It takes me a moment, but I get it.

  Oh, I get it.

  “No,” I answer. “Jonah, I’m not hearing music.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “You’ll tell me if you do?”

  “Of course.”

  Jonah releases me and takes a step back, his bright eyes still sharp beneath his beanie. “It’s not too late, Knox,” he says after a moment. “We can send Harmony back to San Francisco and tell Paul Monroe to go fuck himself. We’ll do things our way, like we always have.”

  “No,” I say. “We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  Yeah, Knox.

  Why not?

  “Because I don’t want to,” I spit out.

  “You want to do this thing with Harmony?” he asks.

  “No, I want to beat The Electrics. Harmony’s just a means to an end.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes, that’s all.”

  Jonah shakes his head, his expression riddled with doubt, but he releases a sigh and scratches the stubble on his cheek. “Fine.”

  “It’s not real, Jonah,” I say as I reach for the door. “It’s all just make-believe.”

  “It better be.”

  “It is.” I hold the door open for us, and we walk back inside together. A familiar song starts on the stage, the first of Harvey’s thirty-minute set. “It’s just for the cameras,” I say, keeping a respectful backstage volume. “We’ll never even be alone together. I’ll be sleeping all alone — just like you!” I pat his back. “Hey! We’ll be celibate tour buddies. Celibuddies!”

  He groans. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Hey.” I flash a friendly smile. “I’ve said this already, but I think it’s real sweet what you and Marla are doing.”

  “Thanks.”

  “After tonight, you won’t see each other for three months,” I say, unable to even imagine it myself. “The next time you see her, she’ll be wearing a wedding dress! That’s insane!”

  Jonah pauses, his eyes twinging with nerves. And sadness. “Yeah.”

  “It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “Everything is going to be okay, Jo. You and Marla. Me and Harmony. This damn tour is going to be great and it’ll all be over before you know it.”

  “I hope so,” he says, clearly unconvinced. “Just... if you start hearing anything...”

  “I’ll come straight to you,” I say. “I promise.”

  9

  HARMONY

  Harvey Moon coos into the microphone, the sound sending a wave of chills down my spine. Until about an hour ago, I hadn’t even heard of him before, but now I know exactly why he’s on tour with Criminal Records.

  This guy fucking rocks.

  His first two songs were quick and catchy, a splendid mix of rugged pop and bluesy rock, but this one is a slow acoustic ballad. The others showed off his incredible guitar play, but this one exposes his impressive vocal range.

  “He’s great, right?” Marla asks, leaning across our little table.

  “Yeah,” I say after wetting my dry tongue. Apparently, I’ve just been sitting here gawking like an idiot. “Where did he come from?” I ask her.

  “Oh.” Marla finishes her drink and sets it aside. “We met him in Chicago a few months back,” she says, adorably slurring a little. “He won a contest with a local radio station to open for us at a show, and he was so good, we had to sign him for the next tour. Oh, and his manager, August, is a total hottie! We like him a lot.”

  I nod, smiling at the way she always says we and us when talking about Criminal Records, but she’s as much a part of the band as the rest of them are by now.

  The infamous Marla Gorchinsky is far from what I expected her to be.

  Criminal Records fans know who Marla is: the poor college girl who stole Jonah’s heart from the front desk of the Botsford Plaza Las Vegas. A rock and roll Cinderella story. The Jonah I knew was rich, powerful, and larger than life in so many ways. It’s odd to see him absolutely head over heels for someone so... normal. So ordinary.

  She is his muse.

  I remember what that’s like.

  “A man doesn’t choose his muse,” Knox says, his smile kissing my navel. “But when he finds her...”

  I shake off that memory, my nose still tingling from our last attempted kiss.

  I try not to think about it as a wave of happy applause shakes the space around me. I jolt into motion, clapping and praising Harvey as he rises from his chair and thanks the crowd with a magnetic grin.

  “So handsome!” Marla says, her voice carrying further than she expected, I think.

