Hat Trick

by Eden Finley

  When it’s time for us to go in, the receptionist asks me to stay in the waiting area. I’m not allowed in the big boys’ room.

  I sit on the uncomfortable futuristic couch and flip through magazines that are months old. People come and go, some staring around the offices like it’s their first time here, others seemingly upset as they leave.

  So … this is the music biz.

  I take out my phone and call my sister to let her know I’m back in the States and email my parents who are on their own vacation in the Mediterranean right now.

  And my list of responsibilities for the next few weeks is done.

  If this is what retirement will look like, I can’t say that I hate it.

  Jet and Luce finally come back out with two suit-wearing old guys, and I stand, wiping my hands on my jeans, because with one look from them, I feel unwashed and dirty somehow.

  It’s not until Jet opens his mouth, I know why.

  “See. He’s real. Rumors of Harley and I stop. Harley goes back on stage, and everyone makes money. We good?”

  “We’re good,” one of them mumbles, and they both turn and walk away.

  “You two take the car home,” Luce says. “I’m gonna stay and sort some shit. Eleven is finishing up a show in San Francisco tonight and the next stop is Seattle in two days. We’ll meet them there, so be ready to leave by lunch.”

  “You’re not coming by the house later?” Jet asks.

  “Nah. Tell Marty I’ll meet him at home. This could take a while.”

  In the elevator, I turn to Jet. “Sooo, how did it go?”

  “It went. The label was happy for Radioactive to disappear for the rest of the tour, but Luce reassured them I’ve moved on and Harley and I will only interact in a professional manner lest I be dropped from the label.”

  “Just like that?”

  Jet nods. “Just like that.”

  “Can I ask why Harley can pull diva tantrums to have you back on tour but you’re getting the blame and being threatened?”

  “Eleven is the label’s highest-earning act. It gives them a certain level of power. They can pretty much demand anything they want so long as they keep bringing in the big money.”

  “Except come out.”

  “Exactly. Demanding an opening act is nothing to the label. As long as Harley’s still toeing their line, he gets what he wants. End of story.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about me being here or having to do whatever they want us to. Being forced to be your boyfriend isn’t a hardship.”

  Jet’s smile is tight.

  “Though I get the feeling it might be putting too much pressure on you.”

  Jet pulls me close. “It’s not you or us or even Harley. It’s the politics of it all. Considering how open this industry supposedly is, it’s ridiculous how many stars have beards, people are set up by their PR reps, and how certain relationships are good or bad for press. I understand the celebrity aspect of it—people thrive on thinking they know the real you and want to know everything about your life, but …” He lays his head on my chest. “It’s exhausting.”

  “I know, baby. I’m here to make it better.” I don’t know how I’ll do that for him, but whatever he needs, I’ll give it.

  I’m expecting to be hounded by paparazzi again, but when we get outside, the horde is gone.

  “Guess someone more famous is around,” Jet says.

  “Thankfully.” I pull open the door.

  Jet climbs in first and goes to the bench seat in the back of the Escalade. “It’s been a crazy week.”

  I can’t help laughing. “No shit. I started my vacation worrying about contract negotiations and thinking I’d have to spend the entire two weeks trying to forget about being on a couples retreat alone. It’s somehow turned into spending the rest of my off-season on a music tour with a guy I met a hundred moons ago. It’s a mind fuck. I don’t think I’ve wrapped my head around what the next two months are going to be like.”

  “Chaotic. Organized but chaotic. Good thing is, I basically get told where to be and when, and there’s always someone there to make sure I get to where I have to be.”

  “And where you’ll be, I’ll be? Or will I be waiting on the outside a lot like back there?”

  “Stuck like glue, my friend. Especially now the label wants to play up our relationship.” Jet turns to me. “You’re okay with that, right? Sorry, I didn’t even ask. I just assum—”

  “It’s exactly what I want.” I want to put everything into this and give it an honest shot.

