“I love it,” I say, trying not to get lost in the way he’s looking at me. “Becca is so easy to get along with, and we really do work well together. She’s great with people, and I’m much better with timelines and project plans.”
“But?” he asks, as if he can tell there’s something I’m not saying. Like he’s picking up on a piece of me that no one else has noticed before.
“But I guess, sometimes, I wonder if I’m hiding behind her ambition.”
“What do you mean?” Jaxon asks.
“This is what she’s passionate about. I’m just…along for the ride.”
He considers it for a minute, and I appreciate that he doesn’t just brush it off or tell me it’s not true. Because it is true. Finally, he says, “I don’t think most people are deeply passionate about their jobs, Iz.”
“Everyone I know is,” I say. “Or at least everyone my age. My sisters love their jobs. You don’t get to be where Jameson and JT are without loving what you do. I mean, look at you. You’ve known what you wanted to do since we were ten.”
“I understand how that might be hard,” Jaxon says. “But music was also the only thing I really ever was good at or cared about. It’s all-consuming to be so passionate about something. Growing up, I always wanted to be like you. To be good at so many things. To not know what I wanted to do because I had too many options, not because I had too few.”
He places his hand over mine, pressing down just slightly so it feels like a hug.
I know he, arguablythemost popular musician in the world, can’t possibly understand what it’s like to be the least successful person in your family or friend group, but there’s a kernel of truth that comes to light at his words. I’m a utility player. It's the spot I've taken on every team I've ever been a part of—sports, school, work. I'm the one who can play multiple positions, who makes it work no matter who else shows up that day.
“Thanks,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear while fighting back the smile that wants to spread across my face.
I take the final swig of my drink before saying, “So tell me about touring. What do you miss the most when you’re gone?”
He considers it, chewing his food thoughtfully. “A couch that smells like home, and people who don’t want anything from me.”
It’s so basic I want to hug him. It’s something most people take for granted every day. To have someplace that feels like home with people there who just want you to be you? It’s a simple thing, and I wish I could give it to Jaxon.
In a purely platonic way, of course.
We spend the dinner talking about everything and nothing—the kind of conversation that only happens when two people already know each other’s history but are finally catching up on the in-between.
By the time the check comes, my body is buzzing with the soft touches and the slightly heated looks that are emphasized by the dimming candlelight. Although I’m not sure if they’re real or all in my head.
When we walk out of the restaurant, the night is warm and the city buzzes around us. I feel like I’m a different version of myself—lighter, freer, a little tipsy but in the best way. Jaxon holds my hand as we wait for the car to pick us up and then slides in next to me in the back seat.
We hold hands the entire drive home, our thighs touching occasionally as the car turns. Would it be too much to ask the driver to just stay in a roundabout, constantly turning for the next hour or two? Until the feel of my body pressed up against Jaxon’s no longer feels like my soul coming home?
It might be too much.
“You ready?” Jaxon asks, his eyes dark as we pull in front of his house.
“For what?”
His voice is gruff as he says, “For the best shower of your life.”
I’m not ready, but I nod anyway, speechless.
“Smart. It’s a steam shower like no other,” he says seriously, as we climb out of the car, his hand burning my own with the maintained contact. “Full-body jets. Bluetooth speaker. Aromatherapy. It’s a life-changing experience.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Just wait,” he says, still holding my hand. “You think you’re ready, but you’re not.”
Chapter thirty-one
Izzy
I’mnotready.
