Twelve

 

Check One, Two... Mood

The buzz of last-minute setup echoed through the backstage corridors. Stagehands barked final instructions, the wardrobe mistress fussed over a band member’s favorite shirt, and guitar techs tweaked cables while the distant, steady thump of a bass rumbled down the hall. Back here, away from the crowd and floodlights, the cool, dimly lit corridor felt like a pocket of calm in the arena’s chaos.

 

Leaning against the wall with one heel propped up, Jeanie tapped her foot to the faint rhythm seeping from the stage, keeping an eye on the side entrance. Soundcheck had already been a bit bumpy — just the usual hiccups — and judging by the tension humming through the crew, a certain rock star was not too pleased.

 

The door swung open with a metallic creak, and Ari stepped through, followed by Stephanie pushing her sister in a stroller, Cliff bringing up the rear. The moment Ari’s gaze met Jeanie’s, she felt the unspoken message hanging between them.

 

“Hey, Mama,” Jeanie greeted warmly. “You look good. How’s the doc’s plan going so far?”

 

“Three for three,” Ari replied, letting herself smile.

 

“That’s a win,” Jeanie said, pushing off the wall. “And just so you know, I put Fruit Loops in the quick-change, the video cubby, and at the soundboard — gave Tony and Obie fair warning to keep their hands off.”

 

Ari chuckled. “Thanks. I’ll take any victory I can get.”

 

Together they started down the corridor toward the arena proper, the hum of backstage life wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.

 

“So,” Ari said, voice low, “what did Jon do now?”

 

She’d been down this road too many times to count. After twenty-plus years on tour together, Ari knew Jeanie wouldn’t have been waiting if everything was humming along smoothly.

 

“Soundcheck was a little rough,” Jeanie answered with a knowing look. “He’s in one of his moods.”

 

Ari let out a sigh. “What happened this time?”

 

“IEMs weren’t cooperating,” Jeanie explained. “He’s not full-on yelling — just his usual brooding. You know the drill.”

 

Ari nodded. “So, a typical day in the production world.”

 

“Pretty much,” Jeanie agreed, lips twitching.

 

By the time they reached the stage entrance, the hum of amps and the occasional clang of a road case had grown louder. Ari paused and turned to Cliff, softening as her gaze fell to the stroller. She gave him a quick nod.

 

“Can you take the girls to catering? I’ll meet you there after I check in with the Three Amigos, then hunt down Jon.”

 

“You good with that?” she asked Stephanie.

 

“Of course,” Stephanie assured her, with a wry smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

Cliff gave a short nod. “Will do. But I’m radioing Matt to come find you, just in case.”

 

Ari raised an eyebrow. “Really, dude? I’ll be fine.”

 

Before Cliff could answer, Jeanie cut in smoothly. “I’ll stay with her until she gets to Jon.”

 

“Thanks, Jeanie,” Ari said, shooting her a grateful look.

 

Then she gave them all a look of amused exasperation — hands on her hips, eyes warm. “We’ll be discussing this hovering later, just so you both know. I’m pregnant, not the first woman to be.”

 

Jeanie just grinned and offered a playful, two-finger salute as she fell into step beside Ari, the roar of the arena floor beckoning them onward.

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

Ari threaded her way past a knot of crew and techs until she finally spotted Kennedy, Tony, and Obie huddled near the soundboard. They stood close together, hands tucked into pockets and shoulders loose, but their eyes were sharp — like they were still replaying the scene that had just unfolded. The instant they noticed Ari, all three went quiet, that conspicuous hush people fall into when they’re bracing to sell someone out.

 

Ari caught Jeanie’s eye and gave a subtle nod. Jeanie, sensing what was about to happen, nodded back and slipped into the crowd without a word, leaving Ari to face whatever was coming.

 

Crossing her arms as she came to a stop, Ari kept her voice light but firm. “Okay,” she said. “Spill it.”

 

Kennedy was the first to grin. “Let’s just say we had a bit of a situation with the IEMs.”

 

Tony groaned. “A bit of a situation? That’s putting it kindly. Translation: Jon almost made the new sound tech cry.”

 

“Yeah,” Obie added with a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “He was about two seconds away from shoving a mic stand up the kid’s ass.”

 

Ari winced in sympathy. “Poor guy. Tell me more.”

