“What’s the big deal anyway?” Jared demanded. “You love Jamison. She loves you guys. She’s a great cook. I don’t see the downside.”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Quinn said. “Your sister’s great.”

“Absolutely,” Micah chimed in. “And if she’s going to cook for us, I say, hell, yeah.”

Jamison smiled at the support. She really did love these guys and it would hurt if they didn’t want her to tag along with them for a few weeks. She’d understand— or at least she told herself she would—but it would still hurt.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Ryder’s voice, when it came, was so low she had to strain to hear it. Then was sorry she had. “I don’t want her here.”

“You know, you can’t penalize her for what happened between you two last night.”

“Whoa. What happened between them?” Quinn demanded.

“You tapped Jelly Bean?” Micah sounded more intrigued than scandalized.

“Don’t even think about it, asshole!” Ryder and Jared growled the exact same thing at the exact same time.

Then Ryder continued, “That’s not what I’m doing and you know it.” He sounded furious. “Anything can happen to her if she’s on tour with us. You know a lot of these guys aren’t trustworthy, right?”

“Which is why I talked to Max about staying away from her. The word has already spread about how you took him apart—Jamison will be fine. Plus, I feel a hell of a lot more comfortable with her here, where we can watch her, than in that dismal little apartment searching for a job anywhere she can get one.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is—just give her some money. Or if you don’t want to, then I will. She can get a decent place to live and—”

The alarm she’d set forty minutes earlier chose that minute to go off. Jamison leaped away from the door and dove for her cell phone, which was sitting on the kitchen counter next to the small stove. She blinked tears out of her eyes, shocked at just how desperate Ryder was to get rid of her. He actually wanted to pay her to go away? Had kissing her really been that bad?

Mortified heat flooded her cheeks as she bent to pull from the oven the apple cobbler she’d made from the ingredients she’d cleared out of her apartment. If she’d had any better options—or any options at all, really—she would have been out of there. As it was, she was stuck and she knew it. She wanted to put her head down and sob at the unfairness of it. She wanted her job back, along with her independence. Even more, she wanted the relationship she’d had with Ryder just yesterday. How could things have gotten so horrible between them so quickly?

She didn’t have time to cry, though. Didn’t have time to do anything but put the apple cobbler on the counter before the door to the bedroom swung wide open, the guys obviously alerted that something was up by the sound of her too-loud alarm.

Seconds later, the tiny kitchen was filled with large, handsome males, still in varying states of undress, all of them jockeying to see where the sweet cinnamon-and-sugar smell was coming from.

“You baked for us?” Quinn sounded ecstatic as he reached out and snagged a clump of the sugary crumble off the top and popped it in his mouth. He moaned a second later. “God, that’s good!”

“Jared, could you get me the ice cream out of the freezer behind you?” she asked as she reached for five plates from the cabinet next to the refrigerator.

“That’s it,” Micah said with a glare in Ryder’s direction. “Jamison stays.”

“Damn straight,” Quinn agreed.

Jared didn’t say anything—she knew he hadn’t planned on this going any other way—but neither did Ryder, who just stood there, returning Micah’s glare with interest.

Though she was embarrassed all over again, Jamison pretended not to notice. Instead, she concentrated on dishing up five large portions of dessert and handing them out to the ravenous guys.

She deliberately avoided looking at Ryder as she handed him his plate, but he was having none of it. “Hey,” he said, blocking her into the corner so she couldn’t take more than one step without bumping her body against his—something she would rather die than do at this point. “You know this isn’t about you, right?”

It sure felt like it was about her. Not that she was going to say that to him. If she did, she was afraid she’d end up crying and that she would not do. Not when she’d already had more than her fair share of humiliation this week.

When she didn’t answer, he said her name all deep and rumbly and determined. If she’d had her way, she would have stood there all night, refusing to meet his eyes until he finally gave up and went away. But she was conscious of the other guys watching them. So she dug deep, put on her breeziest smile and most carefree look. “Didn’t I give you enough ice cream?” she teased gently, knowing his weakness for the stuff.

“Jamison…”

God. Why was he making this so difficult for her? Couldn’t he see she was desperate to get away from him?

