She reaches for a banana and peels it, not responding to my comment. I’m really curious why Damon would switch gears, so I ask, “What kind of new sound?”

“Well, not new. Old might be a better explanation.”

I nod, understanding what she means.

“We both agreed I’d take a break and refocus, redirect my music to what I envisioned when I first started singing. I’ve written songs and hit the studio attempting to produce them. We’ve tried a few different producers, but I’m still not happy with the results.”

“Can I listen to them sometime? You can tell me what it is you don’t like and maybe I can help you.”

She chews a bite of banana, swallows, takes another bite, as if strongly considering my request. “I’d actually really like that.”

She makes the simple statement and I want to press her for more. I want to listen to her new songs now. I want to talk to her more about her music. I don’t want this conversation to end. But silence rises up between us again. She throws the banana peel away, and then her head drops and she stares into the sink. When I brace my arms back on the counter, our hands are so close all I’d have to do is move my thumb a fraction of an inch and we’d accidentally be touching. But instead I do something I know I shouldn’t. I lift my hand and gently grasp her chin, pulling it toward me. “Ivy?” I ask. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she answers, closing her eyes.

I breathe out. She breathes in. I can feel my skin touching hers and I want to hold her, rest my forehead on hers, I want to brush my lips across hers, I want to whisper in her ear that she can trust me. Having her this close twists me, turns me, makes me think about my actions. I don’t want to upset her. It’s been almost two weeks since she joined the band and our conversations have mostly been work-related until now. This is the first personal conversation we’ve had, and talking to her again has everything inside me screaming for her. Everything she does sets my blood on fire. I drop my hand and back away. I’m going to give her some time because that’s something we have—three months’ worth of it.

“I’m really going to get changed now,” she says, her voice smooth and low.

I nod and she turns and leaves the lounge. I watch her until she disappears. Then I open the fridge and grab an apple. Taking a bite, I chew it and grin—all in all, that didn’t go that badly.

• • •

Time seems to tick by so slowly the rest of the day. Staring out the window at a stream that meanders through fields on its own sweet time, I kick myself for not pushing it with her. Why wade through the stream instead of jumping over it? Yet I know I have to take it slow with her or she’ll keep retreating—and I want her around. I’ve lived on this bus for six months with eight other dudes, and it’s been nothing but comfortably boring. Having Ivy on board has already made everything different—I feel a buzz of energy in the air and everything seems more alive.

By the time we finally arrive in Denver, I’m ready to blast into action. We get right to work, which I’m glad about because it takes my mind off her. I’m in a hurry to get in as much rehearsal time as I can. And at least the tension between Ivy and me melts away when she’s onstage. We both act professional and don’t let our past interfere with the music. I use today’s sound check as more of a rehearsal, so it lasts three hours. The guys are ready to be done, but I think we need more practice. I want their performances to be perfect. A lineup of forty songs means learning a shitload of material, so we keep going over and over them. Leif switches between keyboard and bass, depending on the song. His versatility has proved to be a great addition to the band.

“Okay, let’s call it for now,” I yell.

“It’s about f**king time,” Nix snarls at me.

Leif thumps his shoulder and heads to the keyboard with the corner of his mouth turned up. Leaning over it, he closes his eyes and hits some notes. He seems to be playing a song, but the words that leave his mouth sound more like a rap. The melancholy of it draws me in. I take a seat and just listen until he’s done.

“That’s a showstopper,” I comment, meeting him at the bottom of the stairs as he walks off the stage.

“Yeah, well, it’s not meant for the audience Ivy sings to.”

I shoot him a small grin. “You’re full of all kinds of surprises. But really, I liked it.”

He shrugs. “Thanks, man. Had a buddy years ago and rapping was his thing. What can I say—he taught me well.”

“Not to change the subject, but what’s your take on learning all the band’s songs in such a short period of time?”

He sighs with what looks like an authentic worry line creasing his brow before he confesses, “Honestly, I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear.

