Prologue
MACH
Mach Powers’life was a fucking fiasco.
Here’s the deal. He was the ride-or-die friend everybody needs—always there to support his crew. And the fact that they’d do anything for him? Well, that just showed off more of his awesomeness.
Yeah, Mach adored his makeshift family of friends. He’d adore them more if his head wasn’t about to explode from staring at the Nocturnal Cupid dating app.
Man, he really should’ve checked with his publicist before he decided to take things in his own hands and deflect attention away from his best bud, and brother from another mother, Tanner (and his girl Sami Jo). They’d found themselves in a pickle of a spotlight, and they needed someone to create a distraction. Mach took it upon himself to provide that for them.
He’d come up with the Nocturnal Cupid date all by himself. Which meant he had no one else to blame for his stupidity.
See, Mach had an idea and, honestly, he didn’t even know how it came to him. The fact was that he did, and then he rolled with it. That idea being that he’d run a little publicity-generating contest for a date with… him.
This wasn’t to really find a date—c’mon, he could do that on his own. He played guitar for Dimefront and he looked half-decent with good hair.
The set-up? The thousandth woman to swipe right on his profile won the contest. She'd get a date with Mach.
The tabloids ate it up like it was tacos on Tuesday.
He figured he wouldn’t have to go through with it since there’d only be a few hundred entries. Everybody would win—he’d take the spotlight off Tanner and Sami Jo and there wouldn’t be any collateral damage.
But surprise, surprise, he was wrong.
Turns out thousands of women were dying to go on this date with him. How the hell was he supposed to pick just one winner?
The entries. Dear God, the entries. Fuck, they kept pouring in, and the app shuffled them around so much, he couldn’t tell who lucky number 1,000 was supposed to be.
Like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but with tons of single girls on an app instead of hay.
Yeah, that’s how he found himself waiting to go on stage at Brek’s Bar and sorting through online dating profiles. He and the other guys hung in the employee lounge—a small room with a Formica table, small sofa, crates stacked against the wall, and a fridge.
They often took the stage at Brek’s when they came home to Denver, so this wasn’t anything new. And, usually, this was the time he’d be amping himself up for the concert. But tonight he couldn’t focus on anything except trying to solve this fucking puzzle. That’s why he only half-listened to his buddies while they shot the shit.
"You can always help Mach figure out what the fuck he’s doing," Bax said.
Mach glanced up at the mention of his name.
Bax was their lead singer and he lounged in his chair next to Linx, the bass player.
"I will let you handle the whole damn thing," Mach assured, poking away at his cell but, dammit, the entries shuffled again. Shit.
He clenched his jaw, ready to throw the whole situation out the window.
His friends all had time to balance their chairs on two legs in some kind of fucked-up contest with each other, and there he was still sorting his mess.
"Dealing with your dating profile sounds like the worst possible way to start feeling better about shit," Tanner said.
"Yeah, I can see that," Mach said, nodding, exasperated, and still poking at the screen.
Fu-u-uck, it shuffled again!
"Let me do it." Band publicist Courtney held out her hand. "And guys, put your chairs down. We don’t need a cracked skull before the show, ‘k?"
"You want to pick the winner?" Mach asked, frowning.
He should’ve asked her about the contest from the jump, because she would’ve had a way better plan. Actually, shedidhave a better plan and her plan actually worked.
