I clear my throat and break the bad news. "Unfortunately, I haven't been able to book a new gig yet. I sent out about a hundred emails last night to every venue I could find. My 'dammit' was the first 'no thanks' coming through."

Drax leans over and elbows Savory. "Isn't she cute?"

Savory nods, a smirk playing at his lips. "Totally. She's downright adorable."

What are these two talking about? They're doing that 'best friend psychic talk' again. I'm clearly the brunt of some joke only they know.

"Yeah, she's smokin'," Jake chimes in, clearly as oblivious as me.

Drax's expression turns dark. "Watch your mouth, man."

If someone were to invent a new device that would allow humans to shoot steam from their ears and fire from their eyes, I'm pretty sure he'd be the first in line to test it. It's silly and shallow and very cave-woman of me, but I'm all fluttery inside that he's so protective. I don't want him to hurt Jake or anything, but I'm surprised to discover a side of me that likes a he-man. Who knew?

I don't want this to turn ugly so I laugh and say, "What are you guys talking about anyway? Other than the obvious..." I wave a hand at my curves, once again poured into my awesome blue dress. "Why am I so cute?"

Drax tears his gaze away from Jake, who's now cowering like a puppy caught rummaging through the garbage. "Lauren, the odds of you being able to book a show at the last minute like this are astronomical. Don't beat yourself up if nothing shakes out. Just getting the rest of our pay is worth the trip, as far as I'm concerned. Plus, other stuff."

I blush like a schoolgirl, but the others ignore the innuendo.

"Damn straight," Jake says just a bit too enthusiastically. He's trying to make up for his bonehead comment. "Now let's celebrate with some Denny's!"

After an artery-clogging omelette, I'm ready to hit the sack. I'm doing my darnedest to keep up with all the music biz talk the boys are yammering about but it quickly turns into white noise. I catch my head bobbing and snort myself awake.

Classy.

"I see someone's not used to musician hours," Drax says. "We should probably get Sleeping Beauty here back to the bus so she can catch some ZZZs."

I want to argue, to say I'm totally fine, but the truth is, I'm a wreck. The scrumptious thought of resting my brain-dead head on that not-particularly-soft bed in the bus gives me just enough energy to make it back to the RV park.

Drax guides me to the little back bedroom and begins to undress me. I moan and press against him, half of me wanting him to take me right here, right now. But he's smart enough to know that the other half needs her rest.

"Shh, little Lola. Later, when you're not a zombie. You may be surprised to learn that I like my ladies to actually be awake when I rock their world."

I'm out almost before my head hits the pillow.

Hours could have passed or maybe just minutes, but something jars me into consciousness. Where am I? The room is dark, though a gleam of light spurts out from the edges of the window shades. Slowly I realize that I'm not in my room over the record store. I'm in an RV.

Oh, right! A bus. Roadkill's bus. And last night, somewhere between Bakersfield and Barstow, Draymond Maxwell blew my mind -- among other things -- right here in this very bed. I squirm at the memory, flickers of heat sparking low in my belly.

The voices on the other side of the accordion door are growing louder but I can't quite make out what they're saying. Something's going on and there's no way I'm going back to sleep until I find out what it is. I pause as I shrug into the same ill-fitting robe I worked in all night on the way here.

Just one day ago, I was cursing the day Drax's parents met because they produced the most infuriating demon spawn ever to walk the face of the earth. Now I'm wearing his robe and sleeping in his bed. Oh yeah, and I'm the band's manager...for the time being.

If you would have told me all this yesterday, I would have laughed in your face and then maybe popped you one in the mouth for suggesting I was easy or something. What a difference a few hours and one panty-melting kiss can make! I pinch myself to make sure I'm not actually dreaming. I have no idea how that's supposed to determine whether I'm asleep, but it hurts so I guess that means I'm awake.

"Yes, this would do nicely," says a voice I don't recognize on the other side of the door. "What's back here, I wonder?"

Sliding open the door before anyone else can, I find myself face-to-face with a strange man. A very handsome strange man.

"Oh!"

He's dressed to the nines in a custom-tailored suit I know cost more than my current car -- which isn't really saying much, to be honest. His dark brown eyes gives me an appraising once-over, a single thick, black eyebrow launching up his forehead. A stray lock of his slicked-back dark brown hair drapes across it.

I pull the robe tighter up top, but that only makes it gape down low. I feel like a slab of meat hanging in the butcher's window.

 "Oh, is right," he oozes.

Yeah, that's right. This man oozes. Everything about him. He oozes charm, the words he speaks ooze from his lips, his cologne oozes off him in waves, and I'm pretty sure he's oozing hair product. My spidey-sense is screaming 'Run away!' but there's nowhere to run.

"That's enough!" Drax looks ready to bite the head off this guy. Not in a scolding kind of way, but in an Ozzy Ozbourne-with-a-bat way. "We got the message, now get out."

The man's eyes narrow and there's no mistaking that he's dangerous. Ignoring Drax's rage, he takes my hand and lifts it to his lips, never breaking eye contact. I'm breathless with confusion and fear but I don't dare snatch my hand away.

Just because I'm in a sleepy stupor doesn't mean I'm stupid. I grew up in San Francisco, about a decapitated horse's head away from North Beach, the major Italian neighborhood. It's safe to say that I know a mobster when I see one.

"And who might you be?" His interest in me sends chills down my spine, and not in the fun way. But if there's one thing I know about dealing with this type of guy, it's to be respectful without showing any fear.

Mustering all the bravery I can, I move my lips into something that resembles a smile and twist my hand in his to shake it. "I'm Lauren Raines, Roadkill's manager."

My gaze never wavers from his, but I try to keep it cordial. I don't want him to think I'm challenging him. But over his shoulder, Drax is seething and ready to pounce. I have no clue what's happening, but it's not good, and one wrong move could make it about a billion times worse.

"Marco Gasperini," he says...excuse me, oozes. The twinkle in his eye says he knows I'm more than just a manager. Man, these mob guys pick up on everything.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Gasperini. How can I help you?"

His slimy smile grows wider. "Oh, I can think of so many ways..."

That's the final straw for Drax. He lunges but luckily Jake and Savory grab him. Marco ignores the scuffle behind him. Cocky bugger!

"Let's start with the reason you came for a visit and move on from there. Can I offer you something to drink?"

I can tell he's impressed with my handling of the situation but he's quickly growing bored. Or maybe he's running late for an appointment to break someone's kneecaps. Whatever it is, the smile falls away and is replaced by a dark veil of warning.

"Thanks for your hospitality, honey -- more than your, uh, clients offered -- but I have other business to attend to. I'm sure the boys here will fill you in."