My foot bounces against the marble floor, betraying my nervous energy. Waiting has never been my strong suit, but sitting here in the sterile luxury of the fifteenth floor, summoned by the CEO of Requiem Records without explanation, makes my skin crawl with unease. Never mind that it’s almost the end of my shift, and I’m ready to make the trek home before traffic becomes insane again.

People like me don’t get called to executive floors. I’m just one of several assistants buried in the communications department, invisible to the glass-walled offices where real decisions are made. The only time I see the executives is when they sweep through the lobby in their thousand-dollar suits, never bothering to acknowledge the worker bees who keep their empire running.

The silence stretches until it becomes suffocating. It’s broken only by the whisper of the distant hum of Nashville below. My palms are damp, so I wipe them against my black pencil skirt, wondering if I’ve somehow screwed up badly enough to warrant termination. The thought sends a chill down my spine. I can’t afford to lose this job. Not when I’m finally building a stable life, and one that’s all mine.

“Ria Blake?”

The voice cuts through my thoughts, crisp and professional. I look up to see a woman approaching. Her platinum blonde hair is pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. Everything about her screams corporate efficiency, from her pressed blazer to her perfectly manicured nails.

I’ve never seen her before, but her presence on the fifteenth floor marks her as an important enough person to matter. Forcing a smile to cover my confusion, I stand and smooth down my skirt, meeting her at the edge of the reception area.

“Yes, hi. I’m Rhea.” I make sure to pronounce it correctly, Ray, though I already know she’ll get it wrong. They always do.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Blake. I’m Paige McConnell, an artist liaison.” Her handshake is firm and businesslike, the kind that has been practiced in corporate seminars.

I accept her hand and shake it with just enough pressure to seem professional without being aggressive. “Nice to meet you, too.”

An uncomfortable silence settles between us as her gaze travels over me, cataloging details I can’t begin to guess at. She wears a calculating expression that makes my stomach twist.

“I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here?” Her tone suggests she’d rather get to the meat of things.

A nervous laugh escapes before I can stop it. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Walk with me, Rhea.” She turns sharply on her designer heels, already moving before I can respond.

I lengthen my stride to keep pace, my heart hammering against my ribs as we navigate the hallway. Everything up here is pristine and sterile. White walls are broken only by gold records in expensive frames, each one representing someone’s dreams.

“Tell me, Rhea, are you familiar with Case in Point?” She can’t be serious.

The question catches me off guard. Of course, I know them. You’d have to be living under a rock not to know the Grammy-winning Southern rock band that’s been dominating the charts for the past few years.

“Yes, I’m familiar.” I keep my voice neutral, noncommittal. Getting excited about rock stars isn’t my style, and I have a sneaking suspicion that showing any enthusiasm would be a mistake.

“We have a situation. I know it’s last-minute notice, but you came highly recommended from the communications department. The fact is, we’re short-staffed. And we can’t exactly call a temp agency. Can you imagine getting that assignment on a Thursday morning? For obvious reasons, we can’t slide just anyone into this role without expecting things to go sideways fast.” She turns her head to look at me, eagerly waiting for my reply.

My pulse quickens, though I’m not sure why. “I understand.”

“You’ll need to sign an NDA, of course.” Another expectant look.

“Of course.” I’m playing along because I have to, even though I have no idea what game we’re playing.

“Excellent.” Paige pushes through a set of frosted glass double doors with the kind of dramatic flair that belongs in movies. “Here she is.”

Every head in the room turns toward us, toward me. The urge to find a hole to crawl in overcomes me. Six pairs of eyes land on me with varying degrees of interest and curiosity, and I suddenly feel like a specimen under a microscope.

Six gorgeous men study me with casual attention that comes from being used to having people stare at them. The room practically hums with energy that only comes from talent and success, making the air feel thinner and harder to breathe.

I wasn’t prepared for this when I got dressed this morning. Hell, I wasn’t ready for any of this.

“Hi, I’m Rhea.” My voice comes out smaller than I’d like, and my wave nearly throws me off balance. I regain my footing before I can humiliate myself completely.

One of the men steps forward immediately, confidence radiating from every line of his body. His light brown hair hangs past his ears, not long enough to pull back with a band, but not short either. “Andrew Garrison, band manager.” His handshake is firm and professional. “Thank you for helping us out on such short notice. We’ll take good care of you.”

