Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
“Oh, I can definitely hold my own if I have to.” Not that I’ll have to with Jet’s ex … right?
Before I can ask about the chances of that happening, Jet’s guitar interrupts our conversation.
Then he’s there at the mic, his hypnotic voice hitting my ears, and even though it’s only a soundcheck, he brings the magic that is one hundred percent Jet.
Marty says something, but I don’t hear it.
“What?” I ask, not taking my eyes off Jet.
He says something again that I miss, but I don’t miss him turning to Luce and saying, “We lost Soren.”
Yeah, they did.
Nothing can beat watching Jet on stage.
Not a crowd of hockey fans screaming my name.
Not scoring a goal or even a hat trick.
Jet in his element is everything.
“Thank you, Seattle!” Jet yells into his mic.
His audience screams. They really are his. He has everyone captivated.
During the band’s whole set, the crowd has gone nuts for him and Benji. The entire stadium is full of fans. They may be here to see Eleven first and foremost, but they love Radioactive too. It’s obvious. This was what Jet told me was his dream that first night we spent together.
He has worked his ass off for three years to get here.
“I know y’all are waitin’ for Eleven to come out here.” His Southern accent is more pronounced onstage than off, and yeah, that’s adorable too.
Did I mention all those screaming fans are teenage girls? I hold my ears as they become even louder at the mere mention of the main event.
“But we’ve got one more song for you.”
A roadie goes on stage with a stool, and Jet takes a seat.
“Everyone’s been wonderin’ why we disappeared last week, and the truth is, I had to pick somethin’ up in Fiji.”
Wolf whistles ring out, and Jet’s loving it just as much as the fans are loving him.
“I’m sure all y’all know who Caleb Sorensen is by now. Apparently, we’re trendin’, baby.” He glances at where I am down in the front but off to the side. I feel all seventeen thousand pairs of eyes on me. “And this one’s for you.”
Jet breaks into a slow, acoustic rendition of “Hat Trick Heartbreak,” turning the upbeat song into Jet’s style of anguish that cuts deep. When he hits the chorus, he picks up the pace, and the backing band joins in, kicking into the original version.
If it wasn’t such a shitty reminder of what I did to him, I’d be able to enjoy it to the fullest, but like it always does, this song haunts me, and guilt takes over.
“This was Radioactive’s first number one,” Marty says in my ear.
“I know.”
“Then stop looking like he’s singing your obituary. This”—he gestures around the stadium—“Jay owes all of this to you.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any better about inspiring that.” I point to the stage as Jet belts out the line about me being nothing but his heartbreak.
Then Jet makes eye contact with me again, and he smiles.
“Just don’t break his heart again,” Marty says. “Come with me. He’s about to finish up and come offstage.”
I follow him to the backstage area just in time for Jet to end his set.
I’m reminded of what he said back in Fiji. He wants someone waiting for him after his concerts.
I hold out my arms.
“I’m all sweaty.” He ditches his earpiece and mic, handing it to a stagehand.
“Don’t care.” I remember that was a stipulation too.
Jet wants someone who’s with him for him. Not for his music or the fame but for him.
He pauses only for a second before jumping into my arms and kissing the fuck outta me.
I groan into his mouth and pull back. “You were amazing, Jay.”
“Nuh-uh.” He shakes his head. “Everyone else calls me Jay. I don’t want to hear that name on your lips.”
“Whatever you want, Jet.”
“That’s better.” He kisses me again and takes my hand as we’re ushered with the rest of the band back to the dressing room.
I go for the couch, but Jet doesn’t let me sit.
He pulls me through to the bathroom and shuts the door behind us. The lock clicks in place, and Jet’s expression is downright devilish. “I like my plaything being on tour with me.” He shucks off his sweaty shirt.
“That should make me feel cheap, and maybe I should care, but I don’t.”
Jet laughs. “Good. Now hurry up and get naked.”
“Mmm, you think you’re the one in charge here?”
“Yep. My tour, my rules.”
“Your tour?” I grab Jet’s wrist and spin him so he’s facing the wall and then pin his hands above his head. My free hand trails down his back and lower. “But this is my ass, so I think I get to decide what to do.”
Jet pushes back into me. “Fine, but whatever you’re gonna do, just fucking do it.”
“I love how you don’t even dispute that your ass is mine.”