

He moves to the kitchenette and opens the cabinets. "What do you have to drink?"

"You're supposed to ask permission to use someone's kitchen."

"Am I?"

I nod.

"You really want me to ask?"

"No. Just. You're kind of pushy."

"I know." He turns back to me. "What do you want?"

You with me on this bed. "Water. The only thing I have to drink is water."

He pours two glasses of water and hands one to me. Then he's next to me on the bed. My body likes where this is going. My head knows better—knows we have to reach an agreement before the fun naked on the bed part.

But my damn body has no patience. My heartbeat picks up. My knees press together reflexively.

Pete's expression is earnest. His defenses are down. It's the first time I've seen him like this. I can't waste this opportunity.

He looks me in the eyes. "Guess I'd say I appreciate that I have money now. Want to use it to enjoy life instead of spending it on shit that doesn't matter to me."

"Do you save?"

He chuckles. "Should have known you'd ask that."

I fold my arms and tease back. "And why is that?"

"There's nothing wrong with taking the safe route." His lips curl into a smile. "Yes, I save. Do you need a figure?"

"No… that's none of my business."

"But you want one." He chuckles. "You act all sweet, but you're nosy."

"It's natural curiosity."

"I'm not gonna tell you unless you ask." The last hint of tension falls off his face. "You want to ask?"

"No. That's okay." I scoot a little closer. "What's it like going from having nothing to having everything?"

"A mindfuck."

I laugh. "You're so eloquent."

"Thank you." He takes a long sip of water then looks back to me. "You want the answer I give in interviews?"

"Do you get interviewed a lot?"

"Jess, you're breaking my heart questioning my fame like that," he teases. "You're gonna have to stroke my ego to make it up to me."

I laugh. And think deliciously dirty thoughts.

"We talked about that imagination of yours." His voice is still light, still teasing.

"It's just… you're the bassist. I can't even name another bassist."

"Can you name a guitarist or a drummer?"

Uh… maybe. "Dave Grohl!"

"That's cheating. He's a singer now."

"Um… Tom Steele."

"Guess I didn't preclude Sinful Serenade." He laughs. "That was a real lawyer trick. You're gonna be a shark."

My heart sings at the thought of law school. I close my eyes and try to push the rest of my thoughts away. What is it I want, besides Pete's body against mine?

It's law school. My future.

I take a deep breath. I can ask him to pay for school. Somehow. Even if I feel sick over using him.

His fingertips brush my thigh. "You're right. I'm not as famous as Miles or Tom—he took it upon himself to became a social media star. Leaked nude pics. Long story."

"Are there any leaked nude pics of you?"

He cocks a brow. "You'd really invade my privacy like that? Cold."

"No, I wouldn't. I swear."

"I believe you."

His smile spreads ear to ear. I want to reach up and trace the lines it makes in his cheeks.

"Okay, you want the answer." He clears his throat and adopts a more prim and proper posture. Shoulders back, hands in his lap. "I'm grateful for every fan, every ticket or album or t-shirt we sell, every time someone streams one of our songs, cause it means I can focus on music and not on paying the rent."

"Is that true?"

He nods. "Mostly." His brow furrows. His shoulders lock up.

There's something else he doesn't want to tell me. I set my water glass aside and move close enough I can run my fingers over his palm.

"What about that isn't true?" I ask.

"I landed with my adopted mom, Ophelia, when I was a teenager, after my dad died." He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "She's middle class. Always knew I had my room waiting."

He skipped right over what happened with his dad. I want to know, but I can read his posture and it's screaming don't ask.

He shifts backwards. "Have you decided?"

Okay, he doesn't like having this hanging over us. I'd like it out of the way too. But that means I have to ask for a hell of a lot.

Deep breath. I can do this. "Is it monogamous?"

He nods.

"There were a dozen models at the club who were picturing you naked."

"And?"

"And… it's not tempting?"

His brow furrows. "Don't understand the question."

"You have easy access to beautiful women—" I take a deep breath. I want to tell him. I want him to understand. "My ex cheated on me. We were days from breaking up but he didn't even respect me enough to tell me it was over before he started screwing someone else."

"I've been there."

Oh. That's why they broke up. That explains some of his no way am I getting into a relationship attitude. But now he's stuck in some ugly memory, his body turned away from mine.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"Not really. Do you?"

I shake my head. "I guess I'm the one who is jealous. I'm not sure I can compete with a lingerie model."

He turns back towards me. This time, his eyes pass over me slowly. "You fishing for a compliment?"

"Just being honest."

"All due respect to whatever the fuck her name was—she seemed like a nice person—but I'd take you any day of the week. You have gorgeous eyes, responsive tits, an ass I can grab onto."

How can responsive tits feel like such a compliment? My cheeks flush. I've never been so flattered.

"You're fucking hot, Jess. And I like you. There's no competition. I don't want another girl." He stares back at me with a look that says don't make me find another girl.

Okay. This is it. Either I go for it or I tell him to get lost.

I take a deep breath, preparing my response.

Here goes nothing.