“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.”

“We all look the same in the dark. Some of us are just a little more blessed than others,” he says and we all laugh.

“When do the wedding photos leak?” Vince interjects, clearly seeing Rocket needs a distraction or he’ll keep going and when he keeps going, sometimes some shoving occurs.

“Please tell me you guys took some cheesy-ass photos with Elvis or blue suede shoes or something,” Hawke says.

“Please. I need this bullshit to be commemorated so we can blow up pictures of it in future years and harass the fuck out of you for it,” Rocket says.

No doubt the fucker would too.

“Apparently any day. You know how it goes. Shop for the right price. Have an influencer post they have some big inside scoop. Create some buzz, and then people clamor for the pic when it’s ‘leaked,’” I say.

“So the charity benefit will be a fucking madhouse then,” Hawkin says.

“No shit,” Vince murmurs.

And I should be worried about it. About Hendrix and how she’s going to take the onslaught of attention I’ve grown accustomed to. Those should be my concerns but my mind is on last night. To her on my lap, her body flush against mine, the drumsticks in her hand. Then her on her bed, thighs spread wide and the part of her lips and gasp when I pushed into her.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I take another sip of my water, ignoring the way Vince is still staring at me like he already knows what’s in my head.

“It’s probably the best place for us to be after. The media will be a madhouse but there are so many celebrities slated to be there that security will be tight and the media will be managed. The last thing I want to do is feed her to the dogs right away because you two fuckers both know how brutal they can be.”

Vince and Hawkin give knowing nods. They might be razzing the fuck out of me, but their wives were once the ones the media were desperate to sell pictures of and write shitty things about, so they get it. They know what I’m trying to protect Hendrix from.

“True,” Vince says. “What other events is she coming to?”

“Lucky for us, our calendar is pretty clear so that’s a blessing in disguise,” I say