Page 94 of One Time Only (One Time Only 1)
“I’ll do my best, but I’ll make no promises.”
“You will make all the promises,” he says.
I lean in closer, whisper low in his ear, “We can discuss a bargain later.”
A voice calls out, “Hey, everyone! Thanks for saving us seats.”
Caroline waves and slides into the row along with Ben. A few minutes later, the lights go down, the music begins, and I watch my boyfriend’s sister play Maureen in a high school production of one of the best musicals ever.
Like I said, today is a great day.
When the show ends, I’m one of the first to stand and clap, and seconds later, the entire audience gives the actors a well-deserved standing O.Later, Jackson and I take Bethany to her favorite diner for a milkshake and fries as their parents and Caroline and Ben head home.
I pepper her with questions after she orders.
“Beach or mountains?”
“Lake,” she says.
“Camping or swank hotel?”
“Camping.”
“Beethoven or the Beatles?”
She cringes. “Don’t make me pick between two of the greats.”
“But if you had to,” I push.
She shoots me a stern look. “If you had to, who would you pick?”
I blink. “You’re right. That’s a terrible question.”
Jackson laughs. “Music should never be restricted, babe. Enjoy it all.”
Bethany chuckles, swiping a lock of pink-tipped hair away from her face. Her eyes twinkle, her stage makeup making them look big and bright.
Jackson raises a brow at her. “What are you laughing at?”
She points at Jackson, then at me. “Babe. You call him babe.”
A faint blush spreads across his cheeks, but he lifts his chin, owning it. “I do call him that sometimes.”
I press my shoulder to Jackson’s. “And I call him J. Not the height of creativity, but I like it.” I drop my voice to a stage whisper. “And it’s better than Jackie.”
Jackson gives me the evil eye. We’re talking knives, daggers, the whole nine yards.
“So much better than Jackie,” Bethany says with a nod.
Soon, a waitress in a pastel pink dress and white sneakers brings Bethany’s food.
We thank her, and Jackson snags a fry from his sister’s plate, swipes it through some ketchup, and pops it into his mouth.
Bethany breaks out into a grin. “I told you so.”
“Told me what?” he asks.
She points again at him, then at me. “Magic.”
I set a hand on Jackson’s shoulder. “Magic? You got magic, J?”
He turns to meet my gaze, then hers. “Tell him, Bethany.”
She smiles like she can’t stop. “I told Jackson when you guys were first seeing each other that the way he looks when he talks about you is magic.”
I grin, feeling the same way. “Sort of like how I look right now?”
She laughs, flopping back against the red vinyl booth. “You guys are just so very Jackstone. I love it.”
“I love it too,” I say, wrapping my arm around him.
“I love it something fierce,” he adds.
I snap my fingers. “That should be my next song.”Two weeks later, my label drops the single of “The Guy in the Picture,” and it tops the charts.
The video of me telling the world I love Jackson skyrockets in views on social media once again.
And I start writing my next song.
“Something Fierce.”
A few days after that, I play it for Jackson at my house in Venice.
He’s been working here all day with the guys, planning for their new company. But Terrence and Cruz are gone now, and it’s only us in the living room as I strum the final notes and sing the last words.
When I finish, I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting for his opinion, hoping he loves the tune.
Jackson’s face is stony, his voice calm as he says, “So it’s another love song?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“And it’s about some guy?”
I roll my eyes. “Not just some guy.”
“Oh, a specific guy?” One eyebrow arches.
I tap my foot. “Yes.”
“Anyone I know?”
I drag a hand roughly through my hair. “Did you like the song?”
He chuckles. “Get over here.”
I set the guitar on the floor and join him on the couch. “So?”
He runs his fingers through my hair, then meets my gaze. “I’m never going to be a great judge of your love songs now. You know that, right?”
“No. I don’t know that. You’ve always been a tough critic.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve always loved your music.”
My dumb heart swoons. “So, what did you think? I’m dying to know.”
“It sounds like you really like this guy,” he says.
“Just a little.”
“That’s how much I like your song, then. Just a little.” Jackson slides a hand around my head. “Or maybe . . . a lot.”
“You mean it?”
“I love it. I do.”
Those last two words make my heart jump a little more than it usually does around him.
Make my pulse spike.
Make me picture possibilities I never thought I’d want.
I rope my arms around his neck. “At the risk of being a total romantic, you’re kind of all my songs now. You’re every song, every lyric, every damn word.”
