Somehow, even though we’re the two people who made this event happen, I haven’t talked to Jordan for weeks. She has people at her organization who manage fundraisers, and I have people who handle logistics and basically everything about my life, so I guess it isn’t surprising, especially since we’ve been on tour and she’s been in the news. We’ve texted a few times, but one or the other of us is always running off or falling asleep, and we never really get anywhere. Plus, texting doesn’t let me hear her voice.

Now, though, I’m standing backstage and she’s there. Not within spitting distance or anything, and I wouldn’t want to spit on Jordan, ever, but close. God, she’s close. And she looks amazing. Not in a dress but looking more rock and roll than I do. Black leather pants that hug her thick thighs and her wide hips, and damn. Just, damn. If I were Nick, I’d walk up and ask if she was an astronaut, because her ass is out of this world.

I’m not Nicky, although he’s standing right next to me and from the look on his face, he’s having the same ideas I am. So I punch him. Hard.

“Ow!” Nicky’s yelp is loud enough for Zane and Rowan and Teague and Christian to look over at us from what I’ve started thinking of as couples’ corner. It’s not like they shove it in our faces, but over the past six months, it’s definitely become them and us. I like hanging out with Nick and he makes me laugh, but I miss having us all together. And it’s only going to happen less often with everyone starting up their own solo projects.

Zane’s got a few gigs lined up for his solo act, Christian’s got a small tour scheduled for Narrazio so he’ll be on the road with Dylan and I’m sure Teague will go with them. Teague had been saying he was going to have his own solo thing going on, but he’s gotten really into the business end of things helping Christian and it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he went into producing or being an agent or working for a label as a scout or something. He’s good at that shit.

Which leaves me and Nick—who is currently looking at me like I ate the last of the Cheetos. Or, you know, punched him really hard.

“What the hell, man?”

“Don’t say anything stupid. She’s a lawyer, and she’ll sue your ridiculous ass.”

“No, she won’t. We’re doing her a favor.”

“Did you forget that she’s doing me a massive favor? Do you want to tell my mom that you were the reason we got booted from the performance and people asked for refunds for their tickets because they were promised LtG and we weren’t there? Show some respect, dillweed.”

Nick puts up his hands in a who-me gesture. “I would be showing respect. To Jordan’s incredible ass…ets. Assets. You said she’s a lawyer, right? I bet she has a great 401k or IRA or whatever those things are. I was definitely not checking out her ass. Or her rack. Except that you know what? I totally was. I’m not gonna be some weird creeper and grab her, but that woman knew what she was doing when she put that outfit on. I mean, damn.”

To be fair to Nick, that’s exactly what I’d been thinking. On the damn part. I don’t know if she intended for those pants to be especially attention-getting or if, hell, that’s just what she looks like in pants, though, so I’ll be cool, and not let Nicky within ten feet of her. Not that he can’t shout something inappropriate as well as he can say it. I wish they weren’t in the same stadium.

I’m working up the nerve to go say hello—when’s the last time I had to work up the nerve to do anything?—when she turns, and her dark eyes lock on me. Her gaze flicks up and down my body, taking in my jeans and my A Woman’s Place is in the Rebellion tee, all the way up to my glasses and my sick undercut I got the other day at a barbershop in Wicker Park. It’s a struggle not to flex my pecs or pose in a way that would emphasize my biceps. I work damn hard for this body, but I don’t want to be a meathead either. Okay, maybe just a cross of my arms to show off the guns a little. That never hurt anyone.

Her mouth tightens into a bud, and her chest jumps with a contained laugh. She’s laughing at me, cool. But it’s definitely not in a mean way, since she lays a hand on the arm of the guy she’s been talking to—one of the showrunners, given the headset—and starts toward me, her gaze holding mine as she struts over. Yeah, struts. I’d guess if I even tried to stand up in those shoes I’d end up flat on my face, but she makes them work. Yep. And she is working her way over here.

I elbow Nicky to let him know to get the fuck out, but he doesn’t move. Seriously, I hope he doesn’t say something insulting or embarrassing, but both of those are distinct possibilities. I love the guy, but his filter is perma-broken. Or maybe he was born without one. As far as I know, he’s always been like this.