  Jet lets out a relieved breath, and that’s when I notice the bags under his eyes and the all-around exhausted vibe he’s giving off. He said he didn’t sleep on the plane, so he’s got to be dead on his feet.

  “Come here.” I gesture for him to lie down and put his head in my lap.

  He comes willingly and puts his feet up on the window of the car. Warm, brown eyes glance up at me through thick lashes, but they flutter shut when I start rubbing Jet’s forehead. “You know, I’ve seen Noah do this to Matt when Matt’s stressed. If this is what having a boyfriend is like, sign me up.”

  “There’re lots of perks to having a boyfriend.”

  “I can’t wait to find out what else there is.” He says that as if he’s never experienced it.

  “Harley never did stuff like this?”

  Jet keeps his eyes closed as he talks. “We were more about stolen moments. None of this”—he waves between us—“tending to me when I was exhausted. Although, to be fair, we were both always exhausted.”

  “Guess it goes with the territory of being on tour.”

  His head moves across my crotch, and I have to remind myself to be good right now. He needs sleep, not me turning this into something sexual.

  “You know how it is,” he says. “You basically don’t stop for eight months out of the year.”

  “See, I’ve trained my whole life to be your boyfriend.”

  “The University of Jet. Where you learn to deal with tour exhaustion, diva tantrums, horrible hangovers, and constantly being told what to do by the team of people surrounding you.”

  “Definitely sounds like the NHL. Also, where’s that university? Sign me up.”

  Jet takes my free arm and pulls it across his waist. “You’re already acing the classes.”

  He falls asleep with a smile on his lips.

  I stare out the window the rest of the way, watching L.A. go by. I started my career on the West Coast, playing for Vancouver for my first few years and then Anaheim for a very short season before being traded to New Jersey. I’m familiar with the city, but not so much out here in the Hills.

  Each house we pass gets bigger and more expensive until we pull onto a narrow side street and stop next to a black square building.

  With very few windows, the house is boxy and modern.

  I almost don’t want to wake Jet up because he looks so peaceful.

  “Jet,” I whisper.

  His mouth hangs open, and even his drool is cute.

  “You’re home.”

  The driver opens the door Jet’s resting his feet on, which jolts him awake.

  “Wha?” Jet sits up, and his head swivels from one side to the other.

  “We’re at your place. Apparently. Kinda looks like a warehouse.”

  He squints up at me. “You questioning my taste in real estate? Wait until you see the inside.”

  I wish I could bounce back from a nap as fast as Jet does. He’s out of the car in a beat and even has a spring in his step.

  Ugh. Young people.

  There’s no gate around his property, and it sits on a corner block.

  “Isn’t this a security risk? Like, do you have photographers lining this alleyway?”

  “You sound like Luce when we decided to buy the place. Benji, Freya, and I didn’t want to jinx us. We thought it might’ve been our only chance or it could all go away, and then at least we’d get a house out of it, right? But they haven’t foun
d us yet. Probably because the deed is in our full names no one really knows. I also don’t see us living here much longer. At least, not together. Maybe Benji and Freya can buy out my share or something.”

  “You don’t like it here?”

  “I love it here. It’s like my first real achievement, you know? Well, tangible achievement. Hitting number one on the Billboard charts is the biggest, but I can’t hold that. Touch it. Live in it.”

  “Then why would you sell?”

  Jet shakes his head. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. It’s that part of me that always has doubts. The band will break up, the label will drop us … I need to learn to ignore that voice.”

  “It doesn’t help that the label is threatening to drop you.”

  “Eh. Same shit, different day. We were convinced that whole first year our contract would be torn up. It wasn’t until ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ did anything that we found some stability.”

  “Well, in that case, you’re welcome. Hey, do I get any royalties for that?”

  “Do you think Taylor Swift pays any of her ex-boyfriends for being her muse?”

  “Oh, she’d be broke, for sure.”

  “Exactly.” Jet pushes open the door to his place, and he’s right. The inside is amazing.