  I laugh. She’s not wrong. There’s definitely some fairy-tale prince handsomeness happening here.

  I glance around, taking in the electric vibe, and pause as I spot Chrissy standing near the back of the bar. She’s holding up her phone horizontally, the light of the screen illuminating her pensive face. Her dark hair tumbles down her shoulders now in long, flowing curls that stand out against her yellow shirt.

  I frown. Did she change?

  I wave at her to get her attention, wanting to offer her our last empty chair. It takes a moment, but she finally looks over at me. She waves at me with a playful smile, but doesn’t move from her position, her focus fixed on the stage.

  “Now, I think you all have endured me long enough,” Harvey says, making some ladies in the crowd groan in disappointment. “Everybody throw up your hands for Criminal Records!”

  I turn back around, leaving Chrissy to… whatever she’s doing as dozens of hands thrust into the air. The lights go down and the curtain closes. The applause dies slowly and we wait, the only lights coming from the back of the room.

  A piano breaks the dark silence. Only a few notes, the slightest tickling of keys, but it’s enough to make a few scream in excitement. Even I recognize the opening of No Way Out, one of their most popular anthems.

  The curtain opens on Katrina center stage, then stops before exposing the rest. A lonely spotlight illuminates her fair features as she plays her piano. Honey golden hair tumbles down her back, her small frame clad in a stunning but modest sundress.

  After a few bars, an electric guitar joins her, hard and sourceless, but everyone in the room recognizes that sound. Myself included.

  First hand experience of those fingers is a hard thing to forget.

  The curtain creeps open a little further on the right side, revealing Knox in his leather jacket. He’s standing at a microphone stand with his red electric guitar hanging on his body by the same tattered strap he’s had for ages.

  Beneath the stage lights, the similarities in their features are obvious. Brother and sister with the same honey blonde hair, though Knox’s is a little darker, dirtier. Long eyelashes. High cheekbones. Thick, kissable lips...

  Not that I ever made out with Katrina. Just saying the Bentons are very attractive people.

  A second guitar joins in, sending the song to another level. The crowd goes wild as the right side of the curtain slides open the rest of the way, exposing Addison clad in a stark white tube top and tight black leather pants. Dripping with style, she taps her boot against the stage, her dark hair hanging loose, ready for all the headbanging she’ll surely do by the end of the night.

  Their melody slows before coming to a sudden end, the quiet lasting only a moment before applause takes over. Then, the lights go low once again and the silence breaks as a low bass guitar strums softly. Then, drums. The beat is steady, building louder and louder until…

  The left curtain opens, revealing the rest of the band as the lights flare. Jonah stands on the same plane as Knox with his blue bass guitar. Bronson sits behind him at his drum set, as far in the back as possible — but that’s always been where Bronson prefers to be.

  Marla lets out a joyful shriek. On the stage, Jonah smirks.

  So adorable.

  Music shakes the ground beneath my feet. Guitars. Piano. Drums. Vocals, too, as Knox and Katrina harmonize the first chorus.

  Fuck.

  I missed this.

  I missed them.

  I didn’t realize how much I did until this moment.

  And Knox... fuck me.

  He owns the stage. Always did before. Not sure why I expected anything different now.

  Shivers. Butterflies. Nausea. If my gut can do it, I feel it as I watch him perform.

  When the song ends, there are tears in my eyes. I bow my head, swallowing them away, hoping that Knox isn’t scanning the front rows. As I finally look up, I find him staring at me. We lock eyes and it’s like a thousand heartbeats go off in a second.

  He looks away, his smile deep as he looks around at his adoring fans and says with a sexy drawl, “Hello, Las Vegas.”

  I mouth along with him as he says their classic concert greeting.

  “We are Knox, Addison, Jonah, Bronson, and Katrina,” he says, “and these are Criminal Records.”

  A new song begins, and my world shakes again.

  10

  KNOX

  Then

  Iwish I could keep you.