The room erupts into conversations, some in person, others on phones. Andrew’s mouth is moving, explaining something about schedules and logistics, but the words fade into background noise as my brain tries to process what’s happening.

What in the hell is going on?

A brunette with cat-eyeglasses appears beside me like she materialized from thin air, her clipboard and pen in hand. “Hey, Rhea! I’m Diana. I have an NDA and other paperwork that requires your signature. Mind taking care of that for us?”

I lean closer, lowering my voice beneath the general chaos. “I already signed an NDA with Requiem when I started. Why do I need another one?”

Diana’s laugh is warm but knowing. “They didn’t tell you about the tour?”

The words hit me like ice water. “What tour?”

“Case in Point needs a tour assistant.” She says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if I should have somehow known this was coming.

“I’m not a tour assistant.” The protest comes out sharper than I intend. “I work in communications. I’ve never even been on a tour.”

Diana’s expression shifts, becoming more serious as she studies my face. Without a word, she wraps her fingers around my elbow and guides me out of the room. I don’t resist. I need air and space to think, anything to escape the suffocating weight of all those eyes watching my every move.

She leads me across the floor to a bathroom that’s more like a luxury spa than a corporate restroom. The sitting area is furnished with Queen Anne chairs and antique settees that cost more than my car. Diana settles me into one of the settees and crouches down to meet my eyes.

“How old are you?” she gently prods.

“Twenty-six.” The defensiveness in my tone isn’t easy to hide.

“Kids? Is anyone depending on you?”

“No, but⁠—”

She cocks her head to the side and lifts a brow. “Boyfriend?”

“No, but⁠—”

“Pets?”

I sound pathetic even to myself. “No.”

Diana rocks back on her heels, studying me with an expression usually reserved for solving puzzles. “Girl, do you understand what just happened in there? You’ve been handed a golden ticket. There are six gorgeous, talented men who need someone they can trust, and they want to trust you. This is the opportunity of a lifetime, but you’re sitting here looking like someone just told you the world is ending. Do you know what this could do for your career? Case in Point could establish you as one of the elite in Nashville.”

I worry my bottom lip, my mind racing through all the reasons this is a terrible idea. “I can’t just drop everything and go on tour. I have a life here. Responsibilities.”

“What responsibilities? You just told me you have no attachments. No one depends on you. What’s really stopping you?” Diana’s tone isn’t unkind, but it’s direct.

The question hits deeper than she probably intends.

What is stopping me?

Fear, maybe. The knowledge that I’ve spent years building walls around myself, creating a safe, predictable life where no one can hurt me.

“I need stability, structure—a routine I can count on.”

“Honey, life isn’t about playing it safe. It’s about taking chances when they’re handed to you. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position right now? And you’re sitting here ready to throw it away because it’s not part of your five-year plan?” The disappointment is more than apparent in her tone.

Before I can respond, the bathroom door opens, and Gray Garrison walks in.

Time seems to slow as our eyes meet. His silvery-blue gaze widens in surprise at finding two women in what he clearly thought was an empty space.

“Shit. Sorry,” he says, already backing toward the door.

“You’re fine.” Diana waves him in. “We’re just having a heart-to-heart. Want to help me convince Rhea here that touring with Case in Point isn’t the worst thing that could happen to her?”

She shoots me a wink that’s part conspiracy, part challenge, then she heads for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes to finish the paperwork.”

And just like that, I’m alone with Gray Garrison.

The silence that follows Diana’s exit feels loaded with possibility and danger. Gray hovers near the entrance, clearly debating whether to stay or flee.

“Mind if I sit? I won’t be much of a bother.” Gray motions toward the seat next to me.

The polite, almost tentative way he asks catches me off guard. I motion toward the chair beside me, though my brain immediately questions the wisdom of encouraging him to stay.

He settles into the chair with an effortless grace that speaks of years in the spotlight, but there’s a vulnerability underneath the confidence. When he turns to look at me, those famous blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “So, you’re not thrilled about the tour idea?”

“It’s not that I’m not thrilled.” I pause, trying to find words that don’t make me sound like a coward or a negative Nancy. “It’s just not what I signed up for when I took this job.”

“Fair enough.” He leans back in his chair, studying me with curious eyes for a small eternity. “What did you sign up for?”

The question is simple, but he asks it like my answer matters to him, making me want to give him an honest response.

“Stability, I guess. A normal job with normal hours where I can go home at night and leave work at work.” I shrug, suddenly feeling foolish for wanting such mundane things when sitting across from a person who lives a life most people only dream about.

