All three of us sighed.

"How were you able to hold off from hitting that shit?" asked Lili, a note of awe tingeing her voice.

With a noncommittal shrug, I replied, "We wanted to do it properly and not before he had to leave for a week."

"By properly, you mean improperly, right?" Alys chuckled.

"I fucking hope so," I replied.

"I'm here in the studio today with NOLA's Junk, one of heavy metal's most notable bands. They've been on the scene now for the last five years, selling out concerts worldwide. Tell us, guys. What are your biggest influences? What inspires you?"

"Uh, well..." started X with his microphone-o-phobia. "There's Black Sabbath and Pink Floyd-"

"Led Zeppelin." Phil smiled.

Like a reflex, the other three all shouted, "All hail Zeppelin!"

"Judas Priest, Iron Maiden," said Jason.

"Tool, Pantera, Faith No More," Flipper offered.

"Oh, good ones!" Phil laughed. "There are so many."

"And for inspiration?" asked Lance. "A lot of your music can be considered violent, political, and not to mention, sexually explicit."

"Who doesn't enjoy a bit of sexually explicit?" joked Jason.

The guys all laughed at that, and so did we.

"Just everyday, run-of-the-mill BS," said Phil. "The endless greed, war, and the assholes behind it. And yeah, sex."

"What inspired 'Louisiana Baby' then? It's seems the closest thing you guys have to a love song."

Our Boys went quiet.

Alys and Lili each grabbed one of my thighs.

Phil didn't bat an eye. "The lyrics are about my Baby Girl. She's my 'Louisiana Baby.'"

Flipper's and X's faces stretched into huge grins. Jason's face remained passive.

"Is this the same Baby Girl you mention in 'A Madman's Love Letter'?"

"It is." Phil's tone held a warning ring, like he wasn't willing to talk more about the subject.

"She's a strong inspiration for you then?"

"Yeah, for me, she is," he replied. His face held no expression.

Lance seemed to finally grasp that Phil was not happy with elaborating about his Baby Girl like this.

"Cool, man. Right. We've got some more videos coming your way, and of course, more with NOLA's Junk!"

The camera focused on The Tool and then cut to commercial.

Alys muted the TV. "Shh! Do you hear that?" she whispered.

Lili and I both froze, listening hard.

"What?" I whispered back.

"It sounds like," she said quietly, "hundreds of thousands of females-and possibly Jimi-wailing in heartbreak over the fact that Phil fucking Deveraux has just told the world he's in a relationship!"

We all stared at each other for a few seconds. Once more, we exploded on the couch like a bunch of squealing preteens.

"Holy shit, this is actually real!" I crowed.

"Bitch, this is real!" cried Alys.

"Bitch, this is real, real!" shouted Lili.

The rest of the show went quite smoothly. The guys talked about their world tours, their three albums, and about going back into the studio after the New Year. They wrapped up the show with the clip of their performance of "Louisiana Baby" in New Orleans.

Afterward, my best friends hugged me. They were so happy that I was so happy. After everything, perhaps I was a bit overdue for this level of happiness.

Lili pulled a huge yawn while Alys and I headed back into the kitchen to make pico de gallo and guacamole.

"Don't even think about it, missy!" snapped Alys. "You're on cheese-shredding duty."

"Aw, man!"

"Now, princess!"

Lili stomped into the kitchen, grumbling about me not buying already shredded cheese.

By a stroke of luck-and a healthy dose of termites-the clinic had been shut down, starting today. I had totally forgotten about it until yesterday. Lucy had reminded me that Rita had people coming in to pack up everything for the tenting process to begin, and we wouldn't be up and running again until the Monday after next .

I get a whole week with Phil fucking Deveraux!

So, instead of going to work, I was able to go have my hair cut and styled by my dear friend, Tricia Enzo. After the prep work for dinner, I'd called her and begged her to squeeze me into her schedule, and she'd managed to do so. She and I had been friends since middle school. After high school, she'd met a man, and they'd run off and gotten married. I'd gone into medical studies, so we hadn't seen each other in a while.

But she was a bitchin' hairstylist, and she turned my dirty hippie hairdo into a straightened rockin' style with layers and sideswept bangs that framed my face. She also dyed my eyelashes black, so I wouldn't have to wear mascara.

Awesome.

After my hair appointment, I rushed home to shit, shower, and shave everything while being extremely careful not to get my hair wet. I picked out my tight boot-cut jeans, a sheer camisole to wear under my tight dark green ribbed tank top-no bra-brown flip-flops, and silver wristbands.

I had to admit, with the hairstyle and tight jeans, I looked pretty worthy of being seen on Phil's arm. I certainly hoped he would agree.

So, that was how I found myself waiting at the airport, outside baggage claim. I was nervous as all hell. My armpits and hands were once again sweating profusely, my heart rate was a little higher than normal, and the creatures of riverdance were making an exuberant appearance.

Why am I so fucking nervous? I really shouldn't be. I'm just some chick who is picking up her man at the airport.

The Arrivals screen showed that their plane had arrived on time, and as far as I knew, he'd only taken that one bag. I was guessing they'd flown first class, so they should be some of the first people off the plane.