 

Kennedy mimed stirring a pot in midair, clearly relishing the retelling. “Jon started out calm enough, but as the monitors kept acting up, you could feel the pressure build — like one of those old-fashioned cookers just about to blow. Pretty soon he was grumbling and pacing like a caged tiger.”

 

“You know how he gets,” Tony put in. “And sure enough, the greatest hits followed: ‘Why can’t anyone do anything right?’ and ‘Maybe I should just do it myself.’”

 

By now, Obie was outright grinning. “That was my cue to get fired — again. Right before he asked if anyone had a better way to fix the damn problem.”

 

Tony mimed hitting a cymbal with a flourish. “And then came the classic: ‘I need a new crew.’”

 

“Classic Jon,” Ari echoed, shaking her head. Despite herself, a small smile tugged at her lips. “So where’d you end up? Did he fire anybody else?”

 

“Me,” Obie laughed, spreading his hands. “For the second time today.”

 

He’d long ago lost track of how often his best friend had jokingly fired him over the years.

 

Kennedy gave a shrug, her voice warm. “He’s calmed down, though — back to his usual brooding. We’re just here recalibrating our sanity.”

 

“Sounds like a regular day,” Ari said with a resigned sigh. “Dressing room?”

 

“Yep,” Tony replied with a knowing nod. “Probably surrounded by a hundred yellow paper balls.”

 

Ari smirked and began to turn away. “Alright then. Time to go tame the beast. Wish me luck.”

 

Tony waved her off with a lopsided grin. “You won’t need it,” he said. “Jon will.”

 

Backstage was a maze of dim corridors and road cases stacked like improvised walls. Her boots echoed against the concrete as a faint symphony of clinks, distant bass thumps, and murmured voices kept her company. The further she went, the more she felt her shoulders tense — Jon could be as mercurial as a summer storm.

 

Still, it was Valentine’s Day, and she wasn’t about to let one grumpy soundcheck ruin it.

 

She paused outside his dressing room, drew a slow breath to center herself, then rapped gently before easing the door open. The familiar scent of coffee and cologne greeted her as her gaze took in the scattered debris: crumpled yellow papers strewn across the floor, a half-empty coffee cup teetering precariously on the edge of a cluttered table.

 

“I can make the setlist if you want,” she teased.

 

He didn’t look up. “Didn’t we try that last year?”

 

“Yeah,” she shot back, stepping inside and plucking the pen and pad from his hands to set them carefully beside the cup. “And you chickened out then, too.”

 

“A little birdie told me…”

 

He cut her off with a grumble, blue eyes finally lifting to hers. “Who ratted me out this time? Tony? Obie? Or your new right hand, Kennedy?”

 

“Actually,” Ari smirked, “it was your right hand. Jeanie.”

 

A groan escaped him as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Figures. Knew it was only a matter of time before she switched sides.” Then his expression softened as his gaze dropped to the silver bracelet on her wrist. “I did good,” he murmured, lips curving into a small smile. “Not too many sparkles.”

 

“You did,” she agreed warmly. “And nice try changing the subject.”

 

He shrugged, leaning back into the couch and stretching like a cat. “Hey, it wasn’t that bad. I’ve been worse.”

 

“Oh, I know you have,” she replied, stepping a little closer, voice gentle but teasing. “You’re lucky they do too — well, except for the new tech.”

 

“It’s a long tour,” he muttered. “He’s gotta learn sometime.”

 

“Maybe don’t scare him off this early,” she suggested as her fingers reached for the notepad.

 

Before she could touch it, Jon moved in a blur, snatching the pad and holding it just out of reach.

 

“Uh-uh,” he drawled. “Not today.”

 

Ari arched a brow. “Seriously? You’re hiding the setlist now?”

 

He sprawled back against the couch, one arm draped lazily across the backrest as if he had all the time in the world. “It’s Valentine’s Day,” he said, eyes glinting. “I’m allowed one romantic surprise. Don’t ruin it.”

 

She tilted her head, stepping close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. A sly smile tugged at her lips. “Trying to get laid, Rockstar?”

 

“Trying?” he shrugged, utterly unfazed. “I’d say I’m doing pretty well so far.”

 

Ari laughed softly, arms crossing as she leaned in just enough to feel dangerous. “Cocky.”

