Double Time

Exodus End’s bassist, Logan, and drummer, Steve, squeezed into the small room. Her band shuffled around so they could all fit into the small space. Her band. Hers. Oh my God, this had to be a dream. She pinched her arm as hard as she could. “Ouch. I guess I’m not dreaming,” she muttered.

“You wail, sweetheart,” Steve said. “What’s your name?”

“Reagan.”

She shook hands with Logan (long, golden hair, gentle blue eyes, and hot) and Steve (soft waves of shoulder-length brown hair, dreamy brown eyes, and hot). Snuck another peek at Max (dark brown, trendy short hair, deep hazel eyes, and hotter) and then Dare (silky, sleek jet-black hair, intense green eyes, and the hottest). How would she survive being in a band with this many luscious and talented men without her panties spontaneously combusting?

“Reagan, we love your sound,” Max said. “We’d like to head down to Dare’s practice room and jam through a few songs together to make sure you’re compatible with the group as a whole. Unless you have something better to do.”

In twenty minutes, Reagan was supposed to be at work serving coffee to stressed-out customers in knock-off Armani suits. Did that count as something better to do? “Fuck no, I don’t.”

“Great,” Dare said. His wide smile was like a double-shot of espresso to the happy lobe of her brain.

Reagan followed the group through the maze that was the north wing of Dare’s sprawling mansion. She’d never been in a house that had wings before. That entire section of his house was dedicated to the band. Gold and platinum records lined the hallway. Bits of Exodus End’s history: Photos of the band at award ceremonies and playing live shows, guitars, posters, backstage passes, drumsticks, and other memorabilia covered every square inch of wall space. Dare’s interior decorator obviously frequented chain restaurants. She wished she had time to examine it all and learn the history behind each piece. They passed another recording studio packed wall to wall with Steve Aimes’s ginormous drum kit and other percussion instruments.

“Do you take that entire thing on tour?” Reagan pointed into the open door.

Steve chuckled, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. She had the feeling she’d need to keep a close eye on that one, which would not be a chore but a privilege. “Naw, that’s my old kit, which I use mostly for special studio recordings. I just take the essentials on tour.”

“His essentials take up half a semitruck,” Logan said.

“Says the man with four hundred bass guitars,” Steve countered.

Reagan gaped. “Four hundred?”

“Not quite that many,” Logan said.

“Three hundred and ninety-nine,” Steve amended.

Reagan had one good electric guitar, one cheap piece of crap, and one acoustic. She was far out of her element here. Could she handle going from zero recognition to instant infamy? She didn’t know, but she was about to find out. There was no way in hell she was giving up this opportunity.

They passed another room that looked like a tastefully decorated high school gymnasium. The highly polished wooden floor gleamed beneath modern-styled chandeliers. A huge, fully stocked bar took up the majority of the far wall. Some chairs were stacked against one wall, but the rest of the room was empty.

When Reagan paused and gaped through the spectacular archways, Dare said, “The ballroom.”

“We have a ball in there, all right,” Logan said.

“Parties?” Reagan asked.

“A few,” Dare said.

“Will I be invited to the next one?” she asked eagerly.

Dare chuckled. “I’d say so.”

The other band members continued down the corridor and entered the next room, talking and laughing about various party memories. Reagan caught movement out on the expansive patio outside the floor-to-ceiling ballroom windows. Everything in this house was huge. She wondered if Dare lived here alone. Seemed a waste of space for one person. She had no doubt that he had an easier time forking out millions of dollars for this place than she had coming up with mere hundreds for rent each month.

The man outside the windows pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it on the ground.

“Is that Trey?” she asked breathlessly.

Trey pushed something on the ground with his toe and a huge Jacuzzi set into the slate patio began to bubble.

“Helping himself to my hot tub again,” Dare said. “I keep telling him he might as well move in. He says he doesn’t want to impose. The dipshit imposes all the time.”

Reagan looked up at Dare and was momentarily dumbfounded to find she was having a conversation with one of the most famous guitarists on the planet. One of her idols. “I think I said something back in the studio that upset him. Does he really care that Bait-n-Switch broke up? We weren’t very good, to be honest.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s never heard of Bait-n-Switch,” Dare said. His hand slid up into his long, silky hair and he scratched his head before tucking the black strands behind one ear. “No offense.”

“None taken. Do you have any idea what I said to set him off?”

Dare smiled at her. “He has a lot on his mind. Brian Sinclair’s wife had a baby this morning. What you said about kids causing bands to break up—”

“Oh shit! I didn’t mean Sinners.” She tore her gaze from Dare to watch Trey kick off his shoes. He looked entirely too depressed. “I’m going to go talk to him. Can you give me a couple minutes?”

“Sure, we need to get our instruments tuned up anyway.”

Reagan had completely forgotten that she was still carrying her guitar strapped around her neck and shoulder. She looked down at it wondering if it was wise to take it out near the rolling hot tub water.

“Do you want me to take that into the practice room for you?” Dare asked.

Reagan was dumbfounded by his thoughtfulness. Weren’t rich and famous rock stars all ass**les? “I’d really appreciate that, Mr. Mills.”

Dare laughed. “Oh please. No one calls me Mr. Mills besides my lawyer. Call me Dare.”

She smiled wondering why he would need a lawyer. “Thanks, Dare.” Reagan lifted the strap over her head and handed her guitar to him.

He held it in one hand and wrinkled his nose at it as if it had an infectious disease. “You know, since Max won’t need his guitars anymore, he’ll probably give you a few high-quality instruments to use until you find something more to your liking.”