Page 74 of Sweet Surrender

“What the hell are you talking about?” I throw up a middle finger with one hand as I throw my keys and wallet on the console beside the drum set and go to the fridge. A glance at my watch says it’s eleven, which only spurs on the debate whether I should decide on the beer or water.

It’s a hard fucking choice.

Write drunk, play it back sober.

But we’re going to be here long enough that I opt for water.

And when I do the guys throw up their hands and cheer. “Again . . . what the fuck?”

“You’re hydrating. That means it was great sex,” Vince says.

“Phenomenal sex that you need to recoup,” Rocket adds.

“You sure you don’t need Gatorade to replenish those electrolytes you lost?” Hawkin completes the trio.

I shake my head and laugh. “You guys are assholes.”

“He’s not denying it,” Vince says. “There’s that.”

“I’m not confirming it either,” I say.

“Which is confirmation in and of itself if I’ve ever heard one,” Hawkin says.

“So . . . let’s hear it,” Rocket says, propping his boots up on the table like he owns the place. “Are you fucking her yet or what? If you’re gonna play house then why not reap the benefits of it, right?”

I take a sip from my water and now, really wish it were beer. The four of us share just about everything so my hesitation is strange. Hendrix isn’t some band groupie I’m going to never see again—or that they won’t either.

It’s weird. I want them to respect her. To not think about her like they do all the other women we’ve met, had, and been done with over the years.

She’s different. The situation is different. That’s all.

“You guys are being dicks,” I mutter and move toward the back of the studio where my hand-scribbled notes are laid out.

“We’re being dicks?” Hawkin scoffs. “From the head dick himself when it comes to giving us shit about women.”

“Dude, whatever. It’s not like that. She’s not like that. I told you, she’s doing me a favor here—”

“A lot of favors apparently,” Vince mutters as he takes a sip. He was smart and went for something stronger than water. They all bark out laughs.

“Fuck you all,” I mutter and question my own want to protect her from this kind of shit. And this is just good-natured fun from the people I know.

“No need to get defensive about it,” Rocket says through his smirk.

“I’m not. Can we put this time to good use and get started please?” I ask.

“Let’s just hope you had more rhythm with your hips than you’ve had in here the past few sessions,” Hawkin teases.

Vince’s chuckle pulls my eyes over to his. While Hawkin might be the leader of this band, Vince is the silent force behind it. Or rather, has become over the years. “You are being defensive,” he finally says from where he’s leaned against the wall, watching me like he’s already picked apart every one of my tells.

No doubt he has.

“Word’s going to be out soon enough—now that the pic of you with her at your pool has surfaced—so what’s the big deal?” Hawkin asks.

I focus on rubbing the condensation off my bottle. “Because she’s not just one of . . . whatever, can we start please?”

“Why? You have some hot piece of ass to get back home to when we’re done?” Rocket jokes, but it’s Rocket and rather than be mad, the comment tugs at the corners of my lips and has me shaking my head. “Because you have to actually see her the morning after, the month after, two months after, and so now you have to know her as a person and don’t like the idea of us wondering how good she is in bed?”

“Dude.” I scrub a hand through my hair. “Hawke and Vince are both married. I doubt they’re looking because their wives are awesome. So that would mean we’re talking about you, and she wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.” It’s my turn to grin. “Ugly fuckers aren’t her type.”