“As much as I joke about my balls,” Kelly said, “I’d never let anyone come at ’em with a scalpel. Ever.”

“And that’s why you’ll end up paying child support someday.” Adam crossed his arms to rest on the body of his guitar and lifted a dark eyebrow at Kelly. “Some gold-digger will poke pinholes in your condoms and whoops, there’s a two-million-dollar mistake.”

“Does your girlfriend know you’re getting snipped?” Owen asked. “She seems like the type who’d want kids.”

“That’s why I’m getting them snipped.”

“You don’t trust her?”

“Of course I trust her. I just lose my head around her. She’d say the word and I’d be doing my damnedest to knock her up. I don’t have any business fathering a child. Look at the example I had to follow.”

Adam’s father was the poster child for bad parenting, but that didn’t mean Adam would follow in the old man’s footsteps. Still, Owen understood his hesitation over kids. Just the thought of having a kid made him break out in hives. He might consider it in twenty or thirty years. Or never.

“Kelly’s not getting any, so he doesn’t have to worry about it.” Owen said. “But I strictly adhere to the BYOC rule. No kids for me.”

“With that monstrosity in your junk, you probably poke holes in your own condoms by accident,” Adam said.

Another reason Owen always brought his own; certain brands were more durable than others. A man had to be careful to use the right protection if he had adornments in certain body parts.

“You guys don’t know what you’re missing,” Shade said. “Kids are awesome.” The band’s lead singer had sported a stupid grin of one degree or another all day. Sure, Shade smiled now, but if his ex-wife ever found out why he looked like he’d been huffing nitrous oxide, he wouldn’t be smiling then. Tina would rip his lips right off his face. His ex wouldn’t take kindly to Shade dating her sister. Tina hated Shade’s fucking guts and wanted him miserable for all eternity. So far, fate had been working in her favor.

“Not all kids are awesome,” Adam said. “Some are the spawn of Satan. But yeah, Jules is pretty awesome. Even if she is related to you.”

Shade laughed and punched Adam in the arm.

Owen exchanged glances with Kelly. They both stiffened in preparation for an inevitable fight—Shade and Adam had gotten into one in the limo after their last concert—but it seemed the two over-inflated egos really were just goofing off and no one was at risk for an ER visit. Good thing. Adam would have been pissed if he’d had to room with his father. Apparently, his dear old dad had gotten his hands on bad drugs and landed himself in the emergency room the night before. Owen had been surprised that Adam had even taken him to the hospital. Adam resented the old man, whether they shared DNA or not. Owen couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of hating one’s own father, no matter what he’d done. Owen would be devastated if anything happened to any member of his family—including any of his seventy-one third cousins.

“Have you heard from your dad?” Owen asked Adam.

“Yeah. He bitched me out on the phone less than an hour ago.”

“Still in the hospital?”

Adam nodded. “And apparently they don’t subscribe to his favorite TV channel.”

“Well, fuck, Adam, you don’t expect him to watch the Disney Channel, do you?” Owen said.

“That’s the channel he was bitching about. Can’t miss Hannah Montana.”

Owen jerked back in surprise. “No shit?”

“Shit no,” Adam said. “I swear, Owen Mitchell is a synonym for gullible.”

“Adam Taylor is a synonym for asshole,” Owen countered.

“Gabriel Banner is a synonym for let’s get the fuck on the stage,” Gabe said. “Isn’t it already after nine?”

Owen turned to watch the crew standing around a bank of amplifiers on the stage. The head of their road crew, Jack, was squeezed behind the sound equipment, wiggling wires and garbling swear words around the penlight he held between his teeth. Owen moved closer and waved down one of the onlookers.

“What’s the hold-up?” he asked.

“One of the new guys caught a cord with his foot and loosened some cables. Jack is fixing it.”

“And he needs an audience? None of you has anything better to do five minutes after the show was supposed to start?”

The group scattered. In his earpiece, Owen heard Cash, their soundboard operator, say, “That’s got it, Jack. Owen, we’re ready when you are.”

Owen was always ready to be on stage. He loved that he got to start every show—a few precious seconds to have twelve thousand screaming fans all to himself. Not many bassists got to stand in the limelight.

He gave the rest of the band the thumbs-up to let them know he was starting and took the steps up to the edge of the stage. In the near darkness, Gabe hurried to settle behind his massive drum kit, careful not to make a sound by bumping a cymbal with those long limbs of his. As soon as he collected his sticks, Owen began his bass riff. The crowd roared and whistled as the first sound thrummed. The curtain dropped and a blinding white light lit Owen from above as he sauntered across the stage playing the repetitive bass line of “Darker.” He gave no indication that a surge of adrenaline had his heart galloping a mile a minute as he slowly made his way toward center stage. Owen lived for this shit. He couldn’t believe this was his job. For the rest of his life, Owen would worship at the altar of rock god Kellen Jamison for sending him down the path of wickedness. Kelly had been the one who’d forced Owen to learn to play guitar in an effort to get him laid in high school. It hadn’t worked then—chubby bassists didn’t get the girls—but it worked like a charm now.

The crowd got louder and louder as Owen pretended to ignore them. When he reached his target—a white X taped at the exact center of the stage floor—Gabe entered the song with a wickedly rapid drum progression. Owen pivoted, beamed a smile at the crowd, and dashed toward the audience as the rest of the band entered the stage and the song.

The entire band was pumped tonight, which guaranteed an amazing performance. Shade was in a great mood and joked around with the audience and with Adam. The pair had talked out some of their problems that morning, but Owen had had no idea that a simple conversation would make such a noticeable difference in the feel of the show. Owen and Kelly always had a great time onstage; they were completely relaxed in each other’s company and loved hamming it up for the crowd. Shade and Adam, on the other hand, had spent the last couple of years acting as if they were at war with one another both onstage and off. Owen couldn’t believe how much the atmosphere had changed overnight.

