“The lockdown, the stay home order before a tour,” Hawkin murmurs. And he’s right. This is our MO. Before a tour, we are at home as much as possible since our own beds will be a distant memory for some time. It allows us to stay on schedule—write new material, rehearse for the tour, and ground ourselves before the chaos and wear and tear commences.

“Yeah. It’s great timing if there’s such a thing.”

“So?” Rocket prompts as he plops down on the leather couch on the far end of the studio. “We need details. Is she any good?”

I nearly choke on my water. “Excuse me?”

Rocket grins. “At playing the drums.” He pauses just long enough for the innuendo to sink in. “Obviously.”

I glare at him. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand. “You avoiding the question?”

I lean back, smirking. “What do you think?”

Hawke whistles low, shaking his head. “I think if you were fucking her, you’d be way less fun to mess with right now.”

“Or way more fun.” Rocket grins. “I bet he’s already in deep. He’s not used to respectable women. She got you whipped yet, Giz?”

I scoff. “Not even close.”

Vince finally speaks again, voice calm. Too calm. “You lying?”

I don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Just smirk and tip my bottle toward him. “What do you think?”

They all laugh, and I let them, playing along. Because the truth?

That’s a whole different beast I don’t think I’m ready to mess with yet.

It was just sex.

Just a little twist in the sheets between willing participants.

Just a little fun while we’re stuck in this together. But one thing’s for sure.

Her ex was a fucking idiot.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Hendrix

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla clings to my skin, seeping into my clothes, my hair, probably my damn soul at this point. The industrial mixer hums in the background, a steady rhythm that should be soothing but isn’t, only because I’m drowning in icing and the long wait between when one color dries so I can do the next.

Time is not my friend right now. Not when another order just came in and I’m determined to get the dog birthday cookies done and take on this new order.

I may have money being deposited in my bank account, but I learned in the past few months that “rainy days” are a real thing and I need to prepare for them accordingly. Slacking off now isn’t an option.

The bell above the bakery door jingles.

A little thrill shoots through me. Customers aren’t exactly chomping at the bit to come buy my cookies and so any chance I get to possibly gain a new one is exciting.

And that statement alone shows how new I am at this whole thing.