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“Is there a problem?” Kat asked, appearing out of nowhere. Her tailored jeans and fitted Midnight Storm t-shirt taunted Beckett, denim and soft cotton hugging the dip of her waist, the swell of her chest.

They’d hardly spoken since the event at The Steam Factory, the stony silence in their shared hotel room worse than the springs in the pull-out couch digging into the scar tissue on Beckett’s thigh, further aggravating his already thoroughly aggravated knee.

“I was just telling the guys about the bachelor auction,” Zach said, setting the maltipoo down as the photographer moved on to capture shots of Nico.

“It’s for lunch dates only,” Kat clarified, swinging a pointed look between Nico and Jackson. “Chaperoned lunch dates.”

“No more letting Zach pick the charity events either,” Beckett said.

“Are we almost done here?” Jackson drawled as he absentmindedly patted the head of the corgi weaving figure eights around his legs.

“A few more photos with the dogs, then we’ll do a quick walk past the fans, encourage them all to adopt a dog, and be on our way.” Kat used the tip of her pen to point out the crowd behind the steel barricade just past the bustling area of the park being used by the local humane society for the dog adoption fair. Beckett followed her pen as it swung around and jabbed in the direction of his soiled jeans. “What happened here?”

“The dog could sense his disdain for it,” Logan said.

“He has a name,” Nico said.

“Do you know what it is?” Zach challenged.

“He looks like a Chester.” Nico leaned close enough to let Beckett’s dog get a lick in. “What a handsome boy you are, Chester.”

“Girl,” Beckett grunted.

“What?” Nico asked.

“It’s a girl.” He tilted his chin towards the dog furiously sniffing the mess it had made of Beckett’s pants.

“How can you tell?” Zach asked.

“It doesn’t have a dick,” Beckett said.

“Still children present,” Logan said, setting his poodle down. The dog happily bounced at the feet of Nico’s golden retriever, its tiny tail wagging furiously.

Kat grabbed the walkie talkie bulging in her jeans back pocket and pressed down the button on the side. “Lenny, can we get a new pair of jeans for Beckett?”

“Sure thing,” came the staticky reply.

“How about a new dog?” Beckett asked, holding out the leash.

Kat bit back a smile, but her eyes sparkled in challenge. “Nope,” she said, popping the p in a way that had his attention fixated on her lips. She’d worn the red lipstick again. He never realized how much he liked red lipstick. Or maybe he just liked it on her.

“Chester can hear you,” Nico scolded, pressing his hands over the dog’s floppy ears. “Poor little guy.”

“Chester’s a girl,” Zach said.

“I thought you liked dogs,” Logan said.

Beckett tugged on the leash, pulling the dog away from his sodden shoes. “Not when they piss on me.”

Kat laid her hand on the photographer’s forearm, and Beckett zeroed in on the spot of connection, scowling. “Don’t photograph Beckett until Lenny gets here with his new pants.”

“Where am I supposed to change?” Beckett asked.

“You can drop trow here. Not like it’s anything we haven’t seen before,” Zach said.

“So many children present,” Logan sighed.

“Nobody’s taking off their pants in public,” Kat assured his beleaguered bandmate. “You can change in the first aid tent.”