22. Jackson
JACKSON
I sit bolt upright and pace.
I need to move.
Need to think.
I head to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, try to clear my head to no avail.
I press my palms to the counter and swear again.
Seconds later, a hand slides up my back. Gentle. Worried. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re regretting that already. It ended sixty seconds ago. Regret should take at least five minutes to set in. Most medical authorities say it’s ten on average.”
I manage a small laugh. I know he’s trying to ease my mind.
But is that possible?
I turn around, shaking my head, frustrated. I hold my hands out wide. How the hell do I say this?
Just say it.
I rip off the Band-Aid. “It’s about Cruz.
” I drag a hand through my hair. My sweaty, sex-mussed hair.
“He’s outside your room right now. It’s my responsibility to hand off to him.
To let him know I’m done with my shift and he’s on duty.
And I didn’t tell him. The only thing I texted him about was the incident.
I didn’t do my job. I’m sure there’s a text from him somewhere, and I can’t mess up like this. ”
“You’re not messing up,” Stone says in his boss voice, his “I’m in charge” tone. “It’s only thirty minutes after midnight.”
“Doesn’t matter. Thirty minutes ago is when I should have handed off to him. I’m such an ass,” I mutter as I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Stone runs a hand along my arm. Comforting me.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I file away this intel—his impulse is to comfort me.
“I can’t let this stuff slip,” I say, since I screwed up. I knew I wouldn’t be thinking about anything else but this man once I knocked on the door.
“I’m not going to fire you,” Stone says, gentle but firm. “I told you before, I’m not going to let you go because of this. And I’m not going to let you go because you didn’t tell Cruz that your shift was over.”
Does he think that’s the issue?
Is that how far apart we are? Maybe so. He’s a celebrity, and I’m a regular joe. I’m not thinking about getting fired. I’m thinking about the respect I want from my goddamn colleagues.
I let go of my nose, lift my chin, and stare him in the eyes.
“That’s not the point,” I say, my tone rising, my frustration hitting a new pitch, right alongside my guilt.
I stab my chest with my finger. “This is not how I want to behave with my coworkers. I respect Cruz. I like Cruz. And I need to do my job. Part of my job is telling him when my shift is over. So he can do his job.”
Stone nods, absorbing my outburst. “What happened last time, then?”
“Last time?” I repeat. My brain is a circus right now, and I can’t see straight, let alone think straight.
“Yes, last time. With the pizza.” He makes a rolling gesture with his hand like he’s jogging my memory.
And, well, he is.
Because last time, Stone and I agreed to tell Cruz we got a pizza.
“What happened last time was . . .” A laugh threatens to escape me.
Stone arches a brow. “Something funny?”
“Nothing happened,” I admit with a shrug. “I told him we got pizza. He just rolled his eyes and said, ‘Go get some sleep.’”
Stone looks like he’s fighting like hell to suppress a grin.
My lips twitch too, but then reality kicks me in the teeth again. “But that was once. I got away with it one time. I don’t want to lie a second time. And I also don’t want to tell him the truth.”
Because, dammit, tonight was supposed to be between Stone and me.
I want my private life to be just that.
Private.
But then, I suppose I gave up that right when I decided to stick my dick in a celebrity who’s also my boss.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
Stone squeezes my bicep, still trying to ease my mind. “Let me talk to him. I’ll tell him we were hanging out.”
I stare at him like he’s insane, then gesture wildly to the state of him. His chest is glistening with sweat. His hair is sticking up in all directions. His lips are bruised. “You look like you’ve just been fucked to within an inch of your life.”
He smiles, proud and dirty. “And I have. And that means that he’s going to know you’re the one who put this look on my face.”
A shudder runs down my body, even as I try to fight it. “Yeah. I did. But that doesn’t solve the problem,” I say, desperation coloring my tone again.
“But seriously. Why can’t we just be hanging out?”
“Gee. I don’t know. Because it’s obvious that we weren’t hanging out. And because I shouldn’t be doing this.” I grab at my hair, tugging it. “I don’t want to be that guy. They’re going to think that you’ll do favors for me now or something.” I sigh heavily. “I just want to do my job.”
Stone narrows his eyes. “I know, but we’re past that, man. We’re past the whole ‘I want to do my job’ part of . . .” He points from him to me and back. “Whatever this is. So let me help you solve this problem. We’ve got to get through whatever this is.”
His eyes are intense. He’s pissed. Pissed at me. And hell, I’m pissed at me too. So pissed I don’t know what to say.
I stare at the ceiling like an answer is going to fall out of the plaster. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to do something I shouldn’t be doing,” I say helplessly.
And I hate that feeling.
I hate feeling helpless.
But Stone has something to say. “Look. If you’re telling me that it’s easier for you to walk out right now and leave, and that this is the last time something is going to happen between us, then fine.
You can leave.” Those words, in that tone, cut.
I’m pretty sure they’re meant to. His eyes stay locked on mine.
“I’ll pretend that I didn’t just have the best sex of my life with a man I want badly.
A man I care about. And when I see you tomorrow, I will act like it never happened. Because you know what, J?”
The intensity in his voice sends chills down my spine. “What?”
He taps his chest. “I can perform. I can pretend. So, tomorrow I’ll be normal with you, and we’ll move on. Like I didn’t want this to happen again. Like I don’t want you to spend the night. Like I won’t want you tomorrow too. Like it will never happen again.”