 

“Confident,” he corrected, voice like velvet.

 

“Mm-hmm,” she murmured. “You’re lucky it’s a holiday.”

 

“I’m lucky every day.”

 

With exaggerated care, he tore the last page from the pad, folded it into a perfect square, and set it face-down next to the coffee cup like it was classified intel.

 

She crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, earning a chuckle as she gave him a playful nudge. “We’ll see about that.”

 

In one smooth motion, he caught her wrist, pulled her gently toward him, and spun her around so her back pressed against his chest as he tugged her onto his lap.

 

“You keep making threats like that,” he murmured against her ear, breath warm on her skin, “and the setlist is gonna be the least of your worries.”

 

Ari broke into a surprised laugh just as a soft knock at the door froze them both.

 

“You expecting someone?” she asked, voice hushed but light with amusement.

 

He groaned but loosened his grip as Ari slipped off his lap and crossed to the door. When she pulled it open, she found Stephanie leaning against the frame, Lily tucked against her shoulder and an amused glint in her eyes.

 

“Sorry to ruin the moment,” Stephanie drawled. “But someone needed her mommy, and the other one was wondering if Dad had stopped brooding long enough to rejoin the land of the emotionally functional.”

 

Jon shot her a look as he stood, smoothing his shirt. “Wow. Did you practice that in the hallway, or does it just come naturally?”

 

“Please,” Stephanie smirked. “Who do you think I learned it from?”

 

Jon’s expression softened as he crossed the room toward them, hands already reaching for Lily.

 

“My girls,” he murmured warmly as he took his daughter into his arms. “All of them. Just what I needed — especially the tiny one who doesn’t throw shade.”

Eleven

Love Notes & Family Ties

Ari blinked against the soft wash of morning light, her body still steeped in the slow, golden afterglow of last night’s ridiculous, slightly raunchy bet. The air still carried a whisper of heat from their laughter and tangled limbs—but the bed told a different story now.

 

It was too quiet.

Too cold.

Too empty.

 

She rolled over with a low groan, instinctively reaching for the familiar sprawl of Jon beside her—the heavy warmth of his arm, the raspy edge of his snore that hovered between irritating and oddly comforting. But her hand met only smooth, cool sheets.

 

No Jon.

No Lily in her pack-n-play.

Even Meatball, their ever-present four-legged shadow, had vanished without a trace.

 

In Jon’s place lay an empty pillow adorned in a dramatic cascade of roses—two dozen deep crimson blooms, unapologetically lush and fragrant. They spilled across the white linen like a secret, carefully planted surprise. Tucked in the center was a card, her name scrawled across the front in Jon’s unmistakable hand—half musician, half hopeless romantic.

 

She sat up slowly, suspicion and a smirk curving her lips in equal measure. Jon didn’t vanish without a plan. She reached for the envelope, brushing the petals with her fingertips, her heart already dancing ahead of her eyes.

 

She opened it.

 

My Crash,

 

Last night was fun. I would absolutely lose to you again.

 

Figured you might need a breather today, so I called in reinforcements. Steph flew in a few days early to help with Lily (surprise number one).

 

You’ve got a quick visit with Dr. Cummings at 10, and after that, a massage waiting at the hotel spa.

 

No arguments. Just go.

 

Love you more than tequila,

—J

P.S. Check the bag by the roses. It’s not diamonds… but it might sparkle a little.

 

Her smile bloomed before she even finished reading.

 

She glanced toward the black gift bag nestled beside the roses. Curiosity stirred in her chest—soft, warm, impossible to resist. She reached inside, fingers wrapping around a small, elegantly wrapped box. Silver paper. Black ribbon. She paused.

 

Sparkly things weren’t usually her thing. But the thoughtfulness behind it—that was the part that always unraveled her.

 

With a slow, steady breath, she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.

 

Inside, nestled in a velvet bed, lay a silver bracelet. Delicate. Understated. A quiet kind of beautiful. Two tiny charms hung from the chain, shaped like heartbeats—elegant waves of silver etched with care.

 

Her chest tightened as she picked it up, thumb brushing over the miniature details. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t loud. But it was perfect. It was Jon, speaking in his quietest language—intention.

 

It reminded her of the necklace he wore under his shirt, the one with a charm for each of his children. Five now. Soon to be six.

