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I held my hands wide. “What song are we now performing?”

Cole kept walking like he hadn’t heard me.

“This is news to me?” Slip shrugged as he scooted past me, but then he winked. “Just follow Flint’s lead.”

“What the hell?”

I knew all the songs backward, but still...what the fuck? Who changed the set list five minutes before a show? Crap.

As we stood off to the side of the stage, my nerves threatened to return. But I looked out across the packed room and could just make out the mixer. Tia would be there. My focal point. Calm instantly washed over me.

With a mic in hand, Molly walked up the steps and onto the center of the stage. “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to Hayley’s.” The crowd whistled and hollered, but then was quick to fall silent. Molly introduced us. “I have known these handsome young men since they were in high school. I’m convinced I played a huge part in them being discovered. If a certain record label exec hadn’t had a flat tire outside this very bar and come in here for a drink while he waited for roadside assistance, these boys may have never been signed.” Molly placed her hand over her heart. “These are my boys. And I’m claiming their newest member as mine too. He’s a total hottie, very talented, and a true treasure. I’ve been begging these boys to come and play for me again for months. I’m glad they’re finally here. So, would you please welcome to the stage Flint, Cole, Slip, and Lewis...The Flintlocks.”

The audience screamed, cheered, and clapped. The noise, almost deafening. Every holler hit the center of my chest. God, I loved my job.

“She gets me every time.” Cole tapped his fist against his heart, then stuffed his ear monitors in. “I love Molly so much.”

“Let’s raise her roof.” Flint’s eyes glinted, hungry to entertain the crowd.

“I’m right beside you.” I nodded.

“Fuck yeah.” Slip pointed to the stage. “Let’s go.”

We ran up the steps and took position. I grabbed my bass and hooked the strap over my head. Joel, our stagehand, passed Flint his electric, raced over to adjust my mic, then moved a cord out of Slip’s way. He gave the thumbs up to Cole, who was sitting behind the drums.

Flint stepped up to his mic, struck his strings once, and nodded in Kieran’s direction.

The lights dimmed.

My pulse quickened. Curling my fingers around the neck of my bass, I took a deep breath and glanced over the darkened crowd. I couldn’t see much farther than the first few rows. But Tia was at the back. I could feel her eyes on me.

I smiled. I liked her watching me. It gave me this slow, burning ache for her throughout our performances and rehearsals and led to some hot encounters once I got off stage.

Oh yeah. The tour would be fun.

Cole tapped his drumsticks together and counted down. “Three. Two. One.”

With a smash of his sticks on the cymbals, we launched into our first song. The stage lights flashed bright. Our music boomed through the speakers. The sardine-packed audience jumped, danced, and clapped.

As I sang backup vocals, strummed my bass, and moved about the stage, adrenaline zipped through my veins. I couldn’t wait to do this every night of the tour. I loved feeding off the crowd’s energy. I loved playing and performing.

At the end of the fourth song, I stood by my mic and turned my attention to Flint. Panting and sweating, I took a deep breath to clear my mind. I had no idea what we were about to play. I ran through the list of our hits in my head, ready to jump into whatever Flint threw our way.

I wiped the perspiration off my face onto my shirtsleeve, then positioned my fingers over my strings.

I was set.

Flint took to his mic. “Good evening, everyone. We hope you’re having a good time tonight. And we hope every one of you fuckers has bought tickets to come see us on our tour.”

The crowd erupted. Their loud whistles and shrieks rattled the walls and roof. So. Freaking. Cool.

“Awesome.” Flint flicked his sweaty hair off his face. “Now we love Molly to death. But she’s got one thing wrong. Sorry, Moll, but Lewis is ours. While many of you may just think he’s ridiculously handsome, hot as fuck, and a great bassist, and you wish your ass looked as good as his does in jeans . . .”

Fuck! Heat blazed in my cheeks. What was Flint doing?

He held up a finger. “But...we want you to know, he’s also a very talented songwriter. If y’all have listened to the deluxe edition of our new album, track thirteen, ‘Coming Home,’ was written and composed by Lewis.” He waved at me, then turned back to his mic. “We’d barely met him when I’d said we had to have that song on our album. Luckily, he agreed. I just got news an hour ago from Blake, our manger, that Lewis’s song has outperformed our latest released single in sales and streams across all platforms, making it the third-most-popular track on the album.”

What? Holy shit. I clutched onto my mic to steady myself.