My feet find their own way there. “Wow.”
“Told you.”
Commotion on the stairs catches our attention—a flurry of movement from a wispy thing of a guy.
He enters with an air of confidence for someone shorter than Jet. He’s cute, kinda trendy, and has short brown hair and brown eyes. He looks to be in his late teens to early twenties, and I’ve got no idea who he is.
Then his stare drops dead cold. “You fucked it up.”
Jet sighs. “Soren, this is Marty. He likes to bust my balls even though he claims to have loved me once upon a time.”
“Yeah, then I met you.”
“Ouch, Marty. Ouch. The pain is too much.”
“Marty …” I say. “As in Luce’s—”
“Better half,” Marty says with Jet-like attitude.
“How old—” I slam my mouth shut. “Sorry, never mind.”
Jet laughs. “Marty looks young for his age. He’s twenty-six.”
How is that kid twenty-six?
“And Luce looks a lot older than thirty-four.”
“Wait, Luce is only one year older than me?”
“It’s the gray hair,” Marty says. “Makes him look older.”
Jet holds my hand. “See, age doesn’t mean shit in Hollywood.”
“So, who are you, anyway?” Marty asks.
I clear my throat. “Umm, I’m a hockey player.”
Marty’s mouth drops open. “The hockey player? Oh my God, am I standing in the same room as ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ and ‘Someone Else’s Perfect’?”
“Is that going to be how I’m referred to by everyone?” I ask.
“Yes,” Jet and Marty say in unison.
Then Marty’s voice goes high-pitched and squeaky while he jumps around like an excited puppy. “Oh my God, this is like meeting a celebrity.”
“Hey, I am a celebrity,” I protest.
“I mean a real one,” Marty says.
“I don’t think I like the music industry,” I grumble.
Jet elbows me. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve only got eight weeks of it. If you even last that long.”
“You’re coming on tour with us?” Marty asks.
“Until hockey season starts.”
“Okay, I’m no longer pissed about having our impromptu vacation cut short. The drama is going to be so worth it.”
I cock a brow. “Drama?”
“Speaking of which,” Jet interjects, “where are Benji and Freya?”
“Studio.”
“Fucking or fighting?”
“Maybe both?” Marty says. “I never know with those two. All I can say is thank God for soundproofing.”
Jet turns to me. “I’ll show you the studio when it’s safe.”
“Your house has its own recording studio?”
Jet smiles. “It’s small and not good enough for producing proper singles, but we use it to write music and see what works and what doesn’t. I’ll show you the rest.”
Before we can move, Marty asks, “Where’s Luce?”
“He said he’d meet you at home. He had shit to take care of at the label.”
“I’ll take off then. Have fun!” Marty leaves in the same speedy flurry he arrived in.
Jet takes me downstairs first where there’s a large kitchen, large entertaining room with the biggest wide screen TV I’ve ever seen, and a deck with a firepit, leading to an aboveground pool.
“This is … this is nuts.”
“I know, right?” he says proudly. “And I haven’t even shown you the best part.”
“There’s more?”
“Lots more. Looks small on the outside, but it’s built into the hill. It’s four levels including the basement where the studio is.”
“Okay, okay,” I relent. “You’re a ‘real’ celebrity.”
Jet pulls me back up the stairs but keeps going to the top floor. He points to the right. “Benji and Freya’s rooms are down there. Mine’s this way.”
He turns left and opens huge double doors to a master suite. It has its own bathroom, and its own balcony, and the same amazing view as downstairs.
“I can see why this is the best part.” I move toward the big-ass bed and flop backward but lean up on my elbows. “Gonna show me what makes it the best?”
“Okay, I was totally talking about the double-headed shower, but this works too.” Jet’s shirt disappears, and then he’s there, climbing on top of me.
“Double-headed shower? After that flight, maybe we should make use of that.”
“I love how your mind works.” He pulls me up and we strip as we race each other to the bathroom.
Under the spray, we’re all hands and mouths, but it’s fast handjobs and cleanup. I’ve been keyed up since back in Fiji, so it doesn’t take long for me to tip over the edge. And once Jet comes, it’s obvious the nap in the car only gave him a tiny boost and the orgasm knocked him on his ass again.
I hold him close. “Let’s go to bed.”
“It’s midafternoon. We’ll get jet lag.”
“I’m already Jet lagged. Get it? Jet …lagged.”
“I was wondering when the dad jokes would start. Because you know, you’re old. Like a dad. Or … a Dadd—”
“Don’t fucking say it.”
Jet snickers.
We don’t bother putting on clothes. We just dry off and climb into bed.
“So, this is your life …” I pull his body against mine.
I love the way he fits against me, the way his shaggy hair tickles my chest and how his callused hand scrapes over my abs.