  Hardwood floors, a set of wooden stairs to the right, small sitting area, but it’s the wide windows and glass doors leading to a balcony overlooking the valley that takes my breath away.

  My feet find their own way there. “Wow.”

  “Told you.”

  Commotion on the stairs catches our attention—a flurry of movement from a wispy thing of a guy.

  He enters with an air of confidence for someone shorter than Jet. He’s cute, kinda trendy, and has short brown hair and brown eyes. He looks to be in his late teens to early twenties, and I’ve got no idea who he is.

  Then his stare drops dead cold. “You fucked it up.”

  Jet sighs. “Soren, this is Marty. He likes to bust my balls even though he claims to have loved me once upon a time.”

  “Yeah, then I met you.”

  “Ouch, Marty. Ouch. The pain is too much.”

  “Marty …” I say. “As in Luce’s—”

  “Better half,” Marty says with Jet-like attitude.

  “How old—” I slam my mouth shut. “Sorry, never mind.”

  Jet laughs. “Marty looks young for his age. He’s twenty-six.”

  How is that kid twenty-six?

  “And Luce looks a lot older than thirty-four.”

  “Wait, Luce is only one year older than me?”

  “It’s the gray hair,” Marty says. “Makes him look older.”

  Jet holds my hand. “See, age doesn’t mean shit in Hollywood.”

  “So, who are you, anyway?” Marty asks.

  I clear my throat. “Umm, I’m a hockey player.”

  Marty’s mouth drops open. “The hockey player? Oh my God, am I standing in the same room as ‘Hat Trick Heartbreak’ and ‘Someone Else’s Perfect’?”

  “Is that going to be how I’m referred to by everyone?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Jet and Marty say in unison.

  Then Marty’s voice goes high-pitched and squeaky while he jumps around like an excited puppy. “Oh my God, this is like meeting a celebrity.”

  “Hey, I am a celebrity,” I protest.

  “I mean a real one,” Marty says.

  “I don’t think I like the music industry,” I grumble.

  Jet elbows me. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve only got eight weeks of it. If you even last that long.”

  “You’re coming on tour with us?” Marty asks.

  “Until hockey season starts.”

  “Okay, I’m no longer pissed about having our impromptu vacation cut short. The drama is going to be so worth it.”

  I cock a brow. “Drama?”

  “Speaking of which,” Jet interjects, “where are Benji and Freya?”

  “Studio.”

  “Fucking or fighting?”

  “Maybe both?” Marty says. “I never know with those two. All I can say is thank God for soundproofing.”

  Jet turns to me. “I’ll show you the studio when it’s safe.”

  “Your house has its own recording studio?”

  Jet smiles. “It’s small and not good enough for producing proper singles, but we use it to write music and see what works and what doesn’t. I’ll show you the rest.”

  Before we can move, Marty asks, “Where’s Luce?”

  “He said he’d meet you at home. He had shit to take care of at the label.”

  “I’ll take off then. Have fun!” Marty leaves in the same speedy flurry he arrived in.

  Jet takes me downstairs first where there’s a large kitchen, large entertaining room with the biggest wide screen TV I’ve ever seen, and a deck with a firepit, leading to an aboveground pool.

  “This is … this is nuts.”

  “I know, right?” he says proudly. “And I haven’t even shown you the best part.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Lots more. Looks small on the outside, but it’s built into the hill. It’s four levels including the basement where the studio is.”

  “Okay, okay,” I relent. “You’re a ‘real’ celebrity.”

  Jet pulls me back up the stairs but keeps going to the top floor. He points to the right. “Benji and Freya’s rooms are down there. Mine’s this way.”

  He turns left and opens huge double doors to a master suite. It has its own bathroom, and its own balcony, and the same amazing view as downstairs.

  “I can see why this is the best part.” I move toward the big-ass bed and flop backward but lean up on my elbows. “Gonna show me what makes it the best?”

  “Okay, I was totally talking about the double-headed shower, but this works too.” Jet’s shirt disappears, and then he’s there, climbing on top of me.

