We eat at a cozy restaurant in Hollywood. The host must recognize Drew, because everyone else here is dressed to the nines. We're the only people wearing jeans and sneakers.

I order three courses and savor every bite. I'm starving and the food here is amazing. A caprese salad with sharp basil and thick tomatoes. Pasta packed with fresh shrimp and fresher vegetables. Just sweet enough flourless chocolate cake. We linger at the table with our post-dinner beverages, black tea for me, black coffee for him.

Dinner with my best friend should be effortless and casual. But it's far from that. Every time he looks at me, it's a little harder to breathe. My heartbeat picks up. My head fills with images of me and Drew naked and rolling around his bed, his nails on my skin, his lips on my neck, his cock deep inside me.

Okay. Time to catch my breath. I excuse myself to the bathroom.

My hair and makeup are about average for someone who just moved. If this concert is anything like a Sinful Serenade show, most people will be in band t-shirts and jeans, their hair and makeup carefully messy. But there will be a few dozen girls in tiny skirts and tall shoes, made up to perfection and waiting in line to flirt with their favorite band member. Or maybe even take him home.

I can fit into the former group. I part my messy hair so it looks on-purpose messy and I apply a little concealer, some thick eyeliner, a brush-on lipstick. My reflection looks less tired and more game for wherever the night takes her.

At the table, Drew is signing the check.

"I wanted to split that," I say.

He shrugs like it's not a big deal. Must be nice to shrug off a hundred dollar dinner like it's a cup of coffee.

"What happened to things being even between us?" I ask.

"They are." He stands and motions to the exit door. "This is because you're going to have to put up with Gavin."

I stare at him. Am I supposed to know who Gavin is?

"Singer of Dangerous Noise."

The band we're going to see. I nod, yeah, of course, like I'm cool enough to know all about Dangerous Noise. They must be decent if Drew likes them. I've never met anyone more specific or demanding than Drew is.

I follow Drew to the street. The setting sun casts an orange glow. It's beautiful and gritty all at once.

We walk a few blocks. There's no line at the club. The band isn't as popular as Sinful Serenade, but then who is?

We do not go to the main entrance. We walk through an alley, straight to the side door. There's a bouncer sitting in front of it, his attention devoted to a game on his phone.

He looks up and nods like he recognizes Drew. "Nice to see you, Mr. Denton."

"Mr. Denton is my dad. It's Drew." He nods to me. "This is my very good friend Kara. If you see anyone giving her shit, find me immediately, so I can beat him to within an inch of his life."

"You know what musicians are like."

"That's why I asked."

The bouncer shakes his head knowingly. Used to overprotective boyfriends, no doubt. Never mind the little detail that Drew and I are only friends.

The bouncer opens the door for us. We make our way through the backstage area. It's much more low-key than any other show I've ever been to. Twenty-something guys are setting up on stage. Everyone else is milling around a dressing room. No doubt milling around a bottle of alcohol.

Drew motions to the guys on stage. He steps through the curtains. His hand tightens around mine, like I'm supposed to follow him on stage. Sure, the doors aren't open yet, but I'm not going to be on a stage. I haven't been on stage since my high school dance performances.

The bright lights are familiar. Like my high school dance performances. They're the only thing I can see and they're so, so hot. Already, I'm sweating and it's only going to get worse the longer I'm around Drew.

Drew high-five hellos a tall guy with light hair. The guy turns to me.

He offers his hand. "Gavin. You must be Kara."

"I must be." I shake. "You guys opening?"

He nods. "The headliners are taking shots backstage. Sure they'd welcome the best guitarist—"

"Stop with that shit." Drew shakes his head. "As far as you know, I'm just another guy."

"Everyone knows your face. You're pretty much royalty around here." Gavin turns to me. "Don't let it go to his head."

"I couldn't."

Gavin motions for us to leave. "Doors open in fifteen. Get lost before you steal my thunder."

We head backstage. Someone from the headlining band recognizes Drew. He introduces himself and launches into this long speech about how amazing Drew's guitar skills are. It's far too technical for me to follow. I nod, uh huh, taking delight in the awkward look on Drew's face. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure he's blushing. The man does not like attention. He especially hates admiration.

Just when I think we're free of idolatry, another musician comes up to Drew and sings his praises. And here I thought rock stars only had to contend with rabid female fans. I scan the backstage area again. As far as I can tell, I'm the only woman here, and everyone is keeping a very wide radius. Either Drew gives off a protective aura or people here know enough about his penchant for threatening people to punches to avoid flirting.

Really, who does he think he's kidding? Like a guitarist is going to punch anyone in the face.

By the time the third fanboy is done praising Drew's musical abilities, the show is about to start. Drew rolls his eyes as his admirer leaves.

"Must be difficult hearing so much positive feedback," I say.

Drew sighs. "That guy didn't have a clue what he was talking about. It's just 'cause Sinful Serenade is famous, not that he actually appreciates our music."

"Still—"

"Do you admire me, Kendrick?" he asks.

"I don't know. We're friends. It's not really like that."

