“Damnit!”

I re-add my points in the practice test and come up with the same score. It’s not technically a terrible score, but it’s not good enough to get me into some of the law schools on my short list.

I throw my pencil down and check the time on my phone. The practice test took me a good three hours, and my stomach is kindly reminding me that I am absolutely starving. Luckily mega tours like these have round-the-clock food service, so all I need to do is wander around and I’m sure to find some food.

I pack up my books and throw them into my bag, doing my best to tidy up the mess I had made. I had scoured the building for an empty room to study in and eventually wandered into an unlocked prop closet with a distracting number of neon-pink wigs on Styrofoam heads inside. Needing some peace and quiet, I managed to look past the sea of neon pink to find a table and chair and make it my study zone.

Flicking off the lights as I leave, I follow the traffic in hopes of finding some food. As I’m walking, the sound of an acoustic guitar paired with a low, muffled voice catches my attention. Following the music, the muffled voice grows clearer, turning into a soft, melodic ballad. I’m admittedly intrigued, since the only music I’ve been hearing for the past month has been overproduced pop tracks with a thumping bass beat that have likely been the reason my bottle of Advil is now empty.

I continue following the music until I find myself standing outside a room, the door left slightly ajar. I’m completely caught off guard when I recognize the familiar blonde hair and realize it’s Jordan singing. Sitting in a large leather chair, with his foot propped up against the coffee table, he strums a beautiful, vintage-looking Gibson in his lap. His eyes half-closed as he sings, he looks like an entirely different person from the gyrating pop star on stage, surrounded by a sea of women in booty-shorts.

Watch the walls crumble around you

as the crowd stands up and cheers

they were waiting for you to crack babe

and it looks like that day is here

so go out with your head held high

don’t you let ‘em see you cry

they’ve taken all they can get now babe

your body’s still here but your name will die

Pausing after he finishes the refrain, he continues to strum along, his long, lean fingers effortlessly gliding over the strings of the guitar. Distracted by how easily his long fingers coast over the strings, I lean back against the door frame and let my eyes drift closed.

“Gabby?”

When I hear my name, my eyes pop open and I feel the rush of blood to my cheeks. Jordan has stopped playing and is looking right at me. Dear God, I must look like such a stalker.

“I’m so sorry,” I manage to stammer out. “I heard you playing and it was so beautiful." I turn to leave, offering him an apologetic smile. "You know, I’m just going to go.”

“Wait!” Jordan calls out and I turn back around, pushing the door to the room open. I take a deep breath and slowly enter the room, taking a seat on the couch opposite his chair.

“Well, did you like it?” Jordan asks, his stunning blue eyes looking at me.

I find myself nodding. “It was beautiful, but…”

“But?”

“Well, to be honest, it felt a little sad.”

He doesn’t respond right away, but instead looks at me thoughtfully before chuckling. “It’s my ode to Hollywood,” he responds dryly.

I look at him curiously. “Jordan, why don’t you record songs like that?”

Leaning back in his chair, he moves the guitar off his lap. “No one wants to hear songs like this. They want to hear about pretty girls and fancy cars. They don’t want to hear how I really feel.”

I let out a long sigh. “That’s so sad, Jordan.”

Catching my eye, Jordan smiles. “Do you feel sorry for me, Gabby?”

“No!” I answer instantly before admitting, “Well, actually, maybe a little.”

He leans in, closing the distance between us. “I like that you’re always honest with me. That’s something I don’t get a lot.” He smacks his palms on his thighs and winks at me before continuing, “And since I’ve got you feeling sorry for me, how about you let me take you out to dinner?”

I can’t help but laugh as I shake my head.

“Not even a pity date?”

I roll my eyes in response and stand to leave. “Trust me, I am not the girl for you, Jordan. I may be some billionaire heiress with a pop star for a sister, but I don’t want that life. I want to try and chase some semblance of normalcy. Don’t forget, I Googled you. You took Destiny Warren on a date and flew her to Paris for dinner on the top of the freaking Eiffel Tower. That’s not me. I want burgers and fries and a cheesy movie. We’re just different, Jordan.”

“Okay, in my defense, we were already in London when we went to Paris. So that barely counts. And secondly, I can do burgers and cheesy movies. I love burgers.” He smiles seductively as he rubs his belly.

I know where this conversation is going, and Jordan is simply not a distraction I want in my life right now. I offer him another smile before I walk to the door. “Bye, Jordan.”

I close the door behind me and spin around. I instantly hit a hard wall of muscle that temporarily knocks the breath out of me. Firm hands grab my arms as I stumble back and look up to find Liam.

I straighten and pull myself out of his grip. “Oh my God, Liam. Are you following me?”

The question pulls a scowl to his face. “Your sister asked me to look for you.”

“Of course she did,” I mumble in response. Waving my hand, I command, “Lead the way.”

I follow dutifully as he leads me to Daphni’s dressing room. She’s perched in her chair, in the middle of getting her hair and makeup done for the show.

Seeing me in her mirror, she spins around in her chair, sending her makeup artist flying backwards.

“Gabby, tell me it’s not true!” she squeals.

I stare at her in confusion. “What are you talking about, Daphni?”

“Did Jordan James ask you out on a date?” she asks. Before I get a chance to open my mouth, she holds one finger in the air, adding, “And don’t even think about lying to me. I have my ways of finding out!”

I plop down in an empty seat and glare over at Liam. “Oh trust me, I know.”

“Well, did he?” she asks again.

“Did he what?”

She lets out a frustrated groan. “Did Jordan James ask you out?”

“Yes. Twice actually.”

Daphni’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open. “That bag of dicks!”

“Bag of dicks? Seriously, Daphni?”

“Gabby, everyone knows that Jordan is a player and a skeaze. You cannot go out with him!”

“Thank you for your sage advice, but I am a grown woman. I can date whomever I want. And not that you even bothered to ask, but I turned him down.”

Relief washes over Daphni’s face and she leans back in her chair. “Oh, thank God.” Turning back in her seat to face the mirror, she continues, “I knew there was a reason you were the smarter one. Besides, there is seriously no way Jordan James would make a play for you. He was just using you to get to me.”

Straightening in my chair, I catch her eyes in the mirror. “Excuse me?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Daphni explains, “I’m not trying to be mean, Gabby. But Jordan dates supermodels. You’re not his type. He just wanted to get to me so he can take over my tour.”

I ball up my fists at my side and pounce out of my seat. “Okay, for the record Daphni, not everything is about you. It is seriously that hard to imagine Jordan might be interested in me because of my personality?”

Turning to face Liam, unable to control the torrent of fury rushing through me, I continue my mini-tirade. “Or am I so repulsive to the male species that the idea of anyone wanting to spend time with me is so shocking?”

Without letting anyone respond, I storm out of the room. I’m fuming and in no position to be making rash decisions, which is why I make a beeline back for Jordan’s room.

I fling the door open, not bothering to knock. A surprised—and shirtless—Jordan looks up at me, and I greedily take him in. He looks like a freaking Ken doll. A perfect six pack, flawless tanned skin, and oh my God, a deep V leading down…

“Gabby?”

“Yes,” I breathe out.

“Yes?” he asks, confused.

“Yes, I will go out with you. Tomorrow night. You can pick me up at the hotel at nine.” Turning to leave, I spin back and add, “And please, no international travel.”