Chapter 1: Bad Girls Don't Believe In Love

June...the very same night of  Chapter 1 in Epic

Soundcrush plays the Fox Theatre in Atlanta

Mac

My brother Leed is one of the world's hottest rock stars, but he's a dumbass.

He's signed me up for an account on Tinder-Select. I had no idea there was an invitation-only version of Tinder for the rich and famous, but somebody told Leed about it. He had a brilliant idea for his PA to get me an account and make me a profile.

Unfortunately, Leed feels the need to personally take charge of hooking me up.

The problem is, my idiot brother doesn't even know how to use Tinder.  Why would he? He's Leed Lawson, the Lion of Soundcrush. He definitely doesn't need help getting a date.

Anyway,  I keep telling him "no" in response to celebrity profiles and he keeps swiping right at the wrong time.

"Goddammit Leed—did you just swipe right on Mayhem?"

"Shit-sorry! But maybe that's not a bad thing. He's talented as fuck, and you actually have a lot in common with Mayhem. You both have anger issues, you both mumble when you rant, you are both from the ATL..."

"Give me that," Tamara snaps, reaching across for his phone. She wraps another foil deftly in my hair and thumbs pictures. "Ooooh, Mac, how about a Rockefeller? He's cute." She shows me the picture.

"Will you both stop?" I say. "I don't need Tinder."

"Mac, you kinda do," Leed says, lounging sideways in the other stylist chair. "You don't date. You just occasionally take a lucky fan to your room."

"Hello pot, meet kettle," I snark at my brother. "You also sex strangers, when nature requires." And occasionally Tamara, but I don't say that, cause she's my friend.

"Yes, but that's not the only way I spread the love. I have a beautiful, sweet and loyal bed-buddy I can always turn to for mutual affection," Leed smiles adoringly at Tamara. My brother holds a warm, fuzzy fondness for his first, even after all these years. "Speaking of sex with you, beloved Tams, it's been a while." Leed rubs his stomach, and winks at her. "What do you say? Me and you for the weekend, like old times?"

Leed is perfectly blunt about his casual relationship with Tamara, because he's crazy. At least Adam had enough sense to keep our shit private, until I blew our shit out of the water, with an epic fuck-buddy implosion last spring.

"Mmmmmm...ask me after the show," Tamara says as she paints my hair. Tamara doesn't mind that Leed publicizes their friends-with-benefits status because she adores him, but not in the love-of-my-life kind of way. More like a girl likes her little fluffy white dog stuffed in a Louis Vuitton.

I sigh. I wish I could make the friends-with-benefits thing work with Adam. I wish I could be as open as Leed. Or that Adam could be as chill as Tamara. But Adam and I suck at friends-with-benefits, and I can never figure out why.

I mean, I like Adam.

A lot.

And I like having sex with Adam.

A lot.

So that should be the perfect friends-with-benefits situation.

We kept messing it up. We tried it three times.

The first was before the band made it. That time was good;  it lasted a long time. Then it went bad in those early months in LA. But then we tried again, on our first tour, and then again in Portland last spring. We could never figure out the right...distance.

The first time it ended was ridiculous—Adam  was acting immature. It was totally his fault. I can't even think about that time, unless I have liquor in hand, so I'll skip it for now.

The second time was his fault again, but not as epically bad. We were on tour then and he turned into a touchy asshole. He would get pissed and slam doors when I started getting dressed to go back to my room right after sex. If I did stay over, the morning after was always awkward, and he would sulk and make jabs at me all day. Finally, he told me he wouldn't sleep with me again unless I had dinner with him. Just me and him.

He actually gave me an ultimatum: go on a date with me, or no more sex.

God, what an asshole. Obviously that was the end of our second bed-buddy attempt.

The last time—it was on me, the rough ending. Much rougher than the first two times. Adam was pushing me for a commitment, and I publicly fucked a guy in a green room before an appearance. I wanted him to see it. I wanted him to never want me again. My head was messed up.