"Exactly. We're on the same level. We can communicate like real people. You don't have me up on this pedestal." His bad mood shifts into a smile. "Which must be hard, given how dead sexy I am."

"Yeah, very hard." Not thinking about Drew hard. Not at all.

The rest of Dangerous Noise makes their way on stage. There's a small chorus of cheers from the audience.

Drew takes my hand and leads me closer to the performance. We're right by the curtains. It's a perfect view of the stage. Well, the back right side of the stage. Too bad I lack interest in checking out any ass besides Drew's, because I have an eyeful of rock stars in tight jeans.

The band launches into their first song. It's not half bad. Catchy. Rhythmic. They have a great energy and they're fun.

It's impossible to see the audience with the bright lights, but their cheers are plenty loud. The next two songs only get everyone more hyped.

The singer turns toward the backstage area, like he's looking right at us. "We have a very special guest here today. One Mr. Drew Denton." He turns back to the audience. "Do you guys like Sinful Serenade?"

The crow goes wild. Way louder cheers than before.

"What you might not know is that Drew was in Dangerous Noise for a hot second. Back in the day, we shared custody of his very talented hands with Sinful Serenade. But there were a few creative and personal differences, and he left us for fame and fortune."

No doubt about it, Drew is red, though I'm not sure if it's from anger or embarrassment.

"There was this song that we couldn't agree on." Gavin looks back at us. "I hated it. Drew loved it. How about you come out and play it with us, Drew?"

The band's guitarist looks back at us, apparently unfazed by the stunt. He must know he's not as talented as the man he replaced.

Drew shakes his head. Under his breath, he mutters, "No fucking way."

I nudge him. "Do it."

He leans close enough to whisper. "The differences were more personal than creative."

"What happened?"

"My ex... Vivian. She was with Gavin before she was with me. He didn't take it too well." Drew shakes his head. "Stupid way to leave a band."

"So go make amends." I press my hand into his lower back and push him onto stage.

He looks back at me and shakes his head. "Kendrick, you're going to pay for this."

"Break a leg." I blow him a kiss. For good luck. Only for good luck.

Drew's demeanor changes the second he's on stage. No longer irritated. He's right where he belongs. A roadie runs out with a guitar, slinging it around Drew's shoulders and plugging it in.

Drew looks back to me with that same you're going to pay for this expression. Then his attention turns to the crowd.

The song starts with a guitar intro. It's amazing and spotlight-hogging. I close my eyes and soak in the music. There's a great energy and finesse to Drew's playing. The rest of the song falls away, until there's nothing in this entire club except me and Drew's hands and that guitar.

When the song ends, the crowd is screaming. Drew's posture is proud and confident. He really belongs here, on stage, lost in his music.

Gavin steps up to the mic again. "How about those hands, huh?"

The band's actual guitarist pouts.

Drew slides the guitar off his shoulders and takes a bow. The crowd goes wild, screaming and cheering and clapping. Drew waves goodbye as he walks backstage.

His eyes find mine. "Pleased with yourself?"

"It was a good song."

"The guitar part." He takes my hand. "Let's avoid any more of this by going to the front."

"What if I want to find a hot rock star boyfriend?"

"Over my dead body."

* * *

We spend the rest of the concert in the main area. I don't know the headlining band, but that doesn't stop me from swaying along to the music. Drew sits on a bar stool, watching me and shaking his head.

"You can't dance to rock music," he says.

"Then what the hell am I doing?" I step further into the crowd.

It's only a few seconds before Drew's hands are on my hips. He pulls me toward the bar. "You're not leaving my sight."

"I'm dancing."

"Not out of my sight."

Drew's overprotective attitude is not going to keep me from the one thing that relieves the tension in my body. I make my way toward the stage. He's right. No one is dancing. But that isn't going to stop me either.

I move in time with the songs. It's half-jumping, half-dancing, but I fit right in with the enthusiastic fans. Drew stays close to me, his arm tight around my waist. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

It's dark enough that no one recognizes him. Or maybe it's considered rude to ask a rock star to sign an autograph at another band's show. Either way, we make it all the way to the final song without interruption.

Everyone is cheering. It's so loud I can't hear myself think. Drew's grip tightens. He pulls me closer, his mouth mere inches from my ear. His breath sends goosebumps down my spine.

"I should say goodbye," he whispers.

It's too loud to respond with words, so I nod. We make our way backstage. Security waves us through without batting an eye. It seems Drew is known by everyone, even when he'd rather be invisible.

There must be a few dozen people here. I guess the headliners have quite the posse. Drew cuts through the crowd, his hand tight around mine. He finds Gavin in the main dressing room.

Drew stares daggers.

Gavin stares back.

Drew speaks first. "Consider us even."

No comeback. Gavin nods. And that's it. Conflict big enough to break up a band settled. Men. Who can understand them?

A fan paws at Drew. A woman. She's in a tiny dress and she's teetering like she's drunk. She laughs, a loud obnoxious laugh. Definitely drunk.

"Oh my gawsh, I love Sinful Serenade. Will you sign something for me?" she begs.

