"Where were you?" Cole asked in a teasing tone when I found him at the bar. "Let me guess. You found the man of your dreams but were too aloof for him to notice you. That's my IQ. Nobody scares men off the way you do."

I hated when he called me IQ. I was about to tell him as much when I was interrupted.

"What? Maisy was roofied?" Parker repeated, obviously mishearing the word aloof. "Who do we have to beat up?"

"I am fine! All of you calm down!" I loved my siblings, but they needed to stop acting like we were living in the seventeenth century and they'd been personally enlisted by the king of England to guard my virtue.

"All joking aside, you know how dangerous clubs can be," Fitz added, his worried expression making me feel a little guilty for not tell­ing them where I was going.

"I'm fully aware of the dangers, thanks to your many hypocritical lectures." How was I supposed to tell them what had just happened outside? I hardly believed it myself. "I think you guys should sit down. There's something I need to talk to you about."

They warily did as I asked.

I stood silently for a moment, not sure what to say or how they would react. Better just to rip off the bandage all at once. "So this random thing happened. Ryan De Luna came to see us perform tonight. He liked what he saw, and he asked if we wanted to be his opening act for the rest of his tour."

My brothers just gaped at me. Like I'd announced my recent return from exploring the planet Mars and discovered a new humanoid species there that made me their empress.

I told them the financial details and how Ryan was waiting to hear from us. "If we don't meet him at the Brown Bear diner in half an hour, he'll assume the answer is no."

"Ryan De Luna was here. Tonight. He listened to us play, and now he wants us to open for him? The biggest tour of the year?" Parker said each word slowly and carefully.

I nodded. "That's what I just said."

"And he's at the Brown Bear diner right now, waiting for us to say yes or no?"

"Do you guys have a hearing problem? Yes, he wants us to open for him, and yes, he's waiting for our answer."

All three brothers exchanged glances and without another word jumped to their feet and sprinted for the back door. Fitz grabbed my wrist, pulling me alongside him as they ran.

When we were all in the van and Parker had somehow coaxed the beast into starting, I asked, "Does that mean you're interested?"

Fitz looked at me like I was especially dumb. "This is the biggest opportunity we've ever gotten. We'd have to be total idiots to pass it up. I just don't understand why he'd want us to open for him. We're not going to bring in any new fans. Everybody in the audience would be there just to see him, and we'd get to benefit from it."

"Yeah, and what he's offering salary-wise is really generous, given where we're at in our career," Cole added. "He could have paid us a lot less. Why would he pay us so much?"

"Maybe he's just a nice guy." It was something I had been consid­ering since I left his car. I had initially assumed he was an arrogant, playboy douchebag, but maybe I'd been wrong.

We were stopped at a red light. All of my brothers turned to stare at me, and I could see the moment when all three light bulbs lit up over their heads.

"He wants you," Parker said, forced to face forward as the light changed. "This is about you."

"No way. This is not about me. I have made it very clear to him that I'm not interested. At all. The night I met him backstage? He was a total jerk to me. I called him names. The only reason I didn't hit him was because he has big, scary bodyguards. And I really laid into him. You guys would have been proud."

"Maybe that's what he's into," Parker murmured to Cole, who nodded.

I threw up my hands in exasperation. "You guys are seriously the stupidest people ever."

"Even if he tries to make a move on Maisy, and we have to rough up his pretty-boy face"—Cole kept talking like I hadn't even said anything— "it wouldn't matter. This will get our name out there in a big way, and if people like what they see, we'll book new tours and sell our songs. We might finally be able to make a living as artists."

That hadn't occurred to me until he'd pointed it out. That open­ing for Ryan might mean opening for other acts. That we would get to travel all over the world, performing for thousands of people, building a name for ourselves, gathering a fan base that would actually buy our music.

Ryan was offering to help us start down the path that would lead to everything we'd ever wanted.

It seemed too good to be true. "Do I get a say in this? Like always, you guys have decided what we're doing without even asking what I want."

"Okay, IQ, what do you want?" Cole asked.

"Don't call me that. I don't know what I want. But what if I say no, I don't want to tour with Ryan De Luna?" I couldn't imagine months of my brothers jumping to idiotic conclusions where he and I were concerned.

"We need the money." Parker looked at me in the rearview mirror.

We pulled up in front of the diner. I felt both relief and a bit of panic when I saw that Ryan's car was there. As we climbed out of the van, I was hit with the smell of pumpkin pie, my absolute favorite. I worried a bit about how the introductions would go but stopped with my hand on the front door when I realized my brothers had stayed on the sidewalk, near the van. "What are you doing?"

"Go on ahead of us. We're going to have a discussion on how to handle your new boyfriend," Cole said.

If I kept rolling my eyes this hard, I was going to permanently detach them from my eye sockets. "He's not my boyfriend. He's not even boyfriend-adjacent. We're not going to date, and the quicker you Neanderthals get that through your furrowed foreheads, the easier your lives will be. Now I'm going in not because you told me to but because I really want pie."

Holding up my head, I marched inside. There weren't many people in the diner, and Ryan sat all the way in the back, near the bathroom. He had his hat and glasses on. "Hey," I said, sliding into the booth.

He sported that bone-melting smile again. "I didn't know if you'd come."

