When I stopped staring, I realized my mouth had been open and the band members were all looking straight at me.

"What?" I asked, hastily assembling a new button in the machine to hide my embarrassment.

Kev shook his head, smiling faintly. "It’s just like watching a nature show—the mating displays of the alpha male, starring Jax Trenton."

"Mating display?" I said.

"He gave you that ‘look’," Kev said. "Like he’s marked you as his prey,"

"Well, he’s barking up the wrong tree," I defended, not liking how accurate his assessment of the situation probably was.

Chewie lifted his sunglasses and looked at me with big brown eyes. "Yeah, man, but this is Jax. You don’t even know yet."

"Ugh, I don’t care if he’s Casanova," I said, popping out a button and readying another one. "I’m not interested. He’s really not my type."

"He’s every woman’s type," Sky said soberly.

The trio looked at me skeptically. Everyone looked like they wanted to say something, but they were keeping it in. The room was uncomfortably silent for a moment.

I cleared my throat. "So the buttons . . . what are you guys planning on doing about them?"

"Well we can’t practice and make the buttons at the same time," Kev said, "I volunteer Sky."

She shot him a disapproving look. "Hey, I need to practice too! This is all your fault anyway, you and Chewie couldn’t do it right the first time."

Completing another button, I sighed. I knew what I had to do. "You know what, why don’t you guys go practice. I’ll take over the button-making."

"You sure, Riley?" Sky asked.

"Yeah. This stuff has to do with money. So, in a way, I’m responsible for it."

Chewie and Kev, excited to have someone else working on the buttons, started interrupting each other to give me the supplies.

"Here, take the pins—"

"These are the covers—"

"And art—"

"And here comes Chewie with the metal!" Chewie said, using an exaggerated voice, which made me giggle. He brought the box of blank buttons down across his body in a sweeping arc like he was playing a power chord.

Kev burst into laughter and moved toward the steps. "Was that supposed to be a guitar? I’ve gotta go practice so I don’t look like you."

"Sorry, man, I only play real instruments," Chewie said, getting up to follow Kev upstairs. "Like drums. That’s a man’s instrument."

Sky let out an exasperated sigh in their direction as they disappeared into the second level, then turned to me. "I’ve gotta go practice with these apes. Help yourself to anything in the fridge. And don’t forget to get some sleep, even though the couches pretty much suck."

"Thanks." I was grateful for her. Even though Jax had made me feel more wary than welcome, I was starting to feel more at home on the bus, and Sky had a lot to do with it.

As the band scattered to their rooms upstairs, I settled in with the button supplies. The rhythms of instruments flowed around me; I could hear the faint thrumming of guitars along with Jax’s velvety voice quietly echoing through the thin walls. In an attempt to keep my mind off him, I turned my body into an efficient, rhythmic machine. Assemble pieces, pull the lever, toss the finished pin in the big cardboard merch box. Assemble, lever, toss.

Jax "marking" me as his target and the outrageous spending aside, I was grateful to find that the rest of the band was pretty cool. This tour accountant gig was certainly better than sitting in a stuffy cubicle all day at Hans-Peterson. Although there was a hell of a lot of work to get done, I was oddly relieved by the prospect.

Jax may have liked challenges, but so did I. With all the opportunities to keep myself—and my thoughts—busy, I couldn’t help but feel a hint of smug satisfaction. He might’ve thought that he had the upper hand, leaving me to stew on our interaction this morning and also that towel-clad ass of his. But between the two of us, I was definitely the craftier one.

Night fell, and the once-empty box was nearly full to the brim with buttons. After the first couple hundred, it was easy to completely lose track of time—not quite as relaxing as yoga, maybe, but meditative in its own way. The only annoyance was the lever. It stuck just enough each time that I had to shove the machine with my shoulder, leaving me a little sorer with each button that went ker-plink into the box.

Small price to pay for avoiding Jax. Sky, Kev, and Chewie had come down for snacks periodically, but Jax never did. Fortunately.

Completing another button, my knotted upper back went into a full cramp. "Ouch!" I rubbed at the aching muscle and got up from the couch to stretch, only to hear my stomach growling loudly, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten all day.

Looking around for food, the gleaming steel of the refrigerator caught my eye. When I opened it, I saw that The Hitchcocks' fridge was crammed with more pre-made sandwiches, salads, and reheatable meals than the band could possibly eat before it went bad. Imagining the amount of food that went to waste only made me crankier.

Sighing, I scanned the shelves, taking stock of my options, before spotting fresh fruit on the bottom level. I bent low to pick up what looked to be the last plum in the fridge. But when I reached for it, the fruit slipped from my hand, forcing me to bend further and lunge to grab it before it disappeared behind a case of beer. Cool air from the fridge wafted up the back of my skirt, welcome and refreshing.

"Looks juicy," a voice said behind me.

Straightening in surprise, I bonked my head on the shelf above me. "Ow! Dammit!" Massaging the back of my skull, I whirled around to find Jax leaning against the far wall looking exactly where my ass had been.

"Ripe, tender—must be delicious," he purred, arms crossed and stroking his chin. He nodded toward the fruit in my hand. "The plum, that is."

The dull throbbing on the back of my head was irritating, but him standing there looking all smug and sexy made it so much worse. He was wearing black jeans that hugged his toned thighs and a matching black tank that exposed the sculpted contours of his broad shoulders. His preference for black suited his personality.

"You just made me hit my head, you jerk," I accused, ignoring his innuendo. His insinuation had clearly been bait, and I preferred to avoid playing into his hands.

"You’re upset. And you hurt your head. Come here," he said in a casual tone. He pushed off the wall and spread his muscular arms, motioning for me to receive a sympathetic hug. "You need this."

The invitation was tempting, and I really could’ve used a hug, but I didn’t want one from him. There’d inevitably be strings attached. And Jax was good at plucking strings. "What I need," I said with a dismissive wave, "is my job, my paycheck, and for your band to stop spending so much money."

"I think you need more than you realize."

"Yeah, you’re right." I pointed grumpily at my stomach. "Like food." I lifted the plum to my mouth and took a bite. "Mmmm . . . just what I needed."

He watched me chew with seemingly greater interest than the activity deserved. I heard his stomach growl then he swallowed hard. "I came here for a sandwich, but now you’re making me want a plum."