I laugh. “Yes. For me and you. And I want to hear more about these plans. I’m stoked for you.”

  I let go of his shoulder, bring my breakfast bowl to his side, and dive in. We eat as he tells me about their plans, what they want to do with their new business, how he sees it taking shape.

  I listen to every word, loving my guy’s brain, the way he’s devised this in such a short period of time, but how it feels so right. He’s so good at helping and mentoring. It’s part of who he is—someone who looks out for others and guides younger folks as they rise up in their careers and lives.

  Plus, there’s another aspect of it I dig.

  I slide my hand under the table, squeezing his big, strong thigh. “I love that you’re going to be in LA.” I shoot him a devilish grin. “Did you happen to know I live in LA when I’m not on the road?”

  “You do? I had no idea,” he deadpans.

  I nod, big and long. “In Venice. I’ve got an awesome pad. Looks over the ocean. Badass third-floor balcony too, with a perfect view. Also, an infinity pool.”

  “Show-off.”

  I shrug, taking a sip of my tea. “Maybe. I don’t have another tour for a few months. I’m going to be there a lot.”

  “You don’t say.” Jackson shoots me a grin as he takes a bite of his eggs.

  I wiggle a brow. “You should come over.”

  “Yeah? Just to check out this pad?”

  “Or to see me.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You dumbass. I better see you.”

  I lean over, planting another kiss on his cheek. “I want to see you so often that you’ll get sick of me.”

  “Stone,” he says, all serious. “Don’t know how to break this to you, but I’ve seen you nearly every day for the last six months, sometimes for eight hours a day. Lately, more. I’m not sick of you at all. In fact, it’s the opposite.” Jackson slides a hand along my leg and lets out a low murmur, “I want to see you as much as I can.”

  “Every day?”

  “Every day. Every night,” he says, and my heart melts.

  “You, me, Los Angeles. It’s going to be motherfucking awesome.”

  “Yes, it is. But for the record, you had me at ‘balcony,’” he says with a smile.

  We finish breakfast, and his phone buzzes. He grabs it and slides open the screen.

  “Text from Bethany. She is dying for me to call. She texted me twenty million times last night.” His brow furrows like he’s lost in thought. “Would you want to go to Portland and see her perform in Rent?” He looks at his watch. “Say, tomorrow?”

  There’s nothing I want more than to have that life with my man. So I say yes.

  “On one condition,” I add.

  “What’s that?”

  “Can we take my plane?” I ask with a wicked grin.

  “Like I said. Show-off,” he mutters.

  I kiss him one more time. “Is that a yes?”

  Jackson nods, then brushes his lips to mine. “Yes. On one condition.”

  “What’s your condition?”

  He whispers in my ear what he wants to do to me on the plane.

  “Check, please,” I say, then we go back to my suite, where he gives me a preview, and I’m moaning and groaning and loving every second of it.

  When he’s done, it’s time to go hit a local studio.

  I’ve got a track to lay down.

  39

  Jackson

  Terrence waggles his eyebrows when I meet him and Cruz at the blackjack table that night. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Five Million Views.”

  I blow on my fingernails. “Is that all?”

  As I grab a seat, Terrence laughs. “Seems like a lot to me. Melody said it was, at least on YouTube.” He furrows his brow as he checks his cards. “But now that I think about it, hell if I know what that means. Is that a lot, Cruz?”

  Our buddy shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I can’t even remember my password for Instagram,” Cruz offers, studying his cards.

  The dealer clears her throat and shoots us a lip-glossed smile. “That’s a lot. There were seven hundred thousand views on Facebook, two million on Insta, and about the same on Twitter.” The blonde giggles like she’s in on a secret. “That was something, all right.”

  “It sure was,” Terrence chimes in.

  “I was hoping I’d catch a glimpse of you,” the dealer says to me, a little shyly.

  “Want to ask him for his autograph?” Cruz asks, like he’s my publicist now. “If you have a pizza box somewhere, that’d be worth a ton of money.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ignore him.”

  The woman smiles and shakes her head, a little amazed. “Everyone’s been talking about it. It’s one of those ‘I was there’ moments.”

  Cruz punches my shoulder. “Aww. Can we make you the spokesperson for our new company?”

  Terrence’s dark eyes twinkle with delight. “Yes. Let’s say ‘Founded by . . . The Guy in the Picture.’”

  Both of those assholes break into song, crooning the lines to Stone’s new hit. The one he’s recording right now for a quick release, with a backup bodyguard watching over him.

  “All of these pictures . . .” Terrence sings.

  “Pictures of you . . .” Cruz weighs in.

  And the dealer harmonizes with “That’s when it started . . .”

  “C’mon, guy. Sing with us,” Cruz says with a smirk.

  I wave a hand dismissively. “I’m outta here.”

  My buds crack up, slapping down their cards. “Man, we are going to have so much fun giving you hell.”

  “It’s going to be the best. Every single day we can give this guy a hard time for being Pattie Boyd,” Terrence adds. “This song could be the next ‘Layla.’”

  Cruz nudges me. “Hey, if it becomes Stone’s next big hit, you need to get in on the royalties.”

