Garrett throws his picks in the middle of the table, and Nix sets the deck down next to Ivy. She cuts it and finally he deals. She gets the first card, since she is to Nix’s immediate left. I get mine next. I stare at the two cards beside each other on the table and try to block memories of playing this game alone with her years ago in my grandparents’ pool house. We didn’t play for money, though—we played for clothes. I’m sure she remembers. Once the cards are dealt, she leans a little my way and I can smell that fresh, soapy scent even more. I get lost in it and those memories come flooding back.

“Xander, snap out of it. What are you doing?” Nix calls me out.

I blink, realizing I haven’t even looked at the cards in my hand. “I’ll raise,” I say, tossing four picks in the middle.

Everyone starts laughing except Ivy. She leans toward me and whispers in my ear. “I checked.”

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

Her body stiffens and she sits back in her chair.

I turn my attention to the guys. “So I’m tired. Give me a f**king break. I meant to say I’d open. Either way, see it or fold, ass**les.”

Needless to say, the first hand ends with me losing. As the game continues, Garrett’s luck seems to have changed. He’s raking it in. About two hours later, the room’s a little fuzzy and if Ivy moves any closer to me I think I’m going to lose it in my pants right here. Shit, I have to get my dick under control.

“Last hand of the night,” Nix calls and deals the cards.

Nix makes his way around the table, but Leif tosses his hand down. “I fold.”

Garrett lights the tip of his cigar again and inhales before showing us his cards. “Call it a straight, baby, all the way,” he boasts.

Ivy smiles and lays her cards flat but upside down. “I fold too.”

“I’m out of this f**king game,” Nix calls out, running his fingers down Phoebe’s bare arms.

I look at the cards in my hand. Rubbing my nails on my chest, then blowing on my cards, I grin. “Four of a kind. Pay up, buddy.” I slowly fan my cards out. Garrett’s face falls like the cigar he’s stubbing out.

“What the f**k, Ivy?” he blurts out.

Everyone looks her way and back at Garrett, who has his hands up in surrender, grinning ear to ear. Nix gestures Phoebe off his lap and Garrett’s up and running. Leif and Nix fly after him.

Ivy quickly pushes the scattered cards on the table into a pile. Her cheeks are bright red. She’s so busted. Here I’m thinking she wants to be close to me. That she doesn’t even know she’s driving me nuts when in actuality she’s signaling my cards to Garrett. I glare down toward the floor and spot a number of cards under the table. Looking back up at her, I say, “Ivy?”

She glances up at the sound of her name but quickly averts her gaze. Bending under the table, I pick up the cards and slide them to her with a smirk on my face. Her fierce eyes catch mine and they are cautious, focused, nervous even, as her stare tries to break mine. I notice that the color in her eyes is more liquid blue than gray today. Beautiful. It’s inviting me, calling my name, so I don’t look away. Instead I keep her pegged and stand up to hover over her. Her breathing picks up speed the closer I lean in, and I’m well aware of the attraction between us.

With no one around to pay any attention to us, I corner her and cage her with my arms. She’s waiting for me to look into her face, but I cut my eyes away. Our faces are close and our bodies are like magnets, drawn to each other. I finally fix my attention on her. A piece of hair has fallen in her eyes and I push it aside. Tucking it behind her ear, I whisper, “Ivy.”

She murmurs something I can’t understand, then closes her eyes. I swallow, my mouth dry. I want to ask her what she said. I want to tell her to open her eyes and look at me. I consider kissing her—I’m pretty sure she’d let me, but I don’t. Instead I get close enough that her breath passes over my skin like a caress. I let my pants rub against her stomach and a small sigh escapes her throat. When I’m as close as I can be without actually lying on top of her, I whisper in her ear, “Who would have thought?”

I’m not sure why I chose to call her out, but when she pushes me away and runs out of the room, I really wished I had kissed her.

• • •

The next afternoon, the bus is hauling ass to Jersey and I’m spending a rare moment alone in the galley. I’m in my cubby playing around with a song on my guitar when I feel her stare on me. When I glance up, she looks younger again. She has no makeup on, she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, and her hair is pulled back. She’s gorgeous.

“I thought I heard you. What are you playing?” she asks.

“Actually I’m working on something for you.”

She laughs. “Oh yeah. Since when do you write songs?”

I chuckle. “I don’t, but I have this idea that I’ve been wanting to run by you.”

“Okay, I’m intrigued. What is it?”

I pat the spot next to me on my bed, and her eyes grow cautious. “I’m not going to attack you, Ivy. I just want to show you something.”

She crosses the space and sits next to me, then looks around. “I’ve never seen where you live,” she jokes.

Grinning at her, I say, “Well, it’s not home. That’s for sure.”

“Movies, music videos, a picture of your family—it’s enough to see you’re still the same guy.”

“Same guy I was in high school? I think I’d have to disagree with that.”

“Well, I think you are.”

I bow my head and look at the strings on the guitar. One thing I know for certain is that I’m not, but it’s nice that she thinks I am.

“Garrett told me you just started playing the guitar again on this tour. Why did you stop? You loved it, and you were so good at it.”

“Ivy, there is so much you don’t know.”

She turns to face me, propping a knee up as she twists sideways. “You mean about your father’s death.”

My throat tightens with emotion. “No, I mean about his suicide.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to.

She nods. “I know, but I wish I did.”

We stare at each other, communicating without talking. We’ve been walking this line between friends and not, between friends and lovers, between I don’t know what since this tour started. She knows she’s digging deep and I’m not sure I’m ready to uncover the things I’ve buried.

She rests her hand on my leg. “Xander, you can tell me anything. You can talk to me.”

