Page 82 of Rockstar's Fake Engagement

I slip past the VIP lounge and head toward the tour bus, bypassing the family bus, where I notice Emily and Sam knocking on the door to join Cass and his family. I briefly wonder if they are missing their toddler, Presley.

I catch a quick glimpse inside, and it feels so homey that it should make me happy to see my friends getting exactly what they want. Instead, it just makes me realize what I’m missing—what I don’t have—

I step onto the next tour bus—empty, quiet, way too silent—and immediately grab my laptop, logging into my trading accounts to distract me from thoughts of who’s not here.

If I can’t be with Lacey, I can at least be productive.

The numbers flicker across the screen. Stock values are shifting, and my investments are climbing. I should be satisfied—my latest trades have already made me a boatload of money on this tour.

But my mind keeps drifting back to her—to the way she looked when she opened her door, all soft and sweet. The way she felt under my hands the last time I saw her. The way she moaned my name when I pressed her against the shower wall, steam curling around us—

I shove a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. I’m losing my freakin’ mind.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks of late-night texts and barely any real conversation.

She answers now, at least. So that’s something.

But it’s always late—after she’s done filming, after her PR obligations, after whatever brand event the company has dragged her to. Her messages are short, sometimes playful, sometimes exhausted.

But I still haven’t heard her voice in over a week.

I push the laptop away, rubbing my temples. And glance up as Luke and Lila come in.

As they sit down across from me, I cock an eyebrow at the look they exchange.

“Lila and I are worried about you, man.”

I snort, but something in my chest tightens. The entire band can see I’m not myself.

“Have you talked to Lacey?” Luke asks carefully.

“Texted.” I close the lid of my laptop a little too hard. “She’s busy. The company’s got her doing press junkets, script readings, costume fittings.”

“But no actual conversation?”

I shake my head. “Different time zones. When I’m free, she’s filming. When she’s free, I’m on stage. When we’re both awake...” I shrug. “Something always comes up.”

“What are you doing with your time?” Luke presses.

“I’ve gotten really good at watching my investment stocks.” I grimace. “Checking market trends at 4 AM, analyzing trading patterns between shows. Made another fifty grand today.”

“And you think that’s helping?” Lila asks, giving me a knowing look. “What color are her eyes?”

The question catches me off guard. “What?”

“Lacey’s eyes. What color are they?” Lila asks again.

“A deep brown,” I answer automatically. “But sometimes they darken and look almost black—especially when she laughs. Or when she’s just woken up, and...” I stop, catching their knowing smirks. “Shit. I can’t believe I fell for that.”

“That’s what I thought,” Lila says smugly, leaning back in her chair. “You know, there are these things called planes. They can fly back and forth across the country pretty regularly.”

“I know that. But we have shows booked solid—“

“We have three days off next week. In Seattle.” Luke states.

I freeze mid-beat. “What? The band’s going to Seattle? We’ve—we’ve never played Seattle before…”

“Emily reworked the schedule. Something about travel logistics.” They both stand smiling and head for the door, then pause, looking back. “We just thought you needed a push.”

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