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Somehow, I manage to pull back. I press my forehead to hers. "Goodnight, Vi."

"Goodnight, Ethan." She looks back at me as she steps inside her room.

It takes every bit of self-control I have, but I do manage to talk myself out of knocking on her door and insisting she come on my hand again.

I've filled in for Drew twice so far. Did all right both times. But all right isn't good enough.

God damn, I'm sweating bullets here. It's three minutes until Sinful Serenade is going on stage. I should be loose and relaxed with damn, Dangerous Noise killed it energy.

But I'm not.

I go through my warm-up stretches. At this point, I'm already warm, but it gives me something to do.

Mal pats me on the back. "You okay?"

I'm not okay and he knows it. I smile back at him. "Great, thanks."

He shakes his head: one day you'll get it. "If you want to back down, I know the Sinful Serenade setlist as well as you do."

I stare daggers at Mal.

He chuckles. "Break a leg." He pats me on the back then makes his way to his Bay Area fuck buddy, a brunette in jeans and a tight red sweater.

She lights up when he greets her. He leans in to whisper—I don't need to go there.

Mal has half a dozen fuck buddies scattered around the country. He has a girl everywhere except southern California. When we're home, Mal spends all his free time with Piper.

Okay. Enough about my brother's habits.

Need my head in the game. We've got two minutes to show time. I start on another round of stretches.

A familiar voice stops me. "I've never seen you this nervous." Violet squeezes my hand. She looks up at me. "Anything I can do?"

There's a lot she can do but none of it gets my head in the game. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck." She rises to her tiptoes and brushes her lips against mine. "If luck isn't enough, take off your clothes. I guarantee that will win the crowd over."

I laugh. "Nothing to do with you wanting to see me naked?"

"Ethan, please. I'm only concerned about the artistry of your performance."

"One minute!" The stage manager, a short, balding guy named Jim with a clipboard and a bad attitude, calls out. "Where the fuck is everybody?" He hightails it to the Sinful Serenade dressing room.

Violet squeezes my hand and takes a step backwards. "I'll be watching."

That isn't helping get my head in the game either. I take a deep breath. There's Miles, the Sinful Serenade singer, offering Jim a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Poor Jim is a wreck. Miles is cool as a cucumber.

The stage lights turn off. The crowd claps and cheers. Then they're chanting. Damn, must be nice to be that popular.

Miles winks at me. "Break a leg." He makes his way to the stage.

Then it's Tom and Pete. I've known the Steele brothers since forever. We were all in a band together back in high school. Had to quit when my parents bailed to study the gorillas in Africa. They're the same as they were then. Tom is a ball of energy. Pete is stoic and quiet. When he talks, it's usually about sex. Or to fight with Tom. They bicker like an old married couple.

Tom motions for me to follow him. I do. It was barely an hour ago that I stepped onto this stage, but that can't compare to this.

I can feel the energy of the crowd in my bones. Their cheers echo around the room.

I take my place on stage, guitar around my shoulders, feet in a boxer's shuffle.

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