 

The realization made her heart catch. She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, letting it settle against her skin. It felt like it had always been there. Like it belonged.

 

She lingered a moment longer, her fingertips drifting over the charms, her smile slow and full, before tossing the covers aside and sliding out of bed. The morning unfolded around her in a haze of sleepiness and sentiment. She tugged on her favorite soft leggings and her worn, vintage Stones shirt—because even spa days deserved a little comfort.

 

The living room greeted her with the smell of warm oatmeal and buttery eggs, and the sound of sweet baby babble spilling through the space like morning music.

 

Steph was at the table, her hair pulled into a neat bun, dodging Lily’s flailing hands with practiced ease as she guided a spoon toward her sister’s mouth. Meatball sat loyally at Lily’s feet, tail thumping with every dropped morsel, his eyes shining with love and opportunism.

 

“Well, good morning, sleepyhead,” Steph teased, glancing up with a knowing grin. “You missed round one of breakfast negotiations, but I think I’m winning.”

 

Ari smiled, already feeling lighter. “Barely awake, but functional.”

 

“We’ve been up for a while. Took the little Miss and Meatball for a walk around the grounds. Burned off some energy. At least one of them peed outside,” she added with a wink. “Figured we’d hit the pool next. She’d love it.”

 

“She loves the water,” Ari said warmly, grateful. “Thanks for jumping in.”

 

Stephanie waved it off like she’d been born to it. After all, she’d grown up wrangling three younger brothers. “Don’t worry. Uncle Matt sent Gunnar with Dad, so he’ll be with us when we go.”

 

She paused, then shrugged. “Dad had early meetings with some radio station. Said if it runs long, he’ll head straight to soundcheck at the arena.”

 

Ari snorted and reached for the coffee pot. “He hates doing those. I swear he’d rather play a four-hour set with the flu. Fingers crossed he’s in a good mood by showtime.”

 

“You can say that again,” Steph laughed, grabbing a napkin to wipe Lily’s chin. “Oh—and Cliff stopped by, too. Said to text him when you’re heading to the spa.”

 

Ari took a sip of her coffee and leaned in to kiss Lily’s head. “Be good for your sister, Lily Bug.”

 

Lily squealed, oatmeal smeared across her cheeks and fists like she wore it with pride. Ari pulled Stephanie into a hug.

 

“Seriously. Thank you. I owe you.”

 

Stephanie smiled, soft and sincere. “Nah, you don’t. I’m just glad to be here.”

 

Ari grabbed her phone and wallet, pausing at the door. “Alright, I’m heading to Dr. Cummings first. I’ll text Cliff on the way.”

 

“Go. Enjoy your massage,” Steph called after her. “We’ve got this.”

 

“I’m going. Love you both.”

 

“Love you too.”

 

And with that, Ari stepped into the hallway—her heart a little lighter, her steps a little steadier, the silver bracelet at her wrist catching the light like a quiet promise.

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

Ari returned from her appointments feeling lighter—looser somehow, as if a few of the invisible weights she’d been carrying had finally been set down. The tension that had rooted itself deep in her shoulders had finally begun to unravel, thanks to Dr. Cummings’ calm counsel and the slow, kneading magic of the massage. Even her stomach had cooperated for once—she’d managed to keep down both breakfast and a light lunch. Small wins, but hard-won.

 

She kicked off her Chucks by the door and padded into the living room, drawn by the hush of mid-afternoon. Lily lay fast asleep on a soft blanket spread across the floor, one pudgy arm flung overhead in total surrender to her nap. Stephanie lounged on the couch nearby, phone in hand, her long legs curled beneath her.

 

“That went way better than I expected,” Ari said, sinking into the couch beside her with a satisfied sigh. “I even kept down breakfast and lunch.”

 

Stephanie looked up with a smile. “That is good news. And the massage? You look ten times more awake than when you left.”

 

“Oh, it was heavenly. I might have to start making spa visits part of the regular tour rotation.”

 

“You definitely should,” Stephanie said with mock seriousness. “Put it in the rider.”

 

Ari chuckled. “How was your day? Was Lily good? Did she like the pool?”

 

“She loved it. Wore herself out completely.” They both looked down at the tiny, snoozing girl. “She’s been out cold since we got back.”

