Summary: I used to be lucky. I used to be loved. Now, I'm an underpaid tabloid journalist stuck on tour with the new top-of-the-charts band. My job is to expose the deepest secrets of the bandmates-- what makes them tick and what gets them into those infamous, bratty rock star fits. This gets a little complicated when those secrets just happen to be about my twin brother and my ex-boyfriend. Of course, my once-fat-and-dorky brother is now the international sex icon who accomplished his wildest dreams while mine are being slashed everywhere I turn. As expected, a month-long tour with five very horny rockstars is bound to be interesting and drama filled. But somehow, even with all the crazed fans throwing themselves at their feet and the hired groupies put there to look beautiful, every single guy in the band (except my brother... we don't do that) turned their sexually charged attentions on yours truly. This is bound to get interesting.

Chapter Two

Airline Mishaps

“Ladies and Gentlemen, first call for BA Flight 1771 to London Heathrow airport,” an effeminate voice crackled over the speaker system. “If you are holding a First Class or Business Class ticket, you are traveling with young children or you need assistance to board the aircraft, please approach the gate now.”

“Come on, Charlotte,” Miranda beckoned me, pulling out one of my iPod earbuds. I had been shunted from my seat next to Jonnie by the rest of the band so they could discuss their special issues; I had to sit with the other girls: the stylists, the girlfriends or weekly lays and their publicist Deborah Marcus who already didn’t like me, but tolerated me because I was her boss’s sister.

We left the lounge in a large group, walking down the terminal in a phalanx, Jonnie, Kevin, Gavin and Tristan in front, followed closely by Wyatt and Deborah. Miranda and I hung back with the other girls whose high-heeled boots were drilling migraines into my head. I felt underdressed in my converse, ripped jeans and sweatshirt, but I didn’t realize that a six hour flight required me to dress like a fashionista.

We were only allowed to break rank when we came to the gate and checked in with the airline representative there. I immediately edged closer towards Jonnie, my only ally on this trip through Glamazon City.

“Hey, Charls,” he said absentmindedly,

I sat quietly for a few minutes, listening for the next calls for our flights. I picked at my thumb’s peeling cuticle. Still, Jonnie didn’t talk to me.

“Whatcha doin’?” I peered over his shoulder, catching numbers and letters jumbled onto one page of his obnoxiously thick packet.

“Work,” he mumbled.

“Work?” I snorted. “Jonnie, please. This is your work,” I gestured to the terminal. “Playing for screaming fans is your work. Whatever you’re doing is not work.”

“Listen, Charlotte,” he snapped. “I’ve read your pieces, okay? I read every single goddamn article you’ve ever written. I know what you think of musicians. I get it. But don’t let what Kevin did to you ruin the industry for you—or me. Music is more than just looking sexy while you strum a guitar and get smashed every night.”

With that, he stood up and stalked away, seeking out ratty Wyatt to chew his head off. I watched him as he yelled, his angry words nothing more than silent lip movements, and gestured to the page in the packet. It struck me: he’s never called me Charlotte before.

“What seat are you in?” Kevin had slipped into Jonnie’s vacated seat and was leaning into my shoulder.

“Uh…” I glanced down at the ticket in my hand. “6C.”

“Damn. Just missed me,” he gave me a toothy grin. “5B.”

“Shame,” I drawled and turned my eyes back to the gate’s door, willing it to open so that we could board and I could be far away from him.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asked snarkily.

“Just leave me alone, Kev,” I hissed. “You know perfectly well I don’t want to talk to you.”

“It’s Jon, isn’t it?”

“Jonnie?” I corrected. “No, we’re perfect.”

“No you’re not,” he argued.

“How would you know?” I snapped. “I said we’re perfectly fine, so we are.”

“Well good for you, Charlotte,” he sneered. “But we’re in a different show, now. This is the Jon Moore show, not yours. That ship sailed long ago. You’ve been pushed out of the limelight, missy.”

“Well, good for Jonnie, because I. Don’t. Care,” I lashed out at him.

“I’m telling you, you’re not all right,”

“How the hell would you know?”

“I’m his best friend,” he stated bluntly.

“I’m his twin sister!”

“I see him every day. Every single fucking day,” he said. “How often do you see him?”

“That doesn’t mean you know him better!” I shouted. “Just leave me alone!”

“Alright, already,” he held his hands up in surrender and backed out of his seat.

I jammed my earbuds back into my ears and glared ahead of me. Tristan, the new, shaggy-haired bassist met my glare from the bank of seats across from me. I expected him to cow and turn away, but he met me head on and refused to break contact. His deep brown eyes, sparkling now that they weren’t covered by the seemingly mandatory sunglasses, penetrated my own emerald ones and he seemed to read all the things I had done to hurt Jonnie; could he see all the things Jonnie had done to hurt me?

