My head was spinning when I woke up—again. Another night of way too much drinking with Rigo to kick me in the ass. My phone was vibrating, but I ignored it. Instead, I buried my face in my pillow as I fought back the nausea, remembering unintelligible bits and fragments from the night before.

From the little bit I remembered, we didn't do anything sexual. We just...talked. We drank tequila and talked. But about what? That was the part I couldn't remember.

My curtain suddenly ripped open to Davey, glaring down at me hard as the vein pulsed in his temple. "Answer your damn mother."

"What?" I croaked.

"You hear that funny vibrating sound? That's your fucking phone. Answer it. She's about having an aneurysm over there."

A groan slipped out as I rolled over and stretched while Davey stomped off, but my feet hit the wall and kept it from really feeling good. It was probably better that way. A full stretch just might have all that tequila coming back up.

Rigo's favorite tequila, Sol de Plata, flashed through my mind—the sight of him setting down the bottle and looking at me with that stupid, perfect fucking smirk. Damn it! It really pissed me off how good he looked all the time, regardless of my state of inebriation.

"Phone, Chris!" Davey barked from the front of the bus.

"I'm getting it!" I yelled back.

"Now!"

Touring with Davey was often like having my dad right there on the bus with us—"keep it down and don't have fun." I fucking hated it.

I fought through my blanket and sheet for the buzzing Blackberry, pulling it out at last with a heavy sigh as my eyes fell on "Mom." She was relentless, and completely unforgiving of my schedule. I didn't totally blame her, though. She just wanted to talk to me, and hated being on a waiting list with the rest of the world to do it.

"Hello?" I answered groggily.

She exhaled a gust of relief. "Chris! Why didn't you answer me for so long? I was worried sick!"

"I've been sleeping, Mom."

"So have I, but I saw that your song went platinum and I wanted to congratulate you!" she countered, excitement lacing every word.

It took a moment for her statement to settle in my brain. "Platinum?"

She gasped in exaggerated shock. "You didn't know? Oh, honey, it's all over the radio this morning!"

A jolt of adrenaline ran through me that nearly shot me out of my bunk, sufficiently clearing my mind of any thoughts of a hangover. "Wait, really?"

"Really! I'm so happy for you, honey! I even talked to Sarah—"

"Sarah?"

Hearing her name rattled me more than I expected. She was my girlfriend before Nat, and it was the longest relationship I'd ever been in. We met at the after party for my band's second full-length album release show. She was the tall blonde in the corner, too cool for everyone at the party because she had a BMW and stilettos. I had a hand-me-down Carolla and all the time in the world to make her like me, so I strode right over to her with borrowed confidence from Rhett and gave her some shitty line that made her laugh. It was the good kind of laugh, and for the next two years, she was my everything.

The one thing she could never get on board with was the band. It was a childish way to pass the time in her eyes, and she hoped I'd tire of it and go to college like everyone else. Business school would never be as appealing as sharing my music, though, and as hard as I tried, I could never make her understand. I missed her, but not enough to give up music.

"Yes, Sarah!" my mom continued obliviously. "I called her this morning just before she got to work. She's excited for you, too!"

"Mom, we're not—"

"Oh, I know, but she's good for you! I really think you two should try again."

"Mom. No."

She sighed heavily into the receiver. "Honey, you don't want to wait too long to find someone, especially if you're sure about this band stuff. It's going to get hard to find someone who really wants you and not your money."

"She doesn't even like my band."

"Isn't that better? You wouldn't date a fan, would you?" Her tone was partially accusing.

"No, I guess not," I sighed.

"She wants to see you when you get back, you know," she gushed. "I told her you'll be back at the end of August."

"Yeah, for two days," I scoffed. "Mom, we have the tour in Mexico right after. I don't wanna deal with Sarah."

"Deal with her? Honey, you say that like she was awful or something. I never even met your last girlfriend because you were so embarrassed of her—"

"I wasn't embarrassed," I cut her off. "I just knew what you and Dad would say about her."

"Well, you also know what we say about Sarah."

Yeah. They wished I would marry her. Once upon a time, I wanted that too. Not anymore.

But there was no point in arguing with my mom.

"Just not during my two-day break. Please, Mom."

She sighed heavily again, not hiding her impatience from me. "Sweetie, you're twenty-three already."

"You say that like I'm running out of time."

"If you insist on the music, you are! A girl from Chicago whom you knew before all of this started is perfect. A girl just like Sarah."

It was my turn to sigh in irritation, knowing it would grate on her nerves and not really caring. "How about we talk more about this after the tour in Mexico? I have a month-long break after that."

"Fine," she relented, but I could tell she didn't want to. "But we are talking about this, mister. We're only looking out for you."

"I know, and we will talk. I just need a clear head for these shows."

"Okay, well. I'll let you get back to sleep then. Congratulations again, though, sweetie. Your father and I are very proud of you."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll talk to you soon."

