He texted back some details about how to get backstage, where to show my badge, where to pick up comp tickets, etc.

I decided on some eyeliner, a bit of bronzer, and caramel apple lip gloss with a bit of a shimmer. Nothing too thick or sticky, just enough that Keaton would like the taste. Ahh!

Callie came back in, dropped her towel, and started dancing around naked to some Trickster City song she had queued up on her iPhone. I avoided watching her jiggle and instead listened to the song. It was the one that I heard during the encore the other night. I actually liked it.

Within minutes, Callie's hair was dry, and she was dressed and made up. She went with the slightly gothic eye and eyebrow and totally worked the look. "When in Rome," she said with a shrug.

"Wasn't Rome known for their orgies?" I joked.

She fanned herself. "Don't get me started. I read some Julius Caesar fan fiction last week that would-"

I held up my hand and cut her off. "I'm traumatized already. Stop."

"He was all, Et tu Brute, when they were-"

"Can we please go?"

She made the zip-lip gesture and we stealthily made our way off campus in my car. It was only a half hour from Storrs to Hartford, and the ride passed quickly as she taught me more of their songs and we joked about the crazy-and a little bit scary-situation. We were going to go backstage. My parents would hate this! Oh well.

Keaton had briefed me before the show about how things would go down. I'd go to the will-call window and give them our names and IDs. They'd see we were on the friends and family list and give us another, more specific badge. There were lots of types that got backstage-VIPs or other famous people, press, and friends and family. I was pretty darn proud to have that badge.

Once we were in, we'd be sent to a preshow green room area, and then we'd be able to watch the show from the side of the stage. Which was pretty damn cool. I have to say, though, when we arrived at the venue, all the things he had told me flew right out the door. The crowds, the fanfare, the posters and tees, and Keaton's face on everything . . . I couldn't contain myself. I started to mentally run through the songs that had become my favorites in the car and started to hum to myself as we walked. I was actually excited to hear them perform, and not just ogle Keaton with thousands of others.

The fans here were colorful and amazing, some looking like exotic birds with neon Mohawks and piercings in places I didn't know were possible. One girl had a diamond dimple, another a Marilyn Monroestyle beauty mark that glittered. Trickster City's fans were pretty cool.

Callie and I went to the will-call window and I tried my best to remember the set of instructions Keaton gave me, but once the guy behind the counter got my ID, he told me what to do anyway. Grinning, I took the comp tickets and friends and family badge and nearly skipped hand in hand with Callie all the way to the special waiting area. I needed to see him, it wasn't just want. It was a compulsion in my body. Need to see Keaton now.

Once I had passed security, eyeing us like we were some sort of groupie duo, triple checking our badges, we entered the green room. There was free merch such as Trickster City tees and hoodies and even condoms. Interesting. I saw Callie pocket a few. The place served drinks, both alcoholic and non, and even had some snacks.

"He said he'd be in the third dressing room, the one with the ginormous bodyguard," I said as we passed smiling clusters of friends, fans, and press.

I spotted the room and flashed my badge and ID to the giant man guarding Keaton's door.

He looked at the two of us and nodded. "Right this way, Thea," he said, remembering me.

I nearly giggled. They knew me! The door opened and I was thankful I taped up both knees because they were about to give out.

There, plucking at the strings of his gunmetal-gray guitar, was Keaton.

The air was sucked out of my lungs at the sight of him. He was in his preshow glory, not rugged and untamed like he was at UConn. That was hours before the show, before hair and makeup teams descended upon him.

This, I decided, was a rock god.

"Goddess," he said, moving toward me. "I'm so glad you could make it."

I nodded as he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me into a hug. We were on a hugging basis. Oh dear. Is this a base?

"This is my roommate, Callie," I said, gesturing to her, since Keaton didn't seem to see anything else in the room but me. Which made me squirm a bit.

"Roommate, best friend, stylist, and life coach," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "You be good to my girl here."

I wanted to bury my head in my hands, but I tried to remain upright as Callie calmly lectured a rocker on how to date me.

Wait, were we dating?

"I'll be more than good," he crooned into my ear, crooking his pierced eyebrow up. A croaking sound came from my throat and I wondered if it was the sound of my internal organs liquefying. It was sexy rocker-induced Ebola.

"Callie, why don't you avail yourself of some free T-shirts and swag? My buddy Rex can show you around, too," he said, and a handsome, eyelinered rocker-type swooped in from the adjacent room.

Callie's eyes widened. "I like, um, your drum skills."

Rex just smiled and showed her out.

