Epilogue
Roxie
Violet was waiting for us back at the tour bus. “Well? What’d she say?” she demanded of Riot.
Then she saw me and said, “Well? What’d you say?”
“I’m going home,” I replied, someone managing to keep a poker face. “I’m done with them.”
She gasped, and all the color drained out of her face. That’s when I finally broke.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
“You’re mean!” Violet said, shoving me playfully. “So you’re staying? They convinced you?”
“They convinced me.” I looked back at each of the three men. “I got in my head and spiraled.”
“Happens to the best of us,” Milo said. “Cash went through a phase where he thought he could pull off the shirtless look.”
“It was one show,” Cash muttered. “And it was because the stage was sweltering in Birmingham.”
“By the way, Brian called,” Violet announced. Brian was the band manager.
“Why’d he call you?” Riot asked, looking offended.
“Because the three of you were ignoring your phones for the past two hours. Do you want to hear what he said, or not?”
“Is it about our time in the recording studio?” Cash asked. “I negotiated two weeks. He only wanted to pay for one. If he’s changed his mind…”
“Relax, it’s not that,” Violet replied. “He wanted to share the tour numbers. The amount of money we earned.”
Everyone perked up at that.
“How much?” Milo demanded, grabbing Violet by the arms. “More than we expected?”
“Or less?” Cash guessed. “I saw some empty seats in the last couple of venues…”
“Jesus Christ! Let me get it out,” Violet complained. “Riot. Remember the number we talked about when we were drunk in Austin back in September? The number we hoped we would earn?”
Riot’s eyes widened. “I remember. We made that much? As a band?”
“Split four ways?” Milo asked excitedly.
“Nope.” Violet slowly shook her head. “We made that much… per person. For those of us who play the drums and are bad at math, that means we earned four times as much as our dream amount.”
They all started cheering and hugging. Milo kissed Cash on the mouth, and the bassist only laughed rather than pushing him away. Violet and Riot embraced like they’d learned that they had won the lottery.
Which, in a way, they kind of had.
Then they all took turns hugging me. “I don’t want to share in your victory. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Your custom band posters for each city helped,” Violet said. “They specifically mentioned all the engagement from those posts. They want to sell them on our merch site. With your permission, of course.”
“You’ll get a cut, obviously,” Cash said.
I smiled at all of them. “I guess I’ll agree to that. I do like money.”
We all laughed and hugged again. Milo ran off to grab a bottle of champagne from the fridge to celebrate.
Violet took the opportunity to lean in and whisper, “I care deeply about my bandmates. Do you understand? Treat them well. Care for them as much as I do. Because if you hurt them, you’ll have to answer to me.” When she pulled back, she flashed a smile and then strode to the back of the bus.
“Dana’s not the only protective one in that relationship,” I said.
Riot threw an arm around me and said, “Ain’t that the truth.”
*
The next day, we drove the bus over to a recording studio on the east side of Miami, just a few blocks from the water. The equipment van was already parked out back, with roadies carrying instruments inside.
“Just to reiterate: we’re going to have some long days ahead of us,” Riot said.
“If you change your mind, you won’t hurt our feelings,” Cash added. “We have two weeks of time booked in one of the recording studios. Fourteen days.”
“Is that how long two weeks is?” I asked.
“Seriously, though,” Riot insisted. “You can go home and we’ll meet you after the album is done. It won’t hurt our feelings.”
I stepped close enough that my chest touched his, gazing up at his dark eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere. Even if I only see you at night when you fall asleep, that’s enough for me.
Besides, all the time alone during the day will allow me to catch up on my work.
I have a lot of freelance gigs piling up. ”
“A good problem to have,” Cash said.
And that’s how the next two weeks went. I stayed on the bus and worked on my commissions while they toiled away in the studio.
Sometimes I went to the sound booth and watched them record for a while.
Other times I took my laptop to a coffee shop to work.
There was a really cute cafe down by the water that I fell in love with during the second week.
I found myself gazing out at the water of an ocean I had never seen before this tour. So much had changed since I left Austin. I had changed. For the better, I decided.
I wondered if the others had changed, too. I liked to think they did.
On the last day of recording, I took my laptop into the sound booth to watch them finish the album.
