by JB Salsbury
I run my hands through his messy hair. “She doesn’t care.”
His gaze tracks from my eyes to my lips. “Guess this means we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“Guess so.”
“Fuck yeah.”
18
Jesse
I got the call on Tuesday morning that I’d be flying back to LA on Wednesday. Bethany was able to get someone to cover her shifts at Pies and Pancakes, and Ben agreed to let her go for a couple days. The day trip turned into an overnight because Mark’s schedule didn’t sync up with the band’s. Not that I’m complaining. One night in my own bed is just what I need, and having Bethany there will be a major bonus.
We pull into the private terminal at Phoenix Sky Harbor airport, where Arenfield Records’s Gulfstream is gassed up and waiting.
Bethany clutches her backpack to her chest and peers out the window. “We’re flying in that?”
I put the car in park and stare at her. “Yes. Is there something wrong?”
“It’s so small.”
An employee at the luxury terminal opens my door.
“It only needs to be big enough for the two of us.” I hop out and grab my guitar from the back before I hand the guy my keys.
Bethany slides out of her seat, her eyes fixed on the plane.
“Are you a nervous flier?”
“No, but this is a new experience for me.”
I snag her hand and lead her to the stairs, where I allow her to go ahead of me. “You’re going to love this, I promise. And if you don’t, well, it’s a one-hour flight.”
The wind blows her dress, giving me a quick tease of her thighs and the under swells of her ass. This woman in a dress does wicked things to my body. Once I get to the top of the stairs, I reach under the fabric and pinch her butt. She squeals and stumbles, but I catch her before she slams into the steward dressed in a white polo and tan pants.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Lee and Miss Park. My name is Irving and I’ll be assisting you on your flight.” I hand the man my guitar case, and he holds out an arm to take Bethany’s bag. “Would you like to stow your belongings, Miss Park?”
She slips it off her shoulder and hands it to him.
He motions to the main cabin. “Make yourselves comfortable. Is there something I can get you to drink before takeoff?”
I nod for Bethany to answer, but she’s looking awestruck at the lavish interior of the plane. I hook her around the waist and get her moving. “Waters, thanks.”
“Sparkling or flat?”
Bethany is still in mute-mode and I don’t know which she would prefer. “Both.”
I motion for her to sit on a one of the oversized leather seats next to the window, and I take the one directly across from her.
“This is the fanciest room I’ve ever been in.” Her head swivels around as she studies the space.
White leather seats, black walls and carpet—everything screams opulence and rock-and-roll, down to the tiny chandelier lighting.
I pull out my phone and see a text from Dave that says a car will pick us up at LAX and bring us directly to Arenfield. Excited butterflies dance in my gut.
“Your drinks.” Irving sets down two bottles of Fiji water and two bottles of Perrier, along with chilled glasses and lime wedges. “The pilot is ready to depart. Is there anything else I can get you before I take my seat?”
Bethany stares between the waters and Irving. “I don’t think so—”
“What do you have to eat?” I’m too hyped up to be hungry, but I want Bethany to know what her options are.
“We have a fresh fruit plate, meat and cheese board, black pearl caviar, and an assortment of tropical sorbets. We also have a variety of snack foods.”
“Holy crap,” she mumbles.
“You want anything?”
She palms her stomach. “I’m not hungry, but thank you.”
“I think we’re okay for now.”
“Very well.” He gives a small bow. “Enjoy your flight.”
She watches him walk away then snaps her gaze to me. “So this is your life?”
I shrug. “Pretty much.”
She shakes her head and looks out the window. “No wonder you seem so uncomfortable at your brother’s.”
I snag a water and sip right from the bottle. “That has nothing to do with the lack of luxury, genius.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but it probably doesn’t help.”
The engines fire up, and the plane lurches forward. Bethany is glued to the window as the outside world passes by, and I’m glued to watching her profile as she does.
