Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

“Stay just like that,” I rasp.

Jet’s light skin practically glows in the dark, giving him this ethereal quality that encompasses everything that’s so him. But in this light, underneath me, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

It doesn’t take much for me to be on the edge of coming. All I have to do is look into Jet’s big doe eyes, look at his shaggy hair across his forehead and small curls around his neck, and think about being deep inside him like I was earlier, and I’m achingly hard.

I can’t get enough of Jet.

Never will.

Ever.

His chest rises and falls, and his own, untouched cock points upward, the tip glistening with precum.

Leaning over him, I put one hand on his pillow next to his head and stroke myself harder and faster.

His breathing matches mine as he watches. Jet’s smaller body wriggles underneath me, trying for friction, trying to get his arms free, but it’s the pleading coming from his mouth that pushes me over the edge. “Caleb …”

My body tenses. My load hits his skin. I can’t catch my breath, and I collapse on top of him.

Jet’s hard cock digs into my stomach, but I’m too busy basking in the aftershocks of my orgasm.

A callused hand moves down my back and up to my shoulder again.

“Soren?”

Oh, I’m back to Soren now. Someone’s sucking up. I smile but don’t lift my head so he can’t see it. “Uh-huh?”

“Can I ask you to do something?”

“Yes, I’ll take care of you.” I roll my hips. “I’m not that much of an asshole.”

Jet shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. I …”

I lift up to look into his eyes. “What is it?”

“Can we, like, promise not to let us get in the way of what we have to do these next few months?”

I hesitate to ask for clarity, but that’s what got us in trouble before. “What do you mean?”

“Missing you is gonna suck. Being away from you is gonna suck. But I don’t want your game to suffer because you’re too busy missing me.”

“Jet—”

“I can’t afford timewise to jump on a plane every time we have a misunderstanding to yell at you.”

I snort. “Yeah, that might’ve been extreme.”

“I reckon we should make our careers our priority for the next few months.”

Wait … is he … trying to break up with me?

My face must fall or something because he’s quick to keep talking.

“Maybe I’m not explaining this right. I love you and want to talk with you and Skype and do all those things we’ve promised. I still want to be a couple even though we’re apart. Every day I’m in that recording studio, I’m going to be missing you and thinking about you—it’ll make for some good songs on the next album—but even though I’ll be hopelessly grumpy as fuck without you, I’m not going to let that get in between me and the album.”

“I wouldn’t expect it to.”

“Just like I don’t want it to mess with hockey.”

I can’t help smiling. “You’re worried you’re bad for my game? Baby, no. I have no idea if my disconnect on the ice has anything to do with us or not, but even if it does, I wouldn’t change us or what we have.”

“Just promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Make this your best season ever.”

That’s a big ask. “I promise I’ll try. If my knees get on board, I’m all for it.”

Jet gets that mischievous glint in his eye I’m coming to love. “Now that’s settled, you can get me off.”

“So demanding.” I move my way down his body and get to work.

I’ll do what he asks. I’m going to make this my best season ever because I’m pretty sure it’s going to be my last.

Chapter Thirty

JET

I finish Radioactive’s set on the last show of the tour three days later and don’t bother sticking around for Eleven’s big announcement or the nightmare of an after-party because it’s going to be ugly.

How the label thought it would be a good idea to announce the band breaking up where riots and stampeding teenagers could happen is beyond me.

I’ll be landing in Chicago by the time that happens.

I have twenty-four hours to meet my niece and hang out with my brothers, and then it’s straight into the recording studio. Harley’s determined to get his track out first, so while the others are all doing media appearances, he’ll be working.

That’s how Harley is.

Matt and Wade are waiting for me at the airport in Chicago, and seeing them together, the oldest of us Jackson kids and the youngest, one tall and wide, the other taller but skinnier, I can’t help thinking that we survived it—our childhood.

If CPS found out how often we were left alone, I don’t know if we would’ve made it through without being put in the system.

Matt protected us from that, and now he’s taken in our fifteen-year-old brother so he can have the best education his genius mind deserves.