Fall (VIP #3)(80)

But it didn’t happen. You’re here. The sun is shining on your shoulders. The air is filling your lungs. You are here.

I’m here. It’s just me and the music, the vibration of the strings against my fingers, the stretch of a song in my chest and throat. The song spreads itself out over me, getting comfortable, amping up. I play the solo and it shivers over me with joy.

When I open my eyes again, we’re surrounded by onlookers. I’m not sure if they realize who I am. I don’t really care. The song ends, and I address the crowd. “Hey there, I’m Jax. I’d like to introduce you to a few members of the band.”

That gets me a few chuckles. People whistle in appreciation. Jamie is filming everything on his phone. The guys give the people hesitant waves. And because I’ve done a Beatles joke, I start in on “Hey, Jude.”

I step back, turning toward the young guys playing with me. They look as though they’ve hit the lottery, grins wide, eyes slightly dazed. But they’re feeding off me, getting it together. I nod, and face the crowd. “You’re going to have to sing along for this.”

And they do. That’s why the song is brilliant. Everyone knows it. Everyone wants to sing it.

By the time we’re nearly finished, money is spilling out of the open guitar case on the ground, and two horse-mounted cops have ridden over to investigate. I’m guessing we’re done, but they simply watch, bobbing their heads to the music.

Joe gives Jamie a turn on his guitar. In turn, Joe continues filming our performance. We play songs until the audience becomes too big, and the cops start to get twitchy. I’m not pushing our luck, and end it. Some people ask for autographs, but most just take pictures. I thank the guys and give them Brenna’s PR number. “She’ll hook you up with some tickets to our next show,” I tell them.

“Thanks, man.” Jamie beams.

“I can’t believe we did that,” Joe says. He’s picking up the money, sorting it. He tries to hand it to me, but I wave him off. “No way. This was my pleasure. You guys keep that.”

Navid grabs my hand and pumps it. “Seriously, thanks. It was … fucking cool.”

We all laugh. “Yeah, it was,” I agree.

And then Stella walks toward me with a wide grin on her face. I might have lost sight of her a time or two, but she’d been with me all the way, a presence in the back of my mind, holding me steady. With two strides, I reach her, gathering her up. She whoops in surprise, her legs wrapping around my waist.

“Well, hello to you too,” she says with a smile. “You did great.”

I kiss her hard and quick, then haul her up higher, get her comfortable as I head out of the park.

“You gonna carry me all the way,” she asks.

“Yep. Or as far as the nearest cab.” There’s one rolling our way. I flag him with one hand while I hold Stella up with the other. “Then we’re going home and making out. A lot. Later, I’ll cook you dinner.”

Her lids lower as her arms wrap around my damp neck. “I can get with that plan.”

Goddamn, I like this girl. I like my life when she’s in it. I hold onto her a little tighter. “Thought you might.”





Chapter Nineteen





Stella



* * *



As part of his “woo Stella” plan, John proposes we continue to introduce each other to something that the other hasn’t done before. “You know, take each other out of our comfort zones. Kind of like you did with me in the park.”

“Non-sexually speaking?” I ask over the breakfast John takes me to. Breakfast being Cereal Milk ice cream with cornflakes on top at Milk Bar. I have to give him points for creativity and cheek.

He bites his bottom lip before grinning. “You’re fixating, Button. I’m not talking about sex.”

I’m horny; sue me. For the past few weeks, John and I have spent our days together doing whatever catches our fancy. Our evenings are spent on the couch, kissing.

When I say kissing, I mean just that. No touches below the neck, just kissing. Soft, slow, wet kisses. Drugging kisses. Frantic kisses. Little pecks between laughing and talking. Suckling kisses. Deep ones that make my back arch and my body shiver.

We kiss until my lips are sore and my jaw aches. We kiss until my body is one big, hot throb of want and a single touch to my clit would set me off. But he never touches me there. And I don’t trail my hand down his firm chest to squeeze the cock I know is rock hard. Even when I know he’s as primed as I am. Even when he’s leaning into me, his big body trembling, his skin damp with sweat.

God, those moments get to me more than anything—seeing John a touch away from coming in his jeans. It’s hot as hell knowing how worked up I’ve gotten him. We’re torturing each other, taking it slow this way. But if feels so damn good. And there is something to his mad methods—we are learning each other. He’s getting under my skin, becoming necessary.

“What exactly haven’t you done before?” I ask him, a rough edge to my voice.

John drags a spoonful of ice cream over his tongue, a golden bit of cereal lingering on his lip before he licks it away. Only John could make eating ice cream look carnal without trying. “That’s a tough one. I’ve done a lot.” His green eyes glint. “But not with you.”