I’m so fucking happy she’s here with me. If I was alone, I wonder if I’d be tempted to drink. Chances are Dave had all the booze removed from the plane though. A quiet peace settles in my chest where the monster used to be, and I don’t feel even a hint of the anxious pressure I’d usually feel going into a meeting of this size. One that will determine my future.
Bethany doesn’t turn back to face me until we’re airborne. “That was awesome.”
“Happy you like it.”
“What are we flying over?” She peers out the window. “Farmland! Cool.”
She’s so easily amused.
“I can show you the world…” I sing the lines to one of Elliot’s movies, and Bethany laughs. “Shining, shimmering, blended—”
“Blended! Now who’s the song butcher?”
I’m smiling too. “Is it not blended?”
“Aladdin would be highly pissed at your version of his foreplay song.”
“Foreplay song? I like that.” I scratch my jaw. “I might have to write one of those.”
She lifts a brow and smirks. “What exactly would it sound like?”
“Come sit on my lap and I’ll sing it to you.”
She shifts in her seat, and I fucking love the way her anticipation is so obvious. “According to FDA flight protocol, I should stay in my seat.”
“Do you mean FAA, sweetheart?”
She scrunches up her nose. “What did I say?”
“Get your sexy ass over here, Bethany.”
Her gaze darts down the aisle. “What about Irving?”
“This plane is owned by a recording label. You think the guy doesn’t know what happens inside it?”
She looks at her seat and cringes away from the pristine white leather. “Ew. But I’m not having sex with you on a plane.”
“Who said anything about sex? I just want to touch you.”
She chews on her lip for a second then hops up and slides onto my lap. I run my hands up her bare thighs to her panties. I can’t see the color, but they’re lace and tiny. My dick swells.
“Are these new?” I skate my hands around to the front and cup her between the legs.
She falls back against me, her head on my shoulder, and her hands grasp the armrests. “Yes.”
I run my fingers along the strip of lace, using just enough pressure to make her hot and greedy. If I play my cards right, I might be able to induct Bethany into level one of the mile-high club—orgasm at thirty thousand feet.
Bethany
We just landed and I can’t look Jesse in the eye, which makes things really awkward seeing as our seats face each other. Thankfully I had the window to look out during the plane’s descent, but now that we’ve come to a complete stop, I have to face him.
When I do, my cheeks burn red hot.
“You know you’re beautiful when you blush, right?” His grin is all cocky man-pride. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Shhh!” I hold up my hand. “I can’t talk about it.”
He stands and I follow. He motions for me to walk ahead of him, and when I pass him, he pulls my back to his front. His mouth comes down at my ear. “He didn’t hear us. I promise.”
I peer down the aisle to see Irving waiting at his post, facing away from the main cabin. “He did. I know he did. Maybe not for the first one, but he’d have to be deaf not to hear the second.”
I feel Jesse smile against my ear. “I was shooting to give you one. That second one caught me by surprise, but you won’t hear me complaining.” He nuzzles my cheek and nips my earlobe. “Now I feel like I need to break a record. Tonight I’ll go for three.”
I turn in his arms. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Jesse!” Dave’s voice breaks us up as he comes down the aisle. “You two coming?”
“We already did.” Jesse grabs my hand and squeezes it. “One of us more than the other.”
Mortification crawls through my veins and makes me light-headed.
If Dave understood what Jesse meant, he has the decency to pretend he doesn’t. “Bethany, it’s good to see you again.”
Dave’s mouth is a little tighter than it was the first time we met, and insecurity creeps in. He probably doesn’t want me here, thinks I’ll mess with Jesse’s focus. He doesn’t know me well, but eventually he’ll see I’m no danger to his client’s career.
“Good to see you too.”
His gaze snaps back to Jesse and remains there as we get off the plane and climb into a black SUV. Jesse sits in the back with me, and he and Dave talk about things like contractual stipulations and percentages, which I don’t understand. I watch the city of Los Angeles fly by. Quite a bit more concrete than I imagined and a lot more palm trees than I expected.