"Don't drink too much or do any drugs. I love you, honey."

I pursed my lips, thankful she couldn't see my expression. "I won't. I love you too, Mom."

It was definitely too late for the drinking, and I had no intentions of stopping. She didn't need to know that, though.

Wide awake and realizing the bus had stopped, I slipped out of my bunk and headed for my clothes. I had to take advantage of the adrenaline still keeping me alive through that hangover before it had a chance to drag me under again.

The bus door kicked open just as I crouched down in front of my duffel bag, but I didn't turn to look. I already knew it was Rigo. We had a ritual, but I was skipping the coffee that day.

"Buenos días, Mr. Platinum Record."

I snickered, not turning. "Has everyone heard about that but us?"

"Guess so. Who was it about?"

"Second Chance Heartbreaker? Uh, nobody really. Just a song I wrote."

"The one with the big hair?"

"I said nobody, not Nat."

He chuckled at that. "Same shit. Why are you up, anyway?"

I stood with my arms filled and turned to look at him, feeling the breath leave my lungs at the sight of his little smirk. It reminded me of the night before, the way he kept smirking before he got serious. But what the hell was he so serious about?

I squinted, searching his face as I spoke. "What did we talk about last night?"

His eyes locked on mine, softening for a split second, then going neutral. "It was nothing important."

Shit. It was definitely something important.

"Well, then just tell me," I said with a shrug.

He pursed his lips as his eyebrows knitted together. "Stop avoiding the question. Why are you up? I'm tired."

My eyes narrowed. "I'd need to get up for coffee, anyway."

His arms abruptly swung around me and pulled me close to him as he buried his face in my neck, whispering, "I need this more than the coffee."

My whole body felt hot instantly, and I quickly wriggled out of his grasp. "My fucking band is still on the bus!" I whispered harshly.

He stepped back with a victorious grin. "Why are you up, then?"

"My mom called," I replied gruffly. "She's the one who told me our song went platinum."

He nodded disinterestedly. "And now what are you doing without me?"

"Taking a shower. Is that okay?" I asked sarcastically.

"Nope. Ven conmigo. I'll get my stuff and we can both go."

"Seriously?"

He nodded, winking. "I need a shower. I have plans tonight."

I felt my cheeks burning up. "Fine."

The walk to their van was relatively quiet, as usual. I caught sight of the shower situation on our way over—tents. We had to shower in fucking tents again.

"I can't wait for the end of tour," I grumbled as we reached the van. "I'm getting a hotel room."

He poked his head out of the van with that signature smirk. "That means we get the whole night."

"If I invite you," I counter, stifling a grin.

I hadn't even thought of it, but he was right. That would be totally private, for the entire night. We'd have so much time...

He disappeared back into the van. "Invite me."

"I'll consider it."

I heard him laugh. "You'll invite me for sure after tonight."

My gut tightened with anticipation in response. "You think so?"

He hopped back out of the van with his shirt off and his arms full, meeting my eyes with a grin and a dark glint in his gaze. "I know it."

I swallowed back my bubbling desire. "We'll see, I guess."

🎵🎸🎵

He was in my thoughts all day after that; his arms around me that morning and his breath hot in my ear. It was one thing to do that in the darkness of my bunk when sober, but in broad daylight? It felt brand new, like we'd never touched each other before. I couldn't fucking stand how much I liked it. But it had me ravenous for what was coming.

I muddled through the day like that, giving half-hearted high fives and fist bumps as people congratulated me for our platinum record. Even Davey was excited, and I didn't see that man get excited for anything but gin and steak. That excitement meant a whole day of pre-gaming with free shots and beers handed to us everywhere we went. By the time I set foot on stage for our set, I was full-on imagining the things I'd be doing with Rigo.

I imagined him so much that when I saw him in the crowd, I was sure it wasn't real. I blinked about a hundred times, somehow still singing as I struggled to comprehend his presence.

Sarah hated our shows. She only went to one, and she looked miserable through the whole thing. Rigo was smiling. He wanted to be there. He supported me.

My brain went to crazy places when I was drunk sometimes, but right then it really felt clear. There was something about him I truly loved, even when sober. I wouldn't dare to try and figure out what it was, though. That would only complicate the end of the summer, when we inevitably went our separate ways. But it was good enough for the last month and a half of tour.

He found me as soon as the set ended, leading me away with that smirk as I followed him like a loyal dog. The bus was full thanks to our platinum record and everyone who wanted to celebrate with us, but that didn't slow Rigo down for a second. With a quick pivot, he led me to his band's van. It was quieter there with everyone huddled around the buses. Private.

He leaned back against the van and pulled a lighter from his pocket, followed by a small blunt. "I need to smoke. You want a hit?"

What my mom didn't know wouldn't hurt her...

"Sure," I replied, stepping up to him with my hand out. "I want some."