I share a glance with Tate, and we follow them to the door. The reporters camped outside yell questions at Jessie: Does she know where I was last night? How does she feel about me cheating on her? Does she know who the girl is?

I can just imagine her rolling her eyes as she leans out her window. She puts her fingers to her mouth and whistles.

“Shit,” Tate winces.

“Mhmm,” I mutter.

“Can we ask you a question?” someone yells.

“Just did,” Jessie responds. “Can y’all move? You’re blockin’ the road, and my right foot is a little heavy.”

“We have a question for you!”

“Yes I know where Aidan was last night. I’m pretty okay about him cheating, but only because he’s really fucking bad at poker, and yeah, I know who the girl is, but since you got Kye’s name wrong, you probably don’t need to add another name to your pretty little confused heads. Now can y’all please move?”

I snort, fighting my laughter.

They yell at her again, and her head disappears from view, followed by the rev of the engine. They still don’t move, so she makes good on her threat. Her car rolls forward slowly, but in typical media fashion, they still don’t move.

“Oh shit,” Tate chuckles.

She speeds up until it becomes clear she really isn’t gonna stop, and pure amusement and a sick kind of pleasure flood through me as the media scrambles out of the way.

“Assholes!” Jessie yells just before she turns off the driveway.

“I like her,” Tate says, nodding. “She’s fun.”

I just laugh in response, because fuck yeah, she’s fun.

“Aidan!”

“Aw, fuck,” I groan as questions are suddenly directed to me. “Now we’re gonna have to call Ajax and get these fuckers away from us.”

“Do you have anything to say about the allegations?” a man yells, holding out a voice recorder like it’ll catch anything I say from fifteen feet away.

“Allegations?” Tate looks at me. “What’d you do, murder someone?”

I shrug and look back. “Nah, not really,” I call to the guy.

“So you don’t care that you cheated on your girlfriend?”

“Poker is a pretty hard game, I guess. But hey—you win some, you lose some.”

“Nailed it.” Tate nudges me, pulling out his phone. “Y’all need to get off our property now. If you have any questions, you already have our representative on speed dial, I’m sure.”

“So you don’t have anything to say?”

I pause before I turn away, and grin. “Yeah, y’all should watch out, ’cause the Burke boys don’t date damsels in distress.”

Jessie

Good freakin’ Lord.

“I thought you hated rock stars.”

“I do,” Chelsey snaps.

“So why’d you sleep with one?”

“I was drunk!”

I purse my lips. “So was I. And now I’m dating one.”

“Well, my apologies.” She covers her face with her hands and drops back on her sofa. “Ugh! Why did I do that?”

“Because he’s hot?”

“Girl. You’re dating his brother.”

“And? They’re identical. It’s not like I’m insulting Aidan by saying that, is it?” I roll my eyes. “Come on, Chels. The media has no idea who they are and they think Kye is Aidan. They’re idiots. Just avoid him from now on and it’ll all blow over.”

“Avoid him?” she snaps again, looking at me. “Like you tried to with Aidan, you mean?”

“Take a vacation,” I suggest. “Just get away for a bit.”

“Can’t you ask him to do that?”

“Uh, no.” I grab my phone from her table and get up, looking at her. MTV is on, news focusing solely on that story.

So she hates rock stars, because her dad is one and happens to be a cheating dick, but she’s maybe a little too obsessed, considering no one has recognized her from the back.

“Look,” I say, stopping by her door. “Pull your big-girl panties up, Chelsey. You fucked a guy that happens to be famous. So what? You’re young and single and had fun. Unless you promised each other a lifetime of orgasms, it’s no big deal.”

“Unless the media finds out who I am, who my father is, and take my life story and hang it out to dry.”

“I can’t help but think she’s focusing on the wrong part of this,” Ads says, scrunching up the chip bag and throwing it in the trash. “Why isn’t she thinking about the sex?”

I sigh. “Not everything is about sex. After you cornered me into sleeping with you, all I wanted to do was never see you again ever for the rest of my life.”

“Shit—was it that bad?”

“I cried in my pillow for an hour after you left the hotel.”

He laughs, grabbing my hands and pulling me up. “Now I’d apologize and promise to rectify it right now, but I have a surprise.”

“You. Have a surprise?” I ask skeptically. “Is it another great idea? I don’t have to pretend to be pregnant, do I?”

“If I didn’t like you, that would annoy me,” he muses teasingly. “But no. No more great ideas. We fired Marc yesterday after we got together.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me last night?”

He pauses. “I was busy last night.”

“With me.”

“With you, on top of you, under you . . . There’s a difference?”

“Hey—my mouth is up here. My vagina needs a rest from you.”

“You’re not used to so much awesome sex. That’s all. I need to break you in.”

“I’m not a horse.”

“Damn fun to ride though.”

I slap his arm as he hands me a helmet.

“Wait,” he says, stopping me before I put it on. “Are you wearing your Spanx?”

“Excuse me?”

“You need to be wearing Spanx.”

“I’m pretty sure that is the first time a guy has said that to a girl. Ever.” I’m kind of worried. “No. I’m not wearing Spanx. They’re counterproductive when your new boyfriend is a sex maniac who’s trying to break in your vagina.”

“You need to go and put your Spanx on.”

“I’m wearing my fat-day panties. They’re close enough,” I inform him, putting the helmet on. “Although the Spanx are so evil they’d probably save my life the day this death machine eventually tries to kill me.”

“Oh, get on the bike, you fuckin’ girl.”

“Watch it, I punch like a girl.”

“Baby, you do a lot of things like a girl, and I like it that way.” He grins over his shoulder before kick-starting the bike. Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around his waist and press my front against his back.

I’m never going to like this fucking bike.

And if I ever do, my hymen will have grown back and the US government will be exposed as Klingons or something.

Or I’ll get my Hogwarts letter.

No—wait. I want the letter. Scratch that.

It feels like I’ve been holding on to him forever when the bike finally stops and I can open my eyes. We’re surrounded by a thick forest of trees whose branches stretch out so far that we’re basically under a canopy of shade. I pull off the helmet and inhale the woody forest air slowly. “Where are we?”

“In a forest,” Aidan replies dryly.

“Well, aren’t you the fucking comedian?” I get off the bike and put my helmet on the seat, his laughter ringing out as I do.

“In Shelton Bay? Yeah, pretty much.”

“I’m still laughing,” I say, my voice flat.

Again, he laughs, and grabs my hand, pulling it to his mouth. “Oh, come on,” he says with his lips against my knuckles. “You laugh every day around me. I’m just naturally hilarious.”

“As a car crash.”

“Don’t make me add another spank to your list.”

“Oh, be quiet, you. And if this is gonna be a thing, we need to set clear boundaries of what is spank-worthy, because accidentally bringing you a latte instead of an Americano is not on the list.”

“Americano,” he pshhes. “I’m not a fucking coffee connoisseur, sunshine. I just want a regular, basic coffee with two sugars and cream. It’s you women that drink the fancy shit.”

“Tate asked me if I could make him an Irish one the other day.”