Everyone cheered and clapped for him, even Toni.

“Are you done?” Logan asked. Sweat glistened on his bronze skin and wetted the golden curls around his face and neck.

“Not yet,” Jace said.

“Well, that about kicked my ass,” Logan said, shifting to his left arm and rotating his right. “Time for a set of girl push-ups.”

Jace laughed and set his knees down on the mat. Toni wondered if Logan had picked so-called girl push-ups more for Jace’s benefit than his own. She was pretty sure Jace’s right arm had been worked to the point of exhaustion and one more clap repetition would have flattened him, resulting in a sure win for Logan.

After thirty more reps, which everyone in the room counted off, Jace said, “Feet on a bench.”

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” Logan said. “It’s not bad enough that you tried to take my job.”

Take his job? As bassist of Exodus End? Surely Logan was joking.

The two bassists pulled their mats across the room to a bench and got into position with both feet on the seat and their hands on the mat.

“Just making sure you get in a good workout,” Jace said with a devilish grin.

After several reps, it was apparent that Jace’s right arm was physically incapable of contracting. Toni had never in her life worked out to exhaustion. She tended to stop when she got a little winded. Jace shifted to put all his weight on his left arm. In a few reps, that arm was shaking too. Logan was showing signs of fatigue as well. In any case, he was too tired to talk smack and had his full concentration on lowering and raising his body.

Jace released a growl of exertion, which gave him the perseverance to do one more push-up before he ended up sprawled face down and panting on the mat. Logan did a final rep to claim his victory and collapsed beside Jace. Both men laughed as they tried—and failed—to get off the floor.

“I’m tempted to call that a draw,” Logan said, his voice muffled since his face was pressed into the mat.

“Don’t you dare,” Jace said, between gasps for air. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Are you okay?” Toni asked as Logan lay on the floor long after everyone had returned to their respective workouts.

“I can’t move my arms,” he said.

“Me neither.” Jace chuckled and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “Good thing we don’t have a show for a couple of days.”

“Not that it’s a huge deal if a couple of bassists don’t show up for a gig,” Steve said from a nearby weight bench.

Battle of the Bassists. Toni gave the event a title in case it made it into the book.

“It’s not naptime, Schmidt,” Kirk yelled from across the room where he was spotting Max through his bench presses. “You need to work your lower body. I want you to do squats until your ass catches fire.”

“That won’t take long,” Toni said quietly. “His ass is already exceptionally hot.”

She glanced up and grinned when Logan and Jace both burst out laughing. The two men assisted each other to their feet, whacked each other enthusiastically on the back, and knocked their knuckles together in parting.

“Respect,” Logan said.

He turned, searching for the squat station. Therefore he missed the open-mouthed look of astonishment followed by the wide smile on Jace Seymour’s face as he walked away. Toni, however, recognized it. She wondered why someone as young and successful as Jace coveted Logan’s validation. She supposed most bassists would look up to Logan Schmidt, the musician. He was phenomenally talented and one of the best-known bassists on the planet. Yet he was so easygoing and personable, she tended to forget he was famous. She tilted her head as she trailed after him, seeing him in a new light. Sure, he could be a bit cocky, but all things considered, he wasn’t like most celebrities. But then maybe most celebrities weren’t the stuck-up, egotistical jerks they were portrayed to be by the media. Or maybe they were. Whatever the case, she was going to make sure that these four men—and Reagan too—were shown in their true colors.

“Hey, Toni!” Reagan waved her over from across the room. “Come over here and get a dose of estrogen. Hanging out with all that testosterone will grow hair on your chest.”

“Is that why you keep stealing my razor?” her hunk of a bodyguard said. He then glanced wide-eyed at Toni before dropping his weights with a loud clang and dashing out of the room.

Okay, weird. Toni should be about as intimidating as a gnat to that guy. Why would he run from her?

“I’m working,” Toni called back. As if watching four hot guys lift weights was actually work.

“Don’t worry,” Reagan said, “we have a good view of them in the mirror over here.”

“Yeah, we do!” one of the other women said.

“Ah,” Toni said, heading toward the cardio area, curious to meet a few rock stars’ wives and/or girlfriends. “But can you smell them from over there?”

“Not yet,” Reagan said. “And trust me, that’s a good thing.” She crinkled her nose in disgust.

Toni stopped next to Reagan’s elliptical machine and waited for introductions. There were two other women working out—one with burnished brown hair, the other a strawberry blonde.

“This is Myrna, Brian Sinclair’s wife.” Reagan introduced the stunning brunette who was running at warp speed on the treadmill to her left.

“Nice to meet you,” Toni said, bobbing her head to try to meet the woman’s gaze.

“Likewise,” Myrna said in a huff of breath.

“Can you believe she just had a baby a few weeks ago?” Reagan asked.

“You look great,” Toni said, meaning it.

“Thanks,” Myrna huffed. “I need to keep in shape to ward off all the pretty young thangs trying to get their hooks into my husband.”

Reagan rolled her eyes. “Puh-leaze,” she said. “That man loves you so blindingly, it hurts my eyes to look at you two directly.”

Myrna smiled, but didn’t slow her pace.

“Sinclair doesn’t work out?” Toni asked. She still hadn’t had the chance to meet the renowned guitarist. An oversight she hoped to remedy soon.

“He has Mal,” Myrna said. “When I’m finished, we’ll switch out.” She increased the incline on her treadmill.

So apparently keeping a rock star’s romantic interest involved having buns of steel. Toni eyed the stair climber with dread.

“This is Jessica Chase,” Reagan introduced the blonde—another stunner, one who made Toni feel like a Walmart shopper who’d accidentally stumbled onto Rodeo Drive. “She and Sed Lionheart are getting married in a couple of weeks.”

“Gotta fit in that dress,” Jessica said as she wiped the sweat from her face with a small white towel.

“I’m sure you’ll look gorgeous.”

Jessica ran a hand over her lower belly. “Maybe if Unborn Sed would stop insisting I need to put mayonnaise on everything that goes into my mouth. I don’t even like mayonnaise.”

So the small bulge in her lower belly was a baby. Was that how she’d managed to get someone like Sed Lionheart to commit? Not that Toni was considering doing that to Logan.

“So I guess Logan finally has a date for the occasion,” Reagan said. She offered Toni a suggestive wink.

“Me?” Toni sputtered. She clapped a hand over her suddenly thundering heart.

“Who else? You are his girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Not really. No.” She’d thought that maybe she was until Logan had debunked that myth half a dozen times at the after-party the night before.

“So you haven’t spent every moment of the last two days with him?”

“Well, yeah.”

“And he isn’t so possessive of you that he immediately wants to fight every man who so much as glances your way?”

“I guess, but—”

“And he left the after-party alone last night because?”

Was that unusual for him? “Um.”

“Because Reagan is an excellent cock blocker,” Jessica said, reaching out a fist to knock her knuckles against Reagan’s.