We sit there in silence as I gather my thoughts. “Why are you telling me all of this, Vince?”

“Because I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Quin. It’s not a normal thing for Hawkin to let someone into this world of ours unless it’s for …” He stops himself, scrunching his face up, and the expression alone tells me where he was going with the statement.

“Thanks but I get it. You’re rock stars, right? Women are willing and in abundance. No need to sugarcoat it.”

His shoulders fall when he exhales the breath he’s holding. “Thank fuck you’re a cool cat, Q,” he says with relief. “I’ll cut to the chase. He agreed to do the seminar as a way to get in the judge’s good graces, hopefully a slap on the hand for his first offense after doing the lectures.”

Puzzle pieces begin to fall into place for me. The answers in regard to his sudden appearance at school, his refusal to give me a straight answer as to why he agreed to do the lecture.

“The thing is, doing the lecture doesn’t guarantee a lighter sentence. He won’t admit to anything, but I find it odd that out of the blue he’s making Hunter go to some kind of drug counseling. I swear he’s taking the fall for his brother and trying to use it as leverage to get Hunter to get help…. It’s fucked up.”

Loose strings begin to tie and the picture becomes more and more clear. The only gray area is their mother but as forthcoming as Vince is being, that’s not something I’m going to ask about.

So I look at Vince and twist my lips in thought. “And if Hawke goes to jail, then the band gets damaged too, right? Why are you telling me all this?” I stare at him, not liking what I think he’s asking of me. “Oh. I get it. You want me to convince him to turn his brother in so that the band doesn’t catch the fallout if he’s sentenced. I’m not a pawn. Ask him yourself—”

“You think I give a fuck about myself or the band?” He pounds his fist against the table, which makes the chips rattle loudly as fury flashes through his eyes. “He’s like a brother to me! The band will be here for him regardless of what happens, so I suggest you take that accusation and shove it,” he says, his voice full of spite and his love for Hawke palpable.

Chills race over my skin as we stare at each other in a silent standoff. I don’t know why I pushed that button of his when I already knew the answer. Maybe I just wanted to reaffirm what I thought about their bond. Maybe I like Hawkin way too much, and I want to make sure that everyone is looking out for his best interests since his own blood obviously isn’t.

“Point shoved.” He breaks out in a ghost of a smirk at my response and I know he’s let my comment go. “It’s not my place to say anything, Vince. If the topic arises, if he tells me about it, then maybe … but as of right now he doesn’t even know that I know….”

“True,” he muses as we hear laughter. I look over to see Rocket’s arm slung over Hawkin’s shoulder, their heads thrown back.

They approach the table and Hawkin looks at me and then back to Vince. “You guys okay?”

“We good here, Q?” Vince asks me with a knowing smile on his face.

“We’re good.” I nod, our chat affirming that he most definitely has Hawke’s back.

“Well hot damn! I think Trixie needs to show up and deal us a hand! What do you say, Giz? You in?” Vince asks as Gizmo walks out the back door.

“Who in the hell is this Trixie?” Gizmo asks as he takes a seat.

When he bends over to get the bottle opener for his beer, Vince leans over and whispers into my ear. “He has no clue you’re Trixie. We’ve been telling him she’s another piece that Hawke and me are playing with on the side.” When I frown at him, he just continues with Hawke snickering over his shoulder. “He’s the one who pulls all the pranks on us on tour, so we like to fuck with him when we can … so …”

My eyes widen as I realize he’s asking me to carry on their charade, and I can’t help but laugh at poor, poor Gizmo. I glance back and forth between Hawke and Vince, their eyes begging me, and hell, I’ve had enough to drink, why not.

“Hey, Giz?” I angle my head over to him sitting beside me. “You haven’t met my twin yet?”

“Trixie’s your twin?” he says, the pitch of his voice escalating and his eyes lighting up.

Turning my body toward him, I lick my tongue seductively over my bottom lip, push my chest out, and rub my legs up against his. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly, my fingertip tracing a line down his throat. “We’re kind of kinky and like to play together—tag team a man or two when we find the right ones. We’re a lot to handle, Trix and me.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he flicks his eyes over my shoulder to the guys who I cannot believe are not bursting out in laughter. “We’re identical except for one minor detail. Most men can’t figure it out after searching our bodies for hours. Do you think you could?” I lean in close and whisper in his ear, “Hmm. You’re pretty damn sexy. I really think Trix would like you. She loves tattoos. Loves looking up at a man covered in them while she’s sucking him off.”