 

“Awesome,” Ari said dryly. “She’ll be wide awake for the whole show now.”

 

Stephanie grinned. “Don’t worry, I’m coming tonight too. You go do your roadie stuff—me and Lily will hold down the fort in Daddy’s dressing room.”

 

They laughed together, the sound light and easy.

 

“How long before he starts demanding a kid-zone backstage?” Ari mused.

 

“I’m surprised he hasn’t already,” Stephanie replied, eyes twinkling.

 

The laughter faded into a soft, companionable silence. But then Ari caught the subtle shift in Stephanie’s posture—the way her fingers stilled on her phone, the quiet seriousness that flickered across her face.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Stephanie’s voice was gentle now, uncertain. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too much.”

 

Ari sat up a little straighter, instinctively attuned to the change. Her brow knit, but her voice stayed open.

 

“Of course. What’s on your mind?”

 

Stephanie hesitated, eyes flicking briefly to her sleeping sister before returning to Ari’s. She took a breath.

 

“I know how your mom died. But what about your dad?”

 

Ari’s smile faltered just slightly, a faint ripple in an otherwise calm surface.

 

“He passed away fifteen years ago. Heart attack.” Her voice was quiet, but steady. “He fought for a little while, but… it happened fast. One day he was there, and then… he wasn’t.”

 

“I’m sorry, Ari. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

 

“No, it’s okay, sweetie.” She offered a small smile, touched with tenderness. “Yeah, it was hard. He was my rock. My whole world, really.”

 

Stephanie looked down for a moment, her voice nearly a whisper. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like—losing your mom the way you did, and then your dad.”

 

Ari’s gaze drifted to Lily, her fingers absently brushing the bracelet on her wrist. “It’s something I struggled with for a long time. There’s no preparing for that kind of loss. It just… carves something out of you. Growing up without a mother—it’s like there’s this part of you that never learns how to feel whole.”

 

Stephanie nodded, her expression soft and full of quiet empathy.

 

“And it’s not just the grief,” Ari continued. “It’s the silence that follows. The birthdays, the milestones, the moments when you realize the person who should be there just… isn’t. You adapt. But you never forget that something’s missing.”

 

Her fingers tightened slightly around the charm bracelet, grounding her.

 

“But it also made me stronger. I had Sal, and my grandparents. And in a lot of ways, Lili—my grandmother—was the mother I needed.”

 

She paused, eyes distant for a beat, then softened as she added, “My mom died giving birth to me. And that’s always been this… shadow I carry. It’s part of the reason I put off having a baby for so long. I was terrified of history repeating itself. I didn’t want my child to grow up like I did, wondering who I was and why I wasn’t there.”

 

Her voice dipped, rich with feeling.

 

“That’s why I’m so determined to make sure Lily feels it—love, safety, security. I don’t ever want her to question it. Not for a second.”

 

Stephanie reached out, placing a hand over Ari’s. “You do, Ari. You make all of us feel that way. Not just Lily—me, Jesse, Jake, even Romeo. You’re kind of the glue, you know?”

 

The room settled into a thoughtful stillness, the quiet no longer heavy, but shared—something safe and unspoken passing between them.

 

Then, with perfect timing, Stephanie broke the moment with a shift in tone.

 

“Okay, now tell me something lighter,” she said, her smile returning. “How did your parents meet? Was it love at first sight? Was your mom a roadie too?”

 

Ari blinked, caught off guard by the pivot, then laughed. “It was definitely not love at first sight. At least, not for my mother—according to Sal, anyway.”

 

She smiled, her mind already flipping through old memories and the well-worn stories her father had told her, back when she was still too young to understand what love looked like but old enough to recognize it in his eyes.

 

But before she could continue, a soft whine interrupted her thoughts. Lily stirred on the blanket, rubbing her eyes with her tiny fists, stretching like a sleepy starfish.

 

Ari leaned forward with a chuckle, reaching down to scoop her daughter into her arms.

 

“Well,” she said, cradling Lily against her chest, “Looks like we’ll have to save that story for another day.” 

Ten

Games of Groans

The soft hum of music drifted through the hotel suite, a gentle soundtrack to the golden hush of evening. City lights glittered through the balcony window, casting reflections on polished hardwood floors. But her focus was locked solely on Jon.

