“This is going to be a problem, I can tell,” I teased him.

“It is?”

“Yes, because you keep forgetting what an incredible musician you are and how talented you are at your job. How everyone in this business calls Seven, desperate to contact you so they can steal you away. You’re a rock star, yet you’re oblivious to it because you’re always on the road. It’s stupid, but it is what it is. Trust me, Thomas Eriksson, I play in the minors and you’re the hypothetical starting pitcher for a team who won the World Series five years consecutive. You’re so big league it makes my head spin.”

He grinned at me. “That’s utter bullshit but I love you for saying it.”

I opened my mouth to argue with him but he stopped me by pressing his lips to mine and I forgot my own name let alone whatever argument I had.

The English countryside held enough charms to distract us from conversation. We fell into a comfortable silence save for our shared earbuds. We listened to the entire Aim and Ignite album. The only contact we made was physical. Tom lined my palms with his index finger over and over, making me sleepier than my medicine was.

 When we entered France, he nudged me in the ribs. “All the graffiti’s in French.”

“Imagine that,” I teased him.

It got quiet again as we examined the new countryside.

“Talk to me,” I told him, breaking the silence.

“What do you want to know?”

“About your family.”

“Which one?” He smiled, and the sun gleamed brightly over his white smile.

“The one you grew up with.”

“Well, my parents have lived in New York City for most of their lives. They met in a Greenwich Village shop where they’d go to get coffee every morning before work. They married six months later but couldn’t conceive right away.”

“That’s sad. Were they trying?”

“Yeah, they said they just went with it though and were surprised with the news they were pregnant with my sister Christina five years into their marriage. They didn’t think it was possible. Then I came along three months after Christina was born.”

“Oh, dear. You were a surprise, then.”

“You could say that,” he told me, grinning.

He took his soda from the chair back in front of him, uncapped it and took a swig. The movement of his throat swallowing made me want to instantly become something edible and sweet so I could slide down his body in an ultimate connection. My fingers tightened on the arms of my chair and I shivered the thought away as I watched him place it back.

 “Anyway,” he continued, bringing me back to the present, “I have one more sister named Chloe. She’s your age and at the Art Institute of Dallas actually.”

“What’s Christina up to?”

“She’s in PR in Manhattan. She’s married to a pretty good guy.”

“What his name?”

“Pierre. He’s French.” He snapped at an idea. “I have the best idea. When I introduce you to my parents, you can translate the private conversations between my sister and her husband. It drives the family crazy.” My heart beat frantically at the thought that he expected me to meet his family. “Wait,” he thought out loud, “you’ll probably just join them against us. Never mind, I change my mind.” He smiled at me.

“Your sister speaks French?” I asked, hoping I didn’t give away my ridiculous excitement that he saw a future with me.

“Yeah, they met during college. Her university had a campus abroad in Paris. Enough said.” I smiled at him. “My mom and dad are both teachers.”

 “Cool. And what are their names?” I asked him.

“Walter and Michelle, but you can call my pops Walt.” He fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, seemingly nervous. “I’ve wanted to ask you something, January, but I wasn’t sure how to ask.”

“Just say it,” I prodded him with my shoulder.

“I’m going back to the States for a week for Kelly’s wedding and I-I thought maybe, if you want, you could come as my date?”

 I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I didn’t know how to answer this. I did want to go with him to New York, I really did, but it was just too freaking weird knowing I’d be meeting all his friends as he watched the girl he just recently considered the lost love of his life get married. I mean, yeah, he said she meant nothing anymore but no one can just shut off like that and he hadn’t even gotten an opportunity to get over her properly.

Suddenly I realized I needed to be very careful.

“Shit,” I heard him say, breaking me from my thoughts.

“What?”

“I’ve scared you off, I can tell.”

“No, it’s just-it feels weird you asking me to see Kelly get married. I don’t know her, but I feel this weird thing for her. I don’t like her.”

This made Tom laugh. “Baby girl,” he said with a bit of his inherited Texas lingo. He picked up my hand and kissed the back. “If I have to spend the next month convincing you she’s nothing to me, I’ll do it. She doesn’t even hold a candle to you, MacLochlainn.”

