She was calm—too calm, in my opinion. I wasn’t sure I bought it, but it wasn’t my problem.

Sighing, I stepped away. Braxton had already proved more than once that she could handle herself. She wouldn’t have lasted this long otherwise, and I didn’t need more reason to fight with my best friends. Besides, Braxton had no use for a knight with dented armor. We had two months until the tour, and I didn’t know how, but I’d find a way to shake Braxton from my thoughts.

Houston returned just as Ingrid, the photographer, was ready to start shooting. She directed Braxton to lie on a red chaise that was out of place in the bar despite having seen better days. With the remaining space left, Houston was placed at the end by Braxton’s booted feet. He immediately slouched his frame, resting his arm along the swooped back and getting comfortable against the padded scroll arm. I caught his gaze roving all over Braxton while she was preoccupied adjusting her position to suit Ingrid.

Once her back was arched and her hands braced on the cushion behind her, Loren was directed to stand by Braxton’s head. Ingrid wanted the cocky charm he hardly ever needed a reason to display, so with his thumb touching his lip, he gave her that infamous Loren James grin.

Without direction, having done this dance too many times before, I centered myself behind the chaise, crossing my arms, and letting my hair fall forward.

Smiling in satisfaction, Ingrid immediately returned to her camera and proceeded to take what seemed like a million shots. I sighed on the inside, knowing this was only the first pose. After switching positions on and around the chaise countless times, the last one with Braxton lying on her stomach alone with the three of us standing together behind her, we moved to take shots by the bar.

“Doing okay?” I asked Braxton as we waited for Ingrid and her team to adjust the lighting and switch cameras. It was all I could do not to touch her exposed thigh resting near my forearm as she sat on the bar. That fucking dress was so short that I’d caught more than one glimpse of the matching panties she wore underneath. I was surprised the stylist had even bothered.

“I’m not sure,” she muttered before smiling down at me. “It’s still hard to believe this is really happening.”

“Seriously?” Loren remarked with a snort. “A little late to get star-struck, don’t you think?” The clinking of glass, followed by the sound of liquid pouring, prompted me to turn my head. I stood up straight when I realized Loren was pouring a shot. The owner stood by the jukebox watching but didn’t say a word.

“What the fuck, Lo?”

“Relax,” he snapped back before I could say more. “It’s not for me.” Holding out the shot glass filled to the brim with vodka, he patiently waited, silently daring Braxton to accept it.

Her brow rose as she studied the drink. “Is this appropriate? We’re working.”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Drink up.”

I watched her chew her lip, utterly unaware of the torture she wrought before finally snatching the drink from Loren and tossing it back.

“You seem to have the most vices,” she grumbled when Loren immediately poured her another. This time she didn’t hesitate.

“It just means I’m the most fun, baby.” Just as he was getting ready to pour Braxton her third shot, Houston appeared, snatching the bottle from Loren and setting it back where it belonged. “Party pooper.” Houston didn’t respond, walking off with Xavier again while Loren remained unbothered, resting his elbow on the bar by Braxton. “Feel free to thank me for loosening you up.”

“I’d rather die first.”

Eyes moving around the makeshift studio, Braxton missed the way Loren admired her like she was gold at the end of a very long and bleak rainbow. When her gaze landed on me, I realized she’d caught me staring.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” she observed with a rare smile.

“Only when I have something worth saying.”

“Think you can teach your friend?” Throwing her thumb over her shoulder, she indicated Loren, who was preoccupied texting on his phone. I knew he had heard every word. He just didn’t care.

Laughing, I shook my head, making her pout. “I’m a drummer, not a miracle worker.”

Houston only returned when Ingrid was ready to go again. It didn’t take a genius to know that he was avoiding Braxton. If she noticed, she didn’t let on. It was even less likely that she cared. We were just all lucky we’d chosen to be rock stars and not porn stars.

This time when the camera snapped, she seemed less like a fish out of water. Braxton was a natural if her Instagram was anything to go by. Her problem had been our presence.

The next round of shots was us standing under the spotlight Ingrid’s team created with the decrepit bar as our backdrop and Braxton front and center. I admit I was a little eager to see the final shots when I’ve never cared before. Braxton added an element to Bound that we would never have considered if we hadn’t been forced. Whether the change would do some good remained to be seen.

After Braxton changed into black skintight leather pants and a corset, mercifully simple, the magazine took their final round of shots in the alley using a smoke machine to add mystery to an already enigmatic reality.

Whatever.

When I realized it was time for the interview, I knew the hardest part had yet to come. Back on the chaise again, Braxton sitting between Loren and me with Houston perched on the arm next to me, we all pretended we weren’t scared shitless as we waited for Holly, the reporter, to begin. It wouldn’t be the first time an interview had gone wrong.

Goddamn Loren.

As if he could hear my thoughts, Loren blew a bubble from the gum he was chewing before popping it obnoxiously.

Fuck.

“So,” Holly began with a bright and reassuring smile that only made me more eager to get this over with, “on behalf of Plugged magazine, we want to thank you for sitting down to talk to us. First, I want to say how terribly sorry I am for your loss. Calvin’s life and the legacy he left behind was precious to us all, but for you, it must have been like losing a brother.”

Holly paused, waiting for a response or even a proper reaction to the reminder that Calvin was dead. Clearing her throat when we simply waited for her to ask an actual question, she glanced down at her pad before stumbling on.

“W-while Calvin can never truly be replaced in our hearts, we’ve all been on pins and needles to see who Bound would deem worthy for this next era. Braxton, did you ever think it would be you?”

Braxton inhaled so subtly that if I hadn’t been sitting so close or so wrapped up in everything she did down to the flutter of her lashes, I would have missed it.

“I assumed I had a better chance sprouting wings,” our fallen angel answered with a nervous laugh. “Sometimes, I think Punk’d has been revived, and my life is the pilot episode.” I wanted to reach out and hold her hand when I caught her nails digging into her thigh, but that wasn’t the message we were here to send. “If someone asked me six weeks ago to list a million impossible things that could happen before I died, playing for Bound would have been one of them.”

Tilting her head to the side, Holly’s eyes brightened. “Well, you’re here,” she pointed out with a wave of her hands. “Surely, some part of you must have thought you had a chance.”

“Braxton was headhunted,” Houston interrupted before Braxton, who was tongue-tied and unsure of how much to reveal, could think of what to say. “She didn’t find us. We found her.”

“Incredible. So the question must be asked. Why her?” Holly blurted.

I felt Braxton tense next to me.

“Excuse me?” Loren asked, tuning in for what was likely the first time. Even to the most forgiving ears, Holly’s question had sounded condescending.

“I-I just mean with all the talent out there, most of whom are either recognized or acclaimed, there must have been a special reason you went with someone unknown.”

“I believe you just answered your own question, Hillary.”

“Holly.”

Loren blinked at her, not bothering to acknowledge his mistake. What he did confess was something that made Braxton stop breathing. “She’s special.”

I wasn’t sure if his statement or the missing sarcasm surprised me the most.

“How so?” Holly inquired.

Squinting, I turned her question over in my mind before deciding for her sake that she was simply curious and not challenging Loren’s claim.

“To start, it would be pretty hard to find someone willing to learn after being told a thousand times how perfect they are,” Loren answered without missing a beat. “Baby fawn is a sponge. She soaks up everything we give, and the wetter we get her, the more she takes.”