Sat at a table outside a quaint little coffee shop on the outskirts of China Town, the wonderful California sunshine basks down on us.

I’ve ordered a small gingerbread latte, with a thin wedge of apple pie, and Jay’s ordered a flat white—no sugar—and no food. Maybe that’s how he keeps so lean and fit? He simply doesn’t eat—just liquor and caffeine to keep his perfect engine going.

“Not a breakfast person?” I ask him.

Staring down at his coffee, he shrugs. He’s stirred it over and over for the last minute or so, like he’s searching for something.

Although the setting is idyllic and peaceful, things seem a little tense between us. I ready myself for him to tell me that he wants me off the tour. To be honest it was a bit cheeky of Greg and Mon to bring me along in the first place. According to Monica, no one cleared it with the band. When I started freaking out at the news on the first night she just told me to keep a low profile and things would be cool as tour progressed.

Jay clears his throat, but keeps his gaze fixed on the mini whirlpools he makes in his coffee. “I’m sorry if you thought I was an ass in the bar.”

“It’s okay,” I quietly say, surprised and relieved that my original hunch was wrong. “I understand the pressure you must be under.”

He narrows his eyes, looking at me as if I’m talking shit.

Quickly, I correct myself. “I mean, obviously I don’t know what it’s like to be in a band, but—”

He raises his hand, cutting me off and saving me from digging a bigger hole. “It’s all right, I know what you meant. Just try not to pay any attention to my mood swings. Tours have a habit of fucking with my head.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

He stops stirring his coffee, sets his spoon down on the table, and levels me with his eyes. “No it isn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was a jerk.”

“True,” I say with a sarcastic grin.

He laughs.

My head tilts. “What’s funny?”

“You. That’s why I asked you to come along to the radio station. You know something? I think you’re a pretty cool girl. You give as good as you get and I like that. Take last night for example, asking what I did for a living . . .” He looks across the street. Orange and golds drench the white façade of each building. “Most girls just gush and nod like robots whenever I try and start conversation. It can get tiring after a while, you know?”

No I don’t.

I nod.

“You’re funny,” he says after a brief pause.

I scoff.

“Doesn’t hurt that you’re attractive too,” he adds.

My cheeks heat. I can’t believe he thinks I’m attractive. He must be screwing with me now.

Leaning forward, he stares right at me. He doesn’t blink. It’s kind of unnerving but I can’t stop staring back. The intensity in his dangerous green gaze is alluring, and so damn sexy. “I’m not embarrassing you, am I?”

I snort. “No.”

That’s a lie.

“Good. I’m only asking so I don’t cause more offense. I’m not great at subtly. If anything, I’m a little freaked out around fans.”

“What makes you think am I fan?”

He laughs. Sweet Jesus, that smile of his: perfectly straight white teeth that dazzle like pearls under the Cali sun.

“But I am,” I quickly add. “A fan, I mean.” Shit, why couldn’t I keep it light?

“Anytime I meet a fan, especially a girl, I find it a struggle to know what to say.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be used to all that, being a rich and successful rock star.”

“Ha, you’d think.” His brow furrows and he reclines back on his chair. Momentarily, his gaze shifts back to his coffee.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about the past, about . . .”

“Yes?”

He shakes his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t be saying all this.”

Instinctively, wanting in, I reach for his hand. “Please. You can tell me.”

His eyes find mine again. There’s a serious look on his face.

I pull my hand away. Why did I reach for him like that? He doesn’t even know me.

Just before I say, or do, anything else that’ll make me look any more stupid than I already feel, the barista—a girl of around twenty—glides over from a neighboring table and asks us if we want anything else. I’ve barely touched my pie but I’m in no mood for it now.

Jay motions for me to go first.

I glance up at the waitress, the hazy sun making me squint. “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“We’re all good,” he tells her. “Cheers.”

She sticks around for a moment. “Excuse me,” she says to Jay, running a hand through her honey-blonde hair. “I don’t mean to bug you, but are you—?”

Jay nods and pulls out the napkin from beneath his cup in preparation for an autograph. He must’ve signed a million, so it’s like he’s on auto pilot. She never even had to ask. Excitedly, the barista hands him the pen from her shirt pocket.

After he’s scribbled his swirly signature on the damp, coffee stained napkin, he returns her pen along with the autograph. The girl’s face turns crimson. The way she’s making eyes at him makes me simmer with jealousy. It’s so stupid. This is what happens to Jay all the time. And I’m no different to this girl; I’m just a horny star-struck fan, like her.

As she saunters off, marveling at her new prized possession like she’s struck gold, Jay takes the first sip of his coffee and checks his wristwatch. “We should make a move.”

“Where to?”

“Check in at one. I got our manager to book a hotel for us this morning.”

“We’re not on the tour bus tonight?”

“Normally, but we’re in the City of Angels . . . might as well treat ourselves. Aren’t you hurting from sleeping on those shitty bus beds?”

I run my fingers over the back of my neck. “A little.”

“There you are then. I booked you and Monica a double room. I got another for Greg but I think he’s staying at his friend’s house. That okay with you?”

I nod, cradling my coffee cup in both hands and taking a sip of my smooth and creamy latte. The heart shape the barista made is still visible on the slowly evaporating skin of the latte. I bet she wished she made this for Jay.

“We’re staying in the Glades,” Jay announces with a smile. “Best hotel in LA.”

“That’s too much!”

He shrugs. “It’s no trouble.”

He takes out forty dollars from his wallet, leaves the cash on the table, pushes to his feet, and pulls on his mirrored aviator shades. I take one last sip of my tasty drink and follow him, trailing behind like a puppy dog.

As we walk the few blocks back to the tour bus, I try to wrap my head around the madness of meeting my ultimate crush, touring with him, and sharing a coffee under the glorious LA sun. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I must’ve saved up a lot of good Karma in another life. Either that or I’m just freakishly lucky.

I stay a good few paces behind him, just to check out that firm butt of his.

God, how I wish I could take his hand as we walk these beautiful streets—thread my fingers through his, lean my head against his broad and strong shoulder.

Damn it, Krissy, get a grip!

I bet he makes all girls feel this way. And I’m no one special to him. It hurts, but that’s the reality.

He glances back at me. “You good?”

I smile. “Fine.”

Another lie. I won’t be fine until my lips meet his. And that’s never going to happen.