Page 65 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“It might.”

I take a sip of my beer. “Then, no.”

He glances toward the bar, following my line of sight. “Right.”

Julian catches the look and turns in his seat, then groans. “Wow. People really don’t know how to be subtle.”

“Shocking,” I mutter.

Nina lowers her voice. “Do you want to go?”

The thing is, I don’t.

Or rather, I do and I don’t. I want the room to stop watching us. I want to stop feeling like my skin is too tight over my bones. But I also don’t want to be the reason the night ends. I don’t want to bolt every time the atmosphere changes and prove every stupid thing my brain says about not belonging in situations like this.

Before I can answer, Tommy solves it for me.

He strides up to the small stage between songs, taps the microphone, and says, “All right, listen up, you vultures.”

The room laughs.

“Two things,” he continues. “One, if I catch anybody making my regulars uncomfortable in my bar, I will personally throw you out and make you drink light beer in the parking lot.”

That gets a louder laugh.

“Two…” His eyes cut toward our table with suspicious innocence. “Seeing as we’ve got old company in the house tonight…”

The room shifts.

Oh no.

No, absolutely not.

I look at Tommy in growing horror.

Julian is already smiling like a man about to make extremely poor choices. Across from me, Xander goes very still.

Tommy continues, because he’s a menace in a human body. “And seeing as Friday Night Live has always welcomed a little trouble, I think it’d be rude not to ask if anybody famous wants to save Darren from having to do another Bon Jovi cover.”

The room erupts.

Nina’s eyes are huge. “Oh shit.”

Tommy points from the stage. “Harlow?”

Oh, this is a nightmare. A professionally curated nightmare.

Julian glances at Xander. Xander glances at Julian. And something wordless passes between them.

“It’s Friday Night Live,” Julian says with a one-shouldered shrug. “Feels rude not to.”

Xander is already standing.

The room is loud enough that when Tommy steps aside and gestures at the stage, it feels less like an invitation and more like a coronation.

Julian leans down near my ear on his way past. “Try to miss me while I’m up there.”

I turn my face toward him with full intent to say something devastatingly cutting. Unfortunately, he smells like spice and coffee and bad ideas, and for one truly irritating second my brain loses the thread.