Susie pounced on my bed at ten a.m. I hadn’t slept, but I’d lain in bed dreaming of my time with Jett and ruminating on his odd phone call earlier.

“Tell me everything,” she demanded.

I so wasn’t in the mood to recount the entire episode with Janet and then Jett in detail, and that was what she would want.

“Suze, I didn’t sleep well. Why don’t you ask Janet? She can fill you in.”

Susie giggled. “I’ve already talked to her. She said you wouldn’t do anything until Jett got there, and then all she did was go down on you and suck on your titties a little before Jett asked her to leave so you two could be alone.”

I sighed. I should have known Susie would get the scoop any way she could.

“So how was it?” she asked again. “Did you like being with a girl?”

Had I? That part of it seemed like a blur now. Everything was Jett, Jett, Jett. My last time with Jett.

“It was okay.”

“Okay? Jan’s gorgeous!”

“Yeah, she is. But…”

“But what?”

“But…I’m not really into girls, I guess.”

Frankly, I wasn’t into guys anymore, either. I was into one guy.

One guy I’d never have again.

I was hopelessly in love with Jett Draconis. Or Jeremy Gustafson.

Which one was it?

It was both of them. It was the artistry and beauty of Jett Draconis. It was the gentility, sweetness, and raw talent of Jeremy Gustafson. It was the tenacity and devotion to music of both of them. They’d figured out how to use their God-given talents to get to the top.

And thinking of them as two different people was more than a little disturbing.

“You don’t have any response to that?” Susie was saying.

Had she said something? “I’m sorry. What?”

“Jan said you’re a great kisser. Better than most girls. You use more tongue.”

“Oh?” I was oddly flattered. “I just kissed the way I always do.”

“You don’t have a lot of experience with girls. Bisexual girls, I mean. Men like to use a lot of tongue, so girls are used to keeping their tongues in their own mouths. The problem is, when a girl kisses another girl, neither of them lets their tongues stray out of their mouth. So what you get is basically a tongueless kiss. Since you’d never been with a girl before, that’s what Jan was expecting from you. She said she was pleasantly surprised.”

T.M.I.

I opened my mouth to respond to Susie, but I had no idea what to say.

Just as well, because Susie babbled on about kissing. I stopped listening after a while.

“So you want to go out and get some breakfast or something?”

I yawned. “Yeah, okay. Let me take a shower. I don’t work till five. By the way, I’m giving my notice tonight.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Did you sell something?”

“Unfortunately, no. I do have a lead with that paranormal TV show, though. We’ll see what happens. But I’m bound and determined to put my writing to good use. I’ll write for bloggers. I’ll write for e-zines. Heck, I’ll write advertising for flyers. I spend way too much time on my feet in that diner making so-called contacts that don’t lead to anything. Letting assholes pinch my ass.”

“Jesus, Heather, where did this come from? You were always about paying the bills. About having something steady. About not pimping out your talents to write for tabloid crap.”

“I just want to do what I love. I want to write. It doesn’t really matter what I write, does it?”

“Well, it never mattered to me,” she said. “But I was pretty darn sure it mattered to you. ‘It’s the big screen or nothing.’ Those are the words of Heather Myles, I believe.”

“Yeah… I’m kind of seeing things from a different angle now.”

“Why?”

Why lie to her? “Honestly? Jett.”

“Jett? What did he do?”

“Did you know his background is in opera?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“He went to graduate school at Northwestern with his keyboardist, Zane Michaels. Did you know he’s a classical pianist?”

“No shit? Pretty boy Zane? Who gets more pussy than the rest of the band combined?”

“I know. I can’t see it either, but he’s amazing on the keyboard, so I bet he’s even more amazing on a nine-foot grand.”

“I can’t see either of them in a tux,” she said.

Oh, but I could. An image popped into my mind. Jett in a tux. A sleek black tuxedo covering his muscular body. A plain white shirt, no pleats or ruffles, with black button covers and suspenders. No cummerbund. Suspenders were classier. A white silk bow tie. And his gorgeous dark hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Or maybe a messy man bun.

No. The ponytail for a tux.

“I’ll just take a quick shower,” I said again.

A quick cold shower.