“Nothing wrong with wanting that. Though I’ll warn you that nothing about this business is normal, not even the desk jobs.”

I look at him more carefully. Up close, he’s even more beautiful than the photos suggest. He’s all sharp angles and perfect features that seem designed for magazine covers. But there’s a tiredness in his face.

“Can I ask you a question?” I pose before I can think better of it.

“Shoot.”

“Why do you need a new assistant?” I’m not sure if it really matters, but it could help sway my decision.

Gray’s expression darkens, and for a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. When he speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. “Our last assistant had some boundary issues. She crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.”

“What kind of line?” My interest is more than piqued.

He looks away, jaw ticking with barely contained anger. “She drugged our drummer. Roofied him at a party and tried to…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Let’s just say her intentions weren’t good. Parker passed out in the bus bathroom before she could follow through, but it could have been a lot worse.”

My eyes must grow as big as half dollars. “Jesus.”

Gray’s hands clench into fists in his lap. “We can’t afford to trust the wrong person again. Too much is at stake.”

I stare at him, trying to process what he just told me. The music industry has always seemed glamorous from the outside. It’s all bright lights, expensive cars, and adoring fans. But sitting here, seeing the exhaustion in Gray’s eyes, I’m getting a glimpse of something much darker.

“I’m sorry. That must have been terrifying.”

“It was.” He meets my eyes again. The rawness and honesty in his expression makes my chest tighten. “We need a person we can trust, not someone who is looking to use us, hurt us, or sell stories to the tabloids.”

“And you think that person is me?” I don’t hide the shock in my voice.

“I don’t know yet, but Diana seems to think so, and she has good instincts about people. “My phone buzzes against my leg, so I glance down to see a text from my supervisor, asking where I am. Reality comes crashing back. I have a job, responsibilities, and a life that doesn’t include touring with rock stars.

“I should get back.” I start to stand, typing out a return message to my boss, explaining who I’m with.

Gray’s hand closes gently around my wrist, stopping me. The contact sends electricity shooting up my arm, and I fight not to jerk away from the unexpected intensity of it. “Wait. It’s only fair if I get a turn before you go.”

I sink back into the chair, hyperaware of his fingers still wrapped around my wrist. “Okay?”

“Eight days ago, I got out of rehab – alcohol.” The admission hangs between us like a challenge. “I’ve been clean and sober ninety-eight days, and there are days that feel like a lifetime while others feel like they rush by.”

I’m at a loss for words, so I don’t speak at all.

“The thing about getting clean is that you start to see everything differently – the people around you, the choices you’ve made, the life you’ve been living. And you realize that most of the people in your orbit don’t give a fuck about you. They care about what you can do for them.”

His thumb brushes across my pulse point, probably feeling how fast my heart is beating. “We need a real person, Rhea. Someone who isn’t here for the wrong reasons.” His eyes search mine. “I can’t promise it’ll be easy. This life, especially in this industry, is messy, chaotic, and ugly. It may be different from what you’re currently doing, but that may not be such a bad thing.” He’s quiet for a long moment, entrancing me with his quiet, companionable silence.

It’s hard to believe I’m sitting beside Gray Garrison like it’s just any old day at the office. I don’t have to wonder what he’s thinking for long.

“Still not convinced?” he asks, lifting a brow and nudging his shoulder into mine.

Before I can respond, Diana bursts back through the door with her clipboard and a triumphant smile. “Ready to sign some papers?” Her bright tone is too chipper, and the reality of who I’ve been sitting here with for ten minutes slams into me. She just interrupted what might have been the most intense conversation of my life.

Gray releases my wrist and stands, but his eyes never leave mine. “Have dinner with me?”

I choke on my own spit, certain I’ve heard him wrong. “I’m sorry?”

“Food. I may even buy you dessert, if you’re good,” he teases as a grin spreads across his face.

Words elude me for a beat before my brain begins to function properly once more. “With you?” I don’t mean it the way it sounds.

“Ouch.” He rubs his chest, but the grin hasn’t faded yet. “I can invite the band, too, if you want. They’ll make a preacher cuss, though, so if that’s not your kind of night, then yes, it would be dinner with me.”

Is Gray Garrison asking me to dinner? Like in real life?

“Yes!” Diana exclaims on my behalf. “She’ll go to dinner with you.” She turns to me. “Now, could you please sign these papers so we can ensure Case in Point has an assistant?”