Anxiously, I looked around, noticing not many people were waiting, and I was pretty sure none of them were paparazzi types. No one had a camera out. As popular as NOLA's Junk was, they really weren't the type of celebrities whose every move was stalked. Phil seemed more than comfortable being out in public-well, as far as LaPlace went. I'd only ever seen their pictures in metal and rock magazines, not in People or US Weekly.

Oh!

People were coming through the gate-men in suits, other business-looking people, Flipper, X...and Phil. My heart tripped a little at the sight of his giant self. Behind him followed Jason, checking his cell phone. They all convened at the conveyor belt, and after a few minutes, Phil bent down and retrieved an acoustic guitar hard case. He raised his head, and his eyes scanned the meager crowd before zeroing in on me.

Phil smiled, and the world surged with the colors and brightness only he could bring. His dimples punched deep, and that grin was infectious. I gave him a little wave, feeling like a dork.

After clapping Flipper and then Jason on their backs before ruffling X's flaming hair, Phil made his way over to me, and I noticed how utterly manly his walk was. His shoulders swayed in that sort of swagger that made women need to cross their legs.

Without so much as a how-do-you-do greeting, he swept me up in one arm, bringing me against his chest, and he kissed me as though we were the only friggin' people in the place. I heard X and Flipper catcalling from baggage claim.

"Fuck, I missed you," he said softly.

"I missed you, too," I replied, smiling like a lovesick fool.

I waved to the guys, and then Phil and I turned and headed to the parking lot. Phil smacked my ass and pushed me in front of him.

"Baby Girl!" he half-shouted.

"What?"

"You cut off all your damn hair!"

Startled, I craned my neck and looked back at him, glaring a little. "I most certainly did not."

Tricia had taken about five inches off, which left the length to the middle of my back.

"You most certainly did, too!" He was giving me crazy eyes.

"Well, I like it. I was sick of looking like a dirty hippie."

His eyes roamed me over from head to toe, and he had a stubborn set to his jaw. "If I go away again, are you gonna shave your head in protest?"

"My hair looks fabulous, Phil!" I snapped hotly.

His lips flattened, but then he said, "It does look sexy as all hell." He ran a hand through it, and I knew it felt all soft and silky. "I like it."

"Damn right."

We made it to the truck, and he rummaged through his bag while I unlocked the driver's door. Pulling out a CD, he handed it to me and hopped in, sliding into the bitch seat.

"Oh! Is this the single?"

He grinned. "Just listen."

It was "Louisiana Baby," cleaned up and sounding phenomenal. It blew my mind that it had been written about me, that the man sitting next to me would sing this with me in his thoughts. He would get up on the stage and let the world know that this was how he felt about me, and he was happy to do so. Just that fact alone had my eyes stinging, and I was thrilled that I was wearing huge sunglasses.

How could I not love and adore this man with my whole heart? My soul was truly his, and I thought it had been my whole life. Perhaps that was why I never took my relationships with other men-okay, only Brian-seriously. I was always invested in one I hadn't even known existed.

I thought of the picture of us as children, housed in its silver frame on my nightstand.

Was that when it happened? Was that it for me? Did that moment-one I have no actual memory of-set me on this road with Phil? Did my soul remember him when my brain couldn't?

"Is it weird, listening to yourself like that?" I asked, trying to get my head into the here and now.

He shrugged. "Not so much. I like the music we make. I guess it's like listening to any other band."

Turning the ignition, the Black Beauty roared to life, and Phil draped his arm around my shoulders.

"You look beautiful, Kenna," he told me, his breath caressing over my ear.

I turned my head and leaned forward to press my lips to his. "So do you."

He cupped my face with his free hand, holding me right where he wanted me. His tongue slid past my lips, tasting me, leaving his wonderful flavor behind. My hand reached up to hold the back of his neck, and the kiss deepened.

Panting, he broke it, pressing his Third Eye to mine. The raging excitement, his desire, his blatant need to make me his in all ways possible became a ever-present tangible entity. It infected me and swelled and urged my own desperate desire for him.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

"All right," I replied and pulled out of his embrace. "I hope you like Mexican food. We've been slaving over it for two days, making sure we can feed you properly."

"We?" he asked, shifting uncomfortably and adjusting the bulge in his pants.

"Well, yeah. I live with Lili and Alys."

"I knew that," he grumped. "I was hoping it'd just be us."

"It will be after dinner. They're going to catch the show at Bougainvillea tonight and sleep at Alys's parents' place."

"Yeah?" he grunted.

"Yeah. You okay?"

"Baby Girl, I got a case of blue balls so bad that I might just fuck us both to death tonight."

"Huh. That sounds promising," I joked, trying to control my twitchy lips but failing miserably.

We listened to the local rock station on the drive back to Ormond.

During a commercial break, he turned down the volume. "So, do you guys go to Bougainvillea a lot?"

"Most Fridays and Saturdays-when we know the bands are good. Maybe the House of Blues when the show is really good. It's easier to go to Bougainvillea though, and cheaper. Plus, it's not actually in the city, making it a straight-shot home afterward."