As I walk over to them, Jett spots me and grins. By the time I get to them, he’s ended his call and gives me his full attention. “You still look tired. You didn’t get to catch up on some sleep?”

“No, I had to get my editing done. Did you get any?”

He shakes his head. “No, we’ve been in meetings all afternoon.”

His band members are all watching me with what looks to be fascination. One of them stands and comes toward us. The grin on his gorgeous face is devious, and I wonder what he plans to say. I rake my gaze over him. He’s tall and muscly, but not in an overly built way. It’s what I call a skinny-muscly look. His dark hair looks good against his tanned skin, and he’s rocking some serious ink, even more so than Jett. I don’t have any tats, but the artist in me loves the idea of decorating my body with meaningful images and words.

“I can see why Jett gave you our spare seat,” he says, appreciative eyes checking me out.

“I see you aren’t the only smooth talker in your band,” I say to Jett.

He grimaces. “Yeah, meet West, he likes to think he’s smooth.”

West shrugs, a lazy grin on his face. “There are a lot of women out there who would agree with me.”

“Yeah, well, unless you want to lose a nut, keep your eyes to yourself,” Jett threatens.

Another one of the band members comes over and introduces himself. “Hi, I’m Hunter, the only sane member of this group,” he says with a friendly smile. If I didn’t know he was in a band, I possibly wouldn’t have suspected it. He seems almost shy and doesn’t have the standard rock star look going. Instead, he has the gorgeous blonde hair, blue eye look that makes him look quite wholesome. I don’t tend to go for blondes, but he’s gorgeous. And while I can’t see any visible tattoos or piercings on him, I wonder what he’s got hidden under his clothes.

I return his smile. “So, what you’re saying is that I should run now, right?”

He laughs, and it lights up his face. Oh god, I bet he has the women falling at his feet. “Nah, Jett’s cool. He loses the plot sometimes, but other than that, he’s a good guy. It’s Van you need to worry about the most out of all of us. He’s a crazy motherfucker. Best to steer clear.”

Van is still lounging on the couch, watching and listening. He doesn’t get up; rather he just gives me a chin jerk and mutters a greeting I can hardly hear. I nod back, not sure what to make of him. He’s dressed in leather pants, a t-shirt, and chains around his neck – your typical rocker outfit. And he seems to have the attitude to go with it.

“How in the hell did you meet this asshole?” West asks.

“He bought me a drink and then told me I needed a new addiction. Let’s just say the conversation was fascinating.”

“A new addiction? What the fuck?” West was looking between Jett and me for an explanation.

Jett grins but doesn’t say anything so I enlighten him. “He suggested I give up alcohol and take up sex. Much easier to hide a sex addiction.”

West bursts out laughing. “That’s fucking classic, man. You seriously score chicks with that shit?”

“He seriously did,” I say.

“Fuck!” West is clearly impressed, and I feel the need to clarify something.

“That line wouldn’t work for just anyone, though. It worked for me because the minute I saw Jett, I wanted to sleep with him, so pretty much whatever line he came out with would have worked.”

“Every woman he meets wants to sleep with him. Fucking lead singers get all the chicks,” West grumbles.

“She didn’t know who I was,” Jett joins in the conversation.

West is floored, Hunter looks stunned, and even Van leans forward to hear more.

“What the fuck?” West finally mutters.

Jett remains silent, leaving it for me to explain. “Sorry guys, but I’ve never heard of you before now. I don’t really keep up with bands. If I like a song, I’ll check it out, but even then, I don’t tend to remember the name of who sang it.”

Hunter’s mouth has fallen open. I think I’ve really shocked him. “What kind of music do you like?” he asks me.

“I love country. I could listen to that all day. But I do like some rock, just not the heavier stuff.”

“Do you know the names of anyone you like?” he asks.

“Yeah, I like Florida Georgia Line, Carrie Underwood, Blake Shelton...” My mind goes blank for a moment before I exclaim, “Oh, and Keith Urban, I love his stuff.”

“That’d be fucking right, nearly every woman I meet has it bad for him,” West mutters, clearly annoyed at the love for Keith.

I grin. “Dude, you can see why, right? I mean, if you were a woman, you’d give it up for him, too.”

“Not fucking likely.” He scowls at me.

Jett steps in. “Just ignore West, he’s only got a thing against Keith because a girl he was trying to score years ago ditched him to chase after Keith.” Looking at West, he says, “You need to let that shit go.”

While Jett and West are rehashing old times, Van stands and motions towards the front door. “Get your shit together, guys. The limo’s here.” He picks up his bag and heads outside without waiting for anyone else. I have no idea what to make of him. Perhaps he’s just tired from work, and once he catches up on sleep, he’ll be more sociable. Mind you, he is a rock star and they can be moody bastards. I should know.