Say Yes: Jack: Say Yes Series Book Three Read online

  Say Yes: Jack

  Say Yes Series Book Three

  Amelia Mae

  ©Amelia Mae 2019

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Aria Tan of Resplendent Media

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Nikki

  2. Jack

  3. Jack

  4. Nikki

  5. Jack

  6. Nikki

  7. Jack

  8. Nikki

  9. Jack

  10. Jack

  11. Jack

  12. Nikki

  13. Nikki

  14. Jack

  15. Nikki

  16. Jack

  17. Nikki

  18. Jack

  19. Nikki

  20. Jack

  21. Nikki

  22. Jack

  23. Nikki

  24. Jack

  Epilogue

  Special Sneak Preview

  Dylan

  Jane

  Also Available

  Ian

  Cora

  Also Available

  Shawn

  Want More?

  Prologue

  Jack

  Six Years Ago

  “Just let me stop by my mom’s place,” Ian says, “It’s in my old room.”

  I nod. Sure. I don’t even give him hell for being such a mama’s boy this time.

  He swears he has an Elvis record on vinyl. Something his dad left behind years ago. If it’s what I think it is, it’s worth some real money, but he said he’d let me borrow it. I want to tell him to keep that thing in mint condition and sell it online for a lot, but Ian’s not like that. Music is meant to be played, not looked at in its shiny case. That kind of thinking is why we get along most of the time.

  I follow him up the stairs to the second floor of the modest house in the valley. It’s cute. A little cluttered. Very feminine. Lots of artwork, mostly pictures of flowers. And an overwhelming amount of homemade potpourri.

  I’ve never met Ian’s mother, but I have a feeling she’d get along with mine.

  The upstairs hallway is lined with framed school-picture-day shots of Ian throughout the years.

  “Wow, you were such a dork,” I tell him, like I didn’t already know.

  “Fuck off.”

  I notice there are just as many portraits of a little girl with the same brown eyes as Ian. Unlike him, she’s blonde with a perfect cherub face. Must be his sister. He’s mentioned her a few times, but I’d never met her.

  I overhear a frustrated woman’s voice shout, “Fuck my life.” Then I hear music. “Just a Girl,” by No Doubt.

  I smirk. Maybe I should introduce myself.

  “Where’s the bathroom?” I ask him.

  “First door on the left,” he answers.

  I follow the music down the hall and end up peering into an almost obnoxiously pink bedroom at the end. I see sparkles and ballerina princess shit everywhere. Christ, there’s even a canopy bed.

  But whoever is living in this room now is trying to hide all the little girl stuff with rock band and movie posters. Clothes and underwear are strewn over the floor. Makeup and nail polish litter the dresser. A picture clipped to the mirror shows two girls flipping the bird to the camera, trying to look all hardcore.

  One look at the baby blonde hair and fuzzy pink pajamas on the girl sitting at her computer blows that facade out of the water.

  I smile. She’s cute. Really cute. But in a very innocent sort of way.

  And she looks at me like I’m a dead rat at her doorstep.

  “Who are you?” she asks.

  “I’m Jack.”

  “Good for you,” she retorts, returning to her computer. She pretends to ignore me. Her fingers hover above her keyboard, but she doesn’t type.

  “What’s your name?” I ask. I have a deep voice and I know its affect on women.

  A full-body shudder. I’m getting to her.

  “Nicolette,” she stammers, nervous. “That’s my real name, anyway. But everybody calls me Nikki.”

  “Nicolette’s a mouthful,” I say slowly, “Nikki I like, though.”

  I do, actually. No bullshit. Reminds me of a favorite song. A catchy subtle melody pulling focus from the dirty lyrics. My gut is telling me that it’ll suit her. Pretty blonde hair and a Disney princess face hiding something under the surface.

  She makes a face. “Glad you approve.”

  “Sure you do, darlin’,” I chide.

  She raises an eyebrow. She tries to look at me like I’m her grandfather who just called her a childish family nickname in front of her super cool friends, but she likes it. I can tell by the way she’s hiding her smile.

  And her very obvious blush.

  “Like the song,” I tell her, “Darling Nikki? It’s a Prince song. Know it?”

  She shakes her head. “How does it go?”

  I look Nikki up and down, figuring she’s got to be about eighteen or nineteen. Ian keeps saying that his sister is ‘away at school,’ so that must mean she’s college age. Old enough to tease.

  “I don’t think so. It’s kind of a dirty song. I’m not going to sing it for you.”

  “Well, I’m gonna find out one way or another,” she taunts.

  “True.”

  We’re not talking about the damn song anymore and we both know it. I invite myself into her room, invading her space. She lets me.

  She lets out a shaky breath as I reach over her shoulders to open a new tab on her browser. I feel her exhale on my fingers as I lean in to type.

  I smell peaches. Must be her shampoo.

  She’s holding her breath as I pull up the video. I take some earbuds from my pocket and plug them in for her.

