Chapter 24
Maddy
“You really like this car that much, Baby, cuz I’ll buy it for us, just say the word.”
When he says this kind of thing, especially the us part, my body erupts in goosebumps and shivers.
I just can’t seem to get used to it. It’s not just the cool air whipping around us as Jett drives the PCH back towards the city.
It’s Jett himself. Wild, unhinged, sexy as all hell rockstars are not supposed to promise the kind of commitments he’s promising.
No wonder the anxiety buzz has been hanging around in my solar plexus since Jett kissed me by the pool.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to stop waiting until it does.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“The car? Want it? It’s yours.”
“I love this car,” I admit, “and the way you look in it, baby.”
“Tingly everywhere, right, I’m buying it, fuck it!”
I snag the prop cigarette from the ashtray and light it. Yes, it’s gross, but it helps with my nerves, thank fuck, my fingers are shaking.
“God, you are fit, babydoll. You said every minute with me is pure wanting? Every minute with you is pure needing, darling.” He notices my fingers. “Your sugar dropping, Baby?”
“I don’t think so.” I puff.
“What is it? Nervous about talking with your family later? It’s not still … stuff your family said to worry you?”
“Yes,” I huff, “this is so stupid. I know you signed in blood, you spelled it in rose petals! But you’re so perfect, and you know what people say about things that feel too good to be true.”
“Baby, I’m the least perfect person in existence.
You’re saying that right now because you’re …
well, I think, I hope, you’re maybe … falling for me.
Don’t you realise, if at any point in the last eight years you’d expressed interest in me, I’d have dropped literally whoever I was with to fall at your feet? ”
I pinken, and about fifty percent of the anxiety disappears just with that. “I do now! I swear I’m not insecure, Jett, there’s just something—”
“Something stupid about your brother. His scaring you was totally unnecessary. Saying I’m gonna surprise you with an STD, that twat. I swear, tonight I’m going to—”
“It’s not just him, though, that’s causing me anxiety.” I’m not even sure how to describe this other shoe anxiety, so I just blame it on Ace. “Finding this in my inbox today definitely didn't help.”
I open my phone and read Ace’s text. Jett’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.
“Block that cunt, please,” he says through gritted teeth, “he doesn’t deserve a response or even the ability to communicate with you. I know he’s your coworker, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Doing it now, baby.” Surprisingly, I’m still enjoying Jett’s decision-making, as I’ve agreed with all of them so far. I think it’s going to feel pretty freaking good, so I press the options and hover my finger over block number.
“Jab that button, Baby, yes, hard as you can!” I Iaugh and do just that, and let out the longest exhale. Such a relief.
“I don’t like that he’s still my coworker, but we all signed a three-season deal.”
“You’re still excited to be Princess Aerin, aren’t you? Ignore the fact that he’s a tool. You want to do season three? Your mum said she’s a hundred percent sure it will get renewed.”
I sigh. “Not sure I can ignore someone I share so many scenes with. Mick’s about done with the third book, and I know she’s gonna kill off his character, but again, that’s the end of the book. Ugh.”
“So, if he was killed off immediately, you’d be excited?”
“Honestly, I think your coffee date idea was a sign … I’d be a lot happier doing horror. I think I’m ready to be done with Princess Aerin. I’m done with winter in the North, but I’m not a quitter.”
He threads his fingers through mine and squeezes. “Neither am I, Baby.” He winks. “Plus, that’s a fucking fantastic idea, you would look so, so hot covered in blood. And you have the best scream I’ve ever heard. Princess has pipes.”
“I have never in my life had someone make me scream like that.”
Now he’s the one glowing. “And you want me to spend the night? You know I won’t be able to resist you. How will you keep from screaming? Keane’s jewellery kind of makes it impossible not to.”
“You make it impossible not to. Hmm,” I stroke my chin like I’m maybe considering a fix for that, but let’s be real, I’m so turned on by the idea. “There’s a sex shop next to my nail salon. Ball gag?”
He grins like the devil himself and does that fucking thing with his tongue, and I’m concerned about soaking through my jeans.
“Oh fuck, Baby, I’ll buy you whatever the hell you want from that store and get my nails done with you.
Can’t have Freddie Mercury’s cousin meeting me with this chipped mess. ”
We roll up to the studio and strut in like bats out of hell. I’m feeling so much better … until he introduces me to his new band. Jack is on bass, Dean is on guitar, Alex is on keys, and Lily is on drums. My heart sinks when I see Lily. Another gorgeous, female drummer? WTF, Jett?
She isn’t just the hottest drummer I’ve ever seen, she’s the hottest woman I’ve ever seen, period.
How cool I wish I could look if I didn’t have to be a blank slate for my acting career.
Long pink hair, nose ring, big doll eyes, colorful tattoos, long legs I could only dream of, and an insane body like Pilates twenty-four-seven type.
