Drive Me Crazy

Epilogue


ELEVEN MONTHS LATER

Her man was so hot. So f*cking hot. Sometimes Elise had to shake herself in an effort to remember that he was hers. That this was her life now.

After years of loneliness, of sorrow, she had him—and all of this—and it was better than she could ever have imagined.

On stage, Ryder was belting out the lyrics to a new Shaken Dirty song, one that had debuted last week at number two on the charts. One that Quinn and she had written on their honeymoon six months before.

Beside her, Jamison and Poppy were rocking out to the music, hands clapping, feet stomping, bodies shaking as the song brought down the house. She knew Cat and Vi were doing the same thing backstage and usually, she’d be right there with them, lost in the music as it poured through the sold-out stadium all around them.

But tonight she was too caught up in watching her man—her man—as he tore up the keyboards. He was in the back near Wyatt, behind Ryder, Jared, and Drew, but that didn’t matter. As the concert raged around her, as the fans screamed and the music wailed, Quinn was all she could see.

His eyes were dark with concentration (and looked incredibly sexy lined with guyliner—not that she ever planned on telling him that), while his silky hair flopped sexily over his cheek and forehead. His mouth was curved into a hot, seductive smile and his hands, dear God, his hands. She’d thought there was nothing sexier, nothing more seductive, than listening to Quinn play a gorgeous piano concerto. But that was before she’d seen him play with Shaken Dirty. Before she’d seen him own the stage with his powerful talent and just as powerful music.

Because there was hot and then there was HOT.

Quinn Bradford had been born for rock and roll, born to play with Ryder and Wyatt and Jared and the new bassist, Drew. His long musician’s fingers flashed over the keyboard as he threw his whole body into the song that they had written while stretched out naked in their hotel room, a platter of tropical fruit and even more tropical cocktails resting on the bed between them. It was the first song they’d written together—just the two of them—but it wasn’t the last. They’d written half a dozen more together and then she’d written a bunch more on her own for other musicians—it turned out all those years of piano playing had given her a real knack for melody.

And the best part was she could write songs anywhere, even on the road with Quinn. Especially on the road with him, since all the sex and laughter and pranks—yes, he was still pranking her and she was still giving as good as she got—inspired her like nothing else could have.

It had been a crazy year, filled with ups and downs (more ups than downs, thank God) for the band as they dealt with hiring a new bassist and blending their sounds together. They’d also had Wyatt’s issues and Jared’s fall from grace to deal with, not to mention Drew’s demons and Micah’s continued hatred. She had dropped the charges against him, refused to testify, in exchange for him leaving the band without a lawsuit or a fuss. It had nearly killed Quinn to let her do it, but she’d known it was what was right for him and for the band. Besides, she was fine—more than fine—and so were the people she loved.

That was all that mattered.

The new album was triple platinum and they were already half done with writing the next one—thanks to the songs she and Quinn couldn’t seem to stop writing. The critics were thrilled and so was she. She finally had the life she’d always wanted. The fact that it was in the rock world instead of the world of classical piano, only made it sweeter.

Or maybe it was Quinn who did that.

As the song drew to a close, he looked up. Despite the lights, despite the crowd, his eyes unerringly found hers—just like they did every night at this time. As their gazes locked, as he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered even in the middle of all this, Elise knew that she’d found everything she’d been looking for.

She’d found a home, a place where she belonged. A place where she could be loved. And it all began, and ended, with Quinn f*cking Bradford.

She’d never felt so blessed.





Acknowledgments


This was a rough book to write—for the longest time, Quinn and Elise simply wouldn’t cooperate. But with the help of a few people, I managed to wrangle them into line. First of all, Emily McKay, who gave me so many ideas for this story and who never got tired of early morning phone calls where I whined and begged for help.

Katie Graykowski, world-class prankster and dear friend—thanks so much for the ideas.

Shellee Roberts, because you always know how to fix my stories. Stacy Cantor Abrams, who put up with me messing around with the first half of the book long after I should have let it go.

Liz Pelletier for all the support.

Heather Howland for the kick-ass covers. I love them so much.

Emily Sylvan Kim for being the best agent a girl could ever have.

And finally, to my fans, who make writing my books so worthwhile. Your response to the Shaken Dirty series has truly overwhelmed me and I am so, so, so grateful for your support. Thank you, thank you, thank you!