His breath hitches, and I hope to God Vince and Hawkin were being honest about him being the prankster on tour or else I’m going to feel like shit about this next part.

“You want to join us sometime?” I whisper as he nods eagerly, his breath coming quicker now. “Mm-kay, well, the only requirement is that you’re packing some heat,” I say, my voice still seductive as silk as I slide my hand down his chest to the waist of his pants. I cup him softly through his jeans, suddenly feeling the weight of the guys’ eyes as I play their game for them. “Whoa!” I say as I lean back and withdraw my hand.

“What?” he says, looking at the guys and then back, expectancy in his voice.

“I’m not sure if I’d even be able to feel you stick it in,” I deadpan as the guys behind me erupt into laughter. Hawkin falls off his chair and knocks over his bowl of candy he’s laughing so hard, Rocket spits out the beer he was drinking, and Vince pounds the table in his laughter, the poker chips rattling with each thump.

“Ah, man … fuck you, guys!” Gizmo says, shoving back out of his chair, the sounds scraping across the patio.

“I’m sorry,” I say through my own laughter. “They put me up to it.”

“Dude, paybacks are a bitch,” Hawkin says as he pulls himself off the ground, still laughing, and pats Giz on the back.

“Okay, okay,” Giz says and shrugs Hawke’s hand off him in annoyance. He looks at the four of us in our uncontrollable fits of laugher, and I can see him fighting off his own smile before lifting his hands in surrender. “I deserved that after the shit I pulled last tour.” And I don’t know what he did, but obviously he’s conceding to it so it must have been pretty bad.

Hawkin pulls my chair backward at an angle so my feet lift off the ground and he looks upside down at my face. “That was fucking perfect, Trixie,” he murmurs, flashing me a megawatt grin before closing the distance and kissing me backward, his chin to my nose.

And holy shit after the day we’ve had, this little taste of him makes me want to take him upstairs right now and get the rest of him.

“You taste good,” he whispers, unshaven cheek scraping along mine.

“Hmm, I taste even better somewhere else.”

I love the groan he emits at my comment, but it’s short lived when Gizmo slaps him hard on the back so that he almost drops my chair. “What the fuck, dude?” Hawke yells.

“I’ve got the feeling, man.”

“It’s about damn time! Been forever since one of us has.” Rocket slams his hand on the table, startling me. “Let’s get on it!”



Chapter 22


HAWKIN

The rhythm owns my soul.

Rock and Vince are playing off the beat that Gizmo’s pounding out like it’s a song we’ve practiced time and again. My lips are stretched in a wide grin as I bob my head, fingers drumming on my leg, because we haven’t just jammed for the sake of jamming in forever and the music we’re making off the cuff right now is fucking killer.

Just like the good old days.

I adjust the soundboard to make sure we’re recording this just in case we link notes we want to keep for anything new. We’ve had some killer shit come out of jam sessions before. Quinlan’s sitting on the arm of the couch, head angled to the side, eyes steadfast on mine, and a smile on those sexy-ass lips of hers. Goddamn, the music’s calling me, but hell if that sleepy smile and those bedroom eyes don’t have me wanting to say fuck the music for the first time ever in my life.

With my guitar in my hand, I walk over to her, needing one taste to tide me over a little bit longer. A thrill shoots through me, tightens my sac, at the sight of her sitting up a little taller when she notices my approach. I take the back of the body of my guitar and place it against her back and pull her into me. Her tits pressed against my chest, her nipples so hard it’s impossible not to notice the feel of them, make me doubt my decision about the music when I could be fucking her instead.

Damn. I have a serious weakness for this woman.

When I look into her eyes, I try to read what’s there but we’ve either had too much to drink for me to comprehend it or she’s guarding what she feels. Regardless, I notice and love the way her breathing changes the minute I touch her like this. It tells me she feels whatever this is too.

I press my lips to hers and sample what I plan on taking later. Damn if the warmth of her tongue, the taste of her beer, the softness of her lips doesn’t have me swearing as she pulls away from me and against my guitar still pressed to her back.

I release her, and she falls to the couch behind her. And I can’t help but glance down to her tits, her legs, and what’s in between before flashing her a smirk and looping the strap over my neck. Ideas of just what I can do with my favored instrument and my hot woman later flash through my head as I walk over and plug my guitar into the amp.