As they finished the prep work, they heard a car, and a few minutes later, Jack Patriot ambled in, wearing worn jeans and a tight-fitting SCORCHED T-shirt from his last tour. Blue hadn’t expected him to come back, and she stumbled on nothing. He grabbed her just as she was about to step into the roller pan. April, who’d been doing some X-rated grinds to “Baby Got Back,” immediately stopped dancing. Jack set Blue on her feet. “Any idea what it might take for you to get past this?” he said.

“I—Yes—I—Oh, God…” She flushed from her roots down. “Sorry. I’m sure a lot of people say they’re your number one fan, but I really am.” She pressed a hand to her hot cheek. “I…well…I had sort of an itinerant childhood, but your songs were always there, no matter where I was or who I was living with.” Now that she’d gotten started, she couldn’t stop herself, even as he drifted toward the coffeepot. “I own every album. All of them, even Outta My Way, which I know the critics trashed, but they’re wrong because it’s wonderful, and ‘Screams’ is one of my favorite songs, like seeing right into my heart the way I was then, and, oh shit, I know I’m babbling like a fool, but in the real world Jack Patriot doesn’t just pop into your life. I mean how is anybody supposed to prepare for this?”

He stirred in a teaspoon of sugar. “Maybe I could autograph your arm.”

“Really?”

He laughed. “No, not really. I don’t think Dean would take it too well.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips. “I guess not.”

He tilted his head toward April. “Help us out here.”

April tossed her hair. “Sleep with him, Blue. That’ll bring you down to earth real fast. He’s a huge disappointment.”

A slow grin curled the corner of his mouth. “I’ll buy the huge part…”

April dropped her eyes to his crotch. “There are some things a man can’t buy, no matter how rich he is.”

He propped one shoulder against the doorjamb and let his eyes play a hot lick down her body. “I still get inspired by sharp-tongued women. Grab a piece of paper for me, April. I feel a song coming on.”

Sex blistered the air between them. They might be in their fifties, but teenage lust simmered in that kitchen. Blue half expected the walls to start sweating, and she began to ease out of the room, only to stumble on the drop cloth.

The movement broke the spell, and April turned away. Jack inspected the ceiling where Blue had cut in the paint. “Let me get my stuff unloaded and I’ll help out.”

“You know how to paint?” Blue said.

“My dad was a carpenter. I did a lot of construction work when I was a kid.”