JACKS

People assume I never get nervous because I'm on stage in front of thousands of people every night. That's just not something that scares me. The truth is, I'm much more at ease performing to a crowd than I am in moments like this.

My knuckles rap against the door of the dressing room. I wait for a minute, but she doesn't respond, so I knock again.

Is she avoiding me?

My stomach churns uneasily as I wring my hands.

"Skye?" I call.

It occurs to me the studio dressing rooms are a bit more sound-proofed than most, so maybe she can't hear me. I crack the door and I immediately hear her voice.

"...that he and I aren't working. I'll need to talk to him when we're back in LA next week and figure out if we still want to... I dunno."

My heart pounds at what I'm hearing.

Is she saying what she thinks I'm saying? Is she talking about Greg?

I find myself opening the door further without thinking, just to listen closer.

"No comment? No cheers? After all your rallying against Greg, I kind of expected you to say something here."

YES. She's leaving him.

I can't believe what I'm hearing, but I know I shouldn't continue to eavesdrop. I wave to get her attention, but she doesn't seem to notice me.

"I'm not saying I'm breaking up with him, okay? I'm just saying that I need to rethink some things. I don't even-"

"Ehh-hemm," I clear my throat. She turns around and her eyes go wide. "Sorry to barge in, I um... I tried to knock, I'm not sure you could hear me."

Her lips part for a moment as her eyes meet mine.

"I... I have to go Ols. Sorry." She hits a button on her screen and sets the phone down on the counter.

"I didn't mean to interrupt your call. I hope it wasn't important."

"Oh no uh... just my brother."

"Ah, yes. How's Ollie?"

My brain is running through her words over and over again—he and I aren't working. She didn't technically say she's breaking up with him, but I can't help but think about the timing. One moment, I kiss her, and the next she's on the phone with her brother talking about leaving her boyfriend.

It meant something to her too.

"He's... fine," she says tentatively. "What's with you?"

"With me?" I ask.

"Yeah, you're smirking."

I am, aren't I?

I guess I can't hide my reaction to hearing that she might actually feel something for me.

"Oh, I uh... I guess you just put me in a good mood."

She blushes and looks down at her lap.

"But, I um..." I say. "I'm here because I wanted to actually... apologize for earlier. For kissing you. I got-"

"You don't have to apologize."

"No, I want to. I... I got caught up in the moment and filming and everything. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

"It's totally fine. It wasn't uncomfortable. We're good."

Her cheeks grow pinker and she smiles slightly.

"Well, just know that you can always tell me if I do anything you're not completely okay with. I know you kind of think of me as your colleague, but I hope we're um... friends too. But I don't ever want to cross a line, so..."

"You haven't." She shakes her head and her lashes flutter slightly as she looks up at me.

"That's good to hear." I can feel the smile stretching across my face. "But if you ever feel differently, you can always say something. Or just slap me across the face—I'll get the message."

She giggles and nods.

"Good to know."

*****

After filming wrapped, Dré and Skye insisted on a few more behind-the-scenes shots for social media. Now it's almost 8 pm and I'm absolutely exhausted. Bruce guides the three of us past a few paparazzi and we pile into the back of a black van. Dre and I sit in the far back and Skye sits in the row in front of us.

"So how was your first music video?" Dré asks Skye as he buckles his seatbelt.

"Uh, it was... an experience." She chuckles slightly.

"I think you were a natural," he says. "I was a little terrified of you after you threw that TV. You went full She-Hulk on that bitch."

"It was a prop TV." She smiles and shakes her head. "It was a lot lighter than it looked."

"Oh damn, I just thought all photographers must be really buff."

We all laugh and I shake my head.

"How heavy do you think a camera is, man?" I ask.

"I don't know, I ne-" he starts to reply, but is interrupted by the ring of Skye's phone.

"Oh shoot, sorry," she says, pulling her phone out of her bag.

"It's fine, go ahead," I say with a nod.

She looks at her phone with a serious expression before answering.

"Um, hi," she says into the phone.

I look to Dré beside me, and his expression says that he too picked up on her odd change in demeanor.

"It's been hours," she says with a stern voice. "You said twenty minutes."

Dré raises his eyebrows at me in response.

Who is she talking to?

"I don't-"

I can't see her expression but her voice sounds tense. I can only hear a low mumbling from the other end of the call.

"Um, I just wanted to—actually, it's not really a good time to have this conversation. Maybe we can talk in person when I get back."

If it's Greg and she's planning on breaking up with him, I wish she'd just go for it.

"Yeah, we have a week in LA coming up, remember?"

She rubs her forehead with her fingers and sighs.

"Greg, I—you're drunk. You shoul-" She pauses for a moment and shakes her head. "Okay. That's sweet, but-"

I feel guilty hearing her talk to him. Being on tour where he's not in the picture, it's easy to separate the real person from the idea. But he's a real person, and right now he's talking to Skye—his fiancé.

