Jessie
“You’re going out with Aidan Burke? Like on a date? Or out out? Or just as friends?” Saskia’s eyes bug out of her head. “And you didn’t invite me?”
I pause from applying my mascara and look at her incredulous expression in the mirror. “Come right on into my room, Sas. It’s okay. I only might have been naked, or you know, masturbating or something.”
“That’s gross.”
“So is your obsession with Dirty B.” I give her a sarcastic smile and go back to my makeup. “But no, it is not a date.”
“Uh-huh . . .” she trails off, and when I screw my mascara brush back into the tube, she shoves her phone at me. “Then why does Twitter say you’re his girlfriend?”
I shrug and brush my bangs out. “I saw this meme on Facebook that said Abraham Lincoln once said you shouldn’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
My sister looks at me like I’m dumb. “The Internet was invented after Lincoln died.”
“Precisely. It’s called sarcasm.” I roll my eyes and grab my phone from the side table. There’s a text from Chelsey telling me to put condoms in my purse, and I just about resist the urge to roll my eyes for a second time. Everything with her is sex, sex, sex.
And, for what it’s worth, I absolutely do not intend on sleeping with Aidan Burke again. Like, ever. I’ve just been told we need to go on a “date” so our “relationship” is believable.
I’m just really hoping he isn’t expecting me to hold his hand and shit, because that just isn’t gonna happen.
“Jessie!” Mom yells. “Your young man is at the door!”
Good grief! Even my mother is buying into it.
Saskia gives me a look that says Not your boyfriend, huh? and I give her one that says Fuck you. Actually, my middle finger does that for me, but whatever.
I go downstairs to where Mom is standing in the hall, grinning wildly. “I saw it on that BookFace,” she whispers. “It was in the trending column.”
“Mom, it’s Facebook,” I say, not for the first time. “And it’s really not what you think.”
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” She glances through into the front room. “And I know your father isn’t big on the whole tattoo thing, but his are real nice.”
I cough. “Okay. Can you keep the cougar inside until I’ve left the house? Please?”
She laughs, her blond hair curling on her shoulders. “Only if you take your sister with you.”
The insinuation makes me shudder. “I’ll be going now.” I step into the front room and see Aidan and my dad discussing the latest football scores. I blink quickly and cough just before they get too into it. God forbid if my dad actually liked a guy like Aidan Burke.
Aidan looks up. A grin spreads across his face slowly, and damn if it doesn’t make him look stupidly hot with his blue eyes and his lightly stubbled jaw. “Hey, sunshine.”
I take a deep breath as my dad laughs. “Hey. You ready to go?”
“Sure.” He stands and tugs his pants up a little. Jeans that happen to hug his butt really well. . . . “Jessie?”
I snap my eyes up and sigh. Footsteps thunder across the hall upstairs, and I grab the sleeve of his T-shirt and shove him toward the door. “We’re going. Now. Bye!” I yell to my parents. I close the door behind us and propel Aidan down the path and out of the gate before he can ask me what I’m doing.
“Here,” he says, clicking a button on his keys and making the lights on a black Dodge truck flicker. “What was that about?”
“Well, one, you were playing happy family with my dad, and two, my sister was about to come downstairs and find you in the front room.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
I climb into the car and stare at him flatly. “Her bedroom has been covered with Dirty B. posters and interviews and printed selfies and album art for at least the last year. There’s a small section reserved for her friends special enough to hold the honor of being up next to the godly Burke brothers.”
Aidan laughs, setting the truck into drive and pulling away. “Next time, I’ll wait in the truck.”
“Next time, meet me there. Wherever there is.”
“Percival Town,” he replies. “We have a quick show tonight. We’re supposed to be there to meet fans and stuff.”
“And I’m there, why?”
“In an official capacity as my girlfriend?”
“To see crazy teens swoon over you every ten seconds and scream your name? Why, Aidan Burke, you sure know how to impress a girl.” I glance at him, annoyed.
He smirks, the curve of his lips slow and calculated and a little bit sexy. “Don’t worry, Jessie. I’ll make it clear I’m only taking you home tonight.”