"Are you trying to get me alone?" I asked, marveling at how suggestive that sounded. Go, me! Where was this confidence coming from? Actually, I didn't care. Keep it going, girl. Cosmo, and Callie's other magazines, had always said that confidence was attractive. I beg to offer a different definition.

Confidence is powerful.

His arm was still around my waist and I was suddenly conscious of each piece of his flesh that was touching mine.

"Do you want me alone, Goddess?" he whispered, looking at me through black kohl with his ultra-pure baby blues. I had to make him stop making me swoon.

He wanted me in charge, and fuck, I wanted me in charge.

There was a folding chair behind him, the kind you sit in as a hair and makeup crew style you. I wanted him beneath me. I placed my hand on his muscular chest and pushed him down into the chair. He landed in it gracefully, legs sprawled, eyes upturned and feigning innocence. It was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

"Yes, I want you alone." I sat down on one of his knees, slid my arms around his neck, and pulled his face to mine. We looked at each other for one wicked moment, brows touching, mouths smiling in anticipation, and I leaned forward to kiss him.

His mouth, so often filled with song, was now mine. I shocked myself with my bravery, sliding my tongue past his soft lips. I was rewarded with a low moan that went straight from his throat to the spot that throbbed between my legs. This sensation was so familiar and yet so new. I'd made out before, sure, but I had never taken the lead. And I'd never felt such an intense desire for someone with one simple kiss. Keaton's tongue slid down mine, then over my lips, tasting. He brought his hands to my face and sucked on my bottom lip, nibbling.

"Goddess," he breathed. "You taste like candy."

I giggled and muttered something about caramel apples.

He shook his head, nose rubbing mine like an Eskimo kiss. "Now you. I licked that sweet stuff off as soon as I could. I want to taste you."

At that suggestion, I swung my leg around and wrapped it around his hip, no longer demurely resting on one of his legs. Pressing the apex of my legs to his crotch, I boldly ground into him, feeling his hard body under mine. In response, his hands wrapped tightly around my torso, but I pushed them away.

He looked up at me sheepishly.

"Hands above your head," I said, remembering how he'd taped himself when we last met.

He bit his lip. "Of course."

I held his hands at his wrists and continued to kiss him. Keaton twitched beneath me, clearly desperate to have his hands on me, but patient enough to let me call the shots. My lips guided his, my tongue caressed his.

Keaton Lowe was indeed under my thumb.

Just as I was ready to guide his hands from above his head down under my shirt, there was a knock at the door.

"Mister Lowe?" a voice said.

I hopped off his lap and fixed my hair and pretended I was definitely not grinding on his crotch.

"Yes," he muttered, standing behind the chair. I nearly snickered.

"This young woman says she needs her friend back," he said, opening the door. Callie stood in the doorway, face whiter than when she got back from practice.

"Callie?" I asked.

"We got caught."

I felt Keaton's arm wrap around my shoulders as I sagged.

"Wait, what?" I asked.

Callie shook her head. "Donelle came to check on us and we didn't answer. I just got a text asking where we were."

Inhaling deeply, I felt both relief and dread. This wasn't anything official, and if we were smart, we could come up with a story. "What did you say?" I asked, still aware of Keaton's muscular arm around my shoulders. I resisted the urge to lean back farther into his embrace.

"N-nothing," she sputtered. "It was just a minute ago. What do we do?"

I pulled away from Keaton, because I knew that part of me just wanted to stay. To kiss more, to see the show, and to say fuck the consequences. But I had to think about the bigger picture: my education and my scholarship.

"Tell her we went home to my house. My Yaya makes the best avgolemono ever, and she always says it's good for when you're sick."

Keaton nodded. "Grandmother's soup is a good excuse for Thea, but what about her?"

Did he know that was soup just by context? Didn't seem like the kind of food a rocker would eat. And Lowe certainly isn't a Greek name.

"Callie's family's from Maine, so she couldn't just go home unless she wanted to drive for hours. She's going to stay at my parents' house." The plan firmed up in my mind. I turned to Keaton. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes showed much less mirth and sparkle than they usually did. "Do what you have to do," he answered, and went back to the mirror to put some finishing touches to his hair.

My stomach tightened. Not the most encouraging response. And no plans to see each other again. A few people streamed in through the door and began talking with him.

"I guess I'll see you around," I said, trying to keep my voice from sounding completely pathetic. I wanted to mention how we'd be in North Carolina at the same time and try to make plans, but I decided to play it cool.

"I'll sing one for you," he said, and we exited, completely deflated.