Thomas

The Windmill Festival was just a few days before Kelly’s wedding, but we weren’t going to Paris just to sit around and wait. The label bought us rail passes to pal around Europe, allowing us to check out as many bands as possible. We were starting in Paris because I wanted January to see the band Jamaica and a few of their starting lineups the next night. I’d planned on working our way through Europe by rail until the festival and then head straight home for the wedding, which surprisingly the thought of didn’t affect me at all. I didn’t even feel a dull ache. It was as if my body had forgotten all about Kelly and I knew I had January to thank for that.

Damn, that girl was incredible. Zap.

I had a week to convince her to come with me. She was coming home with me. She was definitely coming home with me.

The next night, we waited in line to see Jamaica.

“Did Jason talk to Georgia Asher?” she asked me.

“I think so. I hope it went well. She’s going to be huge and I hope we get credit for her.”

“We will,” she told me, her smile reaching her eyes.

I studied her. “You have really beautiful lips, January.”

She shyly pinched them together, a red flush crept across her face. I grabbed her face and brought those lips to mine until they were loose again and she kissed me back.

When we pulled apart, her eyes widened and she fought a smile.

“What?”

“Those girls, the ones right behind us.” I started to turn, but she whipped me forward again. “Don’t look!”

“Okay,” I chuckled.

“They don’t think I can understand them.”

“And?”

“They think you’re adorable.” She paused, listening again and almost laughed. “They’d like to see what’s under your hood.”

“Right,” I said, shifting uncomfortably, pulling the hood farther over my head.

“They like your hands...and your ass.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“I’m not!”

“What else do they think?”

She listened, her eyes shot open, her mouth widened. “I can tell you what I think. I think they want their faces punched.” She began to turn around but I caught her, chuckling at her reaction.

“You’re adorable, January.”

She stood tall, turned toward them briefly then leaned into me.

“Sorry,” she told me when I laughed at the not so subtle display. “I had to.”

“It’s okay, I kind of like you possessive.” I leaned my face into the side of her hair and drank her in. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think I’m yours?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation.

“Good, ’cause I know you’re mine.”

She smiled at me. “Confident. I kinda like that.”

I nodded.

“It’s just not a conventional dating scenario, though, you know?” she said.

“Nothing about us is conventional, January.”

“True,” she said, but the smile on her face fell. “Oh shit.”

“What?” I asked, following her line of sight. We watched Jonah walk through the front door. He waved sarcastically before breaking the threshold. “Damn it! How did he find us?”

“I don’t know.”

Inside, I searched the club for Jonah but he was nowhere to be found.

“He’s got to be backstage,” I said.

“He’s a sneaky pete, dude.”

“I know.”

“What should we do?”

“They’ll never believe we’re also Seven reps. Not with Jonah back there.”

“I could, you know, use my girlish wiles.”

I looked at her, shocked. “I’m not going to pimp you out to gain backstage access, January.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s disgusting!” I practically yelled, appalled.

She laughed at me. “Tom, it’s not like I’m stripping or something equally sketchy. I was just going to flirt my way through.”

“No,” I said emphatically. I pulled her body to mine. “No way in hell. No.”

I led us to the bar in the corner of the club.

“Fine, then what should we do?”

“We wait.”

“And what if he talks to All the Pretty Girls before we get a chance? Dude, he is not above stealing. I told you this.”

“I know. All we can do is play it by ear tonight, but from now on I’m not even telling Jason where we’re going next. No one will know but us.”

“Good idea.”

“Speak of the devil,” I told her as Jonah exited from the backstage entrance. I didn’t have to bother getting his attention, he saw us.

“January,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. I didn’t care about appearances, I pulled him off her. I figured he’d misinterpret my possessiveness for anger at him for cheating.

“What the hell, Jonah?”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb, Jonah. How the hell did you know we were going to be here?”

Jonah laughed, clapping me on the shoulder harshly. I stared at this hand, a muscle ticked in my jaw. I shrugged his hand off roughly.

“I’m not joking with you, Jonah. How did you know?”

“Is Paris this secretive town no one knows about? I’m here for the music just like you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Who are you stealing from us?”

“You’re paranoid.”

“No, I’m not an idiot. Who?”

“Not that it’s not any of your business, but I just convinced All the Pretty Girls to visit Jason next week.”

“Son of a-”

“Come on, Tom,” January said, tugging at my arm to get me away from Jonah. “We’ll still win,” she whispered to me.