“Hmm,” he murmurs against me as soon as his sticky dick brushes against mine. “Think we got time for a quickie?”
I snort, tilt my head back, and tap my knuckles against his peck. “Dude. We tried quickies. We’re not very good at them. If we go down that path, we’ll be stuck here for the next couple of hours.”
His eyes grow soft, shining with so much adoration that my heart skips a fucking step. “True, but I don’t mind. Think Missy would?”
The banging starts up again. “Yes, shewouldmind. She’s gonna get pissed and wants to know how our fucking album is doing! I can hear you, dipshits! Christ, can’t you let each otherbreathefor fuck’s sake? Ya need oxygen, ya know?It’s kind of necessary for your survival!If you guys are not out in five, I’m gonna get Jodie.”
“Guess that answers that question,” I say with a snicker, pulling away from him and setting the pink tube next to the purple one on the dresser, loving how they look side by side, before grabbing the kit to mix the silicone shit.
We fill the molds up, clean up as quickly as we can—sticky hands, half-hard dick, a whole towel sacrificed in the name of love—and throw on a pair of sweatpants each. I swipe Ty’shoodie off the floor, still warm from where he discarded it earlier, and tug it over my head, breathing in his comforting scent to calm my resurrecting nerves, which he so effectively muted these last couple of hours.
Today’s the day.
The album dropped at midnight. We had some celebratory drinks at a bar near the venue before hauling our asses back to the bus, and now we’re just… waiting. Watching. Hoping like hell the numbers hit like we want them to. All of us tried to keep busy until this exact moment.
The band’s already gathered in the main area, which is basically a glorified lounge with too few seats, way too many stray pillows, and every gaming console Asher could plug in without short-circuiting the bus’s electrical system.
Missy, Ava, and Asher have claimed the couch—Asher in the corner, the girls beside him with their knees tucked under them. Each of them holds a flute of champagne, matching grins on their excited faces. But it’s the wide, nervous eyes that get to me, triggering my own jitters like a switch flipped inside my chest.
“There you two are,” Ava says, curling her red-painted lips in a smirk. “Ah, the proud parents return. How’s your silicone spawn? Did you name it yet? I vote for Sir Stays-Hard-a-Lot.”
I eye Missy when my friends start laughing. “You had to tell them?”
She shrugs. “What? Don’t you think we can hear all the giggles and laughter and—god forbid—groaning from here? These doors are flimsy.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to understand that,” Asher says with a low chuckle. “I didn’t know it wasthisbad and want to offer my sincere apologies.”
Missy snorts while Ava gives him a smack against his shoulder, shakes her head, and points at the tiny coffee table.“Grab a flute, get down there, and wait till the mighty label puts us out of our damn misery.”
Ty curls up on the floor in front of them, on a haphazard mountain of fluffy pillows, and tugs me down to settle between his legs. His arms loop loosely around me as he hides his face in my neck, still chuckling about Ava’s bad joke. Idiots.
I reach forward to grab the two flutes, hand one to Ty, and settle in. Pinkies from our free hands curl together on his thigh, my shoulder pressed into his, our friends babbling on. Now and then, he shifts to press a kiss into my neck or brush one against my cheek without saying a word.
Behind us, the chatter is easy and chaotic. Missy’s sharp voice cutting through as she argues with Ava about the ethics of naming your vibrator after a real person, while Asher mutters something about needing noise-canceling headphones to mutethisconversation.
I barely register half of it, too focused on the quiet comfort of Ty’s touch, on the feel of his breath against my skin, on the weight of this moment.
Jodie’s sitting cross-legged next to the coffee table with her laptop open, hooked up to the flat screen, refreshing her inbox like a woman possessed, her bun barely holding her curls together. Her face is pinched in concentration, muttering under her breath as if sheer willpower can make the results appear faster.
She’s been at it all damn morning, more nervous than the rest of us, locked in on the daily tracking data. They’re not theofficialrankings—we won’t get those until the full week’s over—but the real-time numbers don’t lie. Streams, sales, downloads, preorders... It’s enough to make some pretty damn reliable projections.
It’s not set in stone. Not yet. But these charts show where we’re headed, and right now? We’re just waiting for the label to send the official projection of what’s coming.
“You okay?” Ty’s warm voice fills my ear, his hand gripping mine fully now that I’ve started tapping my fingers nervously. “It’s gonna be okay, Jacie. You guys are so goddamn talented, shit. I couldn’t believe how good—”
“Oh my god.Oh my god!”
Jodie shrieks so high it startles everyone—even Asher, who nearly spills his champagne with a muttered curse. We all snap our gazes to the screen, trying to figure out where the hell to look. But before we can ask, Jodie highlights a line in an incoming email, pointing out the magical words.
Projection: Number one.
They expect us to debut at fucking number one next week.
A wave of chaotic yelling explodes around us. Shouts, hugs, people jumping up from where they were sitting—someone knocks over a drink—Missy’s crying and laughing, jumping on the couch with Ava and Asher.
But I fucking freeze. Just watching Ty standing in front of me while my friends wrap their arms around me and scream in my ears.
His eyes are huge and shiny, lips parted like he’s forgotten how to breathe. The pride on his face nearly undoes me.
