I blink. “You’re right. That’s a terrible question.”

  Jackson laughs. “Music should never be restricted, babe. Enjoy it all.”

  Bethany chuckles, swiping a lock of pink-tipped hair away from her face. Her eyes twinkle, her stage makeup making them look big and bright.

  Jackson raises a brow at her. “What are you laughing at?”

  She points at Jackson, then at me. “Babe. You call him babe.”

  A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, but he lifts his chin, owning it. “I do call him that sometimes.”

  I press my shoulder to Jackson’s. “And I call him J. Not the height of creativity, but I like it.” I drop my voice to a stage whisper. “And it’s better than Jackie.”

  Jackson gives me the evil eye. We’re talking knives, daggers, the whole nine yards.

  “So much better than Jackie,” Bethany says with a nod.

  Soon, a waitress in a pastel pink dress and white sneakers brings Bethany’s food.

  We thank her, and Jackson snags a fry from his sister’s plate, swipes it through some ketchup, and pops it into his mouth.

  Bethany breaks out into a grin. “I told you so.”

  “Told me what?” he asks.

  She points again at him, then at me. “Magic.”

  I set a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Magic? You got magic, J?”

  He turns to meet my gaze, then hers. “Tell him, Bethany.”

  She smiles like she can’t stop. “I told Jackson when you guys were first seeing each other that the way he looks when he talks about you is magic.”

  I grin, feeling the same way. “Sort of like how I look right now?”

  She laughs, flopping back against the red vinyl booth. “You guys are just so very Jackstone. I love it.”

  “I love it too,” I say, wrapping my arm around him.

  “I love it something fierce,” he adds.

  I snap my fingers. “That should be my next song.”

  Two weeks later, my label drops the single of “The Guy in the Picture,” and it tops the charts.

  The video of me telling the world I love Jackson skyrockets in views on social media once again.

  And I start writing my next song.

  “Something Fierce.”

  A few days after that, I play it for Jackson at my house in Venice.

  He’s been working here all day with the guys, planning for their new company. But Terrence and Cruz are gone now, and it’s only us in the living room as I strum the final notes and sing the last words.

  When I finish, I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for his opinion, hoping he loves the tune.

  Jackson’s face is stony, his voice calm as he says, “So it’s another love song?”

  “Yes. Obviously.”

  “And it’s about some guy?”

  I roll my eyes. “Not just some guy.”

  “Oh, a specific guy?” One eyebrow arches.

  I tap my foot. “Yes.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  I drag a hand roughly through my hair. “Did you like the song?”

  He chuckles. “Get over here.”

  I set the guitar on the floor and join him on the couch. “So?”

  He runs his fingers through my hair, then meets my gaze. “I’m never going to be a great judge of your love songs now. You know that, right?”

  “No. I don’t know that. You’ve always been a tough critic.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve always loved your music.”

  My dumb heart swoons. “So, what did you think? I’m dying to know.”

  “It sounds like you really like this guy,” he says.

  “Just a little.”

  “That’s how much I like your song, then. Just a little.” Jackson slides a hand around my head. “Or maybe . . . a lot.”

  “You mean it?”

  “I love it. I do.”

  Those last two words make my heart jump a little more than it usually does around him.

  Make my pulse spike.

  Make me picture possibilities I never thought I’d want.

  I rope my arms around his neck. “At the risk of being a total romantic, you’re kind of all my songs now. You’re every song, every lyric, every damn word.”

  He laughs softly. “Who’s the romantic now?”

  I wiggle a brow. “Both of us, J. Both of us.”

  He brushes a soft kiss to my lips, then says, “Guilty as charged.”

  Epilogue

  Stone

  A month later

  Jackson pulls up to my house in the evening—in his Prius. The earth-hugger in me loves that he drives a hybrid. My security system signals that the gate to the driveway has opened, then he enters the garage.

  I glance at the clock. It’s seven thirty. He’s been working all day, holding training sessions both in person and online.

  As for me, I tried to make a lasagna.

  Yup. Ambition, thy name is Stone Zenith.

  Also, Kitchen: 1, Stone: 0.

  The sound of my guy’s feet on the stairs has me striding away from the stovetop, wiping my hands on the towel slung over my shoulder.

  He turns the corner, lifts his nose, and sniffs. “You were in the kitchen?”

  “I tried cooking.”

  “You tried cooking, or you tried burning?”

  “Let’s just say there’s a kale lasagna in heaven thanks to me.”

  Laughing, he jerks me close for a hello kiss on the lips. “Babe, what did I tell you? There are phones. They have apps. You order out. You don’t cook.”

  I shrug lightly. “That seems to be the case.” I pat my belly. “Want to go and get something to eat?”

  “I do. Just let me get changed.” Jackson heads to the master bedroom, where he keeps a few changes of clothes, toiletries, shoes, his laptop . . . In short, tons of shit he needs because he stays over pretty much every night.

  Here, where I want him.

  He emerges from the bedroom in khaki shorts and a maroon polo that shows off his rippling biceps.

  “Mmm. Hello, muscles.”

  He wiggles his brow. “I hit the gym today.”

