Mila: You know what they say about opinions. They’re like…you know. Everybody’s got one. They told me to do something productive. Find a nice, stable guy. Settle down. Play it safe. Instead, my little rebel heart and hit the road to sing rock ‘n roll. People are listening. And to my surprise, I’m feeling little twinges of homesickness. It helps that I’m touring with the Silas Rhodes, the grumpiest, road-hardened rock star on the planet. And I’m one shot of whiskey away from dragging his delicious butt to bed.
Silas: I’ve charted some hits, and touring is in my blood. Mila’s got real talent, but those milk-chocolate eyes are as wide and innocent as a sunrise. The road would eat her alive if it wasn’t for me. And damn if I’m not one shot of whiskey away from doing something stupid. When she gets an emergency call from home, her tears tip the scales toward doing something epically stupid. Because doing what’s best for Mila is priority number one. Even if that means digging a few trenches and building a few bridges. Even if it means saying goodbye.