Shaking his hand, I returned his smile. “Brax.”

“Brax?” Loren mocked, wiping the smile from my face. His back was to me, but I could hear the sneer he undoubtedly wore as he fiddled with the coffee maker. It was all he seemed to do whenever I was in the room. “Is that supposed to make you sound cool?” Sensing that he’d won my attention, he peeked over his shoulder, and the look I gave him made him snort.

I decided right then and there.

I hated him the most.

“You can call me Braxton.”

His stormy gaze, the color of a starless sea, held mine. For a while, it seemed we were both caught in the whirlwind.

Unfortunately, he broke free of the spell first, and I cursed him for beating me to it.

“How about I call you brat instead?”

“I’ll up the ante—don’t talk to me at all.” Deliberately giving him my back, I faced the drummer with the genuine smile. “So, your name is Rich Noble?”

“Yup,” Loren answered despite me dismissing him. “He’s a pretentious little shit, isn’t he?”

I inhaled deeply, ready to give him a piece of mind when it occurred to me that Loren wasn’t being rude to be cruel. The wild thoughts flitting through my mind were my most insane yet—worthy of a trip to the looney bin. Still, they couldn’t be helped.

Was Loren trying to steal my attention from his friend? That would imply they were in competition and—

No. I wouldn’t go there.

Without turning around, I spoke to Loren while staring at Rich. “I thought we established that you and I had nothing more to say to each other?”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he prowled on silent feet. By the time I realized he was on the move, it was already too late. Loren had me pinned between himself and Rich. “Bothered, Brax?”

The cool mint on his breath from his toothpaste wafted over my nape like a cool breeze. The small hairs stood on end while goose bumps spread over my skin. He was too damn close. It was all I could do not to drive my elbow into those abs he loved to flaunt. I bet he oiled them since he thought he was too pretty to break a sweat. Watching his interviews online always made me cringe and groan from second-hand embarrassment, yet I never missed a single one.

“We already know you’re hot,” Loren continued. “Is that why you blocked me on Instagram? I just thought I’d return the favor and offer some constructive criticism of your performance.”

Turning, I faced Loren, but I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes. He was that close. “I’m no more bothered by you than a fly when I swat it. You’re a mild inconvenience at best. Besides, there’s nothing constructive about you knowing the color of my underwear.”

“You think so?” Loren pressed in closer until I felt the barest brush of his lips against my forehead. If I still wore my heels, he’d undoubtedly be kissing me right now. “Because I think the ones that you’re wearing right now are black like your heart, Braxton Fawn.”

He was right. They were.

Against my will, I backed up a step only to trade one wall of fire for another.

Jericho.

I was trapped with nowhere to run.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

My head flew to the right, and I never thought I’d be happy to see Houston. That was until I realized his angry gaze was directed at me, and so was his question. Unbelievable.

“Just a little playful hazing,” Loren answered when I kept my mouth shut.

“This isn’t a frat,” I snapped, feeling flustered. Neither Loren nor Rich bothered to move even though Houston had crashed their little party. “And you’re not boys. You’re grown men.”

“You’re absolutely right, and I have the dick to prove it.” Running his thumb across my lip, Loren’s gaze roved my face. “Tell me you’re not interested,” he challenged. Behind the cocky assurance, I could see the small glimmer of hope that I’d say yes.

“In catching a venereal disease? Not a chance.” Feeling a familiar ache between my legs and the taste of cherries stronger than ever before, I pushed past him, and he let me. “Now, if one of you could be professional and point me to a bathroom, please?”

No one said a word or moved a muscle for several tense seconds. Finally, Houston decided. “When you hit the stairs, keep walking. There’s one on your right.”

I fled the kitchen without saying a word.

By the time I found the bathroom, sweat had poured from my pores as fast as arousal ran from my center. Twisting the faucets on the sink until water rushed from the spouts, I pressed my back against the wall and wrestled my hand down my tight jeans and past my black thong.

The moment my fingers touched my clit, a cry slipped from my lips that I quickly muffled with my free hand. Another brush of my fingers and my eyes rolled back as right there in Bound’s powder room, I relieved the ache that had been building since the day I walked into that conference room.

“Should one of us check on her?” I asked after too much time had passed. It had been twenty minutes since Braxton locked herself in our guest bathroom, and she still hadn’t come out.

“No, soft-ass,” Loren snapped with a scoff. “She’ll come out when she realizes she’s screwed like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, but why did you have to fuck with her? I thought we agreed to make her one of us.”

“We never agreed to like it. Or her.”

“I like her.”

Fuck me, what wasn’t to like? She was hot as hell, a rare gem of intelligence, kind… the icing on the cake was that she talked back when we weren’t. I got hard just being in the same room with her—my friends, too, though Houston liked to pretend while Loren had no problem making his attraction known.

Loren made another sound of disgust before waving me off. “You like everyone.”

“Yeah, lucky for you, asshole.” We’ve been best friends longer than I can remember, and I still haven’t figured out why. Loren slowly looked up from his phone and met my gaze. As much as I wanted to hold my ground, I looked away from the intensity of his stare and what burned inside.

Deciding, I stood from my seat behind my drums. “I’m going to go see if she’s okay.”

Neither of them bothered to stop me as I made my way out of the living room. I was at war with myself and needed those precious moments it took to reach the bathroom where Braxton was holed up to think about my next step.

She wasn’t my enemy, but I was hers. It was just the way the dice rolled, and neither of us was to blame.

I tapped on the bathroom door, using the drumsticks still in my hand before shoving them in the back pocket of my jeans. There wasn’t a peep on the other side, making me wonder if she’d slipped out without any of us seeing. I wouldn’t blame her if she had.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until the door slowly opened, and her big brown eyes appeared. How could someone who caused so much trouble look so goddamn innocent? She could fool the entire male population with those eyes. No one would ever see the huntress lurking beneath.

No one but me, apparently.

I shifted my feet. Why the hell was I nervous?

“I guess I overextended my welcome in your bathroom, huh?” she asked me after I just stood there like an imbecile.

“No, it’s not weird at all,” I lied.

Opening the door, she put her back against the wood, softly biting into that succulent lip. “I was debating.”

“If you should leave?”

“And burn this house down with all of you in it,” she added. Her steady gaze was unnerving, yet I couldn’t look away.

“I’m both terrified and aroused. Look,” I rushed to change the subject when I saw her gaze turn wary, “I can’t say that we wouldn’t deserve it, but can I offer some advice that might be useful?”

She hesitated for only a second before mumbling, “Sure.”

“You seem pretty solid.”

“For a girl?” She’d called me out on my bullshit with a raise of her brow.

I shrugged when nothing intelligent came to mind. I couldn’t deny my sexism, so I ignored it instead. “You’re not falling at our feet,” I continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “It says a lot, but it’s not enough. You need to make them respect you, or else they never will. It’s now or never.”

“And what about you? Do you take your own advice?”

Astute. “I don’t know what you mean.”

I could see the contemplation in her eyes before she gave an abrupt shake of her head. “Nothing. Why are you being nice to me?”

“That’s a risky assumption.”

Braxton seemed to see right through me when her eyes formed slits. “You think standing up to them is going to backfire.”

It wasn’t a question but an accusation. She was right to be paranoid. “Your chances are fifty-fifty.”