A/N: Oops! I just realized I never published Tuesday's update, so I'm posting two today. Thanks for your patience! Chapters 11 & 12 comin' at ya now!

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JACKS

I walk off stage and grab a towel to wipe the sweat off my face. I'm glad I wore black because it gets hot under those stage lights and it's now stuck to my skin with sweat. I feel sticky and gross but I'm still riding that post-show high.

"Wooo!" Sticks hollers, grabbing a towel of his own to dry his damp hair. "Vegas, man! Fuck! That was a good crowd."

"Yeah," I reply, wiping my neck and downing water from a plastic bottle. "That was fun."

We walk back to the green room and I unbutton my shirt and sling it over a chair.

"Ah, good idea," he says, lifting his tank over his head and throwing it into his gig bag. "I gotta show off the goods for when Skye comes back."

He hasn't stopped throwing winks and comments her way since sound check earlier. I know he's just doing it to get under my skin, but damn, it's working.

"Okay, okay!" I let out an exasperated huff. "I get it. Now stop."

"Get what?" He sits on the couch opposite me and smirks, not-so-subtly flexing his muscles as he leans back.

"You're just doing this to piss me off."

"Doing what?"

"Flirting with Skye. Cut it out."

"Well now," he says, leaning forward with a sly smile. "Why ever would that piss you off?"

I narrow my eyes at him and press my lips together.

"You know why."

"Haven't the slightest." He laughs and grabs a bottle of water from the table. "But I suppose if you wanted me to stop, you'd have to give me a good-ass reason."

"She's my employee, isn't that enough of a reason?"

"Bullshit. I flirt with Kay all the time."

"Kaylani can handle your crap."

"And Skye can't?"

"She... I... It's not that... uggghh." I drop my head into my hands.

A couple of other band members walk in and start talking amongst themselves.

Sticks moves to the chair closest to me and leans over.

"Why can't you just admit you like her?"

"She's engaged. You know that."

"So? It's just a fuckin' crush. It's not like you're planning on stealing her away from her fiancé and whisking her away to be on tour with you forever." He laughs then takes a sip of water, but his smile fades as his eyes meet mine. He must notice something in my expression that I've been trying very hard to conceal. With a gag, he spews water from the rim of the bottle and begins coughing and choking. I pat his back a few times until he regains his breath.

"You..." he says, clearing his throat again, "you're not serious. Shit."

"I didn't say anything."

"You said enough." He shakes his head side to side. "I was just fucking around a bit with you, buddy. I'll stop."

"Thanks."

"You coming out with us tonight? Hitting the fucking strip, layin' out all night?"

"No thanks. That's not for me. Besides, drinking isn't good for my voice."

"Pshhh..." He leans back in his chair and sighs. "Guess we gotta take care of the talent. Those golden pipes gotta pay for my new car."

I laugh and rub my forehead.

SKYE

I weave my way past roadies carrying equipment to the green room, which I guess isn't necessarily green but that's just what they call the space backstage where everyone hangs out. I slip through a slit in a black curtain and run square into someone.

"Oh my gosh I'm so..." I look up to see the face of the person I ran into: Roman Dewan. I'd seen him on stage and during soundcheck but I had yet to actually meet him.

When I was younger, my friends and I had posters of Roman and Jacks's band N3XT all over our walls. We thought they were so cute and each picked one of them to be our 'boyfriend'. My friend and I fought over who would get Roman.

There's something about meeting your middle school idol that turns your brains into pudding. That's just a medical fact.

"Sorry!" I shout a little louder than intended.

"That's okay," he says softly, his lip curling up slightly. "You're uh, Jackson's photographer, right? Skye?"

"Ye-yeah."

A large part of me doesn't care what this guy thinks of me, but some tiny part leftover from my youth still makes me blush when he says my name.

"Nice to meet you," he says, opening the door to the green room.

We both walk in and are greeted by the furrowed brows of Sticks and Jacks, who don't seem pleased with our arrival. Sticks waves me over but looks concerned, so I can't tell if he's doing it just to be polite. I walk over to them and remove my camera from around my neck.

Oh my god my back hurts. Apparently carrying two pounds of camera gear around your neck is not great for your muscles. Who knew.

"You enjoy the show?" Sticks asks.

"Yeah, you guys were great!"

They really were. All of them are world-class musicians and Jacks is... he's just on another level. It's incredible to watch them.

"You planning on coming out tonight?" he asks. "Most of us are going clubbing and drinking."

"Oh uh... I'm not really into clubbing."