“Oh, if only you were,” I reply in a dreamy voice before staring at him stonily. “Don’t take this too far. You didn’t say anything about official capacities and stuff.”
“You’re dating a rock star, baby, what do you expect?”
“I’m fake-dating a rock star, and I expect full disclosure and honesty in the vein of a little thing called respect.” I cross my arms and look forward. “Something this so-called gentleman supposedly threw away with a condom when he was sixteen.”
“Hey now.” Aidan swerves off the road into a turnout in the wooded area we’re driving through. “You think I don’t respect you?”
I spin in my seat and meet his eyes. “Do you?”
He hesitates just a second too long.
“Seems to be a problem all y’all Burkes have, except for Conner. Who pissed on your Lucky Charms, huh?” I lift my eyebrows.
“Jessie—”
“No.” I jab my finger into his very firm bicep. “You stop runnin’ your mouth and listen to me, Aidan Burke. I agreed to this bullshit charade because I’m getting somethin’ from it, too. I get my asshole ex off my back. But this sure as hell ain’t gonna work if you can’t put your dick back between your legs and show me the respect I deserve. I’m not gonna roll over like a little puppy expecting a belly rub and let you tell me what to do. You want me to do shit like this, tell me, so I can be prepared for the fact I’m gonna get flashed by the media more times than your eldest brother has been flashed by chicks in his whole life. I’m not your groupie, and I sure as hell won’t be treated like one.”
He breathes in, turning in his seat. His whole body is facing me now, and his hand is coming toward my face, his fingers stretched toward my hair. The tips of his fingers caress the side of my face, tucking my hair behind my ear, and his eyes search mine. The brightness of them makes me swallow, but the intensity gleaming from them in the midday sun has me paralyzed.
His gaze—it’s that crazy flurry of snow falling at midnight. It’s the rough crash of a wave in a storm. The first bloom of a flower at spring. It’s the thing that makes you stop and stare with amazement, and fear threading through the awe you feel at something so special, so unique.
His gaze is the thing that renders you powerless, amazed, catatonic with delight.
His touch is hot, his stare hotter, but I don’t back down. I won’t back down. I’m not a groupie whore. I’m a woman who deserves his respect for no other reason than the fact I’ve never done anything to lose it.
“You got it,” he says softly, his fingers curving down my jaw and beneath my chin. He holds it for a moment before turning back to the wheel and restarting the engine. A black Hyundai passes us, and he grabs the wheel as if he’s gonna pull out.
I put my hand on top of his. “ ‘You got it’?” I ask. “That’s all you’ve got to say? ‘You got it’?”
“You want me to say anything else?”
My mouth opens and closes, but I have nothing. Damn—his reply seems so inadequate yet so perfectly right at the same time. How is that possible?
“I thought not.” His grin is so mischievous that I can’t even respond as he pulls out onto the road, ending the conversation.
I’m kind of annoyed at his short response, but I’m equally amused at his smugness about it. And his amusement—damn, I wanna laugh while I slap it off his handsome face.
For the first time, it strikes me that this fake relationship could be rather dangerous.
I stay quiet as we drive down the country road that’ll take us to Percival Town, a couple of miles up the coast. I’ve been before—it’s the stereotypical little beach town, more so than Shelton Bay, even—but it isn’t my favorite place. For one, the size of the town and its population makes Shelton Bay look like a minuscule village unworthy of a supermarket or school of its own, and almost everyone who lives here acts like they’re from a city, when they’re not.
We also have a high school football rivalry, so that could play in, especially since I was head cheerleader and may or may not have gotten into a catfight with Percival’s head cheerleader in senior year.
Who also happened to be Aidan’s girlfriend at the time.
Yeah.
You could say Percival Town and I don’t get along. Neither do me and cheerleading, to be fair. I might have burned my pom-poms after graduation. Twice. Just to make sure.
“Aren’t you worried about seeing Shannon here?”