He’s both passionate and pissed at once. All that emotion stitched in his voice makes me feel like he is about to get onstage and pour his heart out. This is how he gets when he’s deeply moved by music, by listening to it, by making it.
That’s what I latch onto—his passion.
Holy shit.
He’s passionate about me.
About this.
Whatever this is between us.
So passionate he’ll let it go because it’d hurt too much to play games.
And it would hurt like hell.
It hurts now to hear the words “never happen again.”
Anger rims Stone’s eyes. I know what it’s like to feel that kind of anger. And, moreover, to feel it because it’s masking hurt.
I flash back to what he said to me when he invited me in tonight.
I’m already involved.
I’m standing here in his bathroom. We’re both naked, and we’re looking at each other trying to solve a problem. The problem is we want to spend the night together.
And another night and another night.
Because he’s right. We’re already involved. And I do want to be involved with this guy.
Something in me softens and bends. I reach for him, cupping the back of his head and resting my forehead against his. “It’s not easier to leave. I don’t want this night to end.”
He lets out a long breath as his body sways toward mine. “I don’t either.”
I thread my hand through his hair, running it up the back of his head.
After he draws a deep breath, he pulls back and speaks again. “But if you need it to end, it needs to fucking end. I can’t have you walk out and then walk back in and think it’s going to happen again. Because I can’t do that. I can’t take that.”
I’ve never heard him sound so desperate. It floors me, and I’m not sure what to make of it. I didn’t expect it from him. “What do you want, Stone? Tell me.”
He grabs my waist with both hands, gripping me hard. “Isn’t it obvious? I want you again. I want you for the rest of the night. I want you for the rest of this tour. Can we just figure out a way to do that?”
Like that, he lays his cards on the table. He opens up, and I hear all sorts of things I want too—him, me, the next night, and the next, and the next.
Once wasn’t enough.
Once barely scratched the surface of my need for him.
I swallow, working a hand over my jaw, searching for a solution.
But there’s only one, and it’s the truth.
“I’m just going to have to man up and tell Cruz.
He’ll have to know. And I have to do it now because .
. .” I run my hand along his arm, adjusting to my new reality.
An hour ago, before I walked in here, I tricked myself into thinking a single time would get Stone out of my head.
That was a lie. This is the truth, and I tell him as much.
“Because I want you for the rest of the tour too.”
Stone doesn’t smile. He just unleashes a long exhale. It sounds like a reprieve.
I turn around, splash some water on my face, and run my wet fingers through my hair, combing it.
Then I pat my face with a towel, head out of the bathroom, find my boxer-briefs in the bedroom, and pull them on.
Next, I grab my pants, tugging them on as well.
I zip them and buckle the belt. Stone sinks onto the edge of the bed, his eyes full of questions, but hope too.
I can’t resist. I walk over to him. Clasp his cheek. Press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll be right back.”
“You better.” He smacks my ass. “I need more of this fine-ass body.”
“You’ll have it.”
I walk through the living room, grab my shirt from the floor, slide it on, button it, and tuck it in.
I pick up my phone from the coffee table where I left it earlier. Click on the screen. A text from Cruz blinks at me.
Cruz: I’m guessing you’re in there.
Then another.
Cruz: I’m here. I got your back, bro.
I grab Stone’s key card, open the door, and let it fall shut behind me.
I meet the eyes of my colleague.
He gives me a crisp nod. “How’s it going?”
That’s it. Just one simple question.
I take a beat, then answer him truthfully. “Good.” But that’s not enough. Words are so hard to get out, but I need to say them. I have to say them, since I’m about to ask for help. I draw a deep, fueling breath and find the courage to say, “It’s going really good.”
That’s a start.
That’s something.
Cruz reads between the lines easily. He lifts his chin. “Cool. What do you need from me?”
I breathe a sigh of relief, then dig down deep once more. “Listen. I’m going to be in there the rest of the night,” I blurt out, a little embarrassed.
Cruz nods. “I thought so.”
“You did?”
He cracks a grin. “I’ve thought it for ages.”
“Seriously?” I ask, furrowing my brow.
He rolls his brown eyes. “When I’m around the two of you, sometimes I just want to say, ‘Need a condom now? Here. Go.’”
I lower my face, sure my cheeks are red. I drag a hand over the back of my neck. “Sorry.”
“Sorry? Don’t be sorry. Be fucking glad you’re getting laid. I’m only shocked that it took you two this long.”
I laugh, wishing I knew what to say other than the obvious. “I appreciate this.”
Maybe the obvious is enough.
Cruz claps me on the shoulder. “We’re all good. Just don’t fuck up.”
“I won’t,” I say, though I’m not entirely sure what I’ve agreed to. What I’m not supposed to mess up. But I’ve made it through this awkward moment, and I’m ready to return to the scene of the crime.
Cruz holds up a finger. “Wait. I have one request.”
“Name it,” I say, and really, at this point, I would do just about anything for him.
His lips curve up into a grin, wry and cheeky. “Do you think you could order one of those pizzas for me? Like, with the donuts?”
Slowly, I raise my middle finger.
He laughs. “Seriously, man. I’m starving, and I didn’t get any dinner. Could you just have him order something for me and send it right here?”
“What do you want?”
“I like pizza with sausage and pepperoni.”
I smirk. “Aw, that’s cute. I didn’t know you played on my team.”
“Just the pizza, man. Just the pizza.”
I head inside to order the man the pizza he deserves.