“I’ll go easy on you,” he says.
We manage to get naked, and then Jet straddles my thighs.
“Lube?”
“We’re in the spare bedroom, one I never—wait—” A thought occurs to me. “How did you know this was my apartment?” He’s never been here before.
“How do you think?” Jet smirks.
“Ollie?”
He nods. “I wish I could ride you and then go back to Washington with your cum in my ass, but seeing as there’s no lube and you’re broken, I won’t do that.”
I want that too even if it’ll hurt.
The way he’s with me right now is similar to the night before I left the tour. He has longing in his eyes and shows love in the tender way he’s taking care of me.
“Love you,” I say because now that I’ve said it once, I don’t want to stop saying it.
I’ll remind him every single day if I have to.
“Love you too.”
I close my eyes and let his words wash over me.
Falling in love wasn’t the exact plan when we up and left Fiji, but I’d hoped for it. I wanted him to give me a real chance, but I guess I’ve still had alternatives running through my head.
Until now.
What we have is real, and it’s so us.
Impulsively getting on a plane to yell at me is totally something Jet would do, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
Because he’s fighting for us, just like I have been since he reappeared in my life.
Jet licks his hand and shifts so his hard cock is against mine, and his callused grip wraps around both of us.
He grinds on me until we’re sweaty, panting, and there’s a giant pool of cum between us.
His body slumps on top of me, and I can’t even bring myself to care about the ache in my side.
“I’ve missed you.” His voice is so quiet.
“Me too, baby.”
“It’s only been two weeks. How are we going to survive when I’m back in L.A.?”
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll make it work. No matter what.”
“Yeah?”
“We’ll text, we’ll video chat, we’ll do whatever we need to until my season’s done, and then I’ll come to wherever you are.”
“Six months,” Jet says on a sigh.
I poke him. “Eight. We’re gonna win the Cup.”
He moans. “That’s even worse.”
“Let’s not think of it as eight months. Let’s think of it as a week because that’s when we’ll see each other again. And then you’ll finish the tour in Boston a few days later and come straight back to New York. We’ll take it one visit at a time, and before you know it, eight months will be over, and we’ll have the entire off-season together.”
“Eight months,” he murmurs, sounding sleepy.
“What time do you have to leave in the morning?”
“Early.”
“Go to sleep.” I don’t even make the effort to clean up or even move into my room. “We’ll see each other when you play New York in a week.”
“Mmm. A week.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JET
“What do you mean I have to record with Harley? I don’t gotta do anything.” Yes, I’m being petulant.
I pace the dressing room trying to get all my excess angry energy out.
“The Eleven split is happening,” Luce says. “They’re announcing it after the last night of the tour, which means it’s going to be a scramble for the four guys going solo to fight it out to be the next Justin Timberlake. If it’s Harley and you have a collab on his first solo album? It could be amazing for the band. It’s an opportunity you can’t turn down.”
“But he’s recording right after the tour.”
“And?”
And I want to see my boyfriend in New York. Yeah, okay, that sounds like the lamest excuse ever.
“We’re famous enough,” I argue.
“Your headlining tour only goes ahead if your next single does well.”
“The label won’t go for it.”
“I’ve already got word from the big guns that they’ll sign off on it.”
Of course. When I actually want them to keep us apart, they don’t. Maybe now they know there’s absolutely nothing between me and Harley, they don’t see us as a threat. “He’s my ex. It’s weird.”
“You both know how to be professional if you put your minds to it. You’ve managed for months now.”
“Benji and Freya hate him.”
“No, they don’t, and where are they? You’re going on soon.”
“I think they’re fucking in some storage closet somewhere.”
“Fine, I’ll go find them and get them to the stage, but they’re not the reason you don’t want to do this.”
“Fine,” I relent and tell him the real excuse. “I don’t want to go to L.A. two weeks early to record a song with him because I want to go see Soren.”
“There we go.” Luce throws up his arms. “There’s the truth. And how does it feel to say it out loud?”
I hang my head. “Stupid and childish.”
“Good chat. You’re doing the collab.” He leaves the dressing room, and even though he can’t see it, my middle fingers follow him.