Page 14 of How to Love a Rockstar

“I’m surprised you’re on time,” I say to Cash.

He groans. “Indy is an elementary school teacher. She’s up at the crack of dawn.”

Gibson grins. “I didn’t get home until the crack of dawn.” He smirks. “Ask me where I was.”

There’s no need to ask him where he was. The answer’s obvious – he was with a woman. He fancies himself a charmer. Manwhore is more like it.

“Have you slept with the entire population of Winter Falls?” Cash asks. “I am not dealing with townswomen who are angry because you’ve led them on.”

Gibson gasps. “I would never misrepresent myself to a woman. I can’t believe you would think otherwise.” He clasps his chest as if he’s been injured.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I point out. “Remember the woman in Kansas City? You gave her a ring and she thought you were engaged.”

Gibson rolls his eyes. “It was a plastic ring I won at the fair. How was I supposed to know she was crazy?”

“Maybe if you got to know the women you sleep with, you’d figure out if they’re crazy or not before they chase after the tour bus without any clothes on.”

Gibson smirks. “And miss the bouncing boobs?”

Cash growls and I step in between them before fists can fly. It wouldn’t be the first time. Being glued to each other 24/7 for months on end during concert tours can be trying even when you are the best of friends.

“Enough,” I order.

“It’s not my fault Cash is taking out his lack of getting laid on me,” Gibson says.

Cash snaps his teeth at him. “Don’t you dare speak about my sex life with Indy again.”

I place my palm on Gibson’s chest and push him away. “I said enough.”

“Uh oh. Daddy’s mad,” Jett whines.

I glare at him and he smirks at me. He’s sitting on the sofa next to Fender who’s eating a stack of pancakes.

“I thought Winter Falls didn’t do takeout.”

Fender grunts and continues to eat his pancakes. What he doesn’t do is answer my question. The big guy isn’t much of a talker.

“He made a deal with the diner. As long as he brings the dishes and silverware back, they’ll wrap up his food in paper bags he is under the strictest of orders to recycle,” Jett explains.

“Put the pancakes away. Time to get down to business,” Cash orders.

Fender shoves the last of the food into his mouth before standing. He doesn’t say a word as he picks up his bass.

“What song do you want to begin with?” I ask.

Cash doesn’t get the chance to respond before Jett squeals, “Where are my sticks?”

I groan. “Gibson, if you stole Jett’s sticks again, I won’t stop Cash the next time he wants to pummel you to the ground.”

Gibson snorts. “He can try.”

“Oh wait,” Jett calls, “here they are.”

But he’s not holding his sticks in the air. It’s an airplane. A Lego airplane.

“Watch this!” He throws the plane to the ground and it breaks into hundreds of pieces. “Boom! Crash and burn. This is Dylan’s love life.”

Gibson hoots. “Burn!”

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