27. Jackson
JACKSON
After the game ends with the Hawks coming back in the fourth quarter, we pile into Stone’s limo and peel away from the stadium.
I told the backup bodyguard I’d cover him the rest of the evening, so he’s done for the night.
The driver winds through the streets of Las Vegas as the four of us chat, recounting the game-winning touchdown, the energy in the stadium, and the play that the quarterback pulled out of his pocket at the last minute.
“That’s why football is an awesome game,” I say.
Stone’s grandma nods sagely. “I couldn’t agree more. But I do like baseball too, so if you ever feel like going to a ball game, you know where to find me,” she says with a wink.
Zane’s lips round into an O as he nudges her elbow. “Grams, are you trying to take Stone’s bodyguard out on a date?”
“I like having someone to chat about sports with who knows what he’s talking about,” she says.
Zane brings a hand to his heart, gasping. “I know sports.”
“But not like Jackson,” she says, patting his knee sympathetically.
He mock-pouts as I smile at her. “I will talk sports anytime, Marianne. And I would love to go to a baseball game with you.”
Stone turns his gaze to the window, but I catch the hint of a smile on his face, almost like he’s trying to hide it.
We drop them both off, since Zane is going to spend the night at her house.
When we get back in the limo, I close the door, and now it’s only us.
Stone doesn’t even say a word. He slides closer to me, stretches his hand across the seat, and reaches for mine.
As the car pulls away, he threads our fingers together.
My heart stutters.
“I want to do this in public,” Stone says, his voice warm, like whiskey.
“Me too.”
“So many times, I’ve wanted to take your hand when we’ve been walking around. Put an arm around you.”
I look at our joined hands, bring them to my lips, and plant a kiss on his knuckles. “I want to do the same. Kiss you on the cheek. Ruffle your hair,” I say, reaching my free hand across to show him what I’d do. “Put a hand on you, but not as your bodyguard.”
“You’d do all that? In public?” He sounds surprised.
I laugh. “Out and proud, babe. Out and proud.”
“Well, I know that now. I just like the idea.”
“I’d do all that with you. Anywhere, anytime.”
Stone leans his head back against the leather seat, sounding dreamy. “I’d be amenable.”
“If you weren’t my boss, I would.” I squeeze his hand harder. Rub my thumb across the top of it. These are his instruments. This is the way he makes music, the way he entertains crowds.
And right now, after hours, I get to hold these hands and touch this man.
“I’m not your boss,” Stone says softly, a futile denial.
I link our fingers more tightly, like I can send a message through touch—and the message is don’t lose sight of the truth . “You are, and you know what I’m saying.”
With a heavy sigh, he whispers, “I do.”
“And that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” It’s not the first time I’ve mentioned the problem. The big problem. But it bears repeating. It’s not going to disappear. We can’t sweep it under the rug.
“Yes, that’s the damn rub.”
As we pull into the portico of The Extravagant, the car slows, but I don’t let go of his hand. Instead, I inch a little closer and lean into the make-believe. “But if you weren’t, I’d get out of the car, open the door, put my arm around you, and walk into the hotel like that.”
His green eyes sparkle even in the darkness. “Like Jackstone.”
I laugh. “You know our ship?”
He shrugs lightly. “I’m not oblivious to the internet.”
“I thought I was, but then my sister mentioned it to me,” I say as the limo stops.
“And what do you think about the fact that we’re shipped?”
What do I think? I love it. It makes me so damn happy. It feels like all the possibilities we can’t have.
But I don’t say that to Stone.
That’s not what we are, though it feels like we’re teetering dangerously close to wrecking our deal—to smashing it, even. Lately, as in during the last twenty-four hours, it seems like he wants more. Like maybe he’s more serious than he’s let on.
That gives me the courage to say the next thing. To test the waters.
“I’m more interested in what you think.”
Stone licks his lips, takes a breath, and flashes me his megawatt smile. But it’s not simply his celebrity smile. It’s the smile that comes from within.
“I like that the internet likes the idea of us together,” he says, and my chest glows because I’m pretty sure I’m reading him right.
Reading us right.
I move to the door, open it, step outside, and look around. Make sure the coast is clear. Then I lean back in, meet his gaze, and answer him, letting him know I feel the same. “The internet isn’t the only one.”
The next few days pass in a blur of sex and work, work and sex.
And nights with Stone.
Nights that hardly feel like they’re part of a deal.
On Wednesday, as the clock ticks closer to his concert series ending, we head to a local community center at the start of my shift.
It’s located in an area that was once a hotbed for street gangs. The neighborhood has since been cleaned up, and Stone’s been a regular charitable contributor to the center.
I head inside with Candi, and I stand by the doorway as the musician settles into a rec room with some teenagers for another visit.
He plugs in his electric guitar and shows them a few basic chords.
He hands his extra Strat to one of them, and a goofy smile spreads on the teen’s face as he slings the strap over his shoulder then plucks out a chord.
Stone nods in time to the beat. “Yeah, just move like this,” he says, and shows the kid how to do it.
With a smile, the kid does his best as Stone taps his fingers. “That’s how we do it. That’s how we make music.”