He turns and heads backstage to get ready for the show, throwing over his shoulder, “Gotcha, dude! We got this nailed.”

I grin with relief.

Showtime comes quickly and ends just as quickly. There are good shows and bad shows and this one is definitely not great. The arena is filled at about seventy-five percent—not bad, considering we’ve switched leads in mid tour. But Ellie has arranged for some special effects to welcome Ivy, and the streamers just seem to take away from the set, and the guys are off the rest of the night after that.

Fresh from the stage, the band and the crew are digging in to the food backstage. Leif has a penchant for wine and opens a few bottles of red. He sniffs the contents of a bottle and then pours a glass. After he takes a sip he pours some for everyone. By eleven thirty we all smell like red wine and are pretty drunk. Knowing it’s time to leave, we take the backstage door and head to the bus, which pulls out at midnight. We won’t be staying in a hotel until we get to Lincoln.

Garrett walks beside me, complaining about the streamer gimmick. Just as we start to cross the parking lot, at least two dozen fans come rushing over to Ivy, begging for pictures and autographs. I stop and glance at Leif. The others keep moving—all except for Garrett, who’s still talking.

Leif stops as well, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ll wait for her.”

I nod, already having decided I’d wait for her.

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and taps it against his hand, then pulls one out and hands the pack to me.

“No, thanks, man,” I say. “That’s one vice I never took up.”

“Good thing, because it’s a f**king hard habit to break.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“I only smoke when I’m drinking and never inside,” Leif clarifies, as if I cared.

“I’ll take one of those,” Garrett says.

I just look at him and shake my head. He lights the cigarette and inhales, then exhales smoke in a huge cough.

“You’re such a f**king retard,” I tell him.

“What? I used to smoke.”

“Yeah, when you could sneak one behind the school grounds in the sixth grade.” I laugh.

Garrett stubs his cigarette out. “I’m going to make like Tom and Cruise. You coming?” he asks me.

Shaking my head, I tell him, “I’ll stick around with Leif and wait for Ivy.”

I have an uneasy feeling about leaving her with just Leif. She’s pretty tight with him and he seems to watch over her, but if something happens, he’d never be able to handle it himself—from what I can tell he’s definitely more of a lover than a fighter. I make a note to myself to talk to Ena about additional security. I’ll have her call River’s security guy, Caleb, and get some recommendations.

When the crowd finally clears, the three of us head back to the bus. Leif’s phone rings, and glancing at its screen, he stops. “I’ve gotta take this. I’ll catch up with you later,” he says, stepping away for some privacy.

Ivy and I walk the remaining few feet in silence. She’s wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a gray shirt with the shoulders cut out, and a pair of spike heels that look more like boots. Her flawless body is a perfect match to her songbird voice. We’re both a little drunk, and it shows when she climbs the steps to the bus and one of her heels sticks in the rubber matting, causing her to stumble. Next thing I know, I’ve fallen on top of her. My mouth is next to her ear and I can smell the fresh scent of her hair. I don’t move because I can hear her breathing and I can almost feel her pulse racing beneath me. At that moment I know for sure—she still feels about me the way I feel about her. And in this one moment everything changes.

“You want me, don’t you?” I whisper under my breath and I can feel my mouth tip to one side.

She flips around and my body instantly falls, molding to hers in a heartbeat. The heat between us is undeniable, at least to me.

“No, I don’t,” she says a few moments too late. “Please get off me,” she adds in a voice that refuses any rebuttal. Our locked gazes keep me glued where I am, but when she averts her eyes, I can’t help but grin. It’s so apparent what that means. She forgets how well I know her.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not the liar,” she hisses.

I want to say I’m not either, but I don’t, because that would be a lie. So instead I stand up and wipe my palms on my jeans before extending my hand to help her up. She refuses my help and pushes herself up.

“I can manage myself,” she snaps as she turns and walks up the steps.