Eventually we pull beneath a towering building in downtown LA. Dave swipes a card, and we’re let through the gate. A few turns later, we park and crawl out. I grab my backpack, unsure if we’ll be taking this vehicle again and not wanting to part from my meager belongings. Dave and Jesse are deep in conversation and I feel very much like the third wheel by the time we get on the elevator. Similar to the plane, the space is black and white luxury, complete with an elevator chandelier. We climb to the fortieth floor, which I believe is the top of the building, and I follow Jesse and Dave into a swanky modern-looking lobby.
Sleek black furniture sits on shining white marble floors, and above the dark reception desk is a wall fixture that reads Arenfield Records. Everyone from the receptionist to the people walking by look like celebrities, with their sculpted bodies and shining, styled hair. Not a single woman is in less than three-inch heels.
I flex my toes in my ballet flats, unable to remember a time when I felt as out of place as I do now. I gather my perfectly boring hair over my shoulder and run my fingers through the ends.
“Jesse, great to see you back.” The receptionist, a beautiful redhead with bright red lipstick, smiles at him.
His eyes slide toward me and I see a flicker of worry in his gaze. Ah, so he’s had sex with this girl and he’s concerned I’ll find out. “Thanks.”
She frowns and addresses Dave. “You can go on back. Mr. Arenfield will be with you shortly.”
I contemplate apologizing to the girl for Jesse’s rude dismissal, but I don’t want him to think I’m getting in his business. I scurry to keep up with Dave and Jesse as they navigate hallways lined with glass-walled offices. Everyone we pass does a double-take when they see Jesse, and I like that they don’t seem to notice me at all. When someone like me stands close to a light as bright as Jesse Lee, they disappear in his glow.
We duck inside what looks like a conference room—the table seats at least twelve. Coffee, ice water, and assorted snack foods line the wall. I head to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. A thick layer of smog blurs the view in the distance, and I’m again underwhelmed by the Los Angeles reality.
“Jesse, welcome home.”
I turn as a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a really nice suit greets Jesse with a firm handshake.
“Thank you, Mark,” Jesse says with confidence and charm. “It’s great to be back.”
I turn back toward the window and scold myself for the twinge of hurt I feel at hearing him say he’s happy to be back. Of course he’s happy to be back. It would be weird if he wasn’t. I tell myself that until the pain subsides.
“Bethany.”
I turn at the sound of my name. Dave is walking toward me.
“Let me show you to the swag room. You can look around and feel free to take some souvenirs.” He jerks his head toward the door.
I look over his shoulder at Jesse, who’s in deep discussion with the man in the million-dollar suit I’m assuming is Mark Arenfield, CEO. Jesse doesn’t look at me, so I nod and grip my backpack strap tighter. “Sure. Okay.”
I follow Dave out of the room, sneaking one more peek at Jesse, who doesn’t seem to notice I’m leaving. He probably knows I’m in good hands with Dave and he’s focused on making plans for his career.
I’m led to a room the size of the kitchen at Pies and Pancakes, except rather than industrial range ovens, the walls are lined with shelves and cupboards.
“You’ll find all the latest Arenfield artists’ swag in here—T-shirts, hats, sweatshirts, posters. Help yourself. I’ll be back to get you when we’re done.”
“Thank you so—”
He’s already left the room.
I drop my backpack on a nearby office chair and begin my perusal. They have just about everything you’d find at a concert and more—T-shirts, stickers, posters, all sorts of things that light up.
I search for Jesse’s stuff and come to a stack of Jesse Lee CDs dating all the way back to his first one, released almost ten years ago. I didn’t know they still made CDs. I study a Jesse Lee baseball hat and decide it’s way too cheesy to wear a hat with your boyfriend’s name on it, even for me. I pick up a tiny pair of G-string panties with Jesse’s name on the crotch.
“Do women really buy these?” I decide I don’t want to know the answer and drop them back into the pile.
