She can’t contain the smile now, and the look in her eyes is unmistakable.

“I know you want me, and I want you bad,” I tell her.

“Bad?” she says, swallowing back her desire.

“Really bad. You and I are dating now,” I inform her.

“We are?” she says, lifting her chin and licking her lips. “Wait, wait, wait. We can’t. I can’t. We—”

“Spit it out, Yaya,” I say, pulling her to me more tightly.

“I don’t want anyone to … I like how things … Oh, Finn, this isn’t a good idea,” she sighs, looking so frustrated it drives me insane and makes me hard.

“You can pretend all you want, but don’t ask me to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she whispers, her eyes shifting around as if she thinks someone will see us.

“It means I’m not going to act like I don’t like to be around you,” I answer.

“I can’t. People will dig, Finn. People will find out who I am. Besides, I have no idea what is going to happen to me when this tour’s over.”

The frustration she feels, I feel it, too. I feel it for her.

“I gave up giving a shit about what people think of me a long time ago,” I say, easing my hold on her a little, but fuck if I will let go. “I understand, though.”

She looks at me in confusion.

“We’re good friends, really good friends. I won’t hide from the people in this circle, but I can promise you I will do what it takes to keep the outside world out. Don’t ask me for any more than that.”

“I don’t want them to know, either,” she argues.

“About your past, I feel you; I understand, but—”

She puts her finger over my mouth. “No buts, Finn.”

I groan in frustration, then lean in and kiss her before stepping back. “I hope, when you feel comfortable, you can trust them. I do.”

“I hope you can let go of what’s causing you to … smoke and stuff.”

“Letting go would cause it to be worse,” I say without thinking.

“Meaning?” Not having you, that’s what I mean.

“Meaning I will get my shit together, and you’ll see my past doesn’t prevent me from chasing whatever the hell it is I want.”

“You scare me,” slips out of her mouth.

“No need for that.”

“Do you understand that I am trying to be strong?”

“I sure as hell do. Let me help you.”

“Finn, have you tried to help River?”

Reality hits me, nearly knocking the wind out of me.

“You’re afraid because—” Oh fuck no.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”

“But something that’s eating at you. Have I tried to help River? No, he has to want it. You may think I’m a mess now, but I’m not. I was a hell of a lot worse once. I gave zero fucks about anything, including myself. I care about my music. I’m realizing a dream, and I will hold on to it by any means possible. Right now, I am stronger than I was a week ago, and in a week, I’ll be stronger than I am now. You will be, too, little Yaya.” I smile at her new nickname. “We’ll do this together.”

“And if I leave after the tour?”

“I’m not asking you to give up something for me. I would never ask you to walk from your little man. I’m simply asking you to spend some time with me, ’cause you know as well as I do, it feels damn good. If our paths lead in different directions, we shake hands, walk away, and make damn sure we walk with respect.”

She nods.

“Yeah?” I ask just to fucking clarify.

“Yes.” She smiles and nods. “Yes.”

Instead of kissing her, I nod to the arena. “As much as I want to take you right here and right now, we should get back in before anyone notices we’re gone.”

***

We leave the venue and head to the airport. As we board the plane, headed for Orlando, I make sure she is sitting next to me, and River is on the other side. Not that I want him to be fucked up all the time, but fucked up friends miss shit, like me holding her hand.

She pulls out a Blow Pop and hands it to me. I unwrap it and pop it in my mouth as she does the same with hers.

“Your new vice.” She smiles, and I can’t help watching those lips.

“I have a new vice. You should, too,” I tell her, already having something bigger than a Blow Pop in mind.

“Care to enlighten me?”

I bite my lip and shake my head. Then I pull the Blow Pop out of her mouth slowly and rub it across her lower lip.

“See? Addicted already; you’re stealing mine.” She sighs, “Again.”

“I might take it out, Yaya, but I promise to always put it back in.” I slowly move it to her mouth. “Now open up and say ‘ah.’ ”

“Ah,” she plays along, but clearly has no clue what I am alluding to. Fuck! Even that is hot.

“You’re killing me, girl. Fucking killing me,” I groan as I adjust my shit.

I look back and her eyes are big as saucers, her mouth hanging open slightly.

She looks around and whispers, “You meant—”

“Perfect new addiction.”

“You’re so bad.” She smiles, her eyes lighting up.

I shrug. “I’m better when I’m bad. Let’s hope I can prove that to you … very soon.”

Contentment must bring on exhaustion in me, because when I next open my eyes, she has a laptop open and is typing a mile a minute. I glance over to see two screens open. One is Rocking Reviews and the other is Single Mom Saves. I watch as she types up product reviews and posts them. Some, she saves and schedules for a later date.

She clicks to the other page and starts posting about the top hits on Indie, Rock, and Pop music. She highlights tweaks and posts. As with the other page, she schedules some for later dates.

Then she clicks on a tab that takes her to a page that says something about favorites, and I see “Beckett is Bangable.” She types and glances over, slams the computer shut, and blushes furiously.

Pulling out her ear buds, she whispers, “Let me explain.”

“Explaining means you think I’m confused. There is nothing confusing me.” I lean my head back against the seat, reach over, and pull a few strands of her hair toward me. When we are nose to nose, I whisper, “I’m just glad you think so.”

She closes her eyes. “It’s just …”

“You do that a lot, you know, Yaya. Closing your eyes doesn’t mean I can’t see you. You just can’t see me.”

She grins, giggles, and then says, “I run a few blogs. That’s how I make money—made money … Well, I guess I still do.” She opens her eyes. “It helped a lot when I was … Well, when I didn’t leave, when Noah was a baby.” Her eyes smile when she says his name.

I sit back a little, let go of her hair, and take her hand, instead. “Tell me about him.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Well, he’s beautiful.”

“Looks like his mom, then.” I smile, but her face doesn’t follow suit.

“He has darker hair and eyes.”

I nod and smile, and yes, I’m thinking of that motherfucker I want to rip apart with my bare hands.

“Two little dimples. He’s small for his age, but he’s growing.”

“That’s a good thing.”

She nods. “He was early—really early—so he has some … issues.”

“How early?”

“Ten weeks. He was born at thirty weeks. His lungs weren’t developed well, but they’re getting stronger. He was in the hospital for a long time. He gets sick easily.” She closes her eyes. “He didn’t talk until he was two. They thought he had more serious problems … mental health problems.” She smiles. “You really don’t want to know all this.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I figured out he could communicate with me. I waved to him; he waved back. He pointed to what he wanted, smiled, and mimicked facial expressions—that kind of thing. He wasn’t slow; he was … well, a little monkey. He climbed everything, and one day, I dropped something right beside him on his left side. It didn’t make him jump, so I dropped something next to his right side, and he reacted. Come to find out, he has fifty percent hearing loss in that ear. He has a hearing aid now and talks just like a normal four-year-old.”