Gray extends his hand toward Diana. “Can I have those?”

Diana defensively holds her clipboard to her chest as if she’s guarding it with her life. “Um, no.”

“Why not?” Gray asks, and instead of growing irate or impatient, he’s cool, calm, and collected.

Diana’s eyes dart back and forth as she searches for the answer. Maybe, she can’t properly form sentences around him either. “I don’t know, but it feels like it’s my job to get her to sign.”

“Case in Point needs a tour assistant,” he reminds her.

“Right,” she replies.

“I’m going to take Rhea to dinner tonight and talk her into signing those papers… you know, so Case in Point can have a tour assistant.”

“Okay.” Diana deflates, hesitates, but finally removes the clipboard from the death lock against her chest, handing over the papers to Gray.

“Thank you,” he says kindly, accepting the thick stack of papers intended for me. “I hope you have a nice evening, Diana. It’s great seeing you again.”

“You’re welcome. But, Gray, don’t run her off before she signs.” Diana worries her bottom lip like she might’ve said too much.

Gray salutes her in good humor. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Then he offers me the crook of his elbow.

My gaze darts between Gray and Diana, silently asking if this is really happening to me. They look back at me with expectant expressions. I suppose when Gray Garrison asks you to dinner, you just say yes and worry about being able to function in his presence once you arrive.

I do just that by accepting his arm, letting him walk me out of Requiem Records, and allowing him to guide me to a waiting SUV. My synapses forget how to fire again once we’re tucked inside the vehicle. Gray tries to engage me in conversation, but it falls flat every time. He doesn’t seem to be bothered either way.

Our drive to a local barbeque joint only takes fifteen minutes before Gray slides out and crosses the vehicle to open my door. Ever the gentleman he’s promised to be, he proffers his hand to help me maneuver exiting the SUV.

“I’m starving,” he says as we turn toward the restaurant entrance. “Smells great.”

“Ever been here?”

“No, I don’t venture to this side of town much. Is it good?”

I smile at my luck. Gray chose one of the best restaurants in Nashville. “You’ll probably have to be rolled out of here.”

A small, deep, but genuine laugh escapes him. “That’s quite the picture you’ve painted.”

“It’s that good.”

When we approach the doors, he opens them for me, allowing me to pass through before him. The hostess station is empty, so we wait a moment for one to return. A young brunette shows first, guiding us to a table for two. Neither of us says anything on our way to a booth. Halfway there, another couple heads toward the exit from the opposite direction, looking sated and gluttonous. I stifle a smile to keep from pointing out the obvious to Gray. We’re both likely to be hurting when we leave here, too.

Gray moves in behind me to allow the couple to pass, but he’s next to me again as soon as they do. This time, though, he places his hand on my lower back. The contact instantly warms me, spreading through me like liquid fire. It reaches my middle, causing me to clench in response.

It’s the rock star gig, I tell myself. It has that effect on many men and women. I thought I was immune to it, but I guess Gray Garrison is different from any of the many musicians I’ve met in this town. Maybe by the end of our dinner, I’ll be able to put my finger on what makes him so unique.

When we reach the table, he waves toward the side of the booth facing away from the exit. “Is this side okay?”

“Perfect.” Sliding into the booth, I remove my purse and place it next to me.

Gray joins me on the other side of the table, smiles kindly at the hostess, and picks up his menu. “Thanks,” he tells her.

“Oh my God!” the young hostess shrieks, batting her lashes in disbelief. “You’re⁠— ”

“Don’t do that.” My voice is stern, carrying a warning.

Her eyes flicker to me as her pretty face turns up in anger. “What? Do you know who he is?”

Taking a deep breath, I do my best to straddle the line between telling her to shut the fuck up and go away or being more gracious toward her. “Yes, I know who he is – he’s a person. One who’d like to eat his dinner in peace for once without a hostess announcing to the entire restaurant that he’s in the house. He’d also like not to have to forgo this meal in lieu of another establishment that can offer him the luxury of dining in private.” I’m sassier than I mean to be, but she’s young. She needs to learn to respect people’s right to privacy. A ton of musicians live in this town, so this isn’t going to be her last time finding a celebrity out in the wild.

The hostess’s face twists tighter with anger, but before she can retort, a stocky man in a white shirt and red tie, wearing a name badge, intervenes. “Amber, you’re needed at the hostess station.” There’s no room for argument in his tone.

