Page 62 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

The new album is different from our previous work—rawer and more personal. The first song we play full-out is one Luke wrote after meeting Lila. It’s about falling for someone unexpectedly, about plans changing and walls coming down—a love song.

When I glance at Lacey, I find her watching me intently. Her eyes are wide, taking everything in, and there’s something in her expression I’ve never seen before.

“Holy shit,” Vince says when we finish. “That was tight.”

“Language,” Emily reminds him, gesturing to little Presley, who is wearing miniature earphones that muffle the noise, making us doubt she can hear anything anyway.

“Holy... shiitake mushrooms?”

Sam throws a pick at him. “Better.”

We move through the set list. This is where the real work happens—the repetition, the fine-tuning, the moments when we stop mid-song to adjust a bridge or rework a chorus. And through it all, I keep us on track—the heartbeat of our music.

During a break, I walk over to Lacey and hand her a bottle of water. Her eyes are bright with excitement.

“You’re amazing,” she says softly. “I mean, I knew you were talented, but watching you work...” She shakes her head. “It’s different.”

I pull her up from her chair, not caring that the others are watching. “Different, how?”

“You come alive,” she explains. “It’s like... you’re still you, but when you’re performing, there’s another layer. This high-voltage intensity.” Her fingers trace the collar of my shirt. “It’s incredibly hot.”

I lean down to kiss her, but Sam’s voice interrupts. “No making out in the studio. House rules.”

“Since when?” I demand.

“Since Emily banned me and her from doing it,” Sam explains with a shit-eating grin.

“That’s because you knocked over a $5000 microphone,” Emily reminds him dryly.

Ignoring the new house rules, I turn my back to everyone and kiss Lacey anyway, leaving her breathless.

We get back to work, but I’m hyper-aware of Lacey’s presence, and every time our gazes lock, the temperature in the room seems to rise.

Hours pass like minutes as we play. By the time we wrap up, the sun is setting, and we’ve nailed every one of the new songs. Cass and Luke sang the lyrics with such power and raw emotion that I know the new album will go gold.

“That was fantastic,” Lacey says as we pack up. “Thanks for letting me watch.”

“You’re part of our family now,” Cass tells her. “Come anytime.”

The word ‘family’ hits differently than it would have a few months ago. This thing between us might have started as a contract, but watching Lacey fit so naturally into this part of my life feels right.

“Ready to go home?” I ask, taking her hand.

“Wait.” Lacey tugs my hand, pulling me back toward the drum kit. “Show me that thing you were doing earlier—that crazy fast pattern during the last song.”

I grin, settling back behind the drums and pulling her to sit between my legs. “You mean the paradiddle-diddle?”

“Is that what you call it?” She laughs, leaning back against my chest.

“Here.” I guide her hands, my chest pressed against her back, feeling her breath catch as I adjust her grip on the sticks. The scent of her shampoo fills my senses as I lean closer, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “Remember how I showed you the way to hold these?” Her body relaxes into mine, and I have to focus on the lesson instead of how perfectly she fits against me. “It’s all in the wrist rotation. Right, left, right, right, left, left.”

I guide her through the motion, my hands over hers, our bodies moving in sync. The pattern starts slowly and deliberately, but she picks it up quickly. She’s always been a fast learner.

“Faster now,” I murmur near her ear, increasing the tempo. The sticks blur as we build speed, and I can feel her pulse quickening with excitement.

“Wow,” she breathes as we nail the rhythm. “That’s what you were doing?”

Lacey turns in my arms, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You’re really good at this.”

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