Aidan glances at me, lips quirked. “No. She got knocked up by some guy freshman year of college. She already tried the “He’s the daddy!” route two years ago. Let’s just say my lawyers shot her ass down when I proved I wasn’t even in town.”
“Nice of her to make the effort,” I reply. “I can’t imagine her with a baby. Wasn’t she worried it’d make her size-zero body inflame to a two or something?”
He coughs out a laugh. “Probably, but I guess she thought condoms would inflame her vagina.”
“Irony at its finest.”
This time, his laugh is free. “Right? What is a baby’s head? Like four inches around?”
I raise an eyebrow. “The hell kinda newborns you seen?”
“What? Isn’t that big?”
“Uh, they’re usually, like, eleven-plus inches around.”
He puts on the brakes. “Shut the fuck up,” he breathes. “And that comes outta . . . there?” he gulps, pointing between my legs.
“Uh-huh.”
“You know a lot about this.”
“I’ve watched more than my fair share of Teen Mom.” I shrug. “I’ve also spoken to the mom of your niece.”
“Holy shit! I guess I never really thought about where Mila came from before. Sofie pushed something eleven inches around out of her vagina?”
I close my eyes briefly before looking at him flatly. “No, Aidan. She pushed her belly button and Mila popped right on out like a little jack-in-the-box.” I push the door open and jump out of the truck, tugging my shorts up and adjusting the neckline of my shirt. “I have no idea where I’m going,” I say, looking up to see people rushing here, there, and everywhere.
He slides his fingers between mine and pulls me with him, nodding to a guy at security and tossing him his keys. “Does it change, down there?”
“No, it’s like elastic. Pings right back,” I reply dryly. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve never had a baby. I wouldn’t know the state of a vagina after. And if we keep talking about this, people are gonna get the wrong idea!” I add hurriedly, seeing a camera pointed at us. I take a step into his side, and he chuckles, letting go of my hand and wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
“These are supposed to be here, I swear. They won’t run anything without management’s say so,” he reassures me, his fingers brushing across my upper arm. “So even if they happen to hear our conversation, it won’t make it past Marc.”
I huff, but let him tuck me farther into his side and tug me toward a tent at the back. “What kind of show is this?”
“A party on the beach thing,” he says quietly into my ear. “Several groups and solo singers taking to the stage. They tried it last year with a bunch of local acts but it wasn’t successful, so they brought in bigger, national superstars this year.”
“Is it all country?”
“No. A bit of everything. Pop, rock, country . . . Something for everyone.”
“Except those who hate live music.”
“You cynic.”
“Realist,” I counter, half-grinning up at him.
Holy crap, our mouths are close right now.
I look away, blushing, and he presses his mouth to the side of my head. “Photographer,” he murmurs. “Pretend you like me.”
I smile at the begging tone in his voice and the camera flashes a few times. One behind us goes, too, and I’m almost blinded by the bright burst when Aidan gives someone a thumbs-up and guides me into a tiny white tent.
“Jessie!” Sofie squeals. “Well, hi!”
I purse my lips. “Hey, Sof, how are you?”
“I’m good.” She grins, looking at Aidan behind me. “I see you’re doing well.”
“Well . . . forced . . . aren’t they the same thing these days?”
Her smile widens.
“How long until we’re on?” Aidan asks, his hand sliding down to my hip.
“Twenty minutes. You like to cut it close,” Conner answers, his smile smug.
I roll my eyes as Sofie taps his arm. Take a deep breath, Jessie. Control your little temper. I slip away from Aidan’s hold and perch on the edge of the free sofa, clasping my hands on my legs.
Jesus, this is awful.
It’s a sad state of affairs when it’s less awkward to talk about a postpartum vagina with your fake boyfriend, whom you don’t really like, than it is to sit across a tent from your best friend.
Leila walks in and stops, her eyes dropping to her hands. She snorts, but manages to regroup enough to offer me a sympathetic smile.
I take the deep breath I just told myself to take and squeeze my own hands so my fingers don’t get minds of their own and fidget. This is one of the most uncomfortable situations I’ve ever been in—and I put myself in it.