  The thought trickles in shortly before dawn, and stays in my head for several hours after. I repeat it in a thousand different ways, with a thousand different inflections, until the words themselves become meaningless.

  Then, I hear notes.

  I wish — I could — keep you.

  A song. A hard ballad, specifically.

  I absently curl my arm even tighter around Harmony’s waist, my hand brushing up against her bare breast beneath the covers. I kiss her neck from behind, her skin so smooth. So warm. Her chest rises and falls, her breaths light and steady.

  I wish I could keep you.

  You just met this girl, Knox, you fucking idiot.

  She’s a stranger. Barely even a fan.

  But I found her, so she’s mine.

  The thought lingers on, lyrics attached to music that don’t exist. But maybe it will. If I keep her.

  I lean down and kiss her. She doesn’t kiss me back, still fast asleep. Lost in dreamland, her eyes rapidly moving behind her eyelids; small traces of golden glitter clinging to her lashes.

  I kiss her again, the selfish bastard in me demanding that she kiss me back. Now.

  I suck on her bottom lip, giving it a tender bite that makes those shining eyelids twitch with delicious pain. Bringing my kiss to her neck, I lick her sweet skin.

  “Harmony,” I whisper. “Wake up.”

  She hums tiredly, but curls toward me. Her legs are slightly parted, and I ease between them as she cups my face and gives me the kiss I demanded.

  I grind myself against her, my cock rubbing against her inner thigh. Pleasure darts through me, along with the irresistible urge to fuck her right here and now, but I resist. There’s still time. Not all the time in the world, as I’d like. But there’s today, at least.

  It’s my day off.

  “Is it morning?” she asks, her fingers pushing through my hair.

  Between deep kisses, I nod. “Yes.”

  She smiles. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.”

  Harmony’s eyes flutter open. She looks at me, the morning sun peeking in from the edge of the closed curtains, illuminating her face enough to see the little details. Her cheekbones. Her little nose with the tiny, kissable freckles.

  “Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

  No.

  Never.

  “Stay,” I whisper, kissing her, enjoying her soft touch.

  Just one day. Maybe that’ll be enough to get this girl out of my system.

  Before she can reply, there’s a knock on the door.

  “Ignore it,” I say, the warmth between her thighs far too tempting to leave. “Probably just Jordan.”

  For a moment, Harmony seems happy enough to ignore it, but another knock shakes the door.

  “Mr. Benton!” a voice says from the other side. “Plaza Security. Open up, please.”

  Well, shit.

  “Security?” Harmony repeats, her eyes big with worry.

  “It’s okay,” I say. I steal a quick kiss before pushing off, instantly missing her body heat against my skin. “I’ll get rid of them.”

  She sits up. “Should I get dressed?”

  I smirk as I pull up my jeans. “I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

  She nods, but covers up with a sheet.

  As I approach the door, there’s another knock, this one far more urgent. “Mr. Benton!”

  “I’m here, I’m here,” I murmur, unlocking it. “Unbunch your panties, man.”

  I open the door on a tall man in a jet black suit and tie. He regards me with a stiff expression, his sharp eyes looking me over.

  “Can I help you?” I ask.

  “Knox Benton?” he says.

  “Yeah.”

  “I apologize, sir. I’m Marvin Ray. I’m head of security here.”

  “Congrats. What do you want?”

  “We don’t usually do this, but we have a rather distraught woman down in the lobby and management would like to take care of this situation as quickly as possible.” He holds up his phone, showing me a screenshot from a security camera in the lobby bar. “Is this you?”

  I glance at it. It’s from last night. Me and Harmony sitting at the corner table together, smiling. “Yes,” I answer.

  He swipes the screen, zooming in on Harmony. “Do you remember this girl?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you seen her since last night?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks over my shoulder. At this angle, all he can see is a wall. “Is she here now?” he asks, the tone of his voice not doing much to withhold his obvious judgment.