They play together as Candi snaps photos on her phone.
She nudges me, brandishing the screen. “These pictures are gold. You know why?”
“Because a picture’s worth a thousand words?”
“No. Because they’re legit. Look at him. This is who he is. It’s just magic.”
Warmth radiates through my bones. “Yeah, he’s all kinds of magic.”
“Funny thing is, he seemed a little lost for a year or so. He was traveling a lot. Not making as much music. Around five months ago, things started to change. It was like he was inspired again,” she says.
I’m not a conceited person, so I’m not going to attribute his inspiration to me. But I sure as hell don’t mind that it happened.
After his show that night, we weave our way backstage, along the shops of The Extravagant, then past the restaurants. He stops to say hello to Callum, who’s having dinner with Ivy at Konu.
I’m not jealous at all when I see them. Stone’s right—he did good for his friend. Hearts and arrows practically flutter over the couple’s heads.
“Don’t you two look cute?” Stone says with a wink.
Ivy raises a playful brow. “I could say the same about the two of you.”
Callum lifts a glass, looking at Stone, then me. “Yes, I could too.”
I deflect, glancing at their plates. “Good dinner?”
“The best,” Ivy says.
Callum nods to the guy by my side, then speaks to me. “Look out for my friend.”
I clap Stone on the shoulder. “Always do.”
We say goodbye and walk through the casino.
Normally, we head straight to his room, but this time he motions to the tables on the floor. “How about a round of poker? I know you don’t like to gamble, so I’ll cover you.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not paying for poker for me.”
“So you’ll play?” He wiggles his brows.
“Was that your way of goading me into playing poker?”
Stone nods, owning it. “I want to play poker with you. I want to go out and do something with you in public. Sheesh. Is that so wrong?” He plays up the indignation.
I flash back to the other night in his limo, to the things we said, then give him my best deadpan reply. “I’ll allow it.”
As we make our way through the quiet back hallway, he leans a little closer. “I know we’re not going to play strip poker in public, but can we add in a little truth poker?”
“You really always have to get your way, don’t you?”
“I like my way. It’s the way that I want,” he says with a grin.
We head to the VIP lounge and snag a table in the corner where he’s mostly away from possible fans and the spotlight.
We’re the only ones here, and the dealer is a quiet man who says little.
Stone wins the first hand, then says to me, “Do you like your job?”
I give him nothing but the truth. “It makes me happy. I love what I do. Why do you ask?”
“Just wanted to know. Seems like you dig it. Seemed that way when Callum said to look out for me. Wanted to see if I was reading you right.”
“You read me right.”
I win the next one, and it’s my turn. “What was the year you took off all about? What led to it?”
He strokes his chin. “I think my dad was in my head. Some things he said to me on the last tour made me doubt myself. I needed to take a little time off and do some other things. Give back. Make sure I was in the right headspace.”
“And you found the right headspace?”
“I did. I’m glad I took the time away. But I’m even more glad I found my way back to music. Love it like I love air and food.” He dips his voice. “Almost as much as sex.”
I lower my head, hiding a smile.
Then I try to hide a blush when he adds in the barest voice, only for me, “Sex with you, J.”
Stone wins the next hand, and he tosses a question at me. “Does it ever bother you to be on the road so much?”
“I miss LA, but I’ve been on the road for a while and I think I’m pretty adaptable, so I don’t mind it at all.”
“That’s your superpower. You’re adaptable.”
“I think it’s one of them. What about you? Do you love the road?”
“I do. But I’ve been on it a long time. I love LA too.” He stabs his finger against the felt table. “Ask me another question.”
I frown. “Is that how this works? I thought the asker got to pick. You’re so demanding.”
“Yes, but do me a solid. Ask me what my next song is. The song I’ve been working on.”
I don’t know exactly what he’s getting at, but judging from the way his eyes sparkle, I’m pretty sure it’s someplace I want to go. “What’s your next song?”
His grin is crooked, pleased, but a touch nervous too. “It’s called ‘The Guy in the Picture.’”
His gaze holds mine.
I slip back in time, and like it was yesterday, he’s looking at the shot of me with my sister and saying those words. Telling me, for all intents and purposes, he’s going to write a song for me.
Now, here we are, and he is writing it.
My chest tingles, then those tingles spread to my entire being, to my soul. “Would I like the song?”
For a sliver of a second, nerves flash across his irises. But they’re gone in a heartbeat. He straightens his shoulders. “I hope so. It’s for you.”
For the first time in my whole entire life, I swoon.
My head is an electric haze.
I want to haul him into my arms, kiss him in front of the entire casino, and tell anyone who’ll listen that he’s mine. All mine.
I clench my fists so I stay still. “I want to hear it.”
“I’ll play it for you soon. I promise.” He leans closer to me. I catch the ocean breeze scent of his hair, and I nearly lose my mind. His voice is a barren whisper. “Do you want to go?”
“Yes. Now.”
We leave, and once we’re in the elevator, we move to opposite sides of it.
I grip the railing behind me. He does the same. But we stare at each other—with heat, longing, and something brand-new. The admission that I’m the guy in the picture.
That’s who I want to be.