Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
My gaze lands on Jet, and I notice he’s as overjoyed about it as I am.
Maybe the answer to my burning question for him lies in his downcast eyes and the small pout of his lips.
He might’ve fallen in love with someone else, but I know that look. I’ve worn that look before.
Jet’s not here because of nodes.
He’s here because he’s heartbroken.
Chapter Eight
JET
All the love in the air is making me choke. I can deep throat like a champ, but love and romance? That I gag on.
I thought I was over it. I really thought I was.
Harley and I ended things months ago, and even though that hasn’t kept him out of my bed, it has kept me from pining.
Then he had to go and ruin it all by announcing his engagement.
To a woman.
If he was moving on, it’d be one thing, but no. My ex-boyfriend, fan favorite in the most popular boy band in the world, is gayer than RuPaul’s wig collection. Yet, because of his contract, he’s marrying a woman to save face.
He’s the real reason I’m here in Fiji. Not nodes. Not exhaustion like I claimed to Noah and Matt when they grilled me this morning.
It was the pure need to get away from the tour where I had to see Harley every day.
When the rumors started on tabloid sites about Harley being gay, his management team worked overtime to cover it up, which included banning him from “risky behavior” like hooking up with the lead singer from their opening act. Yet, there he was, every week or so, still sneaking into my hotel room. If he was feeling particularly strong, he’d last a month before he’d cave and come crawling back.
Touring is lonely, and pretty boys make me weak.
And Harley is really fuckin’ pretty. Boy next door but with piercing eyes that promise a hint of rebellion. He’s the good boy who looks like he wants to go bad.
Women and gay men everywhere salivate over him, and for a little while, he was mine.
I thought he’d eventually do the big grand gesture thing. Tell his label to get fucked, come out to the world, and then I’d have the epic love I’ve always wanted. I’m starting to think that doesn’t exist.
I can’t tour with Harley anymore. I just can’t.
Same as I can’t sit at this table with all this love, marriage, to have and to hold forever and ever bullshit.
My chest hurts.
I need to get out of here.
Before I can stand and make an excuse, Soren beats me to it.
“Congrats again, guys. To all of you. I’d love to stay and drink but—”
The guys break out into rounds of “Come on” and “We have to celebrate!”
“Have at it,” Soren says, “but I’m going back to bed. I think I’m burning up.”
He is looking a little red. If you can call crimson a little red.
I watch as he walks out of the hut, both jealous that he gets to leave and fighting my urge to chase him.
Ever since I landed on this stupid island, I’ve been telling myself to run away from the tempting hockey player who broke my heart two years ago.
Melodramatic, sure, because I’ve spent a total of one night with him, but Tampa crushed the idealistic image I had of him in my head.
Yet, he still has the ability to make my heart race and dreamer Jet come out. The Jet who had stars in his eyes and fame in his heart.
I assumed Soren would be here, but I also assumed he’d be here with Bryce and would avoid me. The guys didn’t tell me they’d broken up, but at the same time, I’ve made it a habit not to ask about him or his precious hat trick. There’s no reason for the gay brigade to tell me either because as far as they know, Soren and I only know each other in passing.
The only knowledge I’ve gathered over time about the ex-boyfriend is that he wasn’t a hockey fan and was kinda high maintenance.
But they’ve broken up now.
It’s over.
Much like my relationship with Harley. Even if Harley’s having a hard time getting that through his head.
The closet thing, I understood. It’s legitimately a clause in his contract that he cannot discuss his sexuality publicly. This fake marriage to a woman with me being his side piece, yeah, that I’m not okay with.
Boy bands rely on the fans of twelve-to-seventeen-year-old girls who believe they have a chance at falling in love with one of them. He couldn’t even say if he had a girlfriend or not. Which he never did anyway for obvious reasons.
Until now.
Where suddenly being unavailable because he’s married is more appealing and acceptable to the outside world than him liking dudes.
And people think the entertainment industry is so progressive.
I’ve learned over the last few years that Hollywood types can be as bad as the sports industry, and because of my brother, I’ve seen how shitty that can be.