The show is over. The show is over, and we made it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so worried about a show going off well since maybe our very first one? And this one went far better than that. People threw popcorn balls at us during the sixth-grade Halloween dance. So, yeah, better.

The best part though is that I still get to surf this wave, which is better than being high. The applause and the shouts still echo in my ears, and the adrenaline from seriously rocking out is pumping through my veins. I’d like to say that every show I’ve played has been equally good, but that would be a lie. I mean, even rock stars get the flu, amirite? There can be something off, or someone’s having a bad day or maybe something got broken and had to be replaced, or maybe Teague forgot his lucky socks, or whatever the fuck it is, some shows are good or great instead of phenomenal.

Tonight’s show? One of the best we’ve ever done, hands down. I don’t know what it was, but we killed it. And it shows in the way we’re tumbling into the green room. Zane and Rowan are already making out in a corner and there’s no way they’re going to last long here. They’re going to be headed back to the hotel and I don’t blame them. They don’t get a ton of time together.

Teague and Christian have grabbed beers and Teague’s got his arm slung around Christian’s shoulders, holding him close. They’re also stinking cute. And sometimes I feel like nothing’s changed because it seems so obvious now that they’d be together. And then there’s Nick, who’s bouncing off the walls, of course, and me.

What am I doing now? Usually Nick and I would hit the clubs or have some groupies back to our hotel suite for an after party, but, I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to share this feeling with strangers. Shows are always kind of emotionally taxing, but this felt personal in a way they usually don’t.

And now Nicky’s taking off his shirt. Because why would he not?

Especially when a certain woman is showing up in the doorway, looking incredible with color high on her cheeks. She pauses, does a double take at Nick who’s shucking his jeans because what grown man doesn’t run around in his Batman underwear, and then she finds me. Her face lights up, seeming to glow even brighter in the dingy lights of the green room than it had under the flood and spotlights of the stadium.

Though there are other people in the room, they all become a dark and hazy blur as she moves toward me, like she’s somehow warped reality. Maybe she has, because everything around us seems to go silent too as she steps up right in front of me and grabs the neck of my T-shirt. It’s one of my favorites, and if one of the guys handled it like this, I’d push them off and snap at them for stretching it out, but I’m desperate to see what Jordan’s going to do with it. With me.

What she does first is yank me in close until our foreheads are almost touching and I want to apologize because I don’t exactly smell like roses after a show, but I’m too stunned by her to even say sorry. That turns out to be okay, because she’s got something to say to me.

“Goddamn you, Benji Park.”

And then her mouth is on mine and she’s kissing me. Kissing. Me. Usually when people say “goddamn you, Benji Park,” and yeah, it’s happened before today, I don’t get kissed afterward. Punched, maybe, but not kissed. But somehow coming from Jordan, it seems appropriate.

She’s still gripping my shirt, her fist in between our chests, but her other hand has come up to my neck and she’s stroking behind my ear with her thumb. All there is for me to do is to slip my arm around her waist and drag her in even closer, lay my other hand in between her shoulder blades, and breathe her in. This is like our hug before, but even better, because I’ve got more of her. Her lips press against mine, and she gives me a little lick with the tip of her tongue. Uh, yes please.

I open my mouth and her tongue slips in, caresses mine, and god, if I thought her voice could stroke me, this is a hundred times better. No, not better—I could still listen to a recording of her all damn day and be happy—but having her work that same magic inside me makes my pants tight around the crotch area. I don’t remember the last time I got hard from a kiss, but Jordan’s doing it and this is with us fully dressed. Would I just pass out if we got naked? Would my brain explode if she put her hand on me? For fuck’s sake, just thinking about it has me groaning.

Which is when I realize that unlike before when I just felt like the room around us was silent, everyone in the green room is actually quiet now and probably staring at us, wondering what the actual fuck. It’s a fair question because while I’m not going to bring it up in case I get an answer I don’t like, I’m sure as hell wondering the same thing myself.

Reluctantly, I break it off and find myself panting. She knocked the breath right out of me. I don’t want to let her go and I don’t want to realize this moment’s been a dream and I’ll wake up in my hotel suite with some other girl in my bed and champagne bottles scattered all around, but she should know we’re now the center of attention.

“Jordan,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

“Yeah?”

I do my best to look around without actually moving my head, and yep, everyone within my limited sightline is gaping at us. “Um, everyone’s staring at us.”

“Is that a problem?”

Is it? “Not for me, but if you—”

“What’s a problem for me is that I still want to be kissing you, and ideally on the way to someplace where we can do more than kiss. I was thinking my place. Does that work?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

She presses another kiss to my lips but doesn’t linger this time. No, it’s short but possessive and promises other things, which I would very much like, and then she turns to face the rest of the room.

“Benji and I are going back to my place. Don’t wait up.”

And then she’s dropping my shirt to grab my hand and dragging me through a room full of people who are all staring, slack-jawed at this woman who I have no doubt is about to blow my fucking mind.

If I’m lucky, I’ll impress her too.