After that Adam and I really went to separate corners. Leed was obviously in mine. Trace was caught in the middle, but coming down on Adam's side. Only Bodie was able to keep a cool head. I could have destroyed the band—everything we work for, with that stupid mistake.

Adam and I were extremely lucky to be able to salvage our friendship that time, and the band worked really hard to get our groove back.

Adam and I—we should really keep it professional on this tour. No more messing around. For the band's sake.

Unlike me, Leed has no problem messing around. With Bodie's cousin, I might add.

"Really?" Leed is saying to Tamara. "That's the second time you've turned me down this tour, Tamara. What gives? You seeing somebody or what? Don't even tell me our special relationship is coming to an end."

"I didn't turn you down. I said, ask me after the show."

"Because you think you are going to get a better offer? As if that were possible," he scoffs.

"Not better, Lee-Lee...just something different," Tamara winks.

"Who is it, that you think might be better than me?" Leed asks speculatively. "Is it Andy the sound guy? Fuck—I know—it's Riley, isn't it? With his glasses and his accent...you want to try out that British swerve."

"It's not me," Riley, Trace's personal assistant, glides past the doorway. "But I know who it is."

"Who?" Leed whips his red head around at the same time Tamara throws down her comb and says, "How?"

Riley runs a hand through his spiky black hair and laughs. "I see all evil, I hear all evil, I speak no evil." He puts a quelling finger to his lips and melts away into the stream of staff in the hallway.

"Hmmmpph. I suppose it's a Fangirl Friday for me," Leed pouts. He snatches his phone back from Tamara and collapses back in the chair. "Alright, baby sister, are you swiping left or right on the Rockefeller?"

"I'm not swiping anything. I am not hooking up on Tinder!" I hiss. "I have accessible fanboy cock every night of the week, without resorting to pretentious, rich playboys."

"Mac, don't be so goddamn crude. You really should set your sights higher, romantically speaking," he lectures.

" Leed are you listening to yourself? You just said you were hooking up with a fangirl tonight. That's a double standard."

"Fucking sue me for being a concerned brother, but my fans typically don't choke me until I pass out," Leed says darkly.

Tamara says, "Hmmm-hmmmm."

"I refuse to let you two shame me for that anymore. That was one time I chose the wrong guy. Anyway, let's get back on subject. Why are you pushing romance on me anyway, Leed? Aren't you the one that says, 'Romance done right ends in marriage. But marriage ends in divorce. So what's the point?'"

"That's true for me, because I am perfectly content with myself. Except when I get that urge to lavish some affection on my Tam-Tam. Speaking of which," Leed sends off a quick text. "Got you something, Buddy. Something nice. Well, you know...Sawyer is getting it. Sending it on to New Orleans."

Tamara laughs as she picks up another bowl of color and mixes it. "Hon, if you weren't so cooky, I'd be pissed. I'm not going to fuck you just because you buy me swag. I don't need your money." It's true. Tam doesn't model anymore, but she invested well. She works for us for fun. Well, that and because she's Bodie's cousin and my friend and Leed's occasional-bedbuddy. And she likes dressing us all up like Barbie dolls.

"I know," Leed pouts. "I just thought, maybe I wasn't appreciating you enough..."

"It's not that, baby-doll. It's just...I ain't as young as I used to be. Maybe I want to settle down one day. Have babies. What do you say to that?" She's teasing Leed, but Tamara is almost thirty, so maybe it's true.

"I say...find a husband that doesn't mind you fangirling for me a couple times a year," he spins in his chair, while he pouts some more at the ceiling.

Tam laughs and laughs but I'm the one that's shocked. Not at Leed. At Tamara.

"Tam!" I hiss. "Don't fall victim to the myth. There's no happy ever after out there in the suburbs!" I tell her, but Leed is the one that responds.

"See, Mac—that's your problem. Just because our dad has been married and divorced four times, and our mom continually switches lanes, you've given up entirely on having a connection with somebody. Maybe Tam and I aren't ever going to make babies in the suburbs, but it doesn't mean that what we have isn't real." He grins at her. "Tell her Tam—you love what I give you--affection and attention and validation and cuddles and pillow talk and all that girly shit Mac pretends like she doesn't want, but really she craves."

