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  “Do you want to join us?” I ask quickly. I don’t want her going to tell her friends that we’re here—there’s a very good chance we’d be mobbed within minutes. But I also don’t want her to go period, whether she blows our cover or not.

  “I…” she looks over her shoulder. “I was just in the bathroom.” Her color deepens. “I mean, I left my cousin. I should be getting back.”

  “Why doesn’t she join us, too?” I hold up my beer. “I owe you a drink.”

  Her face scrunches up in a way I would describe as adorable if I were one of my lame-ass brothers. “Why do you owe me a drink?”

  “To make up for the fact that I was too chicken to go kick the douchenozzle’s ass for knocking you over.”

  She laughs and I’m surprised by how low and throaty it is. I had expected something more tinkling from such a tiny person. “Okay. I’ll go get Penny.”

  I watch her walk away, the view every bit as nice from this direction.

  “Oh, God,” I hear Lennon moan, and I finally tear my eyes away to look at him.

  “What?”

  “You said you wanted to get a drink. You said nothing about ditching me to hook up with some rando at the bar.”

  “Dude. You don’t ignore a woman like that when she’s literally dropped into your lap. Besides, she said she had a friend.” I waggle my eyebrows at him. “Aren’t you tired of living like a monk?”

  “She knew who we are.”

  “So? Not to be crass, but that actually usually has a positive effect in the whole woman wooing thing. Not that you would know, of course…”

  He raises his eyebrows. “It also has a historical effect of getting you into trouble. Or have you forgotten all of the women who came forward to say shit about you in the papers? You think that would have happened if they didn’t know who you were?”

  I gulp down the rest of my beer. “What do you want me to do, Len? Give up on women entirely just because I happen to be famous?”

  “I didn’t say that,” he presses. “I’m just saying that maybe picking up random bar girls isn’t the best idea.”

  “Excuse me?”

  We both looked up to see that Sam has returned, a blonde in pink cowboy boots and a tiny denim skirt right behind her. It’s this stranger who crosses her arms and glares at my brother. “Who are you calling random bar girls?”

  Lennon winces and I smirk at him. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. He has no manners.”

  The girl breaks out into a smile. “I was only kidding, anyhow.” She pushes her hand toward Lennon to shake. “I’m Penny.”

  “Lennon.”

  “And you must be Cash.”

  Yes, this girl definitely knows exactly who we are. I can see it in the way her eyes flicker over my face, in the trying-to-be-cool while really wanting to freak out expression she’s wearing. My gaze goes to Sam at her side—her eyes are on me, wide and unreadable.

  “Sit down.” I pull out the chair at my side, relieved when Sam takes it and Penny moves across the table to sit next to Lennon. “What’s your poison?”

  “Guinness,” they say in unison and I raise my eyebrows, surprised. I would have taken them for Bud Light girls.

  I motion for a passing waiter and give our order before turning to Penny.

  “Your cousin was teaching me new and creative adjectives for assholes.”

  Penny’s face brightens. “Oh, she gets all of those from me.”

  “I do not!”

  Penny shakes her head. “Come on. Who came up with fart nugget?”

  I snort. I would have to remember that to use on one of the guys later.

  “I think fart nugget fits perfectly for the dude that knocked you over.”

  Sam leans a little closer. “I don’t know,” she says, her voice low enough not to carry across the table. “It wasn’t all bad, was it?”

  I swallow. This girl is clearly not interested in pretense and I have to say, I like it a lot. While it’s fun to give chase once in a while, it can also get really tiresome to wade through the innuendoes and games some of the women in my life try to play.

  Penny clears her throat. “So, what in the hell are two members of the hottest rock band in the country doing in Jimmy’s bar on a Saturday night?” She looks from Len to me, smiling. “I mean, there’s no use in pretending like we don’t know who you are.”

  Lennon laughs. “I appreciate that.”

  “Seriously,” Sam continues, her attention totally focused on me. “Why would you guys be here, of all places?”

