Eli flicked me off over his shoulder as he walked a little further inside. “I’m gonna fart on your pillow and hope you get stink eye,” he muttered.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I took in the living space, or rather what would be called “home” for the next few weeks. “You’re awful.”

Turning around to smile at me in that same sneaky way he’d done our entire lives, Eli winked, which was never a good thing. Him winking was a warning of trouble to come. “Oh, my tiny, eight-pound, six-ounce baby Gaby. I’m gonna show you awful.”

Chapter Two

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Is that my future wife?”

I’d been standing outside the bus, watching as my brother stashed my suitcase into the lower compartment of my temporary home for the next five weeks when the words pierced the Massachusetts air. I groaned, recognizing the voice that had been tainting my life for over twenty years. Then I turned.

Mason had his long, tattooed arms stretched in my direction, smiling like the demented fool he was and still more handsome than any jerk should ever be. “Come here, my bride.”

I snorted and shook my head, already heading toward him. “Hey, you.”

Even though we’d been friends since before I even knew what a training bra was, Mason had been telling me we were going to get married for as long as I could remember. Eli said it’d be a cold day in hell before he ever let that happen, and I couldn’t help but agree. I’d been Mason’s pretend-girlfriend at least a hundred times, his sister, wingman, wrangler, voice of reason and prom date.

That was just the tip of the iceberg with our history.

When you know the worst things about the people you care about and still managed to love them anyway, it sometimes turned into a brotherly type of affection. At least that was the case with this guy. Not that it stopped me from thinking Mason was attractive.

Because he was. Good gracious, he was. It was undeniable.

I felt his arms wrap around me and squeeze; all I could think about were his perfectly sculpted biceps.

With sky-blue eyes and a haircut that left him looking like a clean-cut Calvin Klein model, Mason was the reason why the band had so many female fans. If you asked my mom, she’d insist Eli was the attractive one, but yeah, no way. Mason was around my brother’s height, muscular enough but not as bulky, and he had this grin that was deceptively sweet. He’d also slept with more women than I could count, smoked weed at least once a day, and showered only when he felt like it, which wasn’t often enough; yet somehow he managed to pull off being a vagina magnet despite his hygiene issues.

And today was my lucky day because by the way he smelled—or I guess didn’t smell—he’d taken a shower recently. Praise Jesus.

“I just about shat my pants when I heard you were hopping on tour with us,” he murmured against my hair. Hugging me to him again, he pulled on my ponytail just like old times.

“According to E, I don’t have anything better to do this summer.” I laughed but it was a little forced. The reminder that I didn’t have a job, my own place or even any prospects for either was like a nail right to the eye.

Mason pulled back and grinned down at me. “I haven’t seen you in forever. Have you been hiding at the Chocolate Factory again with your Oompa—?”

I poked at his nostril with my index finger. At five-foot-two, I’d heard countless jokes about my height for the last ten years. “You’re an idiot.”

His only response was an unapologetic shrug.

Eli yanked on my belt loop a second later, distracting our conversation. “Your bag is in the bus. Let’s go sell some shit. Gordo’s phone is dead, and I bet my fucking balls he’s been giving out the wrong change for the last hour without his calculator app.”