“Seriously though, Grant,” Miller started his best reprimand, “can’t you ever manage to be on time? You’d think a label scout coming to our show tomorrow night would get you to be more serious about rehearsals.”

“Miller, chill the f**k out. I’m serious about rehearsals.”

“Then, can we f**king get started?” McAvoy leaned back against the wall, balancing precariously on two legs of his stool. He flipped a drumstick between his fingers.

“Yeah. Are we playing ‘Hemorrhage’?” I asked.

McAvoy started the beat to our lead song.

The words were spilling out of my mouth. My hands were flying across my baby as I coaxed the chords and rhythms out of her. My body was super heated from the bright lights on the stage, and sweat collected on my brow and the back of my plain black V-cut T-shirt. My dog tags hung loose around my neck, moving in time with me.

McAvoy was shirtless and fully tatted with his hair swinging as he slammed the sticks down on the drums in front of him. Miller’s bass beats were thumping into my body. He looked completely unfazed in his crisp jeans and polo as the heat intensified through the set. Vin’s shirt was a size too small, and somehow he was flexing as he played his shiny black guitar next to me.

We were killing it tonight. Most nights, I’d felt like we were in sync, but nothing could compare to tonight. It was a Saturday night in September, and the dive bar in New York City where Miller had gotten us a show already looked like they were breaking the fire code with how many swaying, drunken bodies were crammed into the small space.

A blonde chick was standing in the front row in the lowest cut shirt I’d ever seen. Her tits were nearly bouncing out, and I could almost see her ni**les as she danced and jumped to our music. She hadn’t looked away from me for one second the entire set, and I was sure we’d be f**king in the restroom before I even knew her name.

As I finished off our last song, the light panned across the room, and the crowd cheered to a deafening volume. Performing was an adrenaline rush unlike anything else. I felt perfectly in control and in my element.

“We’re ContraBand. Thanks for coming out,” I called out to the crowd before swinging my guitar onto my back and exiting the stage.

The venue actually had a real backstage, unlike The Ivy League, and the other bands were lounging on couches and chatting with fans. McAvoy immediately made friends with the dudes who had gone on first, and Vin was already fondling a chick near the stage door.

Miller shrugged. “Feels weird, not being bombarded.”

“We would be if we took one step out that door.” I pulled a joint from my pocket and lit it up. I didn’t typically smoke in public, but who the hell is watching now?

“You going for the blonde in the front row?” Miller asked intuitively.

The guy was sharp. He always picked up on the moods of the guys, and he was able to keep us cohesive.

“We’ll see.”

About ten minutes later, the next band started their set, and a wave of girls ran backstage. A crowd was forming for us, and Blondie was at the lead.

“Hey, sexy,” she said, walking right up to me and running her hand down my dog tags.

“Hey, darlin’.”

“I loved your show.” She stuck her chest out, and her tits pressed against me, emphasizing how much she would enjoy an aftershow.

“Thanks, babe. This your first ContraBand show?”

“Mmhmm…I sure hope it’s not my last.”

I smiled down at her in a way that I’d heard melted panties and nodded my head toward the back room. She arched an eyebrow and winked. All the confirmation I needed.

“You made it, Cheyenne,” Vin called out next to me.

My head snapped to the side, my conversation with Blondie completely forgotten. Cheyenne? As in, Aribel’s roommate? Is she here? She might have been pissed with me, but maybe her friends had dragged her along. It was wishful thinking maybe, but I had to know.

“Will you just give me a minute?”

She pouted with her gloss-coated full lips. For a second, I envisioned the mess that would make on my dick, and I shuddered. Blondie had a nice rack, but she needed to take that shit off.

“Come on, baby,” Blondie purred.

“Just one minute.” I held up a finger, pulled myself from her grasp, and walked over to where Vin was standing with a tall, curly-haired ginger.

I looked around, but I didn’t see a short blonde in a cardigan. Maybe she was hidden behind the mass of people who had just come backstage. “Cheyenne,” I said in greeting.

“Oh, Grant, hey,” she said, smiling warily at me.

Not the reaction I was used to. I wondered if Aribel had told her what had happened or if gossip had traveled to her.

“Bro!” Vin said, trying to nudge me out.

He still didn’t realize that I had no interest in the girl in front of me.

“Hey, is Aribel with you tonight?”

“Aribel? Hmm…” Cheyenne glanced back at the two girls standing behind her.

One of them, a nondescript brunette, shook her head, and her eyes bulged slightly. All right, so they are going to play it like this.

“She’s not with us,” the other girl with a blonde pixie cut said so softly.

I barely caught what she had said.

“Oh, she didn’t show?” I couldn’t hide my disappointment. How the hell am I going to get to this girl?

“We tried to get her to come, Grant,” Cheyenne spoke up.

The brunette chick smacked her.

“What, Shelby? We did! Nothing wrong in telling him.”

“She’s not interested in him,” Shelby whispered.

“She’s an idiot for not being—”

“Ladies, it’s fine,” I said, shutting them up.

I didn’t want them to keep bickering, and if they kept talking about her, it was going to bring me down from the high I was on from the show. I liked to hold on to my adrenaline rush for as long as I could.

Blondie was making her way over to me, and she had a scowl on her face that did nothing for her. After just talking about Aribel, the thought of f**king Blondie in the restroom stall didn’t sound that appealing. Who the f**k am I?

“Guys,” Miller said. He had a huge smile plastered on his face. “The scout wants to talk to us!”

“What? Really?” Vin asked.