If I get the girl, this is going to be the guy who lost her. Everything I love so much about Skye is everything I'm taking away from this other man. I might feel sorry for him if I didn't want to be him so desperately.

"Okay bye. You too."

She puts her phone in her bag and sighs, laying back against the headrest.

SKYE

As we pull up to the hotel parking lot, we're greeted by a small group of screaming fans. There are maybe 20 or 30 people in a tight cluster being held back by hotel security. They're mostly teen girls holding homemade signs and wearing fan T-shirts.

I'm used to seeing them at shows, but this is the first time I've seen them at our hotel.

"I'll Be Your Little Heartbreaker," Dré teases, reading one of the signs out loud in a high-pitched voice.

Jacks laughs and shakes his head.

"You're My Inspiration!" he teases again.

"Jacks, I'm Your N3xt Girlfriend!" I say, reading one of them aloud myself as I look back at them.

Dré nearly chokes on his laughter and Jacks widens his eyes slightly but chuckles.

"You two might want to quit reading those," he says with a chuckle. "Not all of them are PG."

We both look out the window looking to see what he means. My eyes scan over several pretty standard signs before landing on one held by a woman in her forties.

"I wanna lick yo-" Dré starts to say in his teasing voice, but stops just as he finishes reading it and lets out a groan of disgust. "Oh holy mother of God!"

I shake my head fervently as if I can shake the image out of my brain.

Nope. Still there.

"Tried to warn you," Jacks says with a laugh, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back.

"That is just wrong." Dré shakes his head and cringes. "Your fans are sick people."

"Do you want me to clear them out?" his bodyguard Bruce asks.

"Nah, it's alright," Jacks replies. "There's not many of them. I'll say hi and sign some autographs. But Dré, you need to get out with Skye first. I don't want the paparazzi chasing her down because she was spotted with me."

"Here." Dré passes me my camera bag. "We'll just make it clear to them that you're just staff. Take photos of him with his fans."

Just staff. Ouch.

I pull out my camera and Dré escorts me out of the car on the far side from the fans. Bruce follows behind us and circles the car to open the door for Jacks.

I snap a few photos as the crowd erupts into a cacophony of shrieks and shouts. One little girl in the front of the pack turns nearly crimson as she lets loose a piercing scream. The crowd instantly sticks to Jacks like they've been pulled in by an invisible force. Bruce has to stop several fans from reaching out and grabbing Jacks like they're at a pop star petting zoo. Fans shove posters, memorabilia, and pens in his face as he smiles and signs away.

"Hold on, can we let the little one through?" he says to the crowd. They quiet slightly as they part and reveal a girl no more than seven years old holding a notebook. He kneels to get closer to her level. "You alright, sweetheart? It seemed like you were getting crushed a little."

Her mom follows close behind her, holding her daughter's shoulders as they step forward. The girl blinks her wide eyes at Jacks with a look of wonder and shock.

"She's very shy," the mom says. "Gabriela, say hello!"

"Would you like me to sign your notebook?" he asks the girl. She nods and hands it to him. Jacks stands up and scribbles something in the notebook.

"She saw a post about you being here and insisted on coming here to meet you." The mom pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingers and shakes her head before looking back at her daughter. "Will you say thank you?"

The girl stares for another moment, before launching at Jacks and wrapping her arms around his legs in a big hug. He laughs and pats her back before she breaks from him and he returns the notebook.

"Can I have a photo?" a teen boy asks, immediately jumping on the free moment. The rest of the crowd joins him in throwing out their own requests.

"Sure thing, man," Jacks says with a smile. "Just get my good side."

Jacks leans in as the guy takes their selfie.

The chaos around me is mind-boggling. Everyone is vying for the attention of one man, their phone cameras snapping away as they jostle and elbow each other in an attempt to secure a closer spot to their idol. Requests and comments are coming from every direction.

"Jackson, I love you!!"

"I got my nails done with your initials!"

"Could you say happy birthday to my friend Emily?"

"Sign my shirt!"

I've been relatively isolated from this side of Jacks's life. At concerts, the fans are always on the other side of the barrier. Here, it's not a concert or a performance, he's just living his daily life—and it's surreal.

One teen girl is sobbing. Another woman is shaking from head to toe. But the commotion doesn't even seem to phase Jackson, who continues to focus on one fan at a time, giving each one a moment as he signs their poster or takes a photo. He makes a silly face for a photo, gives them a hug, and chats with them.

To Jacks, this must just be a common experience. He has the whole process down, as if he were just doing laundry on a lazy Sunday. It's like watching a carefully choreographed dance—one that he has obviously danced for years.

There's a flutter in my stomach as I watch him handle the crowd with smiles and charm.

I'm in seriously deep with this man.

And there's no way this is going to end well.

▶▶