Amber blinks again, this time at the man next to her. It takes her a moment to process what’s happening before she turns on her heel, swings her long ponytail around, and marches off.

The stocky man in the white shirt turns his attention to us. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for that. No one else will bother y’all while you eat. You have my word. I’m a manager here at Ms. Nancy’s and will take care of you personally.”

“Thank you,” Gray says quietly, and it’s the first time he’s spoken since I took over the situation.

My gaze lands on him, sitting across the table from me and smirking at me like I just gave him the best news of his life.

“Can I get you lovely folks started off with drinks or appetizers?” the manager asks.

We order our respective drinks, both sticking to water with a slice of lemon.

Once the manager leaves to fetch our beverages, Gray’s gaze settles on me. Curiosity and amusement dance in his eyes. “Thank you for averting a crisis with the hostess.”

Suddenly, I’m somewhat embarrassed that I was so stern with the young girl. “It must be tough to be out in the wild.”

“Yes, at times, it is. I’m happy to give an autograph to most people, but when an entire restaurant converges on you at once, it can be overwhelming. It makes it difficult to be able to go out spontaneously.”

We fall into easy conversation after that, only interrupted by the manager returning with our drinks and taking our food order. Gray has a hard time deciding what he wants from their extensive menu, so he settles on a sampler that includes a little of everything.

“Tell me about yourself,” he says once we’re alone again.

It’s such a broad request that it sends me into a minor panic for a few seconds. I never know where to start or even know what I’m comfortable sharing with most people. “What would you like to know?”

Gray considers me for a moment. “Why don’t we play a little game?”

“What type of game?” The apprehension in my voice is obvious.

“You can ask me a question, anything that comes to your mind, and I have to answer honestly. But I get to ask a question next, and you have to also answer truthfully.” He doesn’t seem like the type of man who’d play mind games to get me into bed, but I just never know with most people.

I saw a lot at a young age with my mom being an addict, and I tend to err on the side of caution where people are concerned. I’ve seen the worst of the worst. “What’s it like to be famous?” I start off with something easy, a topic he can shed light on without digging too deep at first.

“It’s a mixed bag,” he answers, thoughtfully looking off into the distance. “I dig the music side, like when fans sing along with our songs, or someone tells me a song saved their life. That shit is monumental and touching. But the flip side of the coin is that I have no privacy or the level of control over my own career that I’d like.”

“My turn, yeah?” he asks, and I nod, hoping he’ll start with a gentle approach. “What’s your apprehension about going on tour?”

Gray goes straight for the jugular. I think about my small apartment, my predictable routine, and my safe but lonely life. I think about Gray’s words, the exhaustion in his eyes, and the gentleness in his touch. My heart is still racing from him touching my lower back. “Rock and roll, I guess?”

He takes that in for a long moment before he replies, “Rock and roll, yeah. I get it. It’s a lot, all the fucking time.” He chuckles. “I think it’ll always be a wild ride in this industry for everyone involved, but hopefully with age and a little grace, we can learn to navigate the perils a little more easily.”

“The perils… those are my biggest concerns about going on tour” I admit, honestly hoping he’ll realize sooner rather than later that I’m the worst candidate for the job.

A rueful smile blossoms across his handsome face. “Which ones?”

“Mainly, the substances and the people.” I hate to be so general in my description, but those are my fears.

“Substances are everywhere in the world, and a lot of bands have strict ‘no hard shit on tour’ rules. I’m even thinking of enacting an alcohol ban backstage. I don’t really want it in my face all the time,” he says, and there’s a sense of hope in his words.

Since it’s my turn to ask a question, I take my time thinking of one that’ll potentially shed a positive light on touring with a rock and roll band. “What’s the wildest thing you’ve ever done on tour?”

The waiter approaches with our meals, giving him a brief reprieve from answering me. Once our plates are in front of us and it’s just the two of us again, Gray clears his throat. “Do you mean in a sexual or nonsexual sense? I don’t want to assume anything and make us both uncomfortable.”

“Both?” I’m more surprised than he is by my answer. Did I just come on to Gray Garrison? What the fuck is wrong with me? Maybe I’ve made it awkward enough for both of us that he’ll renege on the offer to be their tour assistant. Come to think of it, my mortifying answer isn’t the worst idea.

“Nonsexual… I suppose it would be the time I hung out with the crazy drummer from Broken Access. I spent two days off with them in their hometown. He got me to play a game of chicken with his pet alligator, who was named Artie the Alligator.”

