He pulled off his shoes and was quiet, scanning me over. “And like I said, our conversation isn’t over.”

The back of my neck flushed with heat, and I squeezed my hands into excited fists. “It isn’t?”

“No.” Carefully moving from the bed, he kneeled down in front of me. “I don’t want it to ever be over.” He grabbed my shaky hands and laid light kisses inside my wrists. When I felt his warm mouth on my skin, they stopped shaking, instantly recognizing the person who held them.

“I plan on staying right here and fighting it out with you. I’m all in, Porter. And if I have to make your life miserable for another year, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I dunno, Gray.” My chest felt heavy as I gulped down a sob. I lifted my hands to cup his ears and gently tugged on them. “Are you sure you’re all in? Because we’re gonna fight.”

“I count on it,” he whispered, rolling his stubbly chin against my forearm. “But we’re going to make up, too.” He raised an eyebrow, and I laughed.

Then he scooted closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I heard you on the radio, Sydney. I was pacing around here, nervous as hell. Then you said you loved me, and I just coul—”

“Of course I love you.” I slid my hands to his cheeks, rolling my thumbs under his watery eyes. “So much it kind of pisses me off.”

He softly laughed and buried his head into my chest, squeezing me to him. “You love me more than gummy bears?” he teased, jerking his head toward the open bag across the room.

“More than those gummy bears. I love the red ones, and you taped them all to the wall outside.”

Gray tickled my sides until I started laugh-crying. Then he stopped and lightly pushed me down across the bed. He moved to straddle me, and I closed my eyes, expecting his hands to ride up my dress.

Instead, I felt his face hovering just above mine. “I love you, Sydney.” He gave me a light kiss on my forehead. “So you better get used to me being around.”

I nodded just as an embarrassing snort escaped.

“Good.” He kissed the tears from my cheeks. “Because you’re kind of my favorite person, and you’re the only girl I know with ears small enough to balance mine out in the gene pool.” He paused, laying a soft kiss on my lips, and I opened my eyes. “Plus, Sunday Lane told me you’ll be needing a bodyguard.”

“I’ll be needing an army,” I said on a laugh.

Gray smiled and leaned in, tracing my lips with his. “But I need a favor from you.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to stay.”

I nodded again, giving him my silent promise. “Well, you’re in luck, because I just transferred here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Fifty

“Check under Gray Peters.”

The bouncer skimmed his metal clipboard. “Nope, no Gray Peters,” he grumbled, glancing behind me at the long line of antsy clubbers. “Any other name?

Chance waited for me next to the glass double doors. He looked pissed. He was impatiently tapping his foot against the concrete, and I knew he was eager to get inside. He’d been coming here with me for weeks. Grumbling and reluctant at first, but once he saw what the girls wore here, he placed Nirvana on a special green Post-it in his closet. Green Post-its are top priority.

“Try Snake,” I said, and the bouncer dragged a finger down the page. I turned toward Chance. “Where the hell is Fernando? He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago.”

Chance shrugged. “Said he was getting ready.”

No sooner had he spoken, when a yellow cab pulled up and a certain chubby offensive lineman in a blue rayon pantsuit hopped out. Chance and I couldn’t keep straight faces as Fernando fingered the thick gold chains he was wearing, and he stepped up to the bouncer.

“What the hell, Fernando? Did you rob a parachute factory?”

Ignoring my quip, he turned to the bouncer. “Fernando Cruz,” he said, wearing a confident smirk.

The bouncer gave him a onceover and skimmed the list. “Yep, you’re on the list. Go ahead.” He glanced back to me. “No Snake, sorry, man.”

I growled and mumbled out the words, “Check under micro-dick.”

The bouncer smiled and raised an eyebrow. “What was that?” He cupped his hand behind his ear.

“Check under micro-dick,” I yelled over the noisy crowd, and an explosion of laughter came from the line behind me.

“Nope.”

“Man, come on. I’ve been coming here practically every Saturday for four months. My girl works here.”

He took a step back and chuckled. “I know, but you’re not on the list.”

Snatching the clipboard from his hands, I skimmed the page. “There I am.”

“That says Gary Peters.”

“Yes, well, some genius messed up the spelling.”

“You calling me a genius?” He pulled his shoulders up, flexing his three hundred-pound frame.

“Yes,” I squeaked out.

“Get inside, micro-dick.” He pushed me aside, and I made my way toward my boys.

“Seriously, Fernando, what the hell?” I tugged on his silky jumpsuit. It was already darkening with pit stains. “Did you order this from a hot air balloon catalog? Better stay away from open flames.”

“Yes,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “Had some extra cash to burn.”

Fernando was still sore over the doghouse party months ago. I’d ordered a keg and invited the entire second floor of the athletic dorm over just so Sydney and I could be alone. He stayed in his room for days, depressed because the hungry masses discovered the boxes of rocket dogs in the garage. I had to pay him back at market price.

“Don’t tell me that cost you three hundred dollars.” I shook my head and followed Chance and Fernando into the club. “‘Cause you got suckered.”

Immediately, Sydney’s music hit my ears. Calling out my name. Not literally, but figuratively, because she played this mix for me last week, pestering me with a million technical questions. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I told her everything she does is magic and not to worry. That got me a playful swat in the gut and a long, satisfying thank you under the sheets.

But I wasn’t lying. It was magic. And the only thing more beautiful than her music was Sydney up in that balcony, jumping her little heart out to the roar of hundreds of fans.

After spying a group of near-naked girls, Chance bolted into the crowd. Fernando grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the bar. “Let’s get a drink. I’m nervous.”

We stopped in front the long concrete bar top, and Darryl gave me an acknowledging nod.

“Hey, Darryl, decided to change it up?” I asked as the steam punk bartender grabbed the whiskey off the top shelf.

He turned, glanced at Fernando with wide eyes, and grabbed three glasses. “Yeah, well, I fell asleep last weekend with my head gear on, and when I woke I’d nearly cut out my eyeball.” Turning to the side, he showed me a long gash next to his right eye.

“I guess clock gears should be left on the nightstand,” I said, pulling out my wallet. “Those old-timey aviator goggles bring out your eyes, though.”

He pulled the goggles down over his eyes and winked. “You think so?” He shook his shotgun peg leg. “Doctor told me to stop wearing this too.”

“What? No way.” I pointed down at his leg. “What if the apocalypse happens? You’re as good as ready, man.”

“Don’t I know it.” He nodded and glanced up at the balcony. “Your girl’s been on fire tonight. Hers is on the house, as always.”

Fernando and I made our way up the steep steps toward the DJ booth.

“I’m so nervous,” he whispered, taking a quick sip of his whiskey. “What if they hate me?”

Bullet, the bouncer at the top of the stairs (Yes, Bullet… God, these bouncer names) said a quick hello and let us pass. Just like Sydney’s first time up here, Fernando stopped, gaping at the crowd. At least four hundred people below were dancing in rhythm to DJ Sinister.