I only got a few minutes of work done; the rest of the time I was enamored by the sight of my three men—and Violet—on the other side of the glass, recording the same song over and over, making tweaks on the fly and then discussing the changes between takes.
Eventually, they took off their headphones and grinned at each other. “Are they done?” I asked the sound technician who was sitting at the equipment.
He pressed a button and spoke into a microphone: “You guys done, or what?”
“We’re done,” Riot confirmed. “You can head home.”
The technician looked bored, which annoyed me. This felt like an important moment, but for him it was just an extra hour of overtime.
The band came out of the studio and into the sound booth. Cash put on some headphones and listened to the last track, nodding along, before he smiled and flashed a thumbs-up.
“Thank God,” Violet said, flexing her hand. “My fingers hurt.”
“Try strumming a bass guitar,” Cash said. “My calluses have new calluses.”
“Can we get some food?” Milo asked hopefully.
“We had dinner already,” Violet said.
“Yeah, but, like, that was six hours ago. It’s pushing midnight, and drumming burns a lot of calories.”
Riot leaned in close and whispered something to Violet. She nodded, then announced, “I’m gonna go call Dana. She should still be up.” She winked at me, then left.
I frowned at Riot. “What’d you tell her?”
Riot stretched his arms over his head, then turned to me. “I told her to take a break for a while. And to text before she came back inside.”
It was late, so my brain wasn’t working very well. “Why’d you do that?”
Riot's voice cut through the dim hum of the recording studio. His dark eyes locked onto mine with that predatory gleam I knew all too well. “Because the four of us need to celebrate the end of the tour. And I'm not talking about champagne.”
The words hung in the air, thick with promise, as the last echoes of their newest track faded from the speakers. They’d poured everything into that recording. All those late nights and the raw energy of the road.
The control room lights cast long shadows over the mixing boards, microphones, scattered cables, and other equipment.
Our little private playground. My heart raced, a familiar excitement bubbling up as I took each of them in.
Riot, all smoldering eyes and tattoos. Cash, coiled muscle and burning intensity.
Milo, grinning like he held the punchline to the dirtiest joke.
I leaned back against the edge of the console, feeling the slight curve of my hips shift under my tight skirt. As the band's muse, I'd been their inspiration on every stop, fueling their fire.
But tonight was about releasing all the energy that had been building.
“Oh yeah?” I teased, my voice husky. “What’d you have in mind?”
“I like it when she pretends like she doesn’t know,” Milo said.
Riot stepped closer first, his broad shoulders blocking the faint glow from the hallway light. His jet-black hair was tousled from running his hands through it during the final take, and that beard framed a smirk that made my thighs clench.
He grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against him, his hard cock already pressing through his jeans.
“What I have in mind, Roxie, is you. Spread out and screaming our names while we fuck the tour right out of you.” His hands slid down, gripping my ass firmly, kneading the flesh as he ground against me.
Before I could respond, Milo sauntered over, moving with that easy swagger of his. His hair stuck up in places from wailing on the drums all day.
“Don’t hog our muse. She's got enough curves for all of us.” He winked at me, slipping a hand under my top to trace the underside of my breast, his fingers teasing my nipple until it peaked.
Cash watched from the side with those piercing green eyes. He pushed off the wall, closing in.
“You two talk too much. Let her feel it.” His voice was low, confident, as he cupped my chin and tilted my head back for a deep kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, tasting of coffee and the faint salt of sweat, while his free hand yanked my skirt up, exposing my lace panties.
I moaned into his mouth, the heat building fast. Riot's fingers hooked into my panties, tugging them down my legs in one swift motion.
“Look at that pretty pussy, already wet for us,” he growled, dropping to his knees.
His beard scraped my inner thighs as he spread me open with his thumbs, his tongue diving in to lap at my folds.
I gasped, gripping the console for support, my legs trembling as he sucked on my clit, relentless and dominating.
Milo chuckled as he stripped off his shirt. “Damn. You’re making her drip all over the floor.” He pressed against my side, his cock straining his pants as he pinched my nipple harder, rolling it between his fingers.
Cash broke the kiss, his eyes dark with hunger. He unzipped his jeans, pulling out his thick shaft, the tip glistening with pre-come.
“You know what to do,” Milo told me. “Don’t you?”