Even now my fingers itch to respond to him. But he made himself clear... And I can't hold onto something-someone-I can't have. I wish I could remember our last conversation a little more clearly, but maybe it's best I don't. I have to let him move on. I have to move forward myself.

Which is why my answer is, "No," when Luca slinks out of the bathroom after his shower and asks if I'm mad at him.

"I'm sorry I got in so late."

"And for not sticking up for me to Polly?"

His face tightens with discomfort. "I told you it's complicated with her."

"So she can just get in my face for no reason and you'll stand there, letting her?"

"You are pissed."

"It doesn't matter." And it doesn't. Not much, anyway. Because this sort of drama doesn't even feel real.

"You sure?"

"What was Polly looking for last night anyway?" Besides a night with you. But there's no real jealousy in the unspoken thought. I'm the one he came back to. And even if he hadn't-I'm here for the fun. He can do whatever he wants. And other things I tell myself that aren't completely the truth.

"Um, nothing for her to have been that upset over," he says, turning into the closet and grabbing the small travel bag where he stores his toiletries. "A nice bottle of wine her father sent her."

"A nice bottle of wine? That's what she accused me of stealing?"

"She has a...rocky relationship with her dad. She flipped when she couldn't find it." He won't meet my eyes when he turns back toward me, feeling guilty, perhaps, at not sticking up for me.

"Listen, if you feel bad you can order me a huge, greasy breakfast." I need something in my stomach to soak up the rest of the alcohol sloshing around. "Did you find her wine?"

He turns back into the bathroom, and I hear him rummaging through his bag until he finds whatever he's looking for. "I had Marx find a bottle of the same stuff and hide it somewhere easy to find in her room."

"That was nice," I admit, grudgingly. "Though I bet she'll be pissed if the real bottle turns up."

"I'm sorry, Cassie." He stands in the doorway, staring out at me.

"Me, too." Mostly, I'm sorry I called Gage. But...I wonder if Luca would even care. Because I'm not sure I really care that he left me here by myself for so long.

Then again...his shirt is off. It's hard to think clearly.

I rise and cross to him, reaching out to tuck a finger through his towel.

"Oh?" he asks. "Feeling a little frisky?"

"Frisky? Who even says that?"

He moves his hips a little, sliding the towel lower, and I catch my breath. Which is a good thing because I'm in serious need of a toothbrush. And a shower.

He runs a finger under the strap of my camisole. "You're wearing my gift."

"Too bad you didn't take advantage of it last night." I move closer to him and watch the way his face tenses, like he's so sure he's about to peel this thing off of me. I grab the waist of his towel, pausing for effect-and rip it off. But before he can make any sort of move, I slide around him, giggling, and close the bathroom door in his face.

"Tease!" he calls through the door. Then, "But hurry, the bus is scheduled to leave in thirty."

When I step back out, there's a breakfast of epic proportions spread across the dining table. Pancakes. Eggs Benedict. Bagels and lox. My stomach roars at the sight of it all.

"You're the freaking best," I manage to say before basically devouring the entire world.

A blink later, we're back on the road and I'm lamenting over not getting to see Charleston. I throw myself on Luca's bed with an arm across my face, pouting.

"That's kind of how this whole thing goes," he admits. "Sometimes I make sure there's an extra night or two to go out exploring, but mostly this is how we live. Also, you know, it helps if you're not so smashed you can't do anything anyway."

"Ugh. Don't talk about drinking to me."

The bed dips when he joins me on it. "Still feeling the effects?"

"No, actually, that breakfast helped. But I don't want to jinx it." I'm exhausted though, and in desperate need of oblivion. So many things I don't want to think about. Instead, I open my eyes and fix Luca with the sultriest look I can manage. He smiles, message received.

"Hmmm. So can I do this?" He pulls off one of my sandals.

"Only if you do the other."

He does.

"Are you stopping there?" I lean up on my elbows, pouting harder.

"No, ma'am." He yanks at my skirt, tossing it on the floor. My top follows suit a moment later. I reach for his shirt, but he grabs my wrist, shaking his head. "Not yet."

"That hardly seems fair."

"Who said anything about being fair?" He slips the straps of my bra over my shoulders and reaches behind me, releasing it with a very skilled twist of his fingers. It joins the rest of my clothing on the floor. And then slowly, so slowly, he hooks his fingers through the hips of my panties and rolls them down my legs. Which I cross, immediately.

"So not fair." But my voice comes out breathy and he must know the way he's making me respond.

"Are you a good girl, Cassie?" he asks, sliding his body back up over me, his clothing rough against my skin. He dips his mouth to trail kisses across my cheek and along the edge of my jaw. "Or are you a bad girl?"

I...don't know what to make of his question. But there's a tug in my belly that makes me catch my breath. "Which would you prefer?"

"Bad, definitely." He's breathing in my ear. "Can you be bad for me?"

I still don't really know what he means, but my pulse is beginning to dance and my body is beginning to tremble and I want to be bad for him. "Tell me what to do."

"Anything you want." His words are whispers sliding silkily across my skin.

Oh. So the ball's in my court. Get creative. Got it.

But I freeze, unable to think of a single thing. He reads my hesitation and whispers, "Show me what you like. Teach me how you like to be touched."

I almost tell him he definitely doesn't need a lesson, but I bite my tongue. There is something so thrilling about the way he speaks to me. About the wetness of his lips as he waits for me to respond.

I slide away from him, without breaking eye contact, until my back hits the headboard. He starts to follow, but I place the ball of one foot against his chest, keeping him in place. Once he stills, I pull my knees up, blocking his view of anything below my waist.