Between “Going Down” and “Heaven to Pay,” Owen slipped into the wings and grabbed a bottle of water from a roadie. He chugged the cool fluid while Shade told the crowd a story about their lead guitarist falling off the stage in New Jersey.

“Face planted right on the cement,” Shade said, slapping one palm against the other. “Wham!”

“It wasn’t funny,” Adam said. “I almost broke my neck.” But he didn’t sound angry about Shade’s teasing.

Owen was grateful Adam had regained his sense of humor. His short fuse was a liability.

“Luckily, I was drunk enough that I didn’t feel a thing,” Adam said.

“Until the next morning,” Shade said.

“I can’t believe how well they’re getting along,” Kelly said to Owen as he sipped from his water bottle. “Calm before the storm?”

“Maybe. I keep waiting for one or the other to explode.”

“Shade’s been acting happy all day,” Jack said. “It’s just not right.” He took the empty water bottles from Owen and Kelly.

“You can blame that on his bedmate last night,” Owen said, grinning. “She must have a magic vagina.”

“I don’t care if it shoots glitter and rainbows,” Kelly said. “That relationship can only end in disaster. We’d better enjoy this while it lasts.”

As the pair returned to the front of the stage, Shade asked, “Did you have a nice break?”

“No,” Owen said. Shade’s microphone was close enough that it picked up his words and they were broadcast through the stadium. “I was hoping the clear stuff in my bottle was vodka, but it was only water.”

“Mine had vodka,” Kelly said. “The crew has seen you drunk, Tags. Not something they want to see again.”

“I’m a fun drunk,” Owen said. “Everyone loves to hang around when I’m drunk.”

“Yeah,” Kelly said, “everyone who wears a skirt and wants it up around their waist while you go down loves to hang around when you’re drunk.” He rolled his eyes.

Feminine approval roared from the crowd.

“If it bothers you so much, stop wearing skirts, Cuff,” Owen said.

The crowd’s laughter egged them on.

“It’s called a kilt. And how else am I supposed to show off my legs?” Kelly asked.

“Kilts don’t come in floral patterns.”

“Okay,” Shade said, “that’s enough out of you two. This isn’t open mic night.”

“These people came to hear music, not your lame jokes,” Adam said.

Since Gabe didn’t have a live mic, he played a mini drum solo to enter his opinion on the matter. Owen and Kelly kept their jokes to themselves for the remainder of the show, but they still managed to have fun.

And the crowd responded, stomping on the floor and thrusting their fists into the air.

“I’m heading for the shower,” Owen said after the encore. He handed off his bass to one of the road crew and looked at Kelly expectantly.

“I’ll join you,” Kelly said. “I’m drenched.”

“Last chance for you pussy-whipped disgraces to join us tonight at Tony’s new club,” Owen said, looking to his other three band mates.

“Not happening, Owen,” Shade said. “Have a good time.”

“I’ll have a good enough time for the three of you,” Owen said. He glanced at Kelly, knowing he probably wouldn’t utilize the club to its fullest capabilities. “For all five of us,” he said under his breath. He vowed never to fall hard for a woman. Monogamy. Where was the fun in that?

A pair of hands appeared over Shade’s sunglasses. “Guess who,” a soft, sultry voice said from behind him.

Shade’s hands reached back and began to explore the feminine body at his back. “I know these tits,” he said, a huge smile stretching across his face.

“Are you sure?”

Owen cocked his head to the side, and his suspicions were validated. What in the fuck was she doing here? Amanda made Shade happy—hell, that was obvious. But she was trouble for him. Big trouble.

“Yeah,” Shade said. “It’s been ages, Pamela. Are you ready for another musician to rock your bed?”

Amanda grabbed his nose and twisted.

“Ow! Amanda, I was only joking.”

“You knew it was me?”

“Of course I knew it was you. Pamela’s tits are enormous, and yours are massive, at best.”

She scowled at her ample bust. “Maybe I’ll get them enlarged,” she said.

“Don’t go messing with perfection, babe.”

She looked up at him. “You’re not surprised I came?”

“You came already? Geez, all I did was fondle your tits a little.”

Owen chuckled. God, he’d missed this Shade—the guy who smiled and joked and didn’t look as if a perpetual doom cloud was tailing him.

Amanda slapped Shade, but was unable to hide her grin. This sister was so much easier to get along with than the one Shade had married the first go round. But, yep, still trouble.

“Or,” Shade said, “do you mean I’m not surprised that you couldn’t wait until Saturday to see me again? Or that you’d drive almost five hours just to get in my pants? Nope. Not surprised.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I forgot how big your ego gets after a show.”

“It’s not the only thing that gets big.”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “I hope you’re planning to show me that other big thing.”

Shade turned and grabbed her, hauling her against his body. He whispered something in her ear, and she nodded eagerly.

“Owen.” Kelly snapped his fingers in Owen’s face. “The limo is waiting for us. If you want a shower, you’d better stop gawking at the happy couple and get your ass to the dressing room.”

He couldn’t help but gawk. Train wrecks waiting to happen were mesmerizing.

Owen hurried through his shower, keeping his eyes diverted from Kelly’s naked body. Especially when Kelly placed one hand on the shower wall and used his free hand to thoroughly lather his cock. Lucky cock. Owen stuck his head under the shower head, shut his eyes, and let the water flood his face. Worrying about Kelly’s neglected dick was bizarre—Owen knew that. He should concentrate more on his own fifth appendage, which was half hard in anticipation of seeking a new conquest at the club tonight. Or something.