I wait a beat before answering. My pulse is racing, but I’m not sure if it’s from our contact or the conversation. “Let’s talk about you and what I’ve been working on.”

She pulls her hand to her lap and smiles automatically. It’s a cross between forced and genuine—one I’ve never seen before. “Okay. Spill it,” she says, her tone neutral.

I’m not sure if she’s relieved or offended. I take a breath to steady my voice. “I want to make a video. Take a song like ‘Last Time’ and maybe add percussion, strings, and then I want you to chant over them.”

Her eyes go wide and a huge, genuine smile crosses her face. “You want me to be the girl being sung about in the song, don’t you?”

I nod.

“That’s brilliant,” she responds. Full of enthusiasm, she takes my guitar. “Here, let me show you. Something like this, right?”

She plays a few chords and I get caught up in her movements—the way her fingers dance over the strings, the ease with which she moves her body to the rhythm. This is the real Ivy—the one not putting on a show. The girl who loves music like I do. The reason I fell in love with her to begin with.

She points her finger at me. “You missed your cue.”

I laugh. “You want me to sing the song?”

“Yes. Just take the lead and I’ll interject,” she directs me and starts playing again, tapping her foot.

I have to stop myself from watching her, from thinking this is what we could have been doing together for years. I sing the first verse, but I’m not a singer, so I’d say I talked the first line.

We can’t keep doing this going back and forth thing that we do.

You get mad at me and then slam the door.

I apologize and you open it back up.

But, baby, we keep doing it, and this time it’s the last time.

Ivy bobs her head and closes her eyes, letting the words just flow out.

I know we’re so dysfunctional that it can’t be any good.

Sometimes love just isn’t enough.

But for us it should be, because two wrongs can only make a right.

So, baby, let’s keep this and make every time the first time.

She stops and opens her eyes. My thoughts are racing. The words she can create off the cuff blow me away. And her talent—the way she blends sadness, tenderness, and passion, making them feel like one emotion with just a change in her tone, is why she is the singer that she is. I’m so lost in my awe of her I don’t even notice that she’s set the guitar down until her hands are on my face and her lips are on mine. With a sharp intake of breath I feel their softness, their familiarity. She tastes like peppermint and smells like heaven. My head spins with raw need—a need to devour her, consume her, own her, and make her mine, this time forever. I pull her onto my lap, my hands cupping her ass, placing her right where I need her. I want to touch all of her at once. My fingers slide under her shirt and dig into her flesh, then around to feel her perfect ni**les. She wraps her legs around me and my c**k throbs so much it hurts. All I can think about is stripping off her clothes, being inside her, and f**king her for days.

“Um, Ivy, sorry to interrupt, but Damon’s on the phone and he says it’s urgent,” Leif says in a rather uncomfortable tone.

She jumps off my lap immediately. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Leif leaves the galley and I grasp her wrist and tug her back to me, but she resists.

“Ignore the call,” I tell her, standing up and stepping closer to her.

She backs toward the door.

I put a hand on the wall next to her head. “Ivy, don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry, Xander. I shouldn’t have done that. I just can’t be that close to you.”

I look down at her. “Why not? I’ve gone along with the friends thing, but clearly we both want more.”

Her voice cracks as she whispers, “Because, Xander, my body might want you but my heart doesn’t.”

The pain in her voice collapses everything I am, everything I have to give. She turns and walks out without a single backward glance . . . leaving my good mood shattered and a knife twisting in my gut.

• • •

It’s a rainy, miserable day when we arrive in Jersey, and the weather does nothing to improve my mood. The heat and humidity are unbearable and the rain just f**king sucks. We’re late and rush into the stadium. We do a quick sound check and head backstage.

“Are you as sweaty as I am?” Ivy asks Leif.

“My balls are sitting in a puddle of water. Does that answer your question?” He grins at her.

Leif directs his gaze my way and asks, “What’s with the air in the building?”

“How the f**k would I know? Do I look like the maintenance man?” I snap. His response to Ivy got under my skin, but really I’m pissed that he interrupted us this afternoon for her to take a call from that prick.

“Sorry. I was really just making a comment, not asking you directly.”

I nod and steer the band toward a padded blue table in the NFL training room at New Jersey’s MetLife Stadium. I throw the playlist on the table. “I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I tell them all as a general statement. Ivy and I haven’t spoken to each other since this afternoon. I’m feeling really fed up with the whole situation, so when Amy texted me and told me Breathless was spending the night in Jersey and could I meet her for a drink before the show—I said yes.

• • •

The streetlights flicker on as we exit the bar and cross the road. The sun has set, but the sky is still overcast and the clouds are situated in a way that prevents us from seeing the moon.

“Do you want to have dinner or do you have to get back?” Amy asks.

I glance at my watch and calculate the minutes until the show starts. I’m trying to decide if I should leave now or just skip it. Even if I leave now I’ll be late, so I opt for skipping it and calling to check in instead.

“Dinner sounds great.”

“My hotel has a great restaurant. What do you say?”

“Anywhere is fine with me. I just need a few minutes to check on things.”

We walk to Amy’s hotel and she goes ahead to get a table and I stop in the lobby and make a few calls. When I hang up I feel comfortable that the show is going to run smoothly without me and go to seek out Amy.

We’re seated across from each other in a booth in the dimly lit restaurant. I order my third scotch on the rocks of the night and decide to drink this one a little slower than the first two.

She chats about her job and we compare the cities we’ve both been in. Then the topic of conversation suddenly changes.

“Damon Wolf is buying up as many small production companies and record labels as he can,” Amy tells me.

The mere mention of that ass**le’s name makes me want to grind my teeth together. She seems to have some kind of preoccupation with him and I’m trying to keep my cool. “I really don’t give a shit about Damon Wolf,” I snap.