It's not that I don't like dancing and drinking on occasion, but Greg and his friends go out almost every night and it's exhausting. They've kind of ruined it for me. It's really only fun if it's a special occasion, but it turns into such a chore if you do it every night.

"Really?" He eyes Jacks and smiles. "You should keep Jacks company, then. He's not going out with us because he's on this vocal rest thing. I'd feel bad leaving him alone all night while we're out partying."

Sticks gives me his best puppy dog eyes.

"Sure." I turn to Jacks. "If you want, that is."

"I mean," Jacks says, "you shouldn't feel obligated. I'm fine by myself, really. Not that I don't want you to. I'd love to hang out with you... if you want."

I nod.

"Sounds fun."

"How about you come over at 11:30? My room is 1454."

It's fine. So I'm going to hang out alone in the hotel room of a really handsome celebrity...

What could go wrong?

*****

This is a terrible idea and I regret everything.

I sigh as I watch the floor numbers tick higher: 4... 5...

Is it just me or is this the world's slowest elevator?

Jacks told me it was up to me what we did, so I said I'd surprise him. But now I'm second-guessing this.

I look down at the 6-pack in my hand; the cardboard handle digging into my fingers slightly.

What do international celebrities like to do in their free time, anyway?

The elevator is filled with women in tight, sexy dresses and men in suits. Everyone seems to be thoroughly drunk—laughing at nothing in particular and hanging off each other. One couple in the corner is going at it to a degree that I'm not sure is entirely legal in public.

Scratch that—definitely not legal.

I'm wondering if I should have worn something nicer. I figured since we were just hanging out at the hotel, my jeans and t-shirt would suffice, but all these dolled-up Vegas people are making me second-guess myself.

The elevator chimes at floor 14 and I step out into the surprisingly quiet hallway. I follow the sign in to the right and round a corner where I see a man with short-shaved black hair leaning his forehead against a soda machine and sighing. He's wearing a sweatshirt with pajama pants and slippers and he looks completely defeated.

"Are... you okay?" I ask, stopping beside him.

"Oh yeah, no worries," he says, standing upright and waving me off. "I just got my card stuck. It's my fault actually. I've just had a stressful day and I wasn't paying attention and... sorry, you don't need my life story. I'm cool. Thank you, though."

"Can I help? How is it stuck?"

"Oh I uh... see this little slot up here?" He points to a small opening between the card reader and the rest of the machine. "I fucked up and I put it in there and it just fell back in there. I can see it but I can't quite reach it."

A sliver of the card is sticking out but it's too little for him to fit his fingers around.

"Oof, that sucks. I can try if you like, I have longer nails than you do. Maybe that would help."

"Sure," he says, looking surprised as he backs away from the machine. "If you don't mind."

"Not a problem." I catch a glimpse of his hoodie. It has a familiar logo on it, one from a company my brother loves. "You surf or skate?"

I do my best to get a grip on the card and can just reach it with my nails.

"Huh? Oh yeah, forgot I was wearing this. I skate a bit, yeah. You?"

"A bit of both. My brother is a surf pro and we've been skating together since we were little punks disappointing our parents."

He throws his head back and laughs.

"Same. My mom thought me wearing a chain on my pants meant I was one step from a full-blown criminal."

I finally catch the card perfectly between my nails and I pull it out enough that I can grab it in my fingers.

"Success!" I hand the card back to him.

"Thank you! I really appreciate it. I've had a hell of a day. I really just ran out for a quick drink and this was just the last thing I needed."

"Happy to help."

We both start walking down the hall.

"Not gonna get your drink?" I ask.

"Not worth it," he says with a shake of his head. "I'm not risking losing my card again. I'll just have some water."

I grab a beer from the six pack in my hands and hold it out for him.

"Would you like one?"

His eyes widen and he smiles.

"Really? You sure?"

"Yeah, I've got plenty."

"Thanks," he says, grabbing it from me. "I guess I'm lucky I ran into you."

I stop at Jackson's door and he looks at me quizzically.

"This is me," I say, giving him a small wave. "Nice meeting you."

He walks up to the next door over, his brows furrowed and his head tilted as he looks in my direction.

"That's your room?" he asks.

"Not my room, exactly. I'm visiting a friend. Are you right next door? Huh! Small world, I guess."

"What's your name again?"

"It's Skye, sorry, I don't think I caught yours."

His eyebrows raise and he coughs slightly.

"Course it is..." He shakes his head and chuckles. "I'm André. I'll see you around Skye."

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