“Fair enough,” Blue Hair says, glancing over at Lizzie, his brown eyes sparkling. “And you are …?”

“That’s my girlfriend’s other boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend,” Zayd says, and his friends look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Yeah, I forgot to mention that I’m like, poly or something now.” Zayd gestures in the direction of the table with his chin. “Starting with the English bloke on the end, that’s Windsor, you guys know Creed, Zack the football douche, and then Tristan.”

“Your girlfriend has five boyfriends?” Blond Tips asks, and Zayd shrugs. I can feel his inked fingers digging into my thigh, and it’s making me feel warm in places that don’t need heating up in my current situation. “About time for you to get a taste of your own medicine. Welcome, Marnye, I’m Aiden. The ass with the blue hair is Benji, just the like dog—”

“Hey, fuck you,” Benji says, grabbing some beers from the fridge and setting them on the table.

“—and the huge dude with the beard is Bern.” Aiden finishes and then moves over to the table to grab a beer, checking Lizzie out unashamedly. She stares up at him with her amber eyes, and then scoots closer to Tristan. He doesn’t seem to notice, narrowing his gorgeous gray gaze on the band. “So, whose ex are you?” Aiden continues, popping the top on one of the beers with the keychain on his belt before he offers it up to her.

“I’m, well,” Lizzie starts, and her gaze drifts over to mine, like she’s searching for the right words to say. I have nothing to give her. “Tristan and I were together—”

“Tristan, right,” Aiden says, and then he looks at the Vanderbilt King like he wishes he could strangle him. “We’ve met Tristan before. Can’t say I was impressed during any of our previous meetings. Didn’t you once fuck a girl Zayd brought back to the bus while he was in the bathroom?”

Wow. Stuff I didn’t want to know.

“I’d literally forgotten your existence,” Tristan says, his voice dark, expression darker. “Some two-bit bassist that can be replaced by spitting into a crowd. Forgive me if I don’t swoon.”

“Yeah,” Aiden says with a laugh, turning his attention to Creed. “Whatever. I remember I hated both of you. You’re the one who’s always sleeping, right?” Creed narrows his own gaze, much like a cat, but says nothing, his fingers tapping an annoyed rhythm on the back of the bench.

“Well, Tristan, you might not be swooning, but what about your ex-girl here?” Benji adds and Miranda graciously gets up, so he can slide into her spot next to Lizzie. “What do you say, ex-girl?”

“I’m not entirely available,” Lizzie says, glancing over at Tristan. He looks back at her, but says nothing again. Nothing. Why isn’t he saying anything?! “I’ve just confessed my love to Tristan. I’m waiting on an answer.”

“Whoa, the plot thickens,” Aiden says, ruffling his frost-tipped hair. He glances up at Zayd who’s still holding onto me. His fingers, however, seem to have tightened just slightly. “Man, this is going to be a long trip, isn’t it?”

“Congratulations on your new girlfriend,” Bern says, giving Zayd a dark sort of look. “Try not to fuck this relationship up, okay? She’s a good one, I can tell.” He smiles at me and then moves over to grab a beer.

Zayd and I exchange a look, and he gives me a sly half-smirk.

“I would’ve told Lizzie to fuck off by now,” he whispers, and I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze.

The concert venue is this massive celebrity-owned ranch that I quickly find out belongs to the one and only Billy Kaiser. It’s quite beautiful, that perfect Southern California vista of lush desert hills, dotted with blooming cacti and bushes covered in purple flowers. I’m guessing if this dry heat keeps up for much longer, the landscape will change dramatically. For now though, the land’s enjoying the benefits of a recent summer shower.

“You dad doesn’t care that you’re using this place for a concert?” I whisper as we walk into the massive foyer with the curving staircase. The décor is Western themed, specifically expensive movie memorabilia that’s displayed behind glass with little placards. A vague memory comes to me of that first Infinity Club party when Zayd and Creed bet each other that Lizzie would show up. What was the prize? A cowboy hat? No, no cowboy boots.