"You right,Lee-Lee. Problem is, I need it more than the couple nights a year we hook up."

"Well, that's Mac's fault." He shoots me a resentful look.

"How is that my fault!?!" I screech.

"Because I'm practically your surrogate boyfriend, always hanging out with you. There is only so much a brother can be expected to give, MacKenna. You need to think of me, and swipe right, so I can get a break from your needs. I have Tam to think of."

"Go fuck yourself, Leed," I spit. God, he's such an infuriating...brother, sometimes. No way is he putting his bullshit on me like that. He's no more capable of an actual relationship than I am. The difference between me and him is—Leed is delusional. He thinks one day, the perfect woman will arrive and flip his switch and he'll be capable of monogamy, loyalty, and love.

He is a fucking child.

"Nah, I'm holding out for Tams to do that," he smiles, still twirling in the chair like a five-year old.

"Y'all are certifiable, y'all know that, right?" Tam says mildly, combing out another section of my hair.

"Sound check! Now!" Our manager, Dawes Eddison, screams. Leeds rises and saunters out the door. Tamara holds me in place by the hair. "Two more foils. They can wait."

"Tamara, you know what? I don't know why you sleep with my brother. He's an asshole."

She makes a sound of disagreement. "Asshole? Naw. He's flaky, but he's sweet to me. Not to mention I trained him to give fantastic he—"

"TMI!" I shout, covering my ears.

She laughs long and hard. When I finally feel it's safe to remove my hands from my ears, she says quietly, "He's just worried about you. He's afraid you are going to fall victim to Your Great Weakness and have another...rough patch."

"I'm not going to let anybody hurt me again. And I'm not going to bed with Adam again, either. I...I'm not. We're just not...cut out to be friends-with-benefits."

"Truer words never spoken, baby girl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask.

Tamara tugs at my hair, whipping another piece of foil beneath it. "Mac, has it ever occurred to you that maybe you and Adam are actually in love? And that's why you can't make casual work? Because you care too much for casual?"

A zinging sensation prickles up and down my spine, but I shake it away with a shiver. "Love? I'm pretty sure that doesn't exist, Tamara. There's lust, and there's friendship, and there's that fucked up institution of sexual commerce—"

"You mean marriage?" Tamara laughs.

"Yeah."

"Damn baby girl, your parents really warped you, didn't they?"

"They didn't warp me. They demonstrated the truth. Commitment doesn't last. Monogamy is damn near impossible for more than a few years. Even open relationships are hard to maintain. Love is a fairy tale people made up to sell songs," I wink.

"You write pretty convincing songs about that fairy tale," Tamara says doubtfully.

I wave my manicured hand—gunmetal gray polish this week. "No, all that love bullshit is Trace. I write the angry ones," I smirk.

She sighs and pushes me out of her chair.

Soundcheck is a little tedious in this small hall. Our sound is really too big for the Fox. This is a stripped down show, just because it's cool as hell to play the Fox Theater. It takes a lot of time for the sound techs to adjust.

This our third show of this tour. So far, I've managed to avoid a lot of contact with Adam. In fact we haven't spent much down time together in the last year. We've seen a lot of each other—recording the last album, and appearances to promote—but we've managed to keep it professional. And Leed helps—despite how childish he sometimes acts, he get it, about Adam. He's pretty smooth about creating a buffer between us. But touring is different. Once we get to a venue for soundcheck, it's not so much about the band being handled. The main work is for the crew setting the show. So there's a lot of down time for us to interact.

And a lot of hotel rooms.

Bodie is having tedious discussion with Andy about the mic's on his kit, and Adam waltzes over to my keyboard platform and looks up at me. I keep my eyes on my equipment, but it's very difficult.

