Page 44 of I Just Want to be Yours

He gives me a small smile. “Of course, you are.” He casually shifts his attention back to his food. “I’m just saying, you have your reasons, and I have mine. I’m not looking for anything right now.”

A forkful of pasta hovers over my bowl, but I can’t bring myself to take a bite. I can’t bring myself to do anything.

“He’s the reason you were upset this morning, wasn’t he.”

I swallow. His words don’t even come out sounding like a question. He says them like he already knows he’s right. But was Jackson really the reason I was upset? Indirectly, maybe. But he didn’t do anything wrong. My feelings were just a product of having a boyfriend in a rock band. “I . . . I don’t know.”

He nods, looking down at his bowl and moving his noodles around with his fork.

The door swings open, making me jump. Rae walks in first, followed by Matt. She beams and then breaks into laughter when she sees what we’re eating. “Seriously? Again?”

Braden’s eyes dart to me, staying a beat too long before he shrugs and says, “Margot likes it.”

Matt has already grabbed a bowl and reaches over Rae to scoop some of the food into it. “I’m with Margot. I could eat this stuff forever.”

Matt continues to fill his bowl, but Rae’s eyes dart between Braden and me. I just stare down at my pasta.

25

jackson

We’ve just finishedan amazing set when I collapse into a folding chair next to Mya at the merch table. The place is packed with people watching Crooner Sins, and the energy rumbling through the crowd could keep me wired all night.

We’re not playing huge stadiums. Most of the venues are all standing room only, dimly lit, and have an untamed pulse that makes me relish in the chaos. Something almost always goes wrong. The venue staff can hardly point fingers at who was supposed to take care of what, but these are the venues I love the most. I love being so close to the overcharged energy from the crowd being drunk on cheap beer and great music. Hell, even Marty has fun at these places, usually disappearing into the crowd after our set and trying to use what little clout we have as a way to get a girl to talk to him.

I love it here. I love the organic movement from the crowd that comes from no one having a ticketed seat. I love having Mya inside the venue selling merchandise while Brian is perched on the side of the stage. And I love how even if we’re all split up, like we are now, it still feels like we have a finger on each other. Dave and Brady are at the bar having a beer, Brianstands in the back, surveying the night, and Marty is . . . being Marty.

“You did great tonight!” Mya moves her chair closer to mine to be heard over the live performance and roaring crowd. The line for merch died down as soon as the headlining band started, so she won’t have a line for a bit.

I grin, happily taking the compliment. Tonight was flawless. It was one of those sets thatfeltperfect. The crowd was chanting every word, the guys were in a great mood, and all the staff here actually knew what to do with us when we arrived.

“How were sales tonight?”

Her eyes widen mischievously. “Want to see?”

She must take my puzzled look as a yes, because before I can answer, she quickly pulls the cash box from a small holder fastened to the underside of the table. Tilting it my way, she opens the small, metal box, and I nearly choke at the stack of twenties.

Sitting up straight, I lean toward the box, my eyes jumping from it to her a few times before I manage to sputter, “Holy shit.”

Mya doesn’t bother hiding her excitement. “Right? We’re only taking cash right now because I haven’t gotten the card reader yet, but I ordered twice as much as last time and I’m almost sold out!” Shaking her head in awe, she closes the box and puts it back where it belongs. “I’m probably going to have to pick up a second cash box for nights like this.”

I chuff a laugh and lean back in my chair again. “I’m glad you ordered more stuff than I told you to.”

She gives me a leveling look. “I always order more than you tell me to. You’re terrible at inventory.”

Her disappointment only makes my smile grow. “How did you get so good at this, anyway?”

She grins at the compliment. “Well, let’s see. I’ve been to . . .”She looks up, like she’s doing the math in her head before her green eyes settle back on me. “Over one hundred shows in the past three years.”

My eyebrows shoot up, and she laughs.

“Every weekend,” she says with a reassuring nod. “There’s a small venue near my apartment that always has great bands most people have never heard of. I actually saw American Thieves play there when you opened for Sidecar.”

I don’t bother hiding my surprise. “No shit?”

“No shit,” she confirms. “When Brian got into the business, I think I asked him a million questions. His last band was good, but not really my vibe. When he signed with you guys, begged him to let me come work for him.”

“You did?”

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