I’m not sure which to address first. “The alligator had a name?”

Gray laughs, and it’s so deep and sexy it makes my blood heat. “I guess if it’s a pet, then it needs a name.”

Considering his philosophy for a moment, I nod. “Fair enough. I’m taking it you won the game of chicken since you’re still here.”

“Not exactly, but that’s a story for another day. You had a two-part question, but our food might get cold if we don’t dig in.” He reminds me about the eating part of dinner, so I get to it.

We eat in relative silence, but I grow anxious with every second that passes to hear how sordid Gray Garrison’s sex life is. I mean, it has to be, right? Look at him. By the time he answers the second part of my question, I want to tell him to forget I even asked. No harm, no foul.

“I had a threesome once with two actresses.” He doesn’t say anything else, just waits for me to react.

Managing to keep a passive expression, I simply respond, “Just one?”

He laughs louder than before, amusement dancing in his silvery-blue eyes. “Yes, and the only reason I was involved in it is because I couldn’t read women very well at the time. Like I was completely oblivious it was about to go down until clothes started flying across the room.”

Joining in his laughter, I smile. “I figured you’d have a bedpost full of notches.”

He cringes, and in turn, I cringe. “No notches, Rhea. I’m not that guy. I know it might be hard to believe, but I don’t seek out women very often. Not every rocker is a man-whore.” He doesn’t sound upset, but more like he wants to ensure I know that I’ve got it all wrong.

I can’t be happier about being wrong. If I’m honest, I don’t see Gray as being the type of guy who uses women. “I didn’t mean to sound so stereotypical.”

Waving off my apology, Gray changes the subject. “I suppose I only have two more questions. First, I’d like to know why you play it so safely in life.”

“I’ve been on my own since right after my seventeenth birthday. I’m the only person I have in this world. I guess, it scares me that I might come to depend on anyone or anything like a tour or job or…” I begin.

“Or people?” he asks, finishing my question.

I have the good sense to look ashamed before I reply. “Yeah, people are hard sometimes.”

“Indeed, they are,” he agrees in a way that only a person who’s experienced many hardships can. “There’s more to the story, though. A woman doesn’t become as guarded as you without good reason. I won’t press you today, but I would love to peel back the layers that make you up soon.”

“There’s not much more to the story. I became an orphan at seventeen. I miss my mom, but I put boundaries in place at a young age due to her and my childhood traumas.” I hope this doesn’t sound like a sob story.

“Shit. I’m sorry I pried.” Gray isn’t amused any longer, but genuinely looks like he might throw up.

I wave off his apology. “There’s no need to be sorry. It happened a long time ago. Next year will be ten years.”

“I lost my mom at a young age, too – a bit earlier than you, but I’ve always had my older brother, Andrew. I’m sorry you had to endure the loss of a parent as well.”

Silence falls between us, full of all the questions I want to ask him. Finally, I decide to move the game along. “You said you had two questions. What’s the second?”

He wags a finger. “Nuh-uh, not so fast, gorgeous. It’s your turn, then I’ll ask my second question.”

“Oh, I don’t have another question right off.” My mind moves as fast as it can to come up with one more turn. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Yikes, you went straight for the jugular.” He laughs. “The answer is no. I’ve never been in love. Maybe there’s something wrong with me,” he pauses and scoffs, “I mean, more than the obvious addiction issues. I just think love and all the things that can come with it are a big deal. It shouldn’t be entered lightly, so I don’t use those three words unless I mean them. I’ve been on the receiving end of love declarations a few times in my life. Those make me feel shitty and even more problematic and flawed as a human being than I already do, because I can’t say the words back.”

“It shouldn’t make you feel shitty, problematic, or flawed. I think it’s commendable that you didn’t say them to a person to save face. It’s not easy to face unrequited feelings without having some sense of responsibility.”

“Thank you for saying that.” He rubs his hands together, smirking across the table at me. “Ready for my last question?”

“Sure?” I chuckle, having a feeling that he’s saving the best for last.

“Will you go on tour with Case in Point?” he asks, and just sits there as I try to manufacture words.

I think about my safe little life, apartment, and job. I focus on what I might gain – adventure, purpose, perhaps even a sense of belonging. Gray’s patience is impressive as I debate the pros and cons of touring with him and the band. Making a few mental lists, I decide I can’t keep track and give up on that task.

“Where do I sign?” I hear myself say, wondering what the hell I’ve just gotten myself into.