  “Have you ever heard of Blake McHale?” Lennon asks, and both girls’ foreheads crease.

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “He’s a pretty successful music producer,” Lennon explains. “Has a house over in the north valley.”

  “Oh, that huge glass and log monstrosity?” Penny asks. “I’ve seen that place. I thought an actor lived there.”

  “Not an actor,” I say. “More like a crazy hippy control freak that thinks he’s God’s gift to song writing.”

  “He is good at songwriting,” Lennon argues. “And really good at helping artists find their own voice. He helped us a lot on our first album.” There’s a pause. “The crazy hippy control freak stuff might be true, however.”

  The girls both laugh. “Anyhow,” I continue. “We’re working on our next album and the label thought we could use his help again.”

  “So you’re here for a while?” Sam asks, crossing her legs so that one presses right up against mine. I’m suddenly struck with a very strong desire to tell Lennon he’s on his own and drag her out to the Jeep. I can’t quite put my finger on the allure of this girl. Sure, she’s gorgeous and God knows I love brunettes. But it’s more than that. Something about the way she goes from nervous and wide-eyed to downright flirtatious. The dichotomy between her heavy eye makeup and dark red lips and the almost innocent way she was looking at me earlier, all fluttery eyes and bitten lips, is insanely attractive.

  “We’re here for at least the next three weeks,” I tell her. “Maybe more, depending on how things go.”

  She leans an inch closer, her voice once again low. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

  “Hey, cuz,” Penny calls from across the table, her voice loud and flat. “Maybe you could stop trying to seduce Cash right in front of us and remember that there are other people at the table who might want to join in on the conversation.”

  Sam goes immediately red and flips off her cousin across the table. Lennon is looking at Penny like he isn’t entirely sure what to make of her.

  “I want to hear more about the crazy hippie control freak,” Penny continues.

  “Oh, we could tell some stories about that,” Lennon says, leaning back in his chair. “The first time we came out here we were young, right?” He looks at me. “Daltrey was what, nineteen?”

  Penny lets out a little squeak and we all turn to look at her. “Sorry,” she says quickly, fanning her hands around her face. “You just said Daltrey. As in Daltrey Ransome. Like it was no big deal.”

  “It isn’t a big deal,” I mutter. I’ve always found the female fan preoccupation with my whiney, lame-ass little brother to be more than annoying.

  “But he’s Daltrey Ransome,” Penny says, her eyes taking on a distinctly dreamy glaze. She seems to shake herself a little. “Sorry—go on.”

  “So we came out here right after we got signed to clean up the rough edges of the album. And Blake sits us down the second we walk in the door to go over his house rules.”

  “House rules?” Sam asks, amused. “Like what—don’t leave the toilet seat up?”

  “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “These were more along the lines of mandatory meditation, daily exercise requirements, and restrictions on what we ate and drank—each personalized to what he thought our strengths and weaknesses were.”

  Lennon smirks. “He tried to make Cash—and only Cash—a vegan. It was so excellent.”

  “It was the worst mo
nth of my life.”

  “The best part,” Lennon continues when the girls giggle, “is that he thought I was dangerously low in iron—what did he call it? The building block of passion. So he put me on a steak a day diet.”

  “I pretty much almost murdered you.”

  The girls both laugh but Sam shudders. “I don’t think I could go vegan for an hour, let alone a month.”

  “She lives on cheeseburgers,” Penny explains. “And other various melted-cheese-laced products.”

  I realize that I’m very much enjoying this banter. Penny might be a little brash and over-the-top, but there’s something refreshing in her honesty and lack of pretension. And it’s hard not to enjoy it when Sam is sitting so close, her smooth, long leg still brushing mine tantalizingly.

  “So why’d you come back?” Sam asks. “If it was so bad last time?”

  “Because he really does help us write our best,” I grumble.

  “And the record label talked to him about easing up on the rules,” Lennon adds.