What the fucking hell was I thinking, agreeing to this harebrained, bullshit scheme?
Oh, that’s right. Apparently I’m the kind of weak-willed girl that gets blindsided by tattoos and abs and delicious little smirks and great sex.
Dear Karma, in my next life, I should be a dung beetle until I’ve learned my lesson.
I inhale again deeply, this time much slower than the last. It takes everything I have not to sigh it out heavily, because there’s nothing I’d hate more than for Aidan to know just how uncomfortable this situation makes me. No doubt he’d revel in my awkwardness though.
Right now it doesn’t matter that I’ve known all of them my whole life. It just matters that every single one of them knows that I’m only here because I’ve been forced to be. . . . Because I agreed to be his girlfriend. Because he backed me into the corner.
“Move!” Ella cries, shoving the flapping door of the tent open. “Your butts need to be onstage. Now!”
“She says fuck as part of her daily vocab, yet you can’t get an ass outta the girl,” Kye mutters, shaking his head.
Ella whacks him with her tablet. “Next time it’s a stiletto in your ass, Kye!”
His laughter echoes as he darts out, followed by Conner, who leaves after planting a smacker on Sofie. Then Tate kisses Ella, darting past her and squeezing her butt, making her gasp and whack him, too, but her look is much softer than it was for Kye’s hit.
Eyes turn to me. Aidan. Us.
I glance at him, narrowing my eyes. Fake, I want to scream with my gaze. Play your game with the media, but not with your family.
He gets it. Or he thinks the same. I don’t know—I just know he gets up and leaves the tent without as much as a word to me.
“Ouch,” Sofie whispers.
“Good,” I respond, louder.
I don’t want him to kiss me. Because, hell, I can remember how it feels. I might have had one or two too many cosmos, but there’s that place between sane-drunk and dumb-drunk, and I was most certainly sane-drunk when I allowed him to take me back to the hotel.
Which could incidentally mean that I was actually dumb-drunk, but even sane-drunk people do dumb things. I guess it’s the drunk thing.
My point being, I can still remember what it’s like to have him kiss me. And I shouldn’t. That shit should be firmly blocked from my mind, locked away in Pandora’s box or like the boggart in Harry Potter. My memories of him inside me and over me and around me and whispering dirty things into my ear should be locked away in an iron box with walls six inches thick and secured with a padlock whose key has been dropped into the very depths of the Atlantic.
That’s how much I don’t want to remember.
“That was . . . awkward,” Ella says slowly, looking at me. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jessie? These guys are kind of . . . overbearing.”
“I know,” I reply quietly, looking at her and up at the corner of the tent. “How do you think I got in this situation?”
Sofie laughs. “You didn’t answer the question. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Another deep breath, and I resign myself to the fact that I’m gonna take up a whole lot more of the world’s oxygen being around the Burke brothers. “No.” My voice is barely there, and I swallow the lump in my throat as the cameras and his arms and his behavior surround me in a suffocating hug. “No,” I repeat. “I have no damn idea what I’m doing.”
I can hear screams of “You were amazing!” and “Such a huge turnout!” and “Good job, y’all!” but they’re kind of blurred.
None of it is lies. They were amazing. They did an epic job. So many people did come out to see them. Us girls crept out halfway through their set, got our faces flashed at by the media a couple of times, and watched them for a song. Or two.
Hell, they’re good live. So good that it hurts to think they ever have to step into the studio and be tamed. It’s a good thing they were picked up off of YouTube or they would have stormed the dumb reality shows promising to find “the next big thing.”
There’s no denying their talent. Not ever. You’d have to be literally deaf to not appreciate the magic these four guys create. It’s nothing short of pure talent. They couldn’t be bad if they tried. I’m still not buying into the fangirling though. I’m not going to go over there and hang all over them like they’re gods, because to me, they’re just guys. And none of them is even my guy. So . . .
“You like it?” Aidan whispers into my ear from behind.
I ignore the startled shiver snaking down my spine and roll my shoulders, inching away from him. “Y’all did good,” I reply honestly.
“Good?” His tone is amused. “All the adjectives in the world, and you pick good ?”