Is she the other shoe? That would drop on tour, late at night, when I’m not there?
Jett throws an arm around me, and the band howls with delight when they ask about his hand and find out my dad did it.
Then they start asking me questions. I’m not even sure they compute in my brain until I hear Lily tell Dean that she’s having a dinner date with her girlfriend tonight. I feel my solar plexus relax a little.
But I sit by the mixing board while the band gets ready to play, in my head chanting Please be gay not bi, gay not bi, gay not—
“Baby?” Thank God my stupid, obsessive thoughts are interrupted.
I hear Jett as clear as if he weren’t behind glass.
“Dad told me your two favourite songs because, yeah, he owed me. I texted the band immediately that night, and they said, ‘No problem,’ that’s why they’re the shit!
Be honest and feel free to record some on your phone if you like, Princess. ”
Jett talking to me like that in front of the band and his producers?
My favorite songs? It makes me feel so much better.
I can get a full breath again. My brain starts whirring as the band chats with the producers about the song, but the noise is more productive.
Do you want to be a jealous, insecure, soon-to-be single again cunt or be a badass, secure-as-fuck rockstar’s girlfriend?
And my mantra becomes badass rockstar girlfriend, secure-as-hell, badass rockstar girlfriend. Hot as fuck, confident as hell, badass rockstar girlfriend.
Much better.
The producer and his assistant both want selfies with me, and then the band starts playing my song, and any trace of nerves disappears.
I do feel little tear prickles, but I think they’re the joyful kind as the band practices Billy Idol’s Eyes Without a Face together for the first time.
How does it already sound so good? I would know, Billy is literally my godfather.
Jett moves his body in a slow, sensual, Billy type way, and when he starts to sing, I’m cooked.
I’m done for. If there was any shred of me getting out of this in one piece, it’s flown right out the window.
He’s singing an octave lower than I’ve ever heard him, and I think I finally understand that whole exploding ovaries thing.
After about two and a half minutes, I hear, “I think you might like this part, Maddy.”
I stare at the producer, dumbfounded for a minute. I might like this part? I’d marry Jett based on how he’s singing this alone. What more could he do to … oh. I’ve seen Jett play rhythm guitar many times while he sings, and it’s lovely. But this is certainly not that.
The assistant slings my dad’s, how the hell did—wait, was it in the boot of the Triumph this whole time?
A custom ‘63 sunburst Fender Strat is over Jett’s shoulder, and I slump against my chair.
I have never heard Jett solo, and it’s obviously one of my favorites.
It’s simple but driving, and I can’t believe how well he plays it.
I know deep down that soaking through my jeans, watching my boyfriend play my godfather’s song on my dad’s guitar, is worth thousands in therapy sessions. I swear I don’t have Daddy issues would never hold up on a therapist’s couch if they saw my reaction right now.
“Thought so,” the producer chuckles, sounding miles away to me.
Jett is staring at me so intently, playing so effortlessly without checking frets or anything, there is no way he hasn’t been practicing this for a while.
I lock eyes with him and wonder if he’s really feeling what I’m feeling.
No one has ever felt about me the way I feel about Jett in this moment. Have they?
I panic, realizing I need this on my phone for the rest of eternity, on my cloud, on a frickin fireproof, waterproof hard drive. I fumble to open my camera but manage to get about a minute on video.
“What does she think, Bobby?” Jett slicks his hair back and out of his eyes, standing there with Dad’s precious draped over him, and I think, if the photo last night of Jett driving pissed off one ex and one dating app date, this photo I’m taking of him now could piss off every person Jett or I have ever even looked twice at and make them burst into flames.
“I think she’s catatonic, Jett.”
The band sees my face and laughs. Bobby presses the button when I can finally say something, “Why would you need to ever play any other cover, ever again, baby?”
My boy grins at me cheekily, and the assistant brings the guitar over to me. I clutch it like Gollum with that damn ring.
I hear the beautifully haunting, unmistakable opening to the song Drive by the Cars, and I might just have to take back what I said a moment ago.
Jett takes his raw, rock voice and smooths it out in a way I didn’t think possible.
I melt so completely at his soft, questioning vocals that my eyes blur with tears, and I nearly drop Dad’s Strat.
I make Bobby hold it for me as I grip the edge of the mixing station so I don’t slide down to the floor, watching them so raptly that I forget to make sure tears don’t get on the million-dollar equipment and pray Bobby doesn’t notice.
“Bobby?” Jett asks the second they finish.
“Maddy might need a minute.”
I blink away the tears, and the band looks at me with bated breath. I have him push the button. “Jett, if you pick both and don’t make me choose, I’ll buy the damn Spitfire!”
Jett shows his pretty teeth and tongue. “You gonna be the one to call the BBC producer and tell her to add another song?”
I flip my hair behind me and tap my phone. “Yeah, what’s her number?”