I move on to a poster of Jesse singing into a microphone, his shirt off and the light perfectly catching all the colors of his tattoos. I sift through and find one where he’s wearing a regular T-shirt and jeans, his hair looking as perfect as always, as he leans back against a brick wall. He seems more boyish in this one.
Eventually I lose interest in the walls of free band merch, so I drop into the chair and spin a couple times. My stomach rumbles, and I fish my phone out of my backpack. At just after eleven o’clock, we should be grabbing lunch soon.
I text Ashleigh and tell her where I am. She responds by asking me how many celebrities I’ve seen and makes me promise to get photos. I tell her I’m in a room of band swag and she puts in an order for a Death Spiral tank top. I hunt them down and shove one in my bag, making sure to look around for cameras. Even though Dave said I could help myself, it still feels like stealing.
A few more spins in the chair until I’m dizzy and I give in to my hunger and eat the granola bar I stashed for emergencies. I’m mid-bite when a guy walks into the room. I don’t recognize him, but I can tell by his look that he’s famous. Maybe it’s his edgy blond hair, or the fact that he’s wearing an old Def Leppard concert shirt, faded jeans, and dirty Converse in an office where all the other men I’ve seen are in suits.
He smiles at me. “Hey, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be in here.”
I wave, still chewing my granola bar. Without water, it’s difficult to swallow, but I manage to force it down. “I’m just waiting for someone.”
“Cool.” He studies the MacMillionaire section of the wall.
“If there’s anything specific you’re looking for, I could help you find it.”
He turns his head and smiles, squinting. “Really? How long have you been in here?”
I sigh. “It’s been eighty-four years…” I say in my best elderly Rose voice, then I feel like an idiot. “That’s from Titanic.”
He laughs, and the sound is easy, unforced. “I know. That was a good one.”
I’m grateful he goes back to studying the wall while I give my face a chance to regain its natural color.
“This is crazy, right?” He’s still not facing me, and I realize how different he is from Jesse, who would love to stare at me while I squirm in em
barrassment. “I can’t believe I’m standing in Arenfield Records, surrounded by a bunch of shit I used to save up my allowance to buy.”
Maybe that’s why I don’t recognize him, he’s only newly famous?
I look around the room, trying to see it through the eyes of a diehard fan.
“What’s your name?”
I snap my gaze to him and find him watching me. “I’m Bethany.”
He seems as if he’s waiting for me to finish my introduction.
“Oh, I’m no one. I mean, I’m not famous or a musician or whatever. I’m here with…” A friend? My boyfriend? “Jesse?”
His expression lightens. “Sweet.” He steps forward, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Bethany. I’m Ryder, Jesse’s new drummer.”
His palms are calloused, not his fingers like Jesse’s, which makes sense if he’s holding drumsticks instead of a guitar.
“Nice to meet you. Why aren’t you in on the meeting?”
He leans back against the swag countertop, folding his arms. “Guess they have some stuff to work out with Jesse first. So are you Jesse’s assistant or…?”
Oh no, the blush is back. “I, uh…” I suck in a quick breath and straighten my shoulders. “No. Jesse and I are dating.” We’re in love. I can’t say that, it would sound ridiculous. But why?
“Dating?”
I run the word through my head a couple times, wondering why Ryder needs the clarification. Am I so hungry I’ve forgotten how to properly communicate? Nope, dating is what we’re doing. “Yes.”
“Awesome.”
“Yep, it is.” Ugh, I sound so stupid. I pick at the hem of my dress in the few seconds of awkward silence that fall between us.
“I take it you’re not from around here?”
“Why would you say that?” There’s a hint of venom in my voice that I wish I could control but can’t.
He doesn’t seem too annoyed by it. “Because you’re nice.”
“Oh, well… no, I’m not, and thank you.” I slump a little under the weight of my guilt over snapping at the guy for no reason. “What about you?”
“No, I’m from Vegas. I’ll have to relocate here eventually. The commute is fucking lame.”