Nope. Not watching this. I go to break Drew's grip. He squeezes harder, but I fight it enough to slip away. I cut through the crowd. Time to find a nice bottle of tequila and something to mix it with. That's the only way I'll survive watching this flirting disaster without vomiting.

The booze is in the corner, and there are half a dozen mixers. I fill a red plastic cup with plenty of tequila and plenty of orange juice. It's no Paloma, but it will get the job done.

"Oh, you better hope Drew isn't looking."

Fuck my life. That's Tom.

He's standing there with a blonde woman on his arm. This could be Drew. He could be the one about to take home a pretty girl and never speak to her again.

Tom turns to his conquest. "Meet at my car in five." He taps her ass and sends her on her way.

"That was a beautiful display of affection. Thank you for that." This drink can't fill my throat fast enough. I drink with greedy sips. Not great tequila. It burns.

Tom is unblinking. "You like Drew."

Time for another sip. Heat spreads through my cheeks and throat. "I don't know—"

"Yeah, you do." Tom points to Drew and the flirty fangirl. "You looked like you were gonna deck her right in the jaw."

"I don't hit people."

"Drew does." Tom looks at me. "When he was with Vivian. And then after, when he was fucking his way out of his bad mood."

"What are you talking about?"

"You want those details?" Tom leans closer. "You want to think about him fucking a different girl every night, driving them all insane with that look in his eyes that promises he'll love them?"

"Seems like I don't have a choice. You're doing a great job explaining it. Really evocative language."

"You like him a lot, huh?"

I finish the rest of my drink with one long gulp. "I should go."

"I want to help."

No, Tom doesn't help. Tom is only out for Tom.

I study his expression. It seems genuine.

"Why?" I ask. "You don't help anyone."

"That's not a very nice thing to say."

"You only care about yourself and what you think is best for the band."

He takes my plastic cup and pours me a refill. "This is what's best for the band. Drew's pleasant when you're around. Shows up to practice in a good mood. Doesn't argue that we need guitar solos in our singles."

"Is this supposed to be a compliment?" I take my drink from Tom and take a long sip. It's a lot stronger. At least Tom does something right.

Tom looks me right in the eyes, dead serious. "You're good together. And you're normal. That's what he needs."

"How do you know I'm normal?" I ask.

"If you'd seen him with Vivian, you wouldn't have to ask." Tom's phone buzzes loudly. He picks it up and glances at it. "I have things to do, but I want to help."

"Things?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Okay, I have a woman to fuck. Two, actually. That a problem with you?" He throws his shoulders back, all self-righteous. "You trust me?"

"No."

"Follow my lead. I'll make him figure it out."

"Figure what out?" I ask.

"That he likes you too." Tom steps toward the exit and waves goodbye. "I'd get him home if I were you. Drew hates attention."

"I know."

"You want him or not?"

I bite my lip. I'm not about to trust Tom to help me. But he is right about this. Drew does hate attention, and I hate standing here watching him get flirted with.

Tom shakes his head. He motions to one of his friends and whispers something in the guy's ear. Then his attention turns to me. "See you soon."

He steps out of the room.

The friend, a short guy with broad shoulders and a dark t-shirt, saunters up to me. He leans close. "Tom asked me to flirt with you. Any clue why?"

Some clue. I turn back to Drew. Sure enough, his eyes are on me. He's staring daggers at this guy, and all the guy is doing is standing near me. Really near me, but still.

"Tom is an idiot," I say.

The guy laughs. It's a big, hearty laugh. He grabs my arm like he needs it to steady himself.

Ten seconds later, Drew is at my side, his arm wrapped around my waist. "Let's get out of here," he says.

I nod goodbye to the guy whose name I don't know.

Once we're outside, Drew softens. His grip moves to my hand but it's still tight and protective.

So Tom is smarter than he looks.

I just might have to trust him.

* * *

I wake up with a throbbing headache. Sleeping on an air mattress didn't help in the hangover avoidance front. Downstairs, Drew is sweating on the floor. Doing push-ups, more specifically. The muscles of his back tense and release. So back muscles can make your legs go weak. Who knew?

I make my way downstairs. He pops up with ease. His footsteps are so, so loud. And it's awfully bright in here too.

"I know that look," he says.

"Ugh."

"You shouldn't drink so much."

Yeah, and maybe he shouldn't allow hyena fangirls to flirt in front of me. I try to offer him a smile, but the pounding in my head won't allow it.

"Thanks for the tip." I sit cross legged on the floor.

He does something in the kitchen. I guess he unpacked a set of pots and pans. It's extra bright over there so I'm not about to look.

"I'm making eggs. You want some?" he ask.

"Yes. Thank you."

He moves closer. His hands graze my shoulders. "You want to come with me?"

Mind going straight to gutter. I clear my throat. "Come to what?"

"To practice. It's in an hour."

Not with this headache. Just the thought of groaning vocals and a screaming drum set...

Tom. He knew what he was doing last night. And maybe today too.

A heavy dose of ibuprofen and a greasy breakfast should be enough to make band practice tolerable.

"Sure," I say. "As long as you drive."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."