  I laugh it off as they finish their hand. “Don’t need royalties. I’m all good.” But that’s not true yet. I do need to get the motorcycle monkey off my back. That’ll happen in due time though.

  We’re starting our company as soon as possible, and once these guys finish their hand, we’re going to grab some grub and discuss the next steps.

  Funny, how that familiar knot of tension doesn’t appear in my neck anymore as I think about paying the bills, either for the credit card company or our new venture.

  Who knows when we’ll start making money? But I’ll figure it out. I’m not going to let the past stop me from enjoying every second of my present.

  “Want to play a round?” the dealer asks.

  “No, thanks. You need me to give up my seat?”

  She laughs, shaking her head. “You can stay here all night. You’re half of Jackstone.”

  Terrence huffs, faux annoyed. “Can’t believe we’re going to have to put up with your big head.”

  “You are, because I’m the brains and the brawn,” I say coolly.

  “You wish,” Cruz says, but our conversation is cut short when his phone beeps.

  Mine does too.

  So does Terrence’s.

  “Simultaneous beeps,” he muses.

  We all grab our phones like we’re drawing weapons.

  I slide my thumb across the screen.

  An envelope icon pops up at the top of my notifications.

  From . . . Stone.

  The email is titled: Candy and Puppies Included in This Email.

  I laugh quietly, as Terrence murmurs, “Candy.”

  What the hell? Stone is emailing him too?

  I thought it was just to me.

  Turns out the note includes everyone on the team—Candi, Zane, Terrence, Cruz, Veronica, me, and countless others.

  Dear peeps,

  Congrats on a kick-ass concert series! We are talking best ever in the history of concerts. And I couldn’t have done any of this without all of you.

  You are wonderful, beautiful, and talented, every single one of you, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  But there are other ways to thank the people who make you look good, keep you safe, and help you put on a show.

  You’ve all been bonused for your work on the show. It should be in your accounts now, or so the bank says.

  THANK YOU.

  Xo

  Stone Zenith

  With a burst of excitement, I click over to my bank app. When I steal a glance at Cruz and Terrence, they’re doing the same.

  And when I open it, my jaw falls to the floor.

  Cruz’s drops to the basement.

  Terrence’s hits the center of the earth.

  “Shit, your boyfriend is generous,” Terrence says slowly, awestruck.

  I stare at my bank account. I can barely move. This feels so unreal. The hair on my arms stands on end. My throat is dry. Cruz’s eyes are the size of a cartoon character’s. Terrence is frozen, still hasn’t moved. So, I can’t be reading this wrong.

  I look back at my phone.

  At the number.

  Fifty thousand dollars.

  “Holy shit,” Cruz whispers. “Fifty grand.”

  “Fifty flipping grand,” Terrence echoes.

  A grin spreads like wildfire across my face.

  I can’t believe what my boyfriend did.

  But then again, I absolutely can.

  I stalk into his suite that night, off duty and loving it. The second I see him, I grab the neck of his T-shirt, jerk him against me, and growl, “I know what you did.”

  He grins like a cat. “Whatever did I do?”

  “You made it impossible for me to turn down your offer.”

  His eyebrows wiggle. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  I haul him closer still, yanking on his hair. With his head tugged back, I kiss his neck. I’m breathing hard, already turned on. “You know what you did with those bonuses.”

  “Thanked everyone?”

  I hum doubtfully as I blaze a trail of kisses along his flesh, letting go of his hair and biting his earlobe. “And paid off my debt.”

  “Oh. That. I’d nearly forgotten,” he says, all breezy.

  “Yeah, right,” I say, licking the shell of his ear.

  He melts against me. “I just wanted to thank everyone for a great show. Can’t believe you doubt my intentions.” His voice turns husky as I smother his neck with kisses.

  “I don’t doubt you. I love your intentions. I love your mind. I love your heart.” I drag my lips over his jaw, kissing his stubble, inhaling his sexy, sinful scent. I stop when I reach his lips, then pull back to meet his eyes. “Did you do that for me?”

  “I did it for all of you,” Stone says, then slides his fingers through mine. His touch is so tender—like his voice is right now. “And for you. I don’t want you to worry about anything, J. Well, except for helping me find a new bodyguard who won’t give a shit that I’m the kind of guy who likes to have his paws all over his boyfriend in public.”

  I laugh, sliding my hands up his back. “And in private too.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Duh. That goes without saying.”

  I turn intensely serious for a few seconds, holding his face. “Thank you. I paid off the motorcycle. I feel like I’m free,” I say with relief coursing through me. “And the rest will go to starting the new company. Cruz and Terrence are going to put some of theirs to our new venture too. You’re fucking amazing.”

  His lips curve into a crooked grin. “And I’m amazing at fucking. But if you want to be sure, you can just bend me over the couch and remind yourself how good it feels to slide your cock inside me.”

  I curl a hand around his ass. “You are filthy, and I love it.”

  “Right back atcha, big guy,” he says, slipping away from me, stripping off his tee, unzipping his jeans, and then working open the buttons on my shirt.

  And when we’re both down to nothing, when he’s ready and open, I do as he requested.

  I fuck him.