And I stand here smug as shit because now I know—I have to tell her what really happened. I just need the right time and place.

• • •

The Lincoln, St. Paul, and Des Moines shows come and go without any noteworthy events. We’re headed to Springfield for Summerfest. Summer festivals are a blast to play and we have about four more lined up on this tour. I’ve been extremely busy with press releases and promo changes. Rehearsal schedules have been ramped up and we have very little time to do anything but sleep and work, so everyone is looking forward to the festival.

We reach Springfield on the third day of Summerfest. I’m backstage at sunset and the band is just coming off the stage.

“You rocked it,” I tell Leif, giving him a high five. He had a solo on the keyboard and really tore it out.

“I’m going to check out Eminem a few stages over. Anyone coming?” Nix asks.

“I will,” Ivy answers and I’m surprised. Since when does she like rap?

“Yes, I’ll join you as well,” I add.

The other guys head over to see the Sheepdogs and the three of us cross the field as bands on five stages churn out majestic jams. Walking through the crowds, I stay close to her side, occasionally guiding her with a slight touch. Nix stops to talk to someone he knows and we keep moving. It’s hotter than hell and the crowd is a sweaty mess. We reach the stage area as the song ends and everyone is screaming for more. Another song begins to play and we stand together and listen. It hasn’t been just the two of us since the first morning on the bus. A comfortable ease slips between us as we watch the performance. Feeling the time is right, I step closer to her. Close enough that we’re shoulder to shoulder. Then I dip my head and ask, “Want to have a drink someplace quiet? Someplace we can talk?”

She bites her bottom lip and looks away. She opens and closes her mouth a few times until she actually answers me. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Her breath is sweet and warm on my neck, and I want her to change her mind. I want to hear her say yes. I want to push her, but I don’t. As I study her—her body language, her perfect face—my lips twitch from trying not to laugh at myself. I’m a guy who has always gone after what he wants. I want what I want now . . . but with Ivy it’s different. I need to earn her trust before I can tell her the truth.

“What?” She looks up at me with an innocence that makes my heart beat dangerously fast.

I can’t hold back my laughter anymore and I let it out. “Nothing, nothing. How about we grab some funnel cakes over at the midway?”

She nods with a small hint of excitement, and I have to cross my arms to keep my hands from clutching her face and just kissing her for the sweetness that I see in it.

• • •

Ivy and I spent the night listening to bands and just hanging out, but we never talked about the past—about us. I danced around the topic, but every time I did she tensed up and seemed to withdraw. So I decided to put it aside and focus on things between us now. The guys eventually caught up with us and we headed back to the bus and pulled out for our next show. We’re on the way to Cleveland with a stop in Cincinnati for a night out. Leif’s buddy Casper is a boxer and he invited the band to come watch his next fight. Leif’s convinced that Casper will be the reigning heavyweight champion in no time. His career record so far is 23 and 0. Although I haven’t been keeping up with the sport, I’d have to agree with Leif—his record speaks for itself.

The traffic is crazy on the way to the Horseshoe Casino and we’re running a little late. Ivy’s sitting next to Leif in the SUV and I’m sitting behind them with Garrett. Nix is up front. Ivy’s almost too much to take in at once. Her strapless yellow top shows off her perfect figure, but I want to cover her bare shoulders and pull her top up a little to eliminate all that exposed skin. Her hair is wavy today, a style I’ve never seen her wear, but it looks really sexy on her. She shakes her voluminous curls when she laughs at something Leif says, and I take a deep breath—fuck, she looks amazing.

We enter the venue just as the fight is being announced. She’s by my side and jumps a little when the speaker blares with the announcer’s voice: “Ladies and gentlemen, here he is! I know you all know who I’m talking about—so without further ado I give you Casper ‘the Ghost’ Holland.” I place my hand on the small of her back and guide her down the aisle. A slight shiver makes her body shake and I grin.