Page 59 of How to Catch a Rockstar

“Not happening.”

“You want to wake up with a fish in your bed?”

I shiver. I can’t help it. Fish are slimy.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

I grin. “I heard the smell of fish makes pregnant woman gag.”

Her face pales and she swallows. “You’re cruel.”

“I don’t want you and our baby flying commercial. How am I being cruel?”

“You really want to have another discussion about why Little Bean isn’t yours?”

Gibson raises his hand. “I want to hear this discussion.” The rest of the band nods their heads in agreement. Nosy fuckers.

“You are not placing bets on my relationship with Aurora,” I order.

“What about on Little Bean?” Gibson asks. “Can we place bets on it?”

“Him,” Aurora corrects.

“Yes!” Cash pumps his fist in the air. “I knew it.”

Before I can explain how we don’t know the sex of the baby yet, the car pulls up to the private terminal. The band piles out of the car, but Aurora doesn’t move.

I hold my hand out to her. “Come on.”

“No. I’ll have the driver drop me off at the commercial terminal.”

I nod toward the driver who steps out of the car.

Aurora glares at me. “I can call a taxi.”

I thread my hands through my hair and pull on the ends. “Will you stop being stubborn? You know as well as I do it’s better for you to fly with us. It makes no sense to have our assistant on another plane where we can’t contact you because you refuse to pay extra for Wi-fi.”

“The prices they want for an hour of Wi-fi on planes are ridiculous,” she mumbles.

She’s adorable with her bottom lip jutted out and her arms crossed over her chest. My feisty girl thinks she can out stubborn me. She’s wrong. I’m not letting her and our baby fly commercial.

“I don’t want to give Mike another reason to fire me.”

“I promise he won’t find out and if he does, he won’t fire you. He’d be an idiot to fire you. You do the work of five women. You never complain when he phones you in the middle of the night.”

She snorts. “I never said I don’t complain.”

“Come on.” I wiggle my fingers. “We’re holding up the departure. You don’t want us to leave late, do you? Don’t we have a schedule to maintain?”

“You know how to piss me off,” she says but she does accept my hand and I help her out of the vehicle.

I escort her through the private terminal. There’s no reason to stop since we don’t have to check in or go through security. The workers are already carrying our bags toward the plane, and we follow them out of the building toward the waiting jet.

When we enter the aircraft, my bandmates clap.

“Well done, Jett!”

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