  “Good. You can throw me down on the bed later with those.”

  “Consider it done,” he says, and we go to a sushi restaurant that has epic veggie rolls and scandalously good seaweed salad. Bonus—it’s not far from my house.

  We sit outside, ordering as the sun dips low in the sky, the ocean waves lapping the shore. I meet his gaze and toss him a question that’s been on my mind. “Do you like it here on the beach?”

  Jackson shoots me a wry look. “What’s not to like?”

  “But do you like being here? You’re here a lot.”

  His brow knits. “Do you not want me to be here a lot? At your house?”

  I laugh, a little higher-pitched than I’d planned. I settle my voice. “Actually, I kind of want you here all the time.” The nerves fly up my throat. Crazy that I can tell the world I love him, but I’m still a little unsure how to ask for these next steps.

  This is all new to me, navigating a serious relationship, wanting to be with someone every single day.

  But Jackson doesn’t make me wait for long. “Are you asking me something, Stone?”

  I heave a sigh. “You always want me to work for it, don’t you?”

  He sets his elbows on the table, drops his chin in his hand, and shoots me a starry-eyed look. “Work for it, babe.”

  I lean closer, reach for those big hands, and clasp them in mine. “Will you move in with me?”

  His answer is swift. “Yes.”

  It’s so very him. Simple. Direct. Honest. I grab his face and plant a kiss on his lips, tugging on the bottom one.

  I blink when a bright light shines on my face. Breaking the kiss, I snap my gaze to the left.

  The paparazzi.

  No biggie.

  It’s part of life. I give them a wave, since I know some of these guys. A bearded guy nods a hello.

  I call out to him. “Feel free to post this—Jackson Pearce is moving in with me.”

  The guy gives a thumbs-up. “Thanks, man, for the scoop.”

  Jackson sits back in his chair and laughs. “You love telling the world, don’t you?”

  “I really do.”

  What can I say? I like letting everyone know where I stand with the guy in the picture.

  Jackson

  Six months later

  We finish a tactical training session at our corporate offices, and then it’s time to go for the night. Terrence, Cruz, and I head out together.

  After we lock the door, Cruz raps his knuckles on the doorframe, something he often does for luck.

  “Business is going great, guys,” he says.

  Terrence taps his chest and points to the sky. “May it continue that way.” He gestures to each of us. “Softball game this weekend?”

  “I’ll be there,” I say.

  “Me too. Marisa and Isabella are coming to cheer us on,” Cruz adds, mentioning his wife and daughter.

  “Tell Isabella I’m going to practice Spanish with her at the game,” I say.

  He switches languages and tells me, “She loves it when you do that.”

  We head out to our respective cars and our respective homes. When I reach mine in Venice, a jolt of excitement slides down my spine.

  Stone returned home this afternoon after a three-week tour in Asia. He wanted me to join him for those twenty-one days, but I wasn’t able to get away.

  And holy hell, did I ever miss him. It’s the longest I’ve been away from him since I went to work for him.

  We talked, texted, and Skyped, but there is nothing as good as getting my lips on my man, something I plan to do in mere minutes.

  Once I’m home, I bound up the steps, unlock the door, and head inside.

  “Stone Zenith, you better get your sexy ass over here. And right now.” My voice booms across our home.

  His laughter answers from outside. “Balcony, you horn dog.”

  I stride across the tiled floor to the open sliding-glass doors. Lounging on the patio couch, reading a paperback, is Stone. The sun is setting, and it’s a gorgeous sight. He’s reading a book, shades on, shirt off.

  Home.

  I join him on the couch and cover him in kisses.

  It feels so good to have him back. I tug him against me. “I missed you.”

  “Missed you so much too.”

  I nuzzle his neck, growling against him. “Need to have you.”

  “You better have me,” Stone says. “Also, I pregamed, so I’m ready, and the lube’s on the table.”

  I laugh. “I love that you’re so wound up that you’re good to go.”

  “I want you right here, right now. Gimme some balcony banging, J.”

  That’s a favorite of his.

  It’s become a favorite of mine too.

  It’s risky in LA. We could be seen. We could be photographed. But I don’t mind taking this type of risk.

  I don’t mind at all, because the risks the man I love takes are ones that have to do with love. Never safety. Never his body. Never his life.

  His risks are all about putting his heart on the line, and maybe his privacy. But our balcony’s high enough, with trees and foliage, and also, I don’t care.

  What’s the worst that could happen?

  The world finds out that I fuck the man I love?

  Let them know. Because I can’t think of anything better than loving and fucking the same person every day.

  We stand. He sheds his shorts and sets his elbows on the railing.

  I undo my pants, stroke my cock, and grab the lube from the nearby table. As he watches me slick up my dick, Stone murmurs, “Get inside me. I’m so ready.”

  I press my body against him, cage him in, and line up my cock. I kiss his neck as I work the head of my dick into him, my skin sizzling with need, my chest flushed.

  My eyes close, and I let out a long, shuddery breath. “Yes, this is good.”

  “So good,” he groans as I push deeper. He clenches around me at first, tight and hot. “Give it to me hard.”