  “Yes,” I say. “And if you’ll excuse us, we were just about to order up some breakfast.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Benton,” he says, putting his phone away. “It’s against Plaza policy to allow unaccompanied minors to wander the property without parental supervision, and Ms. Max would very much like her daughter back.”

  I blink. “Minors?”

  “She’s sixteen, Mr. Benton.”

  “Sixteen?”

  Goddammit.

  Oh, shit.

  Oh, fuck.

  “Wait, no—!” Harmony thrusts herself beneath my arm, now wearing a white Botsford Plaza robe. “Not sixteen! I’m nineteen.”

  Marvin looks her over. “Your mother says sixteen.”

  “She always says that,” Harmony says, annoyed. “She lies to get me into pageants with age cut-offs. I can prove it! Can I get my ID?”

  “Please,” Marvin says.

  Harmony rushes back in search of her handbag. I give Marvin an awkward smile as we wait. Inside, I’m holding my breath, counting the moments until I get arrested. Again.

  Great job, Knox.

  Next time, ask for age verification — then double-check it.

  Harmony returns with her wallet. Out of breath, she struggles with the ID, but she finally yanks it from its pouch.

  Marvin takes it. He tests it closely, discreetly checking it for authenticity before giving it and us a reassuring nod. “Harmony Reed Max,” he says, confirming it. “Nineteen.”

  I exhale with relief. “Oh, thank Christ.”

  “But you should contact your mother as soon as possible,” Marvin says, a firm verbal finger-wagging. “Parents like to know their children are still alive, no matter how old they get.”

  Harmony nods, but crosses her arms and… “Actually, sir,” she says, working to toughen her voice, “you can tell my mother that I am an adult and I will return home when I see fit to do so.”

  I look at her, my eyes wide with surprise.

  Damn. That was kinda hot.

  Marvin isn’t nearly as impressed as I am. “I think it’d be better if that came from you, miss,” he says, clearly not wanting to do it himself.

  He has a point, though.

  “Yeah. Well…” Harmony stiffens her spine. “I’m not going to. So, if you want her to get out of your lobby, then you’ll have to do it yourself.”

  Fucking hot.

  I turn back to Marvin, curious about how he’ll react.

  He exhales hard through his nose. “My apologies again for disturbing your morning, folks,” he says.

  “It’s all right, Marv,” I say. “Just doing your diligence.”

  He bows his head and leaves.

  I close the door softly. “Well, that was⁠—”

  “Oh, fuck!” Harmony bends forward with her hands on her knees. “Oh, shit. Oh, god. Oh, fuck!”

  “What?” I grab her. “Harmony, you okay?”

  Her breaths come fast. “I can’t believe I just told off my mother!”

  I crack a smile. “Well, you just told off your mother through a security guard, but close enough.”

  She nearly collapses, so I loop an arm around her shoulders. “Oh, fuck!” she says, leaning into me.

  “It’s okay.” I chuckle. “The first act of rebellion is always the hardest. Shake it off. You’ll be fine.”

  “Shake it off?! I’m so dead!”

  “Breathe, Harmony. Breathe.”

  She takes a few controlled breaths as she clings to my arm. “I’m so dead,” she squeaks after a minute.

  “You’re not dead,” I say, rubbing her back. “Sounds like this is just the wake up call your mom needs.”

  “You think so?”

  “She’s lying about your age to get you into pageants?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then, yes, I think so.” I hold her a little longer. “Harmony Reed?” I ask after a minute.

  “She played clarinet in high school,” she mutters against me.

  I laugh. “Okay.”

  Named after the part that gets used up and tossed out regularly. Sounds about right.

  Harmony rises, but she keeps her grip on my arm. “Maybe you’re right,” she murmurs, not really convinced. “Maybe I should go down there. Talk to her myself.”

  “Do you want to?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Then, don’t. Stay up here and have breakfast with me.”

  A smile forms. “You want me to stay for breakfast?”