Of all the guys in the band, Adam has changed the most over the last five years. When I met him, he was...country. Raised up in Nashville, he could have easily been in the gospel/country music scene. But a scholarship took him to UGA, and fate roomed him with Trace, the edgiest dude on the planet. To say Trace's style has rubbed off on Adam wouldn't quite be accurate. More like...Trace, Marcy, and Tamara dragged Adam from country to cool. For years, he kept returning to his cargo shorts and Keens as soon as he stepped from public view, but somewhere, somehow in the last year, the rock star image has almost become second nature. Even now at Soundcheck, he's in skin tight jeans, a dark, ragged tank top, and jewelry. I sneak a peak at the tangle of bracelets on his wrists. That's new. I like them. I let my gaze wander up his bare biceps.

I like them too.

Adam is large and naturally muscular, but he looks more toned than ever. I heard he's been boxing with Bodie, but I can't believe it. I've never seen much aggression in Adam. Well, except in bed. In bed, he's one hundred percent alpha male. He works me up right, makes sure I'm satisfied, and then he takes what he needs. And I love giving him what he needs.

Loved, I mean. Past tense. That's over. In the past. Buried. Burned down.

My gaze travels up his neck to his mouth. Adam is the only one of the guys in the band that sports facial hair all the time. Just the right amount—a close-clipped shadow that makes his jaw so sexy and gives his upper lip that shiver factor when he brushes my bare skin with it.

Dammit. I need to get laid. By someone other than Adam.

I meet his eyes. They are dark blue. The kind that you might mistake for black from a distance, but that are shockingly deep with color up close. From where I stand, I can't see their true color.

But I'm not going to. Because I'm not getting that close to Adam. Not again.

I try to look away, but I've already made eye contact and opened the door to him.

"Hey Tin Head," His stubbled jaw vees down in a grin. "Gettin' good reception? The voices in your head clearer with all that foil?"

He's making it sound like a joke, but I hate the way he implies I'm crazy. I'm an artist. We are creative. Sometimes I'm a little volatile.

Okay, maybe I did go crazy for a minute in Portland last year. Most people don't get so freaked saying "I love you"  accidentally to their exclusive, casual bed-buddy that that they blow the shit up by immediately seeking out a stranger for violent, public sex.

But I needed a clean break.

Kind of like now. I need to push him away.

"Fuck off, Preacher."

Nobody calls him Preacher anymore. Not since we got signed and left for LA. He wanted to leave that nickname behind, and the guys good-naturedly deep-sixed it. It fit him once, though. He was so...earnest, humble.

"Wow. What a blow you've dealt me." He puts a hand to his heart, and feigns staggering backwards. "Going old-school with your hate, huh?"

He didn't like for me to call him that in bed, but god knows, he could deliver a religious experience any day of the week, and twice on Sundays. I feel the color draining from my face, remembering his love.

"There she is," he whispers, watching me go into shock beneath his intense star and the memory of his hands on me. "Haven't seen that girl in a while. Wow."

He smiles at me. My shocked, pale face smiles back.

What the fuck, face? What are you doing to me--smiling at him like that?

Am I not irritated at him right this second for calling me crazy? Did I not just spend half an hour saying how stupid relationships are? Why am I giving an Adam an inch? He'll steal my heart and run a marathon with it.

Andy saves me by yelling at Adam to combo with Bodie for a balance adjustment. Adam breaks the moment and swings toward the drum kit. Trace is watching me. He gives me a suspicious scowl. I give him a sneer. Trace is my song-writing partner and I love him dearly, but he irritates me, acting like I do Adam dirty.

Preacher is the dirty player. He fronts so sweet, but he'll try to take my soul if I let him.

So friends, how do you like Urgent so far? Do you think it's cool or cumbersome, that we've backtracked in time to events in EPIC, but from Mac's perspective. Don't worry, this book will cover more ground than EPIC--we'll be moving forward quicker.

What do you think about Mac so far? She seems pretty staunch in her views on serious relationships, doesn't she? Do you think she will remain cynic, or come to believe in love? We already know from the storyline in EPIC that she and Adam have a LOT of serious stuff to wade through. She and Adam are about as far apart as two people can get on the tradition spectrum...can they make it work somehow? Sparks are gonna fly!