  “I might as well be there one to corrupt you,” I whisper right in her ear.

  And fuck, I think I want to. I can feel the heat of her blush radiating from her skin and it makes me smile.

  I want to watch the pretty blonde princess with the angel face writhe underneath me and scream to high heaven as she comes on my dick. It’d be a pretty sight.

  I wink at her.

  Then I remember that Ian’s probably waiting on my ass and his catching me in his sister’s room is probably a bad idea. So while Nikki is engrossed in the song, I sneak out and head back down the hall.

  Ian’s waiting for me.

  “Not the bathroom, man,” he says, looking pissed.

  “Got sidetracked,” I explain, “Met your sister.”

  I guess I didn’t hide the and I’d like to see more of her well enough because Ian gets mad. And I’ve never seen Ian Brooks get mad. Like, really fuming, scary mad.

  “She’s sixteen, asshole,” he snaps, his fist cocked.

  “What?”

  “Nikki’s sixteen,” he shouts again. He’s not backing down.

  “No she’s not. You keep saying she’s away at college.” He has to be fucking with me. That is not the body of a teenager.

  “I said she’s away at school. Boarding school.”

  “Fuck.”

  Christ, I feel disgusting. Like, almost physically sick. I never would have been so forward with her if I’d known she was underage. That’s just wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “If you ever touch her, I’ll fucking murder you,” he says. The look in his eyes is feral. Like he’d tear me limb from limb if I say one more thing about his sister.

  I hold up my hands in submission. “No worries,” I say solemnly, “I’ll stay away from your underage sister for the rest of my life. I’ll never even talk to her. Promise.”

  But I break that promise. It’s inevitable.

  Years later, Nikki is hired as our manager’s assistant and becomes a fixture in my life whenever I’m home in Los Angeles.

  We also realize a mutual love of beer and superhero movies and Nikki Brooks slowly becomes my best friend.

  To this day, I’ll never admit it to anyone, but that first night I pictured Nikki lying in her pink canopy bed, all sweet and innocent looking on her princess pink bedding, fucking herself, thinking of me.

  Problem is… I still do.

  1

  Nikki

  Present Day

  I’m done playing bad cop tonight. These boys can take care of themselves.

  I flop down on one of the bus’s two couches and turn on the television. I flip around until I find a rerun of Friends. Perfect. I watch as Monica proposes to Chandler in a candlelit room and let the stress of my day dissipate.

  “Scoot over.”

  I know that deep rumbly voice anywhere.

  I look up and see Jack standing over me, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing dark jeans and a Rolling Stones tee-shirt with the sleeves cut off, showing off his arms. He’s always showing off his arms.

  I mean, he’s got some serious arm porn going on there.

  I shift over and Jack lies down next to me.

  “What’re we watching?”

  “Friends,” I answer.

  “Sounds good.”

  “It’s not like you’re gonna watch it,” I say, a little more snarky than I mean to. I’m just trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. I’m hoping he’ll just say something dumb or mean or gross so it’
ll go away.

  “No. Probably not,” he says with a shrug. Well, as much of a shrug as he can muster with my head on his shoulder. “But I’ll keep you company.”

  Damn. He has to go and say something kind of sweet.

  I sort of snuggle into him. This isn’t an unfamiliar position for us, Jack on his back with my head on his shoulder. I don’t know when lying around like this became a ‘thing’ we do, but it did. And as crazy as he drives me, I can’t pass up an opportunity to cuddle him like this.

  Though Jack would die before he called it cuddling.

  My train of thought is interrupted when the bus doors open. Ian and Cora sneak inside, assuming we’re asleep, and slink off to his bunk to have whispery, love-making-y sex, or whatever newlyweds do.

  I try not to watch my brother as he grabs his wife’s ass and she laughs and blushes. They’ve barely closed the curtain before they’re all over each other.

  Le sigh.

  But I can hardly begrudge my brother his happiness. Even if I find it a little hard to deal with.

  It’s hardly his fault I’m so painfully horny I could snap.

  Actually, the person responsible is currently lying underneath me.

  More interruptions. Seconds later, Aya and Shawn tumble in, slightly drunk and very giggly. And they know that we’re awake.

  “Aw, don’t you two look cozy,” Shawn teases.

  Aya looks at the TV. “I love that episode. It’s so romantic.”

  I raise an eyebrow. Really?

  “For a sitcom,” she says with a shrug.

  They clearly don’t feel like talking and quickly bid us goodnight, heading off to the private room for the loud, raucous sex I’ve been listening too on and off for the past three nights.

  “That’s three of you accounted for,” I scoff, “Where’s Dylan?”

  “In his bunk,” Jack answers, “He wasn’t feeling well, so he didn’t go out.”

  “Great. The whole band is here and no one died. I can text Christian so he’ll stop riding my ass about your whereabouts,” I tell Jack, pulling out my phone to do just that.

  “