He adored Gracie. He worshipped at the altar of her awesomeness. He’d give her a kidney if she needed one.

And she was keeping him securely in the friend zone. Even though she tossed him just enough line to make him either hopeful for an actual relationship or to strangle himself with.

I honestly didn’t understand what Gracie was thinking. Personally I suspected that there were more than friendly feelings beneath her staunch denial. I knew they had never hooked up. No kissing. No questionable touching. But I knew she thought about it. I saw the green eyed monster rearing its nasty head when girls flirted with him.

Mitch, like Cole, was no saint. He slept around like any self-respecting up and coming rock star. He sampled his way through the tang buffet.

And it pissed Gracie off, though she would never say so.

She only had herself to blame though. So it was hard to feel sorry for her when her face took on the green pallor of imminent upchuck as she watched girls slip Mitch their telephone numbers.

Then Gracie would go and screw the first guy she came in contact with.

Their pattern was about as destructive as my own.

But Mitch would still be there to call her every day. He’d send her packages from the road full of thoughtful presents just to let her know he was thinking about her.

She was always the girl at the front of his mind.

But I worried that the day would come when Mitch would no longer be content to play the part of Gracie’s pet. He wouldn’t coast along forever in the ambiguous state of limbo they existed in. One day one of those random girls would catch his eye and his heart and he would move on.

And I knew, whether Gracie could admit it to herself, she would be devastated.

“Isn’t that sweet? It’s almost like you love him or something.” I couldn’t help it. My maturity level was questionable at the best of times.

Gracie’s eyes narrowed and I smirked.

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response,” she sniffed.

“But you just did,” I pointed out, giggling.

“So are you going to come with me or not? Isn’t it time for your drama fix? Aren’t you in withdrawal from not having a reason to throw something?” Gracie asked, grinning.

I stuck my tongue out at her. “Touché, bitch,” I conceded.

“We’ll see. I’m pretty slammed with this gala I’m planning. I’m not sure I can afford to go gallivanting off to North Carolina for the weekend. I’m pretending to be a productive member of society, darn it.”

Gracie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. You live for gallivanting. And I think your emerging alter ego can take a rest for two days. I’ve been getting the feeling that Maysie could use our company. I get the impression that things are getting tense on the road,” she said, surprising me.

“Really? What has she said?” I asked. Cole hadn’t mentioned anything about tension or problems on the tour. But maybe that explained his sudden clingy need to call every day.

Gracie shrugged. “She hasn’t said much, just that the guys have been at each others’ throats a bit more than normal. Apparently the radio interview didn’t go that well.”

That shocked me. I had gotten the impression from Cole that it had been really good. Their airplay and visibility was rising considerable.

“Really?”

Gracie nodded. “Yeah, this DJ chick only wanted to ask Cole questions. She pretty much ignored the rest of the guys. And you know that went down like a lead balloon with Jordan particularly. They had a huge fight and Maysie thought security at the radio station was going to call the cops.”

I was in total recoil. Not that some DJ lady wanted to focus on Cole but the fact that Maysie was picking up on so much bad blood. I knew Cole and Jordan had a contentious relationship. You couldn’t necessarily call them “friends” but they got on well enough when it came to their music. And both of them put their feelings aside for their music. This was not good at all.

“Maysie said this is becoming more and more of the norm. Their publicity photo shoot ended up being a Cole Brandt wank fest. They took some shots of the band but I guess the record label had asked for a bunch of pictures with just Cole. Seems they’re pushing him as the face of the band. This time it wasn’t just Jordan that had the problem. Apparently Mitch wasn’t too happy with it either. I asked him about it but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it. Maysie says that it’s causing a huge division in the group. Jose, their manager keeps suggesting that they beef up Cole’s vocals; he wants Jordan to cut his drum solos. They’ve even changed the sets and have cut all the songs where anyone else sings. And Cole doesn’t see what the big deal is. Maysie is spending all of her time trying to convince Jordan not to quit.”

I wasn’t entirely surprised that the label would want to push Cole forward for increasing publicity. He was hot. He was sexy. He made girls drop their panties in less time it took for him to get their names.

He was a hell of singer. He was talented. He was a bad boy. He was the entire freaking package.

And those very things are what made me want to simultaneously kiss him senseless and bash his brains in.

Cole’s ego, when unchecked, was a dangerous thing. I had seen it firsthand. I was often on the receiving end of his insensitivity. But I never thought he’d allow anything to mess up his band.

Cole clearly needed a hard smack in the face.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll go. I’ll make sure things are square at work. Figure out the hotel details and I’ll give you the money,” I said, knowing my earlier excuses had been feeble at best.