Jen sighed and put a sympathetic hand on mine. "Rye, you know I’m not trying to clam jam. I’m just concerned about you. I know you like putting on a strong face, but I’ve seen you get torn up over one-night stands in the past, and I don’t want to see you get hurt this time—physically or emotionally."

"Ugh." I knew I wasn’t going to win the argument. I appreciated her concern, but if I’d wanted my mom at the Wallabee telling me what to do, I’d have invited her. "Fine, fine. I promise. I’m not going. Happy now?"

She raised a brow. "You sure?"

"Yes, I’m one hundred percent sure. You’re right, Jen. I have a tendency to get myself into trouble when it comes to hot guys, and I promise not to do it this time." I held up one hand as if swearing an oath.

She studied my expression for a moment, probably waiting to see if I’d crack. Fortunately she wasn’t looking behind my back, otherwise she’d have seen my other hand with fingers crossed. "Good. I’m going to use the restroom and to make sure that my eyeball is still in its socket. Don’t go anywhere, okay?"

I gave her my sweetest smile and nodded. "Okay."

Tapping my toes against the floor, I waited impatiently for her to take her leave. I considered eating a lifesaver while I waited but decided against it because they made me sleepy.

When she finally disappeared around the corner, I left two twenty dollar bills on the counter, told the bartender to keep Jen’s ice pack fresh, and began walking toward the large metal door that led backstage.

Jen was probably right about the danger, but what she didn’t know was that I was already in trouble. With the heated ache between my thighs building to a near-threatening level, I figured my body was in danger either way. And given a choice, I’d rather go out with an orgasmic bang.

***

I tried the handle on the door leading backstage, but it wouldn’t budge. It was locked. After knocking a few times without a response, I grew impatient. I figured there would be a security guard watching the door, especially considering the fans’ behavior during the show, but apparently there wasn’t. Or at least he wasn’t at his post.

An idea popped into my head.

Fuck it, I thought. What’s the worst that can happen?

I plucked a hairpin I kept in my purse, inserted it into the lock, and shimmied it until I heard a distinctive click. I breathed a sigh of relief. Thanks, internet research. My lockpicking skills had come in handy before—not just for breaking and entering, but also whenever I lost my keys during a wild night out.

After opening the door and stepping through, I found myself in a quiet corridor with lighting equipment strewn haphazardly along the ground. The place looked so abandoned I practically expected a tumbleweed to roll across the hallway. Had the band left already? Was I too late?

The sound of boots echoed down the hallway, and I gathered it was coming from the far end. Realizing that it was the guard returning to his post from a piss-break, I ran in the opposite direction, grateful that losing my heels earlier made my footsteps near silent. I could’ve waited for the guard to return and explained why I’d picked the lock on the door he’d been protecting, but in an environment where crazy fans wielded broken bottles to stab other people, I worried he’d taze first and ask questions later.

I turned the corner at the end of the hall and nearly ran smack into someone.

"Hey, watch where you’re going!" a female voice said.

Two blonde girls with large chests, pencil-thin waists, and long legs stood idly beside a green door. Both wore matching red dresses with necklines that plunged in a "V" down to their waists, revealing ample side-boob. Then again, maybe I was the one who was dressed inappropriately. My little black dress had been ripped along the hem and one strap was broken, leaving me feeling bedraggled and a little embarrassed. After a moment, I realized that the girls were twins, and they were both shooting me nasty looks.

It was the left one who had spoken; I noticed she had a tattoo on her chest that said "Tiffany". The other one had a similar tattoo, but it said "Amanda". They probably got mixed up often enough—and wore revealing dresses enough—that they decided to get permanent nametags inked onto their chests.

"Oops, sorry. I can be a klutz sometimes," I said.

"That’s obvious," Tiffany said.

I was more interested in finding the Siren than I was in her response, so I craned my neck to look past them down the new hallway I’d entered. There was a door at the end with a red "EXIT" sign above it. Other than the conspicuous green door on the left next to the twins, there was only a set of restrooms along the right wall. I scratched my head, wondering if I’d taken the wrong path. "Hey, do you guys know where I can find the lead singer?"

The girls exchanged looks between one another. "He’s busy right now. And he’ll probably be busy for the rest of the night," Tiffany said with an air of smugness. "We can tell him you stopped by though."

I narrowed my brows. "You know him?"

"Uh. Yes," Tiffany said, condescension dripping from her voice. "We’re like this." She crossed her middle finger over her forefinger.

"Like this," Amanda echoed, mimicking the same gesture.

I eyed them doubtfully. I noticed on the green door behind them that there was a silver star mounted above the center.

"Is he in there?" I asked. "Are you guys waiting for him?"

"That’s right," Tiffany said. She and her sister each crossed their arms in front of their large chests, clearly becoming impatient with my questions. "Like I said, we’ll tell him you stopped by. So hurry and run along now." She made shooing motions with her hand. "I suggest you fix your dress while you’re at it."

Groupies.

I probably should’ve realized it sooner, but I went to shows for the music and the crowd, not the hotties in the band. I’d never been backstage before, but it was all starting to make sense now. While I had to pick a lock and avoid detection to get back here, they probably flirted their way past security for a chance at having a threesome with a rock star. Whereas I was chosen, they probably weren’t. "Fix yours first. Get some self-respect while you’re at it." I stuck my tongue at her.

Tiffany gasped. A grimace on her face, she raised her hand and pulled her shoulder back. For the second time tonight, I was going to be smacked across the cheek, but this one was going to be much harder. Tiffany swung her arm at me. "You bitc—"

The door opened and a large hand shot out and grasped Tiffany’s arm. A tall, imposing figure stepped out from the entrance.

He was wearing a fresh pair of black leather pants, but he hadn’t yet replaced the shirt that had been unceremoniously shredded from his body earlier. With his sculpted muscles, rippling abs, and the tattoos along his arms and chest exposed, the ache I’d experienced before returned and amped up to a painful degree. His olive-toned skin was damp, and his silky hair draping along his shoulders looked wet and tousled in a deliciously sexy way, making me wonder if he’d just gotten out of a shower.

"I’m disappointed," he said to Tiffany. The cool, controlled tone sent a heated shiver through my core. "You’re not playing nice."