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And, apart from one sweaty night with a twinkish rock star three years ago,
Jeeeet
“Why are they called Eleven when there’s only five of them?”
Why it’s 5 Eeconds of Summer but there’s only 4? And I’m sure 30 seconds to mars aren’t actually 30
“I would take back leaving you that next day. I’d take back telling you to get back together with your ex-boyfriend who, according to the guys, is a dickface. But most of all, I’d take back the way you looked at me once you found out who I was. And the way you treated me in Tampa. I don’t need a babysitter. Thanks.”
“Even though this hot rock star I met turned out to be Matt Jackson’s little brother, and even though he was leaving to go on tour … I should’ve fought to see him again instead of trying to make something work that had already failed once.”
and some would say that’s some romantic Romeo and Julien bullshit, but everyone seems to forget how that story ends when they claim it to be so fucking romantic.
Not being able to be with the person you love is not romantic. It’s painful.
I’m not usually a naïve kid, but when it comes to him, I’m ridiculously and hopelessly idealistic.
You said I was perfect … Perfect for someone else.
“I’ve tried to get myself to think of you that way, and when you’re not in my presence, it’s easy to write you off as Matt Jackson’s little brother. But I can’t when we’re in the same room sharing the same air. I can’t when you’re two feet in front of me, and all I want to do is reach for you. Touch you. Kiss you.”
“No, it’s you. You understand me more than anyone ever has. More than any groupie who’s tried to explain my songs to me. You came out because you knew ‘He’s Mine’ wasn’t just a stupid love song.” He reaches for me, his fingertips trailing down my cheek. “It’s you.”
“When I’m near you, I don’t even know what I saw in Bryce.”
“What are you supposed to do?” That’s easy. “Walk away.” “What do you want to do?” Less easy. I swallow hard as I say the words I know I shouldn’t. “Never stop touching you.” “What are you gonna do?” Jet whispers. “I don’t know.” “Soren?” “Yeah?” “The correct answer to that was kiss me again.”
What does that say about my relationship with Harley if the minute I’m away from him, I’m thinking about another guy?
“You’re two of my best friends. It’d be cool. I mean, I will miss you when Matt and Noah hire a hitman to take you out, but until then, it’ll be good for both of you.”
“You know, if we weren’t about to meet up with your brother, I might’ve held your hand.”
I mean, he did say he doesn’t sleep well when he’s away from home, so I’m checking to make sure he’s doing it right. Sleeping, that is. Because, you know, after twenty-three years, he might not know how.
My brother is depressed. Please use your dick to make him feel better. Thanks for taking one for the team.
“Don’t freak out,” I blurt. So not the right way to start this. “You were the first guy to show me what love could be.”
“Who died and made Harley the fucking pope?”
“I want to be the opposite of trouble for you. I want to be there for you. I want you to talk to me.”
“What do you want to be then?” he croaks. Your everything.
“I’ve always dreamed of someone who’s mine waiting for me offstage. He’d give me a kiss as soon as I’d finish my set even if I’m sweaty and gross. He’d be there for me. Not for the fame. Not for the public exposure of being with Jay from Radioactive … He’d be there just for me.” The words tumble out of my mouth without proper thought. “I want to be that guy.”
Talon, as if sensing the tension, goes for the joke. “What, like, as a backup singer?” “No, dancer,” Miller says. “Duh.”
They’re two big kids I love them
“As my boyfriend.”
He used the b word
“Stop trying to get the man killed.”
Lovely
“Matt, I’ll be fine. Soren won’t hurt me.” He can’t. He promised.
“Do you think Taylor Swift pays any of her ex-boyfriends for being her muse?”
“I don’t want to put more pressure on you than you need. Just know I want you. All of you. Whenever you can give that to me.”
“Good boy.” He pats my head like I’m a golden retriever, and I don’t even care.
“We lost Soren.” Yeah, they did. Nothing can beat watching Jet on stage. Not a crowd of hockey fans screaming my name. Not scoring a goal or even a hat trick. Jet in his element is everything.
Jet wants someone who’s with him for him. Not for his music or the fame but for him.
“I love how you don’t even dispute that your ass is mine.”
It should be illegal for Jet Jackson to wear clothes.
While Harley and I have undeniable chemistry, Soren and I have something fundamentally deeper. So much so I don’t even know what to call it.
You’re amazing. Your music is amazing. You’re bigger than them and bigger than life.
Harley whines. “Damn it. Why’d your boyfriend have to be nice?” “He’s Canadian. He can’t help it.” “Sorry.” Soren shrugs.
Do you know how much it hurts to get up onstage every night and sing a song your ex wrote about someone else? And then to find out that he’s now with that person?”
I will always come back for him. Always. Because I’m not going to make the same mistake again.
“If I got to be with you, I’d go to the fucking moon.”
If Soren has taught me anything, it’s that love shouldn’t be messy. Sex, yes, definitely messy. Love? It should be selfless and compromising. It shouldn’t leave you cold.
If a hockey player is fucking someone but covering it up, how long does it take him to travel X miles and plug in his damn phone?
“Yeah, well, anyone with eyes would be able to tell that I’m in love with you now, you … you … I’ll use language your Canadian ass will understand, you big, dumb hoser!”
“Fuck it, we’ll talk right now and get it over with. Jet, I want you to be my boyfriend. Like, my proper, not just dating, not putting on a show for the media, boyfriend. I want that to be our truth. I don’t want anyone else touching you. Ever. Because this”—I grab his ass and pull him against me—“is mine.”
“Because you’ve always held a piece of my heart, but I’m giving all of it to you right now. I love you, Jet.”
“I thought I loved you before I left the tour, but these last two weeks without you have only made me realize how deep I am in love with you. I want to make you mine.” “I want to be yours.”
I’m going to make this my best season ever because I’m pretty sure it’s going to be my last.
“Doesn’t that feel weird to you? Like the words are foreign coming out of your mouth? ‘Hey, if you need to get anywhere, take our plane.’ Like it’s no big deal. If you’d told us that fifteen years ago, you think we would’ve believed it? Maybe you would have because you were always good at football, but wanna know what I almost replied with? ‘Thanks, but I’ve got access to my own.’ I mean, it’s the label’s, but I can still use it if I need to.”
“I love you. I want a life with you. A future. I want forever with you. I’ve had my career, and it’s been an amazing and fulfilling one. Now it’s your turn to have yours, and I want to be there for it.”
“You’re so much more than that. You’re a goal in the last minute. A five-on-three powerplay. You’re the crowd screaming for the win.” “I don’t know what that means, but good to know.” I laugh. “Jet, you’re everything. You’re my Stanley Cup.”
“I’ll put it the easiest way I know how to say it. You’re the most important thing in my life and being with you forever is my only goal.”