But why the hell am I worrying about Nicky when Jordan is stepping up to me, almost toe-to-toe, and offering me a hand.

“Hey, Benji. We haven’t met yet, but—”

I let a smile break across my face because between her voice, how she smells—like almond and aloe—and how her dark raspberry lipstick makes her teeth stand out white, the burnished rosy light brown of her skin, and the perfect halo of dark curly hair around her head, I am done for. Like stick-a-fork-in-me done. I’d let this woman do whatever she wants, like literally walk all over me in those heels and I’ve never thought of myself as a masochist.

“Hey, Jordan. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

I spread my arms wide and kind of at an angle, because I’m not really a handshake guy. Like, I’ll do it? But hugs are way better.

She smiles at me, bigger this time, and steps into my arms, her chest pressing against mine, and the volume of her hair kinda getting in my face, but I don’t care as she wraps her arms around me.

She’s warm and solid and smells even better this close up, with notes of honey and green tea adding to the depth of the almond. And she feels incredible. I’m used to the Hollywood starlets and a lot of the music industry who are thin and hard with muscle or bone, but Jordan’s soft. I didn’t realize it when I saw her, but now my hand is landing on the bare skin of her back and it’s so good I might melt into a puddle. Instead I’ll hold on for dear life and hope she doesn’t realize that I could easily drown in her.

This is the woman who is so protective and passionate about the families she helps that she was basically willing to blackmail me to get me here. I should be ticked off, but her being so damn mercenary is actually sexy. And the fact that she was ballsy enough to make this happen, and tough enough to go head to head with the US government on the regular… Yeah, I’ve always liked smart, tough girls, but I get the feeling she could level cities with just the smarts in her head, the whip of her tongue, and her sheer strength of will.

“Hey, guys. I’m standing right here.”

Shit. Have we really been hugging for that long? It didn’t feel like that long, especially when Jordan pulls away. Yep, my torso feels cold without her pressing against me, and diagonal stripes on my back where her arms had been pressed against me are chilly.

After we step apart, Jordan knits her fingers together in front of her and I swear her cheeks get pink. I mean, I’m feeling flushed, but it’s hard for me to imagine Jordan being flustered. Much anyway, I suppose she was nervous the first time we talked. But now I feel like we’re old friends and she’s comfortable not taking any shit from me. I hope that will extend to Nick, because if there’s anyone who dishes out a lot of shit that people should just let roll off their backs, it’s Nick.

“Nick, this is Jordan. Jordan, this is Nicky. Feel free to give him a hard time. The rest of us do.”

Nick rolls his eyes, spreads his arms wide. “Dude, come on. How am I ever supposed to get anyone to take me seriously when you say shit like that?”

I give him a look, one of those Oh, yeah? looks, because does he really want people to take him seriously? If he does, maybe he should tone down some of the antics.

“Fine, fine, whatever. It’s nice to meet you, Jordan. Benji says some really great stuff about you, and whoever’s cool with him is cool with me.”

They shake hands—don’t hug, I note with some smugness.

While I’d like to chat with Jordan—and since it’s kinda loud back here, I’d have an excuse to be close enough that I’d be able to smell her—I don’t want to leave Nick to his own devices. Partially because he’s likely to get in trouble if left unsupervised, but also, I know what it’s like to feel left out. He’s not going to go hang out with the other guys and Rowan to be a fifth wheel. And I don’t have any concrete evidence that he’s the third wheel here. I’d kind of like him to be, but that’s a dick move since he’s my friend, right?

Jordan could just be being friendly. She’s never come out and said she had any interest in me beyond my ability to make this fundraiser happen. I thought maybe she might like me more than being friends, but… I don’t want to be that guy who assumes just because she gave me a lingering hug that it’s any more than gratitude.

So the three of us talk, mostly about the show and how much money we’ve raised for AHI, Jordan tells us about some of their latest cases and crusades, and soon enough it’s time to go on. That’s what I came here to do, right? Keep my end of the bargain? Definitely not get all starry-eyed over the woman who’s basically blackmailed me.