“What?” she says softly, her eyes finding mine in the dimming light.

I shrug a shoulder, my lips curving up. I don’t know. I don’t know what it is about her. I just know that there’s something. And it’s fucking mesmerizing.

I take her hand and pull her closer to me, stepping forward, too. “Just . . . don’t think about this, okay?”

“Um, okay.”

I touch the side of her face softly and bring my mouth down on hers. It’s just a touch. One touch, one simple, sweet touch that feels like so much more than what it really is.

And for the first time in a long time, I’m terrified. Totally fucking terrified.

Of Jessie Law. I’m terrified of what she’s doing to me—of what she’s making me feel. She makes me happy and angry and all kinds of screwed up in every possible way, but she smiles at my niece with as much love as I see my younger brother look at her mom, and I know that’s something I won’t find again.

Like it or loathe it, and I gotta say that I love it, Mila is a part of my life. A huge part. And I’ll be damned if I ever fall in love with a girl that doesn’t love that kid at least half as much as I do. She’s the new center of our family, so to see Jessie, the girl I’ve disliked for years, the girl who dislikes me, the girl who is driving me nothing short of absolutely fucking insane, look at Mila like she’s the center of her world for two seconds is unbelievable.

Jessie’s breath flutters across my lips, even as she draws one in, her fingers over mine on her cheek. “Wh-what was that?” she whispers.

“Just,” I reply, just as softly. “Just ’cause.”

“Just ’cause isn’t enough.”

“It’s all I got.” I kiss her again, gently, too, and slowly pull my hand from her face as I step back. “So it’s gotta be enough.”

“I guess it will be then.” Jessie drops her eyes to where I’m sliding my fingers through her hand. “Even if it makes no sense.”

“Enough doesn’t have to make sense.” I brush my thumb across the back of her hand. “It just has to be.”

“Sounds like a line from one of your songs.”

“Maybe it should be.”

She looks up at me and swallows. “Maybe you should write it.”

“Are you kidding? I can barely write a Christmas card.”

Her lips tug to the side. “That I can believe, but I’ve heard you sing a song you’ve written before.”

“Ah.” I grimace. “Yeah, ‘Confession’? That prom song was written by Conner.”

Jessie pulls back, her eyebrows shooting upward, her smile growing. “Really? You sang me your brother’s song?”

“I was eighteen!” I run my fingers through my hair. “What was I supposed to do?”

“Write one?” She giggles. “How very unromantic of you.”

“I’m not romantic.”

“Don’t let the paparazzi hear you say that.”

I glance around, and seeing a camera, look back to her. “You want me to write you a song?”

“No,” she says honestly, walking backward toward the candy-apple stand and pulling me with her. “I want you to want to write me one.” Her voice is soft and hesitant, almost unsteady.

“What if I said I did?”

“What if I said that breaks the rules of a fake relationship?”

I hold our clasped hands out so she stops and walk right up to her. She inhales deeply as our toes touch and I bend my head forward to look into her eyes. “Then what if I said my manager could kiss my ass, because I don’t care?”

“Then what if I said your manager has nothing to do with this?” Her eyes—they’re big and bold and full of something I don’t even recognize.

“Then,” I whisper, resting my fingers against her side, “what if I said okay, as long as you’ll listen. ’Cause, sunshine, you know how I feel about rules.”

“What if I said I’d break the rules with you?”

“I’d say hand me a pen and paper, because I’m about to write the best fucking song you’ve ever heard.”

“And I’d say you’re crazy,” she breathes. I can barely hear her, but I can see her, because her eyes are so focused on mine and so still it’s impossible to see anything but her. “But I’d also say what the hell are you doing standing here when you should be doing that?”

And I pull her into me. Our lips seal together in a kiss that’s everything but nothing. One long, seductive, teasing kiss that belongs between the pages of the romance novels everyone is raving about. One long, easy kiss that warms every vein in my body and has my heart pounding like it’s on fucking steroids. “And I’d say,” I murmur against her lips, “that I’m getting inspiration for that song.”

Jessie curves her fingers into the neck of my shirt, her thumb brushing across the side of my neck. “Okay. But I want a goldfish.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

“Then I’ll get you a goldfish.”

“I can’t believe you got me a goldfish.”

“I told you I’d get you a goldfish.”

She rolls over onto her side on the grass, goldfish between us. The lights from the fair cast shadows over her silhouette, only her eyes sparkling in the darkness by the river. “The most expensive goldfish ever.”

“It isn’t my fault if they put the bull’s-eye a million miles away.”

“Oh, pshhh. You’re a big girl, Aidan Burke,” Jessie snorts. “You just have worse aim than a kindergartner in the NBA.”

“My aim is just fine—”

“This goldfish cost you almost forty dollars, and the guy only gave it to you because you’re Aidan Burke.”

My lips thin. How do you argue with the truth? “But I got a goldfish, just like I promised.”

She laughs. “Do you ever get fed up with it?” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and picks at some grass. “People doing stuff for you because you’re part of the band?”

I raise my eyebrows at the suddenness of the question, but I can’t say she’s wrong. “I guess,” I reply. “I don’t pay much attention to it. I haven’t been in the spotlight as much as Tate or Conner. I’ve always just been Aidan Burke, drummer of Dirty B.”

“But that’s enough to have cameras follow you,” Jessie points out, lifting the goldfish bag. She stares at it for a moment before setting it above our heads on the grass.

“They follow me for gossip. They’re mostly those rags that rely on Twitter trends and shit to get noticed.”

“It has to bother you.” She props herself up on her elbow so she’s looking down at me. “How can it not? You can’t do anything without being followed. You’re essentially a fugitive of the media.”

I shrug and look up at the sky, dark with hundreds of stars twinkling. “Is it bad if I say I’m used to it? They always want something, but the something is never enough. It’s always got to be scandalous or headline-worthy. God forbid I go to Target and buy Mom milk and bread.”

“You’re so bitter,” she says softly. “Why don’t you just tell them to leave you alone?”

“Because we need them,” I reply simply. “We need them to sell music and albums and tour tickets. So I gotta deal with it.”

“Even when they write shit about you?”

“Even when they write shit about me,” I reply. “That’s why I have a hard time with the relationship stuff, you know? It’s why I fought our manager when he suggested this. I only agreed because Tate agreed for me. Shit, I have more than enough trouble with the media. I don’t need this, too. I don’t need them writing crap about the girl I decide to date.”

Jessie takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising, and drops back down to the grass. She averts her eyes from mine and picks at the green blades in front of her. One by one she snaps them off. “Except it doesn’t matter, does it? Not really. Because you just said you didn’t decide anything. Tate did.”

“In the future. I don’t know.” I stare at her, wanting her to look at me, but thankful that she isn’t. ’Cause maybe if she looks up, she’ll know my “I don’t know” is a ton of bullshit. “Everythin’ matters, Jessie. Just ’cause this ain’t real don’t mean I don’t notice the shit you’ve been getting. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me.”