  Having him.

  And loving him something fierce.

  The next day, we head to the airport together. He heads up the steps to his Gulfstream first, his hand in mine. He lets go when he steps on the plane, fist-bumping the pilot.

  I stop at the door, take a beat, and look around, swinging my gaze behind me to the tarmac, in front of me to the galley.

  Is this my life?

  I’ve been on this plane many times before, but never like this—as his boyfriend.

  A rock star is my boyfriend.

  But that’s hardly what’s so surreal about this moment, surrounded by the trappings of the lifestyle.

  It’s not the fame.

  It’s the luck.

  That here I am after heartbreak, after loss, after my heart was shattered, and I’ve found something new.

  Something wonderful.

  Someone I want to love for the rest of my life.

  My heart thunders in my chest.

  I join Stone in the back of the plane, wrapping an arm around him, emotion clogging my throat.

  “Hey,” I say softly.

  “What is it?” A crease knits his brow.

  “You know I don’t love you for your plane, right?”

  He laughs, his green eyes flickering with mischief. “Don’t worry, J. I know you love me for my dick.”

  I’m undeterred though. I wrap my hand tighter around his bicep, my thumb sliding over his ink. “Know this. It’s you. It’s not anything else. It’s not anything you have. I’d get on a tiny plane, a commuter train, a beat-up car, or an old rowboat with you. We could stay in a motel on the side of the highway. I’d come home to you in a studio apartment.” My hand travels to his heart, and I spread my palm over it. “This is why I love you. For this.”

  He swallows roughly, his eyes shining. “And you wonder why I write songs about you.”

  Our lips crash together, and we kiss—a long, slow, deep kiss that feels like a promise.

  Later, as we’re cruising over the country, he takes me to a private room in the back of the plane. It’s small, like a sleeper cabin on a train.

  But it does the trick.

  I might love him for his heart, but he’s right—his dick is definitely an attractive part of the deal.

  I show him how much I love the whole damn package of Stone Zenith.

  40

  Stone

  It’s weird having a new guy watching my back.

  I’ve become so accustomed to the guys I know.

  But I’d better get used to this, since it will be my new normal any day now. A whole new rotation.

  My new normal will also look like this—walking into a high school auditorium in Portland with my man.

  Parents and teachers turn their heads, do double takes. All in a day’s work. And this day is a good one.

  Wait. Make it a great day. My hand is in Jackson’s as we walk down the sloped aisle toward the front of the theater.

  His mom waves at us, her hazel eyes crinkling at the corners, her brown hair in a neat, trim ponytail.

  “We saved you seats,” she says, patting the aisle chair and the one next to it.

  “You rock, Mrs. Pearce,” I say, bringing her in for a hug.

  “Well, I didn’t say I was going to give you the good seat,” she says, deadpan.

  “Mom never gives up an aisle seat for any of her kids,” Jackson says.

  “Only for pregnant women or little old ladies,” his dad chimes in, then lifts his chin at me. He’s a handsome older dude, big and bulky. Like father, like son. “Good to see you again, Stone,” he says. We had lunch earlier today with Jackson’s parents, his sister Caroline, and her boyfriend, Ben. “Fair warning—Bethany may not ever come down from cloud nine, knowing you’re here.”

  Jackson taps his chest. “It’s me she wants to see, Dad.”

  His dad rolls his eyes as we take our seats. “You keep telling yourself that, son. Yup. It’s her brother she wants to see. Not her favorite singer of all time.”

  My eyes pop. “J!” I smack his leg. “You never told me I was her favorite.”

  “I think my father is exaggerating.”

  His dad shakes his head. “Nope. She’s pretty much obsessed with you.”

  “I’ve heard every one of your songs in the twenty-four hours since Jackie told us you were coming,” his mom puts in.

  I snap my gaze to my man. “Jackie? You didn’t tell me your mom calls you Jackie.”

  Jackson shoots daggers at his mother. “Please don’t call me that, Mom.”

  “You’ll always be Jackie to me,” she says, the way only a mom can.

  “Jackie,” I tease.

  He growls low in his throat. “Don’t you dare.”

  “I’ll do my best, but I’ll make no promises.”

  “You will make all the promises,” he says.

  I lean in closer, whisper low in his ear, “We can discuss a bargain later.”

  A voice calls out, “Hey, everyone! Thanks for saving us seats.”

  Caroline waves and slides into the row along with Ben. A few minutes later, the lights go down, the music begins, and I watch my boyfriend’s sister play Maureen in a high school production of one of the best musicals ever.

  Like I said, today is a great day.

  When the show ends, I’m one of the first to stand and clap, and seconds later, the entire audience gives the actors a well-deserved standing O.

  Later, Jackson and I take Bethany to her favorite diner for a milkshake and fries as their parents and Caroline and Ben head home.

  I pepper her with questions after she orders.

  “Beach or mountains?”

  “Lake,” she says.

  “Camping or swank hotel?”

  “Camping.”

  “Beethoven or the Beatles?”

  She cringes. “Don’t make me pick between two of the greats.”

  “But if you had to,” I push.

  She shoots me a stern look. “If you had to, who would you pick?”