 

He was sprawled across the plush couch like a man who had nothing to prove, his long legs stretched out, one arm slung lazily over the back cushion. In his lap rested the bottle of tequila she’d requested from the concierge—unopened, glinting amber in the low light. He looked completely at ease, the epitome of rockstar arrogance wrapped in faded denim and charm.

 

He flashed her that maddening smirk—the one that always turned her stomach into somersaults. “Hungry, baby?”

 

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, she crossed the room, the scent of still-warm room service teasing her nose. She grabbed a pillow from the couch, tossed it onto the carpet, and sank down against it, her back comfortably propped. Lifting the silver cloche from her plate, she snatched up the bitten burger with a dramatic flourish and met his gaze, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes. “Oh, you’re going down.”

 

His deep, unhurried laugh filled the room as he shifted to straddle her from behind, one leg on either side. His hands settled on her shoulders, kneading into the tension she hadn’t even realized she was carrying. She exhaled softly as his fingers worked their magic.

 

“How did things go with Nicole?”

 

“Good,” she replied, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment under his spell.

 

“Does she think it’s okay leaving your port in this long?” he asked, his tone warm and supportive.

 

“Yeah, said it should be fine for another week. Will her plan help? I sure hope so.”

 

“Look at it this way,” a playful edge crept into his voice, “if it works, you can finally eat something other than Fruit Loops.”

 

She shot him a playful look, popping a fry into her mouth. “I happen to like Fruit Loops, thank you very much.”

 

“Don’t I know it.” He paused her massage to snatch a few fries for himself. “I had our accountant purchase a share or twenty today.”

 

“Jerk!”

 

“Hey,” he said, popping the fry into his mouth, “a guy’s gotta diversify his portfolio.”

 

She playfully nudged his leg and pushed her half-eaten plate to the side. “You’ll never believe who I ran into at the arena today.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Nico Sabatini. You remember him, right?”

 

The name alone pulled up memories. The Sabatini family had been like extended kin. Smoke—Nico’s father—had been best friends with her dad, Sal, since high school. Together, they’d worked the roadie circuit, eventually landing gigs with Bon Jovi back in the early days.

 

“Hard to forget little Sabs,” he said with a grin. “Ball breaker, just like his father.”

 

“Well, he ain’t so little now.”

 

Jon shot her a teasing glance. “Is that so?”

 

“Uh, yeah! He makes Matt look small.”

 

“Charmed you, did he?”

 

“Charm? More like full-on assault when he hugged me.”

 

Jon laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “What was he doing at the arena?”

 

“The local union needed an extra set of hands.”

 

“Just like his father. Never turning down a gig.” He leaned back, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Did he say how Smoke was doing?”

 

“He says he’s enjoying retirement,” she chuckled. “Apparently, he’s taken up gardening. Can you imagine Smoke digging around in the dirt?”

 

“He’s gotta bury the bodies somewhere, right?”

 

They both burst into laughter at the thought of Smoke, who had spent years wrangling cables, telling wild stories about his Italian ancestors, and offering a helping hand to any crew members who got caught in a compromising situation. Whether it was offering a way out of a sticky situation or providing someone with a special pair of cement shoes, Smoke always seemed to have just the solution.

 

A playful glint flashed in her eyes as she stood and climbed into his lap, her legs straddling his thighs. “Now, where’s my prize?”

 

“Alright, but only because you earned it,” he said, his hands settling on her waist.

 

“Think you can keep up, old man?”

 

“Keep up? I’m a pro at this,” he said, giving her a confident grin.

 

“Pro at tequila or flirting?” she teased, her voice low and challenging.

 

“Both.” He winked, and she couldn’t help but laugh again.

 

“Let’s put that to the test.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with a teasing smile, tasting the last traces of wine he had earlier. “Okay, here’s how this works—every shot earns you a kiss. Try to keep up, old man.”

 

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he broke the seal on the tequila bottle, the sound of the crack echoing softly in the room. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long, daring swig, feeling the warm liquid slide down his throat, its sharpness igniting a thrill within him.

 

He set the bottle down on the arm of the couch and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “That’s one. Better pay up before I start racking up interest.”

