Jet lets out a relieved breath, and that’s when I notice the bags under his eyes and the all-around exhausted vibe he’s giving off. He said he didn’t sleep on the plane, so he’s got to be dead on his feet.
“Come here.” I gesture for him to lie down and put his head in my lap.
He comes willingly and puts his feet up on the window of the car. Warm, brown eyes glance up at me through thick lashes, but they flutter shut when I start rubbing Jet’s forehead. “You know, I’ve seen Noah do this to Matt when Matt’s stressed. If this is what having a boyfriend is like, sign me up.”
“There’re lots of perks to having a boyfriend.”
“I can’t wait to find out what else there is.” He says that as if he’s never experienced it.
“Harley never did stuff like this?”
Jet keeps his eyes closed as he talks. “We were more about stolen moments. None of this”—he waves between us—“tending to me when I was exhausted. Although, to be fair, we were both always exhausted.”
“Guess it goes with the territory of being on tour.”
His head moves across my crotch, and I have to remind myself to be good right now. He needs sleep, not me turning this into something sexual.
“You know how it is,” he says. “You basically don’t stop for eight months out of the year.”
“See, I’ve trained my whole life to be your boyfriend.”
“The University of Jet. Where you learn to deal with tour exhaustion, diva tantrums, horrible hangovers, and constantly being told what to do by the team of people surrounding you.”
“Definitely sounds like the NHL. Also, where’s that university? Sign me up.”
Jet takes my free arm and pulls it across his waist. “You’re already acing the classes.”
He falls asleep with a smile on his lips.
I stare out the window the rest of the way, watching L.A. go by. I started my career on the West Coast, playing for Vancouver for my first few years and then Anaheim for a very short season before being traded to New Jersey. I’m familiar with the city, but not so much out here in the Hills.
Each house we pass gets bigger and more expensive until we pull onto a narrow side street and stop next to a black square building.
With very few windows, the house is boxy and modern.
I almost don’t want to wake Jet up because he looks so peaceful.
“Jet,” I whisper.
His mouth hangs open, and even his drool is cute.
“You’re home.”
The driver opens the door Jet’s resting his feet on, which jolts him awake.
“Wha?” Jet sits up, and his head swivels from one side to the other.
“We’re at your place. Apparently. Kinda looks like a warehouse.”
He squints up at me. “You questioning my taste in real estate? Wait until you see the inside.”
I wish I could bounce back from a nap as fast as Jet does. He’s out of the car in a beat and even has a spring in his step.
Ugh. Young people.
There’s no gate around his property, and it sits on a corner block.
“Isn’t this a security risk? Like, do you have photographers lining this alleyway?”
“You sound like Luce when we decided to buy the place. Benji, Freya, and I didn’t want to jinx us. We thought it might’ve been our only chance or it could all go away, and then at least we’d get a house out of it, right? But they haven’t found us yet. Probably because the deed is in our full names no one really knows. I also don’t see us living here much longer. At least, not together. Maybe Benji and Freya can buy out my share or something.”
“You don’t like it here?”
“I love it here. It’s like my first real achievement, you know? Well, tangible achievement. Hitting number one on the Billboard charts is the biggest, but I can’t hold that. Touch it. Live in it.”
“Then why would you sell?”
Jet shakes his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s that part of me that always has doubts. The band will break up, the label will drop us … I need to learn to ignore that voice.”
“It doesn’t help that the label is threatening to drop you.”
“Eh. Same shit, different day. We were convinced that whole first year our contract would be torn up. It wasn’t until ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ did anything that we found some stability.”
“Well, in that case, you’re welcome. Hey, do I get any royalties for that?”
“Do you think Taylor Swift pays any of her ex-boyfriends for being her muse?”
“Oh, she’d be broke, for sure.”
“Exactly.” Jet pushes open the door to his place, and he’s right. The inside is amazing.
Hardwood floors, a set of wooden stairs to the right, small sitting area, but it’s the wide windows and glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the valley that takes my breath away.