Page 28 of Four More The Merrier

"Damn, songbird. You clean up nice."

"Thanks." She tugs at her top. "Is it too much? I wasn't sure what the dress code was."

"It's perfect. Come on, let's get inside before you freeze."

The bass thumps through the walls as we enter. Quinn's eyes widen at the crowd packed onto the dance floor.

"Want a drink?" I ask, leading her toward the bar.

"God yes. Anything with tequila."

I order our drinks and lean against the bar. "So what's your plan for Thanksgiving? Heading home to see the family?"

Her smile tightens just slightly. "Yeah, headed back. Big family dinner, you know how it is."

Something in her voice doesn't sit right. Maybe it's the way she won't quite meet my eyes, or how her fingers keep fidgeting with her glass.

Before I can press further, I spot Jarron and Austen walking in with their usual entourage of groupies. Quinn notices too and downs the rest of her drink.

"Another round?" I offer, but I can't shake the feeling she's not being straight with me about her holiday plans.

The dance floor pulses with energy as Quinn and I find our rhythm. She's actually a decent dancer, moving naturally to the beat instead of that awkward shuffle most people do. After our third song, she's laughing, really laughing, and I realize it's the first time I've seen her truly let loose since joining the tour.

"You're not half bad, Kennedy," she shouts over the music.

"You sound surprised. Did you think drummers had no moves?"

"I figured you only had rhythm when sitting behind a kit."

A server waves to get my attention, pointing toward the VIP section. Beau's there, gesturing for us to join them.

"Looks like we're being summoned to the cool kids' table," I say.

Quinn's smile dims. "Maybe I should head out-"

"Nope. You're my band date, remember? Where I go, you go."

We weave through the crowd toward the velvet rope. The bouncer recognizes me and lets us through. Jarron's already sprawled across one of the leather couches, two women hanging on his every word. Austen's at the bar, chatting up the bartender.

"Well, well," Jarron drawls as we approach. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

Quinn stiffens beside me, but before she can respond, Beau slides over to make room. "Grab a seat. We just ordered bottles."

"Thanks," Quinn says, perching on the edge of the couch like she might need to make a quick escape.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Austen says, returning with drinks. "Figured you'd be home writing sad songs about your ex or something."

"Nah," Quinn replies, accepting a glass from Beau. "I save those for the shower. Better acoustics."

I catch the slight smile tugging at Austen's mouth before he can hide it. Maybe there's hope for these idiots yet.

The blonde on Jarron's left - her spray tan almost matches the leather couch - leans forward, lips curled in a sneer. "So you're the opening act? I thought you'd be... prettier."

"And I thought you'd be more original," Quinn replies, taking a sip of her drink.

Another girl, this one draped across Austen's shoulders, twirls her hair. "I saw your set tonight. My six-year-old niece plays better guitar."

"Does she?" I interject. "Maybe we should sign her instead of wasting time with actual musicians."

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