  “Didn’t stop him from trying to read my aura when we arrived.”

  Sam laughs. “Let me guess—murky and blue.”

  I stare at her, open-mouthed. “That’s exactly what he said!”

  “Sam is really good at all of that,” Penny says. “She can read fortunes and everything.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  She shrugs, blushing again. “It’s just for fun. I don’t really believe in any of it.”

  “She’s being modest,” Penny insists. “She’s always right. Show him, Sam.” She points down at my hand. “Read him.”

  Sam raises her eyebrows, the invitation clear on her face. “Want to judge for yourself?”

  I immediately hold out my hand and she takes it between hers, rubbing the skin of my palm lightly. The contact sends a hundred little tremors dancing around my skin and I have to swallow again to keep from moaning.

  “Here’s your lifeline,” she says, bending over slightly to examine my palm. My gaze is completely transfixed on the movements of her fingers, even though I’m pretty sure she’s giving me a great glimpse of cleavage the way she’s hunched over. Her fingers are feather light on my skin and there’s something about the contact, minor as it is, that has my heart racing and a not entirely unpleasant ache growing in the pit of my stomach.

  “This is good,” she explains. “You’re going to live a long and healthy life.”

  Lennon snorts. “Does his lifeline not know how many beers this kid pounds on a daily basis?”

  Sam ignores him. “Hmm, you have some unresolved emotions here—that can have a negative affect.”

  I want to tell her that my only unresolved emotion, at the moment, is a growing frustration that I haven’t kissed her yet, but I refrain for Lennon’s sake.

  “Stunted potential,” she continues, tracing another line. “You settle for good enough.”

  “Holy shit,” Len mutters in an undertone. “She is good.”

  “Told ya,” Penny says happily as Sam releases my hand. I feel the break in contact like a physical ache.

  “You should probably work on those things,” Sam says, grinning up at me with a wicked glint in her eye. “I’ve heard unblocking ceremonies can be highly effective. I bet Blake could help you.”

  “What the hell is an unblocking ceremony?”

  She leans in, her expression very serious. “I think they use herbs and crystals to open up your chakra.”

  I hold her gaze for a moment, wondering if I look half as horrified as I feel. Suddenly her serious expression is replaced with a wide grin. “I’m making shit up. I told you I just did this for fun.”

  “Nice. Thank you for that.”

  “I’m out,” Lennon says, holding up his empty bottle. “Anyone else need a round?”

  “I’ve got this one,” Sam says, holding up her hand for a passing waiter.

  “No way,” I tell her, but she waves me off.

  “I’m not the kind of girl that expects all her drinks to be paid for.”

  The waiter approaches. “Sam, girl, what’s up?” he asks, grinning widely down at her. The man appears to be in his early twenties, good looking enough that I immediately dislike him and his apparent familiarity with Sam. “Haven’t seen you around for a while. Thought you forgot about us.”

  “She’s been on the straight and narrow, Kris,” Penny says, shooting Sam a strangely accusatory glance.

  “Just busy with school,” Sam says smoothly, smiling at the waiter. She gestures around at the table. “Another round?”

  He makes note of our brands and nods. “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks, Kris.”

  “Thank you,” I say to Sam. “I have to tell you, it’s been a while since I’ve had a girl offering to buy me a drink.

  “You’ll find us a little less impressed with your rock and roll lifestyle out here in the middle of nowhere.” She bumps me with her arms and I once again feel the flicker of sensory explosions on my skin. What is it with this girl? Why are the most innocent of touches affecting me this way?

  “Have you always lived here?”

  Something like a shadow crosses her face. “Most of my life.” Before I can ask her to elaborate she brightens. “What about you? Where do you hang your hat when you’re not meditating out with a hippie song writing guru?”

  “It varies. Last few years I’m usually in L.A.”

  Her entire face lights up. “L.A.? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

  “It’s pretty great,” I tell her, eager to show off a little. “I have a place right on the water.”