"Here I am." Yeah, this wasn't at all awkward. How was it possible for one person to be this good-looking? He sat there looking like a half-Latino Clark Kent. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was so handsome he could have been a movie star, he had this . . . power. This draw that made it so you didn't want to look away from him. Like he was the sun and you were the planet formerly known as Pluto, desperately wishing you weren't so far apart but knowing he would burn and consume you with just one touch if you altered your orbit to get closer.

He was so gorgeous he made you think inappropriate things.

Not that it had ever happened to me.

"What about the rest of the band?"

"Outside, acting like morons." I pointed at them as a waitress approached. I asked for the pumpkin pie and told her to bring some for Ryan as well. He started to protest, but I insisted she bring it.

"I don't really eat processed sugar," Ryan said. "I'm into the whole clean-living thing."

"Me, too. Although sometimes my clean living includes eating a pound of fudge at midnight."

He nodded seriously. "Oh no, I don't have food issues."

Without thinking, I leaned over and smacked him on his manly forearm. "I don't have food issues!"

He laughed. "The pounds of fudge consumed at midnight would suggest otherwise." Which made me laugh, too.

The waitress returned with our slices of pie, topped off with Cool Whip, and we both thanked her. I immediately dug in and couldn't help but let out a little moan when the combination of pumpkin, ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg hit my tongue. "This is seriously the best thing that has ever happened to my mouth."

"That's sad."

He was such a flirt. And I had the racing heart rate to prove it.

"It's not sad. It's amazing. Try it."

Ryan took one tiny bite, just enough to taste it. "It is good. But I can say with all confidence that it's not the best thing that's ever hap­pened to my mouth." The fiery intensity of his stare was enough to make my Cool Whip melt.

I swallowed hard. He was making this difficult. I was going to go on tour with him unless my idiot brothers were outside coming up with a way to ruin that, and I didn't know how I would be able to handle a sweet, nice, flirtatious Ryan De Luna.

Maybe it was just a waiting game. If I gave him enough time, he'd go back to accusing me of using his cousin to make him jealous. Or bragging about how great he was or how women worshipped him. Something.

Then I could get over this teeny physical crush I had on him.

Okay, this King Kong–size physical crush I had on him.

Trying to look away from him was like trying to pry two really powerful magnets apart. There was a lot of resistance.

Stop staring at him. You've seen good-looking men before. Why are you acting like this is the first time it's ever happened?

I couldn't stop. I didn't know what was wrong with me.

"So, tell me the names of the other guys in your band."

"Um, the tallest one is Fitz, the one in desperate need of a haircut is Parker, and the one waving his arms around is Cole."

"Since you don't date musicians, do you just hook up with them instead? Any history there I should know about? Touring with exes can get complicated."

I choked on my pie and tried very hard not to gag. "Ew. Gross. Zero history. They're my brothers. And the no-dating thing includes hooking up. I don't, how did you put it, notch with musicians, either. That's also a rule."

"So, what, you notch nonmusicians?"

I could feel the flush burning its way through all my layers of skin, setting my cheeks on fire.

"No."

His eyebrows flew up. "Seriously? You've never—"

"Not that it's any of your business, but never. It's something I plan on waiting for. Until I get married." After watching my mother throw away her entire adult life, I had no intention of following in her footsteps. I would never give that much of myself to just some guy. Especially some musician guy. The only way I could imagine it ever happening was if I was so committed to someone, and so trusted him, that I was willing to marry him.

Thankfully, he changed the subject. "They're all your brothers?

"Is Fitz short for something?"

"Fitzgerald. Our father wanted to name us all after famous jazz musicians. Cole is short for Coltrane, and then Parker couldn't really be shortened."

Ryan ate another tiny sliver of pie. "I don't know anyone in jazz named Maisy."

I pushed down the lump in my throat as I thought of my mom. "My mother insisted that I be named after my grandmother. So my middle name is Ellington."

"Do you get your talent from her?"

"No. She couldn't have carried a tune in a bucket. She used to swear that my first word was shubbup. When she sang me to sleep, I would tell her to shut up every single time." I would have given just about anything to have her sing it to me again, though.

Ryan laughed at my story, and it warmed me inside not only to hear it but also to share this good memory of my mom. I had actually forgotten about it.

"Does your mother like jazz, too? Is that why she went along with the jazz-musician names?"

No, she'd gone along with it because she had absolutely no self-respect or pride where my father was concerned. "She was more of a Beatles fan. If she'd had her way, we'd be John, Paul, George, and Ringo."

He gave me a serious nod. "I can see you as a Ringo."

Now it was my turn to laugh.

"Is that why your band is called Yesterday?"

"Yep. It was her favorite song."

Ryan pushed the Cool Whip off his pie and looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should. "You talk about your mom using the past tense. Did she pass away?"

I let out a shaky sigh. "No . . . but it's hard to explain." Especially without curling up into a ball and sobbing.

He tapped his fork against his plate. "Maybe you'll tell me the story someday."

"Hey."

I had been so caught up in my conversation with Ryan that I had completely forgotten about my brothers. Now all three of them stood next to the booth, glaring at us.

"One question, dude," Parker said, taking a step forward. "Are you asking us to be your opening act so you can bag our sister?"