 

She raised her eyebrow, unimpressed but clearly entertained. “Oh, someone’s feeling bold,” she murmured, fingers trailing along the back of his neck as she leaned in. “There. One kiss. Don’t get cocky, tequila cowboy.”

 

He let out a low laugh. “Tequila cowboy, huh? Is that your way of admitting you’re impressed?”

 

She smirked, rolling her hips just enough to make her point. “Please. That’s just the starter kiss. You don’t unlock the good stuff until at least shot number four or five.”

 

He raised the bottle in front of them, eyes never leaving hers, the challenge clear in his grin. “Then I better drink up.”

 

He wasted no time taking a second swig, this time savoring the moment as the rich, warm liquid rolled over his tongue. The distinct earthy scent of agave filled his nostrils, awakening a sense of nostalgia. His dick twitched as his eyes locked on hers, her green eyes now darkened—a telltale sign she was heading to the point of no return.

 

With a final gulp, he swallowed, savoring the lingering taste. “Looks like we’re both in this now,” his voice low and thick. “You ready for what’s coming next?”

 

“Are you?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with challenge, daring him to make the next move.

 

Without missing a beat, he grabbed the back of her neck, pulling her closer. Their lips crashed together, and her breath caught, sending a shiver down her spine. Wild and untamed, their tongues wove together in a passionate dance. Time seemed to stand still as she melted into the moment, her heart racing. The thrill of the bet, the taste of tequila, and the warmth of his presence enveloped her entirely.

 

When they finally pulled apart, Jon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You okay there, Crash?”

 

She ran her tongue along her lips then closed them with a playful pop. “Yep. How ‘bout you? Giving up already?”

 

“Not a chance!”

 

Each shot of tequila blurred the world around them, wrapping them in a cozy warmth that felt just right. It was just the two of them, the amber liquid, and the rising heat of their shared connection. His calloused fingertips, shaped from years of playing guitar, slid under the hem of his old T-shirt she was wearing, grazing her skin in a playful, familiar rhythm that felt uniquely theirs. In that lingering touch, a different kind of heat ignited—a slow, steady burn that promised a connection that would linger long after the last sip.

 

“Damn!” he murmured against her lips as they took a moment to catch their breath.

 

Her breath hitched, a tiny, perfect imperfection. “Had enough, rockstar?” she asked breathlessly, leaning in so their foreheads touched, her lips just a breath away. “Or can you go another round… or twelve?”

 

“I can go all night.” His eyes dilated with mischief.

 

Her lips curled into a slow smile. “Prove it.”

 

His hand slid up to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her soft, messy curls. “All. Night. Long.”

 

As his words lingered in the air, a soft flutter brushed against her side, a light, unexpected sensation that made her freeze for a split second.

 

“Did you feel that?” she gasped, pulling back slightly.

 

“Feel what?”

 

“The baby! I think the baby just kicked!” she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and wonder.

 

His eyes lit up. “Are you serious?”

 

“Yeah! Right here!” She pressed his hand against her side, hoping he could feel it too.

 

They both held their breath, focusing on their hands, their hearts beating with anticipation. And then, just as they were about to speak, it happened again—a gentle little thump, like a tiny fist greeting them both.

 

“Hello, there,” he whispered, a playful glint in his eyes. “We’re gonna have to talk about your timing.”

 

Her heart swelled with warmth as her fingers trailed over the hand resting on her side, tracing the contours of his fingers as if to keep this moment from slipping away. Just as they both relaxed, another gentle kick followed, this time a little stronger, a little more insistent.

 

“How do you do that?” she chuckled. “You’re like the baby whisperer.”

 

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “I don’t know, Crash. I’ve always had a sixth sense when it comes to… timing.” His grin widened. “Maybe he just knows when I’m about to say something cool.”

 

“So, now you’re a baby psychic?” she laughed, rolling her eyes.

 

“Just stating the facts,” he gave her belly a gentle rub. “Right, kid?”

 

Another soft kick made them both laugh.

 

“He? Huh? Using your psychic powers, are you?”

 

“Was I wrong about Lily?”

 

She gave him a playful slap. “No. But that doesn’t mean you’ll be right this time.”

 

“I will. Just you wait.”

 

They both laughed again, lingering in the warmth of the moment. The little one inside her was already making his or her presence known, and Jon? He was already the goofiest dad-to-be—again.