  “Wow. I’m kind of obsessed with the ocean. And palm trees.”

  “Then you would love L.A.”

  She sighs. “Maybe someday.”

  “Oh, no,” Lennon says suddenly, tilting his head. “I knew it couldn’t last.”

  “What couldn’t last?” Penny asks.

  He jabs his chin toward the jukebox. “The string of good music. I knew they would throw in some country crap eventually.”

  Penny’s eyes narrow. “Hang on a second. Are you calling country music crap?”

  Lennon rolls his eyes. “Of course I am.”

  Penny’s face cycles through several expressions in quick succession, like she can’t decide if she’s angry, offended, or disappointed. “How on earth can you call yourself a musician if you just singlehandedly dismiss the value of one of the most influential music genres in our culture?”

  Lennon’s eyebrows shoot up, clearly surprised by her eloquence on the matter. “Influential? Hardly. You don’t see any other genre whining about their broken down truck or their whiskey problems.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “This is a tragedy,” she proclaims. “That you can produce such good music and yet have no idea how your entire sound is influenced by country.”

  “It is not!” Lennon cried, swiftly becoming offended.

  Penny pointed at me. “Your brother is named after Johnny Cash.”

  “Johnny Cash descends musical genre.”

  “Hank Williams,” she said, holding up one finger. She adds another to the line up. “Creedance. The Allman Brothers.”

  Lennon is just shaking his head. “No. No way. Those are not our influences.”

  “But they’ve influenced rock and roll as a whole!” she cries. “What would rock music even be without those artists?”

  “Rock is influenced by rhythm and blues,” Lennon says stubbornly.

  “Oh, right. Because it’s impossible to be influenced by more than one thing at a time. You’re so smart.”

  “Alright, prove it,” Lennon says, pushing back from the table. “We’ll go over to that juke box and you find one song that proves this all-encompassing connection.”

  “You are so on. In fact, I’ll find a dozen!”

  They both stomp over to the jukebox, leaving us at the table, staring after them. “Well that was unexpectedly intense,” Sam said after a beat.

&nb
sp; “Lennon is very passionate about his musical influences.”

  “And Penny is very passionate about the supremacy of country music.”

  She’s resting the smooth, pale skin of her cheek against her hand while she looks up at me and I’m struck with a desire to replace her hand with mine, to brush my fingers against the skin there, testing it’s softness. I decide it’s time to pick up my game a little bit.

  “I can’t say that I’m sorry that they left,” I tell her, leaning in a little closer.

  She grins up at me, batting her eyelashes. “Me neither.”

  Our faces are mere inches apart now and I can’t keep my eyes off of her lush, perfectly shaped lips. I want to know what they look like swollen from my kisses. I want to know what they taste like.

  By the time I decide to make my move, she’s already leaning up towards me, as if anticipating my action. Her eyelids flutter closed and I can make out the shape of each individual lash as I lean in—

  “Sammie?” a voice calls from behind me. “Sam, it is you! How are you?”

  She immediately pulls away, her eyes widening in something like fear before they lock on the person who so cruelly interrupted. She plasters a smile on her face and even I, a virtual stranger, can tell that it’s fake.

  “Hi, Jess,” she says. “Jed.”

  I spin in my chair to see who these assholes are that couldn’t put two and two together. A man and woman about my age are standing behind us, both beaming at Sam. Neither one of them give me a second glance.

  “How are you?” the woman—Jess?—asks. Am I imagining a note of sympathy in her voice? It seems strange, and I feel Sam’s leg tense against mine.

  “I’m fine, Jess. How are you? How’s the daycare—”

  “Are you holding up?” The man asks, his face concerned. “We haven’t heard from you in a while. We’ve been worried.”

  “Oh, you know.” Sam gives a very bright—and very false—tinkly laugh. “School is busy.”

  They both nod, that look of sympathy growing. “You should be so proud of yourself, Sam,” the girl says, lowering her voice slightly. “Doug would be so proud.”