Interesting.

Of course, then Creed said he wanted to fuck a cowgirl which I know now is a total lie …

“Dad lets his friends have concerts out here all the time,” Zayd says, giving me a weird sort of look. He clomps up the steps in his sea green boots, a perfect match to his hair, and turns around with one inked hand curled over the banister. “Well, come on, Charity, I want to show you my room.” Zayd gives me this exaggerated little wink and takes off.

“#TeamCreed,” Miranda whispers, but then she pushes me lightly in the back. “You go, I’ll watch Lizzie.”

“I—” I start to tell her that I don’t need her to watch Lizzie for me when I turn and see Lizzie’s hands on Tristan’s tie. He’s looking right at me, too, and there’s a sort of challenge in his face that makes my stomach hurt. Maybe he’s … what if he likes me and Lizzie both? I mean, I have a crush on five guys, so why would it matter if he liked another girl?

My stomach roils with angst, and I take off up the steps, past Zack and Creed, and all the way to the top where Zayd’s waiting.

“Welcome to Chateau Kaiser,” he purrs in that velvety rockstar voice of his, opening the door to a wing. Yeah. Not a room. A wing. My mouth drops open as I start down the hall and Zayd steps in behind me, closing the door softly. “I’ve got a music room, a bedroom, a sitting room, a game room, and a bathroom up here.”

I touch my fingers to one of the frames on the wall. There’s a chubby faced little boy with a woman’s arms around him. They have the same nose and the same full mouth. I glance back and Zayd’s face falls slightly.

“My mom,” he says, padding over to stand beside me. “She was a groupie for Dad’s band.” He taps the glass with a black painted fingernail and his face falls. “He married her, but that lasted for all of a few years because, well, you know, my dad’s a fucking druggie whore.” Zayd scrubs his hand down his face.

“So they got divorced?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and studying the harsh lines of Zayd’s expression. The emotion is beyond genuine; he misses his mother, wherever she is.

“No, she just left. They never actually got a divorce. She was trying to get custody of me, but then she … you know, she died.” Zayd pushes away from the wall and heads down the hall, opening the last door on the right and leaning against the jamb, his strong, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. “You coming in or what, Charity? I promise I don’t bite—unless asked, of course.”

I smile slightly and let my fingers trail down the side of the picture to hang at my side before joining him. I want to ask more about his mom, but maybe Zayd isn’t ready to share just yet?

“Holy shit,” I murmur, stepping into the room and letting my eyes wander the massive wall of guitars. Like, literally there are probably a hundred hanging there, starting right at floor level and going all the way up to the soaring ceiling. “This is insane,” I whisper as Zayd moves over and grabs an acoustic guitar off the wall, sitting down on the red sofa nearby. He strums his fingers across the strings and hums under his breath, rocking back and forth slightly with the music.

“Marnye, I can’t believe you’re in my room,” he purrs, and I feel my face split into a grin. “I must be the luckiest ass alive.” Zayd drags this last word out in a soft coo that brings chills up all over my skin. “How could you possibly forgive an idiot like me? And did you ever try the pot chocolates I made?” He pauses and raises both brows.

My cheeks flush, and I bite my bottom lip.

“I gave them to my dad because … I read some stuff about marijuana and cancer, and …” Zayd grins and sets the guitar aside.

“Hey, Charity, you don’t have to explain, okay? I made those chocolates for you. I’m glad you were able to give them to your dad.” Zayd stands up and moves over to this gorgeous dresser that I know must’ve cost a fortune; it’s all shiny and shellacked and modern looking. It doesn’t quite titillate my architectural senses the way old things do, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. “I’ve got some pre-rolls though?” he says, holding up a plastic tube.

He hands it over to me, and I turn it in a circle. Ah. Right. A pre-roll is literally a marijuana joint that’s been rolled by the dispensary, and purchased ready to smoke. Charlie gets these all the time; smoking pot is supposed to help with the tumors in his lungs.