Jace (Kings of Country 1)

Travis laughed. “Enjoy the ride. And the perks.” He chuckled. “There are so many perks.”

“And by perks, he means groupies.” She tried to keep the edge from her voice. Tried. And failed. “Whatever. Go ahead and catch an STD. Catch two. Collect a whole bunch even. You’ll need your rest then, so you boys go off to bed and I’ll clean up here.” The sooner they were gone, the sooner she could stop thinking about Jace, in his tight white shirt, enjoying the perks of the road. It shouldn’t bother her. It shouldn’t. But it did.

She covered the pie with foil and tucked it into the refrigerator, dodging Clementine to reach back for the ice cream and milk. When the food was packed away, she turned to load the dishwasher. It wasn’t the way the muscles of his back worked that got to her. Or the way he’d simply stepped up to help clean without being asked. No, it was the sound of his deep velvet voice humming the tune of her newest song as he worked that left her hands unsteady.

* * *

Jace sat in the last row of the chartered airplane, his lucky baseball cap pulled down low and his leather jacket folded up behind his head for a makeshift pillow. He was worn out. Being in the King house surrounded by all the things he never knew a person needed made him uneasy.

The shower operated with a remote. A remote control. He’d taken a picture and sent it to Heather—who’d instantly sent him a string of rapid-fire texts demanding pictures of everything.

He’d texted: Why are you awake? It’s almost one in the morning.

College student. Cramming. Send pics. I’m freaking out here, she’d fired back.

He’d smiled, yawned, and texted, Pics tomorrow. Get some sleep. Love you.

You better. Break a leg tomorrow night, big brother. Wish I was there to cheer you on. I love you. Her text had ended with a string of kiss and kissy-face emojis. Heather was an emoji fan.

The remote hadn’t just turned on and off the shower. Hell no. That would have been too easy. It turned on the in-floor heating, a variety of nature sounds, mood lighting, and a whole slew of different water pulses. He’d given up, stood on hot tiles, the sound of whales echoing off the walls, under alternating pink-and-purple lights, with water shooting him straight in the chest. Damn hard, too. Why the hell would anyone want that sort of water pressure? Eyes pressed shut, he rubbed his chest, wondering if he was bruised.

“Jace?” Krystal stage-whispered.

He opened one eye to find her standing in the aisle next to his seat. Her heavy-lidded eyes, too-big T-shirt, zebra-striped leggings, and worn-out John Deere tractor cap might be his favorite look yet. “Krystal.”

“You look like you pulled an all-nighter.”

“Didn’t sleep.” He opened both eyes, looking at the enlarged picture on her shirt. “Is that Clementine?”

She stared down at the image and smiled. “Yeah. A fan made it for me. Isn’t she the cutest?”

Clementine was on her back, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, in a blinged-out sweater that said “Mommy’s Little Angel.” “She’s something, all right.” He stifled a yawn. “She coming on the road with you?”

“Of course. She’s asleep in her kennel up front.” She cocked her head to one side, her green gaze sweeping over his face. “Why didn’t you sleep? Eat too much pie?”

He liked her like this best. Teasing. Smiling. No tension. “Is that a thing? I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

She laughed. “Well, I hate to do this but…you’re in my seat.”

He tipped his cap back. “We have seats?”

“Not officially.” She shrugged. “But I always sit back here. It’s quiet. You go up there and you’ll be forced to listen to Travis. He snores like a freight train. I pity his wife—if he ever stops screwing around and finds someone willing to take him on.”

“Great.” He yawned, shrugging. “Guess it’s a good thing I can sleep through practically anything.”

“Or you could just ask,” she said.

“Ask?” he repeated, gathering his jacket and well-worn duffel bag.

“You’re going to have to learn to stop being so agreeable, Jace. You’re going to get eaten alive.” With a sigh, she flopped into the seat beside him. “Fine.”

“What?” He was confused.

“You can stay.” She yawned. “You go up there, you won’t get a lick of sleep. And I don’t want you falling over when we sing tonight.”

He wasn’t about to argue.

“It’s not just Travis. Emmy will be on Instagram or Snapchat or doing something super-productive so you’ll feel guilty for not being productive.” She yawned again, her eyelids drooping as she curled up in the oversized seat. “Even though it’s human to need sleep. Emmy’s devotion to her fans is ridiculous. But maybe that’s why she’s the popular one, I’m the screwup, and Travis is the playboy.”