“It’s okay.” She reached up and patted his cheek with a playfulness she was far from feeling. “I promise, I won’t attack you in your sleep. Your virtue is safe with me.”

“Damn it! That’s not what I meant.” His frustration was obvious and her knees quivered a little as she wondered what he was going to do next. Which was stupid as there was nothing he could do, not in front of the other guys. And not when Jared had obviously had enough. Her brother wrapped his hand around her wrist and gently tugged her out of Ryder’s reach.

Grateful for the rescue, she went over to sit on the couch next to Wyatt. He was taking up most of the sofa, so she perched carefully on the edge of the middle cushion, then placed a gentle hand on the center of his back. “Come on, sweetie. Don’t you want any dessert? I made your favorite.”

And she had. Partly because the apples she’d brought from home were pretty much the only thing she had to work with and partly because she’d seen the darkness in his eyes the night before and she’d wanted to lighten it, even for a few moments. When she’d been growing up, he’d spent almost as much time at their house as Ryder had and she’d been as crazy about him—but in a totally platonic way—as she’d always been about Ryder.

Wyatt stirred, opened bleary eyes. “Jelly Bean?”

“Come on, sweetie. Why don’t you eat something?” She hated the way she could see the bumps in his spine, the way she could count every rib.

“Not hungry.” He turned his face away, closed his eyes again.

Tears trembled on her lashes, this time for a totally different reason. “How long has he been using?” she demanded, her harsh whisper echoing in the sudden silence of the bus.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out.” Ryder glared at his fellow bandmates.

Jared held his hands up. “I was as surprised as you tonight.”

Quinn shifted guiltily. “I thought he might have been high the other night, but I wasn’t sure. It’s the only other time I’ve noticed.”

Micah didn’t say anything, which was strange enough that it had all of them looking at him. “What?” he said, around a mouthful of ice cream. “I didn’t know.”

“Really?” Ryder asked. “You sure about that?”

He shrugged. “Okay, yeah, I suspected. Have for a while, really. But I didn’t kno—”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Jared demanded. “The fact that our drummer is using again is pretty pertinent information.”

“He’s fine,” Micah answered with a careless roll of his eyes. He seemed a lot more interested in his dessert than he did in Wyatt’s problems. “He’s keeping it together.”

“That’s not the point.” Ryder’s arms were crossed, his eyes a hard obsidian. “We agreed we’d watch out for him.”

“I was watching out for him. I was watching out for all of us! We can’t afford to blow this tour, not now when we’re about to hit really big—”

“Really? That matters more to you than if he kills himself?”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Ryder. He’s obviously fine—none of you guys even noticed before tonight. Besides, you’re damn right it matters. I’m not in this band for my fucking health, you know. I want to go big, really big and this is our shot.” He shoved another bite of cobbler in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Then shrugged. “Besides, having a fucked up drummer just gives us street cred. Feeds the mystique.”

Jamison gasped, shocked at the way Micah talked about Wyatt and his very real demons. She glanced around, realized the rest of the guys didn’t look shocked. Just disgusted. Suddenly the gulf she’d sensed between them and Micah last night made so much more sense. She couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him. Or if he’d always been like this and they’d just never noticed before.

Ryder lunged across the short distance between them, got in Micah’s face with a growl so deadly it sent shivers of dread sliding down her spine. “Keep it up, asshole, and the only ride you’re going to be taking is straight back to Austin, one way.”

“Oh, yeah?” Micah straightened up, shoved Ryder in the chest. “And who’s going to make me?”

“Oh, I am.” Ryder hadn’t so much as flinched under Micah’s assault, but when he shoved him back, the bass player stumbled. Would have gone down if he hadn’t managed to catch himself on the kitchen counter. “If you don’t start looking out for the band instead of number one, I’ll fucking ruin you. And I won’t even think twice about it.”

Jamison was shocked at the anger that throbbed between the two, wondered what had caused it. Ryder, Wyatt, Micah and Jared had been close friends for well over fifteen years. Quinn had come along a little later—just about ten years ago—but he’d fit in seamlessly and it hadn’t taken long before he was a close-knit member of the group. But when she looked at Jared and Quinn, they both looked as disgusted with the bass player as Ryder was.