  “Double-headed shower? After that flight, maybe we should make use of that.”

  “I love how your mind works.” He pulls me up and we strip as we race each other to the bathroom.

  Under the spray, we’re all hands and mouths, but it’s fast handjobs and cleanup. I’ve been keyed up since back in Fiji, so it doesn’t take long for me to tip over the edge. And once Jet comes, it’s obvious the nap in the car only gave him a tiny boost and the orgasm knocked him on his ass again.

  I hold him close. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “It’s midafternoon. We’ll get jet lag.”

  “I’m already Jet lagged. Get it? Jet …lagged.”

  “I was wondering when the dad jokes would start. Because you know, you’re old. Like a dad. Or … a Dadd—”

  “Don’t fucking say it.”

  Jet snickers.

  We don’t bother putting on clothes. We just dry off and climb into bed.

  “So, this is your life …” I pull his body against mine.

  I love the way he fits against me, the way his shaggy hair tickles my chest and how his callused hand scrapes over my abs.

  “This is the tip of the iceberg.”

  I can’t resist. “I promise I’m sturdier than the Titanic and can handle anything.”

  “Okay, Dad—”

  I cut him off by kissing him goodnight … or afternoon.

  Chapter Twenty

  JET

  Soren says he can handle anything, but the paparazzi, going straight from the airport to a meeting to turning around and going back to the airport less than forty-eight hours later, it really is just the beginning.

  Benji and Freya do a double take when they drag their asses out of bed the next day.

  We’ve been awake since four thanks to passing out when we should’ve made ourselves stay awake.

  “Hockey dude?” Benji asks through heavy-lidded eyes.

  “Whoa, I’m surprised you remember him with how many brain cells you’ve killed in the last two years.”

  Benji looks like he wants to protest but doesn’t. “Do we have s
hit to do today?”

  “Nope. We’re supposed to hide out until we make our reappearance in Seattle tomorrow and be all ‘Surprise, I’m all better and have a new boyfriend. Go me!’”

  “Do we have to hide?” Freya asks.

  “I dunno. Call Luce. Soren and I are housebound though.”

  “We thought you were in your room sulking all night,” Benji says. “Guess we know what you were doing.”

  “Yep, and wanna hear the dirty, dirty truth? We fucking slept. Fiji is far.”

  They laugh.

  “We will be doing that all day though, if you two wanna go out.” I don’t give them a chance to respond before nodding for Soren to go upstairs.

  “Nice to see you guys again.” He makes a run for it.

  Before I can follow him, Freya, the ninja jumps in front of me.

  “What’s the story?”

  “Yeah, what’s the story?” Benji asks.

  “He’s coming on tour with us. The label is worried about Harley and me, he doesn’t have to report for preseason until September, so it’s a win-win everywhere.”

  “Have you spoken to Harley?” Freya asks.

  “Nope. Because that’s what exes do. Don’t talk to each other.”

  “So he has no idea you’re with someone else?” Benji whistles. “And you say we’re full of drama.” He waves a finger between him and Freya.

  She scowls at him.

  I’ve seen how this plays out a million times. “You two should get married already. Now, unless you want to see a whole lot of gay sex, don’t bother us.”

  “Will you judge me if I say I wouldn’t mind seeing that?” Freya jokes.

  “Judge, no, but I will tell the tabloids you have crabs if you come knocking.” I kiss the top of her head and run upstairs.

  When I get up there, Soren’s not naked like I expect. He’s pacing and talking to someone on his phone.

  “Yeah, okay. I’ll ask. Yep. I’ll get you the number. Uh-huh …” He spots me. “Damon, I have to go. Go back to your vacation.” He ends the call and throws his phone on the bed.

  “What is it?” I ask, deflated.

  “We’re big news already. Damon needs Luce’s number or the number for your PR department at the label in case any damage control is needed.”

  “Damage control? Does it matter who you date?” I didn’t even think of that.