“I’m sorry—were you expecting me to drop to my knees and suck your cock in appreciation?”
He laughs. Deep and low and huskily and infectiously. Tingles run through me at the tantalizing sound, and I rub my hands up my forearms to kill the goose bumps snaking across my skin. “Are you offerin’, sunshine?” he asks, still laughing.
“To punch you?” I ask, shifting so I can see him. “Sure. Name a spot and I’ll warm my hand up.”
“I can think of other reasons to warm your hand up.”
“And I can think of a million and one reasons to punch you.”
He leans over the back of the sofa and, resting his hands on my arms, lowers his mouth to my ear. His hot breath fans across my cheek, and he whispers, “Has anyone ever told you that you have violent tendencies when you’re angry?”
“Many times. Those people all learned real quick not to piss me off, but somethin’ tells me you ain’t that smart.”
“On the contrary, I’m smarter. I’m gonna keep pissin’ you off.” He releases me only to walk around the sofa and grab my hands. Curling his fingers around mine, he yanks me up, my front brushing his for a second. I squeak, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment at the silly sound that’s so unlike me.
Jesus. Now I’m squeaking like a fucking mouse.
I hear someone shout “bye,” but I’m swung out of the tent so quickly I can’t even turn my head to guess who yelled it.
His grip on me is tight, and he tugs me, his fingers a little too tight around my wrist as he pulls me through the throng of people and cameras.
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?!” I snap, snatching my arm back.
“Jessie,” he says tightly, turning to face me. “People. Cameras.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t! You’re not going to drag me off like some Neanderthal He-Man Tarzan like, ‘Me, Aidan! Jessie, woman!’ ”
Ignoring me, he grasps my hand again and pulls me to him, his other hand delving into my hair and clutching the loose locks, tugging my head back, making me gasp and opening my mouth for him to close his lips over it and draw all the air right out of my body with one single kiss.
I push at him with my free hand, because I’m not his fucking puppet, but he doesn’t relent. He doesn’t loosen his hold or even show any kind of recognition of me opposing this kiss.
Maybe because deep down, I don’t want to. I kind of love it when he kisses me, but I hate that I like it.
He nibbles lightly on my bottom lip and I relax into him, the very sensation feeling like falling against his toned body. Melting into him, almost.
And in this moment, with his lips burning hotly against mine, I bet I could convince myself that this isn’t a lie.
“We’re going,” he rasps, still against my mouth.
“Then move,” I whisper, breathing heavily.
Cameras are on us, snapping pictures, and I know that wonderful kiss was just documented, and I know that that moment will be spread across the tabloids and media news programs and the Internet by tomorrow morning. Hell, it’s probably being uploaded on Instagram or something.
He inhales sharply, slipping his fingers through mine and untangling the others from my hair. Easily, he steps to my side and loops his arm over my head, still holding my hand, and tucks me into him.
My heart is pounding too frantically to relax, but I do my best to anyway, because that’s my job here, isn’t it?
Pretending I don’t want to kiss him and rip his balls off simultaneously.
I think this plan might be simpler on paper than it is in reality.
Especially if he’s gonna keep fucking kissing me like that. I mean, for real, personal space, does it not exist in his world? I don’t care if I like his kisses. I don’t like how he grabs me and manhandles me like I’m a rag doll just to kiss me. I don’t care if he wants to perform backflips and become a circus monkey with his arms flexing and his abs out.
Okay, maybe I’d pay for that. But I’m only female.
And now I’m rambling and babbling inside my head.
I climb into his truck and slip my hands between my thighs. They’re trembling, but whether it’s from anger or ohmygodhejustkissedmelikethat I don’t know. It’s easier to hide them than to have to face them, because, well, I agreed to this.
I have to remember that. I agreed. To being his plaything in front of the cameras so he could be mine in front of Dax. Just now, it strikes me as kinda unfair given that the cameras will be around much more than Dax will be, but hey.
As I climb out of his truck without so much as a good-bye and slam the door, I remind myself again.
I agreed to this.