“Final call for BA Flight 1771 with service to London Heathrow Airport. Now boarding all passengers,” the attendant’s sugary voice floated through the speakers. “All passengers aboard BA Flight 1771 to London please make your way to Gate 43.”

I held onto Tristan’s gaze a few moments longer before defiantly breaking it, turning to grab my tote and saunter to the gate. I was confident of his eyes on me as I sashayed away, trying to wrap myself in an air of indifference.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” the attendant greeted absentmindedly as she swiped my passport and boarding card through the scanner. “Have a pleasant flight with us.”

I strolled down the gangway, my footsteps resounding through the metal tunnel. The downward slope propelled me forward, each footfall coming faster and faster until I tripped on the corrugated metal to the next level, tumbling onto a man’s back.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed as I pushed my hands into his back to steady us.

“God, Charlie,” a voice grunted from above me. “If you couldn’t keep your hands off me, all you had to do was say.”

Kevin.

“Kevin?” I prompted sweetly.

“Yes, doll?”

“When did you become such a creep?” I sneered.

“Wha-? I am not!”

His hands grappled for my waist and I nailed him in the gut, smiling triumphantly as he doubled over.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” a stern voice said from behind me. “Is there a problem here?”

“Oh, no. No problem,” I smiled nervously.

“Assault of any kind is prohibited on all British Airways flights, ma’am,” the airline official was a tubby man with a feathery moustache over a thick upper lip. His uniform dress shirt was short-sleeved and looked greasy, tucked into ill-fitting pants and covered with a bulging navy blue blazer.

“Oh, it’s not what it looks like-“ I stammered.

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like, ma’am,” he declared. “Did you or did you not just assault this gentleman?”

“Well I did, but-“

“You’ll have to come with me,” he wrapped his meaty fingers around my elbow, moving to jerk me from the line.

“Will you just listen,” I shrieked. “That jerk is my ex-boyfriend! He was sexually assaulting me!”

“Likely, ma’am. Very likely. I highly doubt you know this poor man at all,”

“His name is Kevin Adam Sumners and he was born in New York City on March 6, 1987…” I began rattling off all the inane facts I knew about Kevin.

Jonnie materialized out of nowhere, sunglasses firmly in place and the air of importance hanging around him like a cloud of cheap cologne.

“What seems to be the problem here?”

“None of your business, sir,” he tightened his grip on my arm. “Just air marshal duty. Sorry for the disturbance.”

“Please remove your hands from my sister,” Jonnie ordered calmly.

“Sir, no matter how much you order me, I need to take this young lady in,” he insisted nasally. “She assaulted this gentleman.”

“I’m sure it’s a very grievous charge, sir,” Jonnie replied stiffly. “That is her ex-boyfriend. And my bandmate.”

Jonnie lowered is glasses momentarily, flicking his green eyes about and giving the man his famous Jon Moore stare, the one that stared at me from posters on the subway and billboards on every street corner.

“Mr. Moore!” the man exclaimed and dropped my arm. “My apologies, sir. You are British Airways’ very esteemed guest. Please forgive the confusion.”

Jonnie smiled condescendingly, “Of course. You’re just doing your job.”

The man inclined his head, the sweaty dome glinting in the dim industrial lighting, “I’m glad you understand, Mr. Moore.”

Jonnie nodded until the large man was out of sight. He grasped my arm then in a vice-like hold, his knuckles turning white with the effort.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed. “We haven’t even left yet and you two can’t get along?”

“Ow! Jonnie-“

“This is a month long tour, Charlotte,” he growled. “You two better damn well get along.”

“Ow! Jonnie…” I whined. “Fuck! Why aren’t you yelling at him too! Ow! That hurts!”

“Shut up! This is a big deal for me! Can you just not screw this up? Just this once!”

“I’ll try! Ow, Jonnie, Please!” I was writhing in his grip now. “Please, Jonnie. I’ll stay away from him! Just tell him to leave me alone!”

Our matching eyes met and the cloud of rage he was in seemed to dissipate. He smoothed the wrinkles in my sweatshirt sleeve, trying to wipe away the indentations he had made with his fingers.

“What did he do?”

“Who?”

“Kev,” he smiled wryly. “He must’ve done something godawful to get you to slug him.”

“He groped me,”

“Damn sonuvabitch,” he growled, a smile toying at the end of his lips. “I’ll kill him, I promise.”

There was my Jonnie.