Hat Trick (Fake Boyfriend 5)

He finishes the song and leaves the stage before people can beg him for another encore.

Only, he doesn’t come back to our table. He beelines it for outside, leaving the rest of us staring at each other wondering what happened. His friend on the dance floor is confused too.

I’m the only one who knows for sure.

Matt stands to go after him, but I push him back down.

“I’ll go.”

“What would you know about anything?”

How am I supposed to answer that? “He … uh … I …” I fluster under Matt’s gaze, and now Noah’s watching too.

Lennon appears in front of us. “Jet doesn’t want to tell you guys, but he was dating someone on tour, and it all went to shit.” He turns to me. “Go. You’re the only one who won’t big brother him.”

Either Lennon’s the most intuitive guy ever or he knows more than I thought he did, but right now I don’t care. I want to get to Jet.

I follow where he went but reach outside and have no idea which way he’s gone. Following the path down to the wharf, I check to see if he’s sitting on the dock, but it’s empty. It’s on my way back that I see movement against the side of the main building.

Jet paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair and muttering words I can’t make out, but as I get closer, I hear “Get it together, Jay. Hold it to-fucking-gether.”

I step through the row of palm trees lining the path. “Jet.”

He freezes. “Of course, it’s you.” He goes back to pacing.

“That song …”

Jet stares but doesn’t stop moving.

“You wrote it.”

This makes him pause again. “I … I—”

“About me.”

He composes himself. “Conceited much? You think you get more than one song?”

“I knew ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ was about me and not Ollie and Lennon.” I take a step forward. “But tell me I’m wrong about this one.”

Jet’s mouth opens and then closes.

I step closer again. “Jet.”

“Why do you keep saying my name like that?”

“To remind you that I know the real you. Not Jay. I still know you as the aspiring musician reveling over his first fan.”

“The naïve kid, you mean.” Bitterness doesn’t suit the bubbly guy I know. Or … knew, I guess.

I keep moving closer. He steps back. We keep going until his back is against the wall and my hand is above his head, boxing him in.

“I’ve never seen you as a kid. Never.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve tried to get myself to think of you that way, and when you’re not in my presence, it’s easy to write you off as Matt Jackson’s little brother. But I can’t when we’re in the same room sharing the same air. I can’t when you’re two feet in front of me, and all I want to do is reach for you. Touch you. Kiss you.”

“Then what was all the overprotective shit you pulled that night in Tampa with all the drugs and groupie bullshit?”

“That wasn’t me trying to protect you. That was me wanting to claim you.”

Jet breathes hard. “Oh, holy mother of gay Jesus.”

“I had no right to act or feel that way about you back then.”

Our eyes lock on each other, and for a moment in time, we’re both frozen.

“I’m sorry I wrote two emo songs about you,” Jet says quietly.

I laugh. “So, I am right.”

“You’re the only one who’s ever picked up on that. Everyone thinks Harley wrote that song.”

“Maybe because I experienced it with you …”

Jet shakes his head. “No, it’s you. You understand me more than anyone ever has. More than any groupie who’s tried to explain my songs to me. You came out because you knew ‘He’s Mine’ wasn’t just a stupid love song.” He reaches for me, his fingertips trailing down my cheek. “It’s you.”

“Was singing that song in there some sort of test?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

Jet’s thumb moves slowly across my bottom lip, and that’s invitation enough for me.

I close the small gap between us, our mouths coming together, hungry and hot. His other hand joins the first, holding me to him as his tongue seeks out mine.

Urgency and need have me pulling him closer.

Jet moans, and I can’t help replying with my own desperate sound.

I want more.

Jet evidently doesn’t feel the same way. He pushes me off him, and I stumble back.

“Damn it. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Outside?” I stupidly ask.

“Fiji. I thought anything would be better than touring with Har—” He clears his throat. “This is worse than dealing with him. I was hoping you and Bryce hadn’t come on this stupid trip.”

“Well you got half your wish. Bryce isn’t here.”

“Caleb—”

“You always call me Caleb when you’re mad. Is it because of what I said and did in Tampa?”

“No. It’s because I …”

I wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. “You what?”