Callie texted while I brooded all the way back to the car. Before we got in, she turned to me.

"Um, Donelle wants to see the soup."

I frowned. "Come again?"

"She says that we could be anywhere, so text her a pic of Granny and her avocado soup or whatever the hell it is."

Slamming my fist on the hood of the car, I grumbled. "Okay, hold on. I'm going to text my little brother to see if Yaya can make the soup for when we get home. It's only forty-five minutes from here. Hopefully we can hold Donelle off for a little while. Don't answer yet." I pulled out my phone and prayed the plan would work.

We drove in silence, and I knew both our minds were going completely haywire over what the consequences could be. Benched for the second game? Put on probation? Suspended? Scholarship revoked? That may be a little melodramatic, but I was still worried. There were lots of possibilities and they all sucked. This plan had to work. We could have taken the easy road and gone back to campus with a worse story, but truthfully I wanted to be home for a while. See my family, feel comfort. The kiss I shared with Keaton was amazing, but once I had to leave, his crazy life resumed. How could I ever keep up with that or compete with it?

Soon we were pulling up to my house, and through the window I could see a confused and alarmed mother and grandmother in the window.

"Shit," I muttered. "We didn't even come up with an excuse for them!"

"Damn. Wait, how about we both ate some bad cafeteria food and needed some healing soup and a night in a comfy bed?"

I blinked. "You can be smart sometimes."

"I'm not just a pretty face," she retorted, and we exited the car and headed inside, clutching our stomachs emphatically.

My mom's face was always creased with worry, but tonight the lines seemed deeper. "Thea, you know we're happy to see you, but I thought you said you weren't going to be making trips home during basketball season." Her Greek accent had faded over the years, but when faced with stress, it strengthened. Tonight she sounded right off the boat.

Yaya just grabbed my head and kissed it.

I explained the story, and they bought it easily. Mothers want to mother, it seems. The idea of her daughter coming home for comfort and food delighted both Mom and Yaya and soon we were being served bowls of the steamy lemony soup.

"Let's take some pictures!" Callie said, giggling with my mom. They had only met a few times, but my mother loved my roommate and was thrilled that someone she trusted was with her daughter. Mom believed that she was an instant judge of character, which was great in some instances, but not so much in others. Boys, for example.

I put my arm around Yaya and patted her little gray head. She adjusted her glasses and we smiled over the bowl of soup. Click, done. Perfect. Callie pulled me in and we took one together. With a text, Donelle would have her proof.

My younger brothers, Nicky and Anthony, came out and tried to hide their excitement and be cool kids. It didn't work. Within minutes, they were bouncing up and down and asking for college stories and dying to hear more about how the tournament would go.

"First we're going to North Carolina in two weeks, and then if we win, it's Florida next. Then the Final Four and the title game would be here at home."

My breath hitched. First, because of North Carolina. Another chance to see Keaton. If he wanted to see me, that is. But second . . . Florida. Florida meant Miami. Miami meant sex with Keaton. I pulled the bowl of soup under my chin and pretended it was the steam that was making my face red, and not the thought of Keaton inside me. I shoveled a spoonful into my mouth to keep from drooling. "Good avgolemono, Yaya."

She frowned. "It's better than good."

I chuckled.

We spent the next hour playing Heads Up! on my phone-it's like charades, but the iPhone records it so you can watch everyone acting like idiots on the recording after the round is over. Soon, Callie and I retired to my room with full stomachs and big smiles.

"It wasn't a Roman rock star orgy, but definitely a good night," she said, hopping into bed.

I held my finger to my mouth. "Hello, Yaya's got some serious hearing aids. Don't be surprised if she storms in here." I laughed as my head hit the pillow.

Crisis averted, but who knew what loomed when we went back to school.

Wes could do something with the picture of me and the cup. Someone could have spotted us leaving campus way before people noticed we were missing.

Then there was Keaton. Why was his good-bye so cold? How could he just move on to his concert after the most passionate and amazing kiss ever?

Probably because he does this sort of thing daily, my conscience grumbled.

I worried as Callie snored next to me. Of course Keaton was able to get up and get over it fast-he was the heartbreaker of the century, as Callie so kindly told me.

Pulling my phone from the side table, I googled the term. There, of course, were hundreds of pictures of Keaton with women. Tall ones, short ones, girls of all hair colors and styles, each and every one looking moon-eyed at him. And Keaton with his rascal grin in each and every shot. He looked like he didn't care about the ladies draped all over him. I sighed. Was this going to be me? Was losing credibility with the team worth being just another broken heart?