  “Oh, babe, you did miss me,” I say when Stone moans so loudly that I’m sure they can hear him across the ocean.

  And then, I slide all the way home.

  It’s filthy bliss.

  I wrap a hand around his hip, my fingers digging in, the other hand coiling over his shoulder.

  I move in him.

  His skin is hot.

  My blood is tight.

  And we burn together, grabbing and grappling and loving.

  In no time, my fist is curled tight around his cock and I’m jacking him off in my hand.

  Doesn’t take long for him. Doesn’t take long at all until his release hits my palm.

  Seconds later, I’m coming inside him, my world blurring into white-hot pleasure as I follow him to the land of orgasms.

  I slump over him, savoring the feel of his warm body, and wrap my arms around my man. “It’s good to have you back home, babe,” I say.

  “Good to be here.”

  Stone

  We head to the bathroom and shower, pull on shorts and eat dinner, and then we snuggle in bed, because that’s what we do. We talk, catching up on all the things we haven’t caught up on through our chats on FaceTime or our text messages.

  I yawn, jet lag assaulting me, and it’s only nine. “I’m gonna crash, J.” My eyes flutter closed, but before I drift off, I need to remind him of something. “You didn’t forget I’m going to Vegas this weekend for a one-night-only show?”

  Jackson smiles. “I know you are.”

  “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Vegas. You and me. Sounds like trouble.”

  “Sounds like the best weekend ever,” I say, getting sleepier.

  “Maybe if we can fly on your plane,” he says playfully.

  “Like we’d do anything else, especially now that I’ve got it all tricked out to be as green as a plane can be.”

  “And stay on the penthouse level of The Extravagant.”

  “We’ll do it all like we did the last time we were there. You in?”

  “All in.”

  He wraps an arm around me, and my eyes float closed once more as I breathe in his scent. Cedar and falling snow. My mind returns to the first night I ever got close enough to know what he smelled like. I love that smell. I want to inhale it every single day for the rest of my life.

  I shift onto my side, meeting Jackson’s gaze once more before I fall asleep. “You know I want you with me always. Every day. You know that, right?”

  “Every day?” he murmurs, all soft and sexy.

  I nod, dropping a kiss on his lips. “Every day for the rest of my life.”

  As I fade into sleep, I’m pretty sure Jackson says, “That can be arranged.”

  Jackson

  The night of his show, I’m not nervous. Nor am I cocky. I am, quite simply, full of faith.

  Faith in what he wants.

  What I want.

  What we can have together.

  As I watch Stone’s performance from the wings, once my nightly spot, I let the music wash over me, fill me, give me hope.

  When Stone launches into the song right before “Something Fierce,” I slip away to find Candi.

  She mics me up, then sets her hands on my shoulders. “Ready?” She’s all mama hen with her chick, like usual.

  I nod, telling her I’m good to go.

  When the song ends, Stone holds the final chord for long, delirious seconds of music and art and beauty, letting it reverberate through the theater.

  “Damn, it’s good to be back here,” he says to the crowd. “Remember the last time I was in your city?”

  Not sure how many were actually here that epic night, but most of his fans know the story of us, and their cheers rain throughout the auditorium.

  “Remember what went down?” He continues talking to the crowd. “I told my man that I loved him. I told him in a song. Told him he’s mine. And you know what? I wrote another song for him. ‘Something Fierce.’”

  He strums a few notes.

  But before he can play it, I’m taking my turn.

  “That’s true.” My voice carries across the theater too, thanks to the mic.

  Stone flinches and then turns his gaze on me as I stride across the stage. “Well, hello, handsome,” he says. He’s not a performer for nothing. He goes along with my surprise appearance in a snap.

  I walk over to him, stopping a few feet away, my heart sprinting as thousands of his fans shout Jackstone. “You did tell everyone, and I was so damn happy,” I say. “And I told you I’d make you happy every day.”

  “You sure do,” he says with a smile.

  My chest tightens with emotion, but with certainty too. There are no doubts. I haven’t had any questions about us in the longest time.

  Every day, I have answers, over and over again.

  Beautiful answers that all start and end with Stone.

  I waste no time.

  But holy shit.

  I was wrong about nerves. A cargo ship docks in the harbor of my chest, loaded full of them. But I push through the jitters as I get down on one knee in front of the whole theater.

  The audience gasps.

  “I want to keep making you happy every day for the rest of our lives,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady as my heart gallops away.

  The crowd goes wild. Gasps. Awws. Shouts.

  Stone’s eyes widen. He’s speechless at first. His lips part, but no sound comes out. Then, a few seconds later, he clears his throat, his voice husky. “Are you asking me to marry you in front of an entire audience?”

  There is only one answer. “I am.”

  Please say yes.

  And since there’s no point in keeping that inside, I say it out loud. “Please say yes.”

  He stares at me in wonder. “J, I’d have married you the night I told the world I loved you. I’m so ready to be your husband.”

  Happiness bursts inside me like starlight. Joy fills every cell as I slide a platinum band on his finger. I rise, cup his cheeks, and kiss the man who’s going to be my husband.