I skipped the public restrooms and walked backstage. Hurst, the owner, was lounging in the back room. I nodded at him.

“Grant, my man!” he called, jumping up. “When am I going to get you guys back in here? Are you too big to play my venue?”

We slapped hands together, leaned in, and clapped each other on the back.

“I’m never too big for The League, Hurst. I’d play tonight if I had my guitar.”

“You don’t bring it with you everywhere?”

“Not tonight.”

“Where’s your girl anyway? Isn’t she the other thing you bring with you everywhere?” Hurst asked.

I shrugged noncommittally. I didn’t want to talk about Ari. “No idea. I’m here for the booze.”

Hurst nodded his head. “Trouble in paradise. I’ve got just the thing.”

I followed Hurst out of the back room and to the bar where he fixed us a couple of shots. After three or four, I felt a thousand times better than I had earlier. Why had I decided to let up on the drinking anyway? I could drink and have a girlfriend. It wasn’t like Ari didn’t drink, and I could control myself.

It was just that when I was drinking…I didn’t want control.

I wanted another drink.

A smile split my face as I poured alcohol down my throat. It was a welcome reprieve from thinking. I’d given up that shit when my dad went to jail. And just because he was coming back and Ari was acting like someone else didn’t mean that had to change. I could fucking forget everything all over again.

I stumbled back over to the guys as a band took to the stage. It was some chick singer with four guys playing instruments. Normally, I didn’t dig chick bands, but then she picked up a fucking badass seafoam-green Fender guitar. Her fingers played across the strings like the guitar was an extension of her body. I understood that right there.

“Hey Kitty Kat,” I called. “Get us another round, will ya?”

“You haven’t even had your first one,” McAvoy pointed out.

“I found Hurst.”

“Ah,” McAvoy said as if that explained everything.

“Um…beer?” Kat asked, skirting around the table toward me.

I slung an arm around her and pulled her closer. “How about something a little stronger?”

“Anything you want,” she murmured, fluttering her eyelashes. She slid a piece of paper into the front pocket of my jeans. “I get off at two.”

“Whiskey. Make mine a double.” I released her and fell back into my abandoned seat.

“Bro, you think that’s a good idea?” Miller asked, eyeing the piece of paper I pulled out of my pocket.

“I was fucking moving in on the little pussycat while you were gone,” Vin sulked behind me.

I tossed him the paper. “Have at it.”

Miller looked relieved and seemed to relax for the first time tonight.

“Hey, everyone! I’m Killian, and we’re Bank Avenue. Thanks so much for having us out tonight.”

The crowd at The Ivy League applauded softly, except for a group near the front. They went crazy. Likely, they were people the band had brought with them.

But once they started playing, I couldn’t figure out why they didn’t have a large entourage.

“Hey, McAvoy, send out a blast, saying we’re at the League tonight.”

“But we’re not playing,” he said. His eyebrows knit together.

“The drinks are flowing. The music is really fucking good. I want our crowd,” I said, sinking back into my chair. “Make it happen.”

“Grant, sorry I missed your calls earlier. I got stuck at school and just got home. Call me when you get this.”

I ended the voice mail and frowned down at my iPhone. It was strange for Grant not to answer my calls. That was the third one in a row.

After I’d spoken to Aaron and calmed down, I’d realized that I was overreacting. And some of his advice sank in. Maybe I was just in love and scared about what that meant. I had never been in this position before.

I’d treated love like my chemistry homework. Every equation had an answer, and when combined properly created a fixed outcome. But there were no fixed outcomes with Grant. There wasn’t even an equation. It was just a whole lot of insanity.

I didn’t want to be afraid of it, but in my world, nothing changed, and Grant was an unbelievable amount of change. When I had lived at home in Boston, I’d thought that I was stifled in such a controlled environment, and maybe a part of me had been. However, living in a world without any control wasn’t exactly me either.

The only thing I really knew was that I needed to talk to Grant and figure everything out. Grant got my blood boiling, raised my heart rate, and ignited passion within myself that I hadn’t known existed under my cool exterior.

I didn’t want to lose that. I didn’t want to lose him. And I needed to lay it all out there like I always did. Either he accepted me, or he didn’t. I lived life, freaking out over whether or not Grant would fit into my world and whether or not I’d fit into his. On so many levels, we already did.

Cheyenne appeared a couple of minutes later in a skintight black dress and stilettos with all her curly red hair piled on top of her head. “Hey, why aren’t you dressed?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why are you so dressed up?”

“Didn’t you get the memo? The guys are at the League.”

I scrunched my eyebrows together. “They don’t have a show tonight.”

“Well, they blasted all over social media that they’re there and want all their fans to come down for the show for some Bank Avenue group.”

“I’ve never heard of them.” I entered the name into Google. There weren’t many hits, but I found a small website that showed the band. “Oh Jesus.”

“What?” Cheyenne came around and glanced over my shoulder. “Oh.”

The lead singer was smoking hot. She had pixie-cut black hair and exotic almond-shaped eyes. In the picture, she had on black leather pants and a tiny lace bra with electric-blue high heels.

“Now, why would the guys want to go to see Bank Avenue and have all of their followers see them?” I asked.

“Someone wants to fuck that girl.”

We glanced at each other, and Cheyenne sighed. “Come on. I’ll do your makeup.”

Ten minutes later, I was in a blue strapless dress that Cheyenne had insisted on. She was coating my face in products. I’d drawn the line at her messing with my hair. I wasn’t going to the League to party. I was going to find out what the fuck was going on with my boyfriend. I knew that I’d been off, but that didn’t mean he had a free pass. We’d been there before. He should know better.