Okay. I can do this.

"Do you..." Seriously. Go for it, Cassidy. Okay. Okay. Deep breath. "Do you like what you see?"

And I slide my feet apart, opening my knees, just enough.

A strangled sound escapes from his mouth. "You have no idea."

"And now?" I trail a finger lazily down my belly, loving the tension that tightens across his face with each passing second. Lower and lower I drag my finger until I'm there, touching myself, lightly at first and then, when his face falls slack with desire, with more pressure. With each caress, I imagine it's his tongue.

It's a heady feeling, knowing the power I have over him in this very minute. There's an eagerness rushing through me, a need for more. And, again, like he can read me, he inches forward. I don't stop him this time. And then he's grabbing one of my feet, taking my toes in his mouth and working his way up to my ankle, holding my leg toward the ceiling to trail his tongue along my calf and behind my knee.

I don't remove my hand. I can't. I might die without the contact. But soon his tongue is there, taking my place.

He's gentler than I want, than I need. And soon I reach for his head, eager to pull him up further. Craving the feel of him inside of me.

He doesn't take much convincing, flying up my body and, with a quick pause for the condom, pushing into me.

Later, when I come lazily back down to earth, he slides the sheets up and over my body.

"Luca?" I murmur, not opening my eyes, enjoying the lingering warmth still radiating through my limbs. I reach for him, but he tucks my hand back against my body.

He plants a kiss against my neck. "I'm feeling inspired-I'm going to write for a little bit." He takes my hand and curls my fingers around an object the shape of my phone. "But don't think you're done being bad. When you wake up, I want you to send me some naughty, naughty pictures."

Now I open my eyes. "We're literally on the same bus-you can come back to me anytime you want. Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose?"

"Not even a little bit."

I make a noncommittal sound, but the weightlessness of sleep is cocooning me and I let myself drift into it.

Hours later, when I wake up, my phone is still in my hand. I stare at it for a while. Some naughty, naughty pictures, huh? Even though I'm alone, I blush.

The old Cassidy would've never considered doing this. But now? Well...the thought excites me.

So I go for it.

It's not easy, taking sexy pictures with a phone, but I do my best.

I must do at least an okay job because he's back in the bedroom less than a minute after I've sent the first one.

"Little vixen," he says, with a dark and sexy expression. "I was mid-stride with a new set of lyrics."

"And?" I ask, keeping my expression as innocent as I can.

"And, come here."

When I slide off the bed and take the few steps over to him, he pulls me into a crushing kiss. Then, gently, he pushes me to my knees. A small part of me rises in offense, but I smother it. I was sucking on my finger in the picture, so I can't blame the direction his imagination went. Plus, it's not like he hasn't already tasted me today. Now it's his turn.

And a second later, he truly claims it.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.

And so the tour continues, city after city. I keep waiting for it to get old, but, as repetitive as it is, it never really does. Maybe because, even two weeks into the tour, it never truly feels real-which is exactly why I came.

Plus, Luca. When we're together, when there are no words, just skin against skin-I'm content. More than content, really, because he brings me to the sweetest edge of oblivion. Whenever I want.

Travel. Pre-show. Show. Hotel party. Sleep. Repeat. Though I only really participate in the travel and the sleep (well, okay, we definitely do more than just sleep) parts. Sometimes I catch the shows, too, but otherwise I keep myself separate from the band. I don't want to be around Polly. I'm not afraid of her, even after getting a firsthand view of the crazy she can spew, but I don't want to mess with the coherence of the band. Plus, the partying is just a little too insane for me.

According to Teagan, I'm missing out on all the best parts. The glam. The visibility. The partying. But she doesn't have Luca in her bed every night, so she doesn't know what she's talking about. Vera agrees with her, telling me I should be living it up more.

But I am living it up. It doesn't matter if it's by myself. I get out and explore the cities at night, shopping and catching movies and people watching, rather than partying with everyone. I enjoy it more than I expect to.

The historic district in Savannah, with its gothic towers and cobblestone streets, fills me with nostalgia for days long past. Later, I sit for what feels like hours watching children play in Forsyth Park.

And then Atlanta. I spend half my day lazying around the most gorgeous botanical gardens. Luca rolls his eyes that I'd skip his show to see the Atlanta Ballet, but I do and I get completely swept away in the grace of the entire performance.

The dizzying height of the Sunsphere tower in Knoxville, with its panoramic views of the city.

The greasy, delicious taste of a real Philly cheesesteak-made with Cheez Whiz!-in Philadelphia.

The creepy, yawning shadows of Cincinnati's secret underground tunnels and crypt.

We bounce all over the East Coast, and each city is an entire new world for exploring. I love it, this unexpected perk of coming on tour, getting to visit and fall for all these places. After this leg, Gold Rush Standard hits the West Coast. I wonder if I'll still be traveling with Luca... Probably not-school starts too soon for that-but damn it'd be awesome to get out there and explore.

I go for days being completely happy.

Until I actually think about being happy.

When I realize what I'm feeling, when I try to cling to it, it disappears.

Because I still miss Gage.

And, even more, because I wouldn't be experiencing any of this if Jason hadn't died.

I try not to think about it.

With minimal success.

I miss a few calls from my friends along the way, but I swear to myself I'll call them back later.

But if I'm being honest, they're just another tether to the life I'm trying so hard not to think about. Still. I'll call them soon. Or, at least next week. Really.

"You're being overly cautious about Polly," Luca insists when I decline another after-party. "You should come."