Jack on stage is a sight to behold. Without any sound at all, I’d still be totally enraptured by him. The way he closes his eyes when he sings. Or bends his torso slightly when he plays a riff. It’s as though he’s making love to the guitar. I’m not as close to the stage this time as I was at the Happy Hollow. It’s impossible with the security boundary. Even with hundreds of people between us, the energy pouring out of him reaches deep within me. Almost like he’s directing it right at me. It’s the biggest audience of his career, and it’s silly to believe he’s thinking of me at all, but I can’t help it. After the night we had, waking together in the tent this morning and getting breakfast, the bond between us is undeniable. We’ve wound ourselves around each other. With thousands rocking out to the sound of Jack’s voice, I have to believe I’m somewhere in there, intertwined in the emotions filling each soul-shattering note.

Jack Kingston in all his glory aside, the band is rocking. They’re the best band to play yet this weekend, and the crowd is eating it up. Yeah, I’m biased, no doubt, but the crowd’s reaction tells me I’m not off. The guys are totally in sync with one another, taking the jams to a level only achieved by how long they’ve played together. A strange sense of pride, as if I have any ownership over Jack or the band, swells inside of me for the guys on stage, and I’m thrown off by the odd reaction. They’re up there on one of the biggest stages in the world, and owning it. As if they were born to do this.

The crowd roars with excitement when Jack addresses the crowd. He’s not one to say much on stage. A quick hello before getting right to the music. Now, he tells us it’s the last tune for the set, and the first time they’ll play one of their new songs. The hum of anticipation at this has me bouncing on my feet, clapping my hands. Though hundreds, hell probably thousands, of women are squealing their love for Jack at the top of their lungs, I swear his eyes find mine in the crowd. He flashes a smile before strumming a chord and then turning to the band, nodding the beat.

Shay turns from Jett’s arms to look at me with wide eyes, her mouth forming an “Oh!”

I just grin smugly at her with a shrug. Yeah, I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself at this moment. About life.

And then he starts singing. And I stop smiling, shock washing over me as my body abruptly stops, still as a statue. He’s singing about me. There’s no way he met another girl and sat on a diving platform with her. No way he sang her a lullaby. Couldn’t get her out of his mind, his heart, his soul. Holy shit. He’s singing about the night we met.

I think I might faint. The world around me spins as I stay still, the lyrics seeping through me. This connection that sparked that night outside the alley, it’s the real deal. I wasn’t alone in how much it rocked me. He didn’t write this song in the three hours we were apart before he took the stage today. They’ve practiced it, no doubt about it. I rested heavy on his mind, his heart, his soul over the past nine months and now he’s telling the entire world about it.

I’m such a goner.

We don’t meet up for another few hours. Jack texts he’s hanging with the band behind the stage for a bit. As much as I wish he was here with me for the rest of the sets, I bet he needs to unwind and doesn’t want to stare at the stage he was just on, analyzing his performance from the audience’s viewpoint. Besides, I need the time to absorb the emotional epiphany that struck when he sang Fireball. I agree to meet him by the catered food tent for a bite of dinner between sets. I can’t guarantee I’ll eat it over the food vendor options by the campsites, but I’m curious enough to check out what this VIP wristband can do for me.

Jett and Shay come with, and before I know it, we’re mingling with the musicians. I recognize a number of them, and I can see why they stay separated from the crowds. It’s quieter back here, fewer people, the scene more relaxing and low-key. It seems an unspoken rule that if you want to get up to no good, you go join the mob outside. Or maybe shenanigans happen later for the VIPs, not during performances. Yeah, that’s probably it. I just can’t see some of the musicians here chilling with the campers. They’re too big, faces too recognizable. Hell, Jack will have to keep a low profile after being on stage tonight. Yeah, he got attention last night, but it will triple now after he rocked the audience’s world.

And when I spot Jack standing by a table, a small crowd around him even amongst other artists, I know I’m right. Things have already changed for Jack since I met him, and once again, I’m here right as he’s on the precipice of something even bigger.

He turns his head, almost like he senses I’m near, and his eyes find mine. Holy hell, he looks good. Jack’s showered and changed, a wide grin splitting his face at the sight of me. That alone makes my insides go all warm and gooey.

Such.

A.

Goner.

There are some big names in the group around Jack, and one pats him on the back. The rest of the band is nearby, including Addy and her friend Cassie. They’re all soaking in praise, dissecting the performance, I’m guessing. But Jack’s eyes don’t waver from mine. I recognize one of the women in the group as the lead singer for a band I adore, as well as a few others I’ve praised on my Instagram account. Still, it doesn’t slow me down from walking straight up to Jack.

He puts his hands on my hips and my arms wind into his hair as he pulls me into a long kiss. Someone whistles, another claps. When we separate, I proceed to gush about the set.

“The last song though,” I say quietly. “That one went deep.”

I don’t elaborate. Not with everyone around.

Someone recognizes Jett then, and draws him into conversation. I almost laugh when the bass player for the band who opened yesterday tells Jett that he was the Indiana state champion in the 200 meters, and starts rattling off his times. People never stop trying to prove themselves.

Jack keeps me wrapped up in him, and doesn’t seem so interested in the conversation anymore. This feels so good. How did I not know I could feel this good?

I thought he’d be exhausted, but there’s an energy vibrating from him, and when he pulls me in front of him so my back is to his front, I feel at my backside just what kind of energy that is. Athletes have told me that after games or races or whatever, they want to fuck. Judging by Jack’s unmistakable erection, musicians get the same way. Interesting.

“Would it be rude to take you to the bus right now?” he whispers in my ear.

I tilt my head to whisper back. “Does it matter?”

Though Jack was the center of attention a beat earlier, Jett’s stolen some of the show, which gives us the chance to sneak away without being too obvious. Well, it’s probably a little obvious, but whatever. This is StageFest. We get a free pass to go with the flow, or in this case, our baser instincts, while we’re at the festival.

I tell Shay we’re going to Jack’s bus but we’ll be back to eat soon. I don’t need to sugarcoat it with my twin sister. Besides, she seems to really like that I’m so into Jack. I wonder if she knows it’s different with him.

Jack’s practically dragging me between the rows of buses, and I’m half-running to keep up. His urgency is hot.

Before I know it, we’re in the back of the bus, behind a curtained area with a love seat and a bunk bed above it. Jack doesn’t bother using the furniture as he moves his hands up my skirt and finds me soaking, from nothing but the sheer anticipation of being with him, and the knowledge he’s desperate for me. Jack curses and tugs my panties down my legs, sheathing himself in less than a minute. He has me in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, back against a wall, before he even pauses for a breath.

“Okay?” he practically grunts out, positioning himself at my core.

“I will be in a second,” I say, all breathy and crazed. And with that, Jack impales himself, and we both groan at how good it is.

Jack moves with purpose inside me, something I’ve learned is so Jack. The guy knows what he wants, and he takes it. His eyes are on me. No words are exchanged, unless you count cursing, as we moan, and pant, and finally cry out together in simultaneous and explosive orgasms that must rock the entire bus with their ferocity. Damn. I don’t think I’ll ever be the same after that.

We’re both a little shaky as we exit the bus. Jack is sweet as honey after, sliding my underwear back into place, pouring soft kisses over my shoulders and nose. But he doesn’t apologize for hauling me through the bus parking area and taking me like a madman, and that says something.

He sang a song about me. At StageFest. A song that told me this isn’t some fling and I’m not someone he’ll be forgetting about after the weekend is over. Knowing this, holding his hand as we grin at each other, making our way back to the tent, I don’t have any of those ugly feelings that have been taunting me. Shame. Guilt. The ones that came from the episode with the piano guy, and that trickle in when I even think about being intimate with a guy again, letting myself go and enjoying it. I did just that, and instead of the ugliness seeping in, I’m soaring high.

That lasts for about five minutes.

Standing under the tent, looking right at me, is piano guy. And the way his lips curl up, I know he remembers me.