She looks up at me with her blue eyes, the softness in them draining by the second. She rises and walks to the small sink next to where I’m standing. She rinses her mug, sets it down, and turns her head toward me. “Xander, I’m not sure what you’re implying, but Damon has always had my best interests at heart. In fact, we’re working on a new sound now—or we were.”

It’s unlike me to hold back on how I feel, but I’m aware she doesn’t trust me yet, so I put my hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

She reaches for a banana and peels it, not responding to my comment. I’m really curious why Damon would switch gears, so I ask, “What kind of new sound?”

“Well, not new. Old might be a better explanation.”

I nod, understanding what she means.

“We both agreed I’d take a break and refocus, redirect my music to what I envisioned when I first started singing. I’ve written songs and hit the studio attempting to produce them. We’ve tried a few different producers, but I’m still not happy with the results.”

“Can I listen to them sometime? You can tell me what it is you don’t like and maybe I can help you.”

She chews a bite of banana, swallows, takes another bite, as if strongly considering my request. “I’d actually really like that.”

She makes the simple statement and I want to press her for more. I want to listen to her new songs now. I want to talk to her more about her music. I don’t want this conversation to end. But silence rises up between us again. She throws the banana peel away, and then her head drops and she stares into the sink. When I brace my arms back on the counter, our hands are so close all I’d have to do is move my thumb a fraction of an inch and we’d accidentally be touching. But instead I do something I know I shouldn’t. I lift my hand and gently grasp her chin, pulling it toward me. “Ivy?” I ask. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she answers, closing her eyes.

I breathe out. She breathes in. I can feel my skin touching hers and I want to hold her, rest my forehead on hers, I want to brush my lips across hers, I want to whisper in her ear that she can trust me. Having her this close twists me, turns me, makes me think about my actions. I don’t want to upset her. It’s been almost two weeks since she joined the band and our conversations have mostly been work-related until now. This is the first personal conversation we’ve had, and talking to her again has everything inside me screaming for her. Everything she does sets my blood on fire. I drop my hand and back away. I’m going to give her some time because that’s something we have—three months’ worth of it.

“I’m really going to get changed now,” she says, her voice smooth and low.

I nod and she turns and leaves the lounge. I watch her until she disappears. Then I open the fridge and grab an apple. Taking a bite, I chew it and grin—all in all, that didn’t go that badly.

* * *

Time seems to tick by so slowly the rest of the day. Staring out the window at a stream that meanders through fields on its own sweet time, I kick myself for not pushing it with her. Why wade through the stream instead of jumping over it? Yet I know I have to take it slow with her or she’ll keep retreating—and I want her around. I’ve lived on this bus for six months with eight other dudes, and it’s been nothing but comfortably boring. Having Ivy on board has already made everything different—I feel a buzz of energy in the air and everything seems more alive.

By the time we finally arrive in Denver, I’m ready to blast into action. We get right to work, which I’m glad about because it takes my mind off her. I’m in a hurry to get in as much rehearsal time as I can. And at least the tension between Ivy and me melts away when she’s onstage. We both act professional and don’t let our past interfere with the music. I use today’s sound check as more of a rehearsal, so it lasts three hours. The guys are ready to be done, but I think we need more practice. I want their performances to be perfect. A lineup of forty songs means learning a shitload of material, so we keep going over and over them. Leif switches between keyboard and bass, depending on the song. His versatility has proved to be a great addition to the band.

“Okay, let’s call it for now,” I yell.

“It’s about fucking time,” Nix snarls at me.

Leif thumps his shoulder and heads to the keyboard with the corner of his mouth turned up. Leaning over it, he closes his eyes and hits some notes. He seems to be playing a song, but the words that leave his mouth sound more like a rap. The melancholy of it draws me in. I take a seat and just listen until he’s done.

“That’s a showstopper,” I comment, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs as he walks off the stage.

“Yeah, well, it’s not meant for the audience Ivy sings to.”

I shoot him a small grin. “You’re full of all kinds of surprises. But really, I liked it.”

He shrugs. “Thanks, man. Had a buddy years ago and rapping was his thing. What can I say—he taught me well.”

“Not to change the subject, but what’s your take on learning all the band’s songs in such a short period of time?”

He sighs with what looks like an authentic worry line creasing his brow before he confesses, “Honestly, I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear.

He turns and heads backstage to get ready for the show, throwing over his shoulder, “Gotcha, dude! We got this nailed.”

I grin with relief.

Showtime comes quickly and ends just as quickly. There are good shows and bad shows and this one is definitely not great. The arena is filled at about seventy-five percent—not bad, considering we’ve switched leads in mid tour. But Ellie has arranged for some special effects to welcome Ivy, and the streamers just seem to take away from the set, and the guys are off the rest of the night after that.

Fresh from the stage, the band and the crew are digging in to the food backstage. Leif has a penchant for wine and opens a few bottles of red. He sniffs the contents of a bottle and then pours a glass. After he takes a sip he pours some for everyone. By eleven thirty we all smell like red wine and are pretty drunk. Knowing it’s time to leave, we take the backstage door and head to the bus, which pulls out at midnight. We won’t be staying in a hotel until we get to Lincoln.

Garrett walks beside me, complaining about the streamer gimmick. Just as we start to cross the parking lot, at least two dozen fans come rushing over to Ivy, begging for pictures and autographs. I stop and glance at Leif. The others keep moving—all except for Garrett, who’s still talking.

Leif stops as well, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait for her.”

I nod, already having decided I’d wait for her.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and taps it against his hand, then pulls one out and hands the pack to me.

“No, thanks, man,” I say. “That’s one vice I never took up.”

“Good thing, because it’s a fucking hard habit to break.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I only smoke when I’m drinking and never inside,” Leif clarifies, as if I cared.

“I’ll take one of those,” Garrett says.

I just look at him and shake my head. He lights the cigarette and inhales, then exhales smoke in a huge cough.

“You’re such a fucking retard,” I tell him.

“What? I used to smoke.”

“Yeah, when you could sneak one behind the school grounds in the sixth grade.” I laugh.

Garrett stubs his cigarette out. “I’m going to make like Tom and Cruise. You coming?” he asks me.

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’ll stick around with Leif and wait for Ivy.”

I have an uneasy feeling about leaving her with just Leif. She’s pretty tight with him and he seems to watch over her, but if something happens, he’d never be able to handle it himself—from what I can tell he’s definitely more of a lover than a fighter. I make a note to myself to talk to Ena about additional security. I’ll have her call River’s security guy, Caleb, and get some recommendations.

When the crowd finally clears, the three of us head back to the bus. Leif’s phone rings, and glancing at its screen, he stops. “I’ve gotta take this. I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, stepping away for some privacy.

Ivy and I walk the remaining few feet in silence. She’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a gray shirt with the shoulders cut out, and a pair of spike heels that look more like boots. Her flawless body is a perfect match to her songbird voice. We’re both a little drunk, and it shows when she climbs the steps to the bus and one of her heels sticks in the rubber matting, causing her to stumble. Next thing I know, I’ve fallen on top of her. My mouth is next to her ear and I can smell the fresh scent of her hair. I don’t move because I can hear her breathing and I can almost feel her pulse racing beneath me. At that moment I know for sure—she still feels about me the way I feel about her. And in this one moment everything changes.

“You want me, don’t you?” I whisper under my breath and I can feel my mouth tip to one side.

She flips around and my body instantly falls, molding to hers in a heartbeat. The heat between us is undeniable, at least to me.

“No, I don’t,” she says a few moments too late. “Please get off me,” she adds in a voice that refuses any rebuttal. Our locked gazes keep me glued where I am, but when she averts her eyes, I can’t help but grin. It’s so apparent what that means. She forgets how well I know her.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not the liar,” she hisses.

I want to say I’m not either, but I don’t, because that would be a lie. So instead I stand up and wipe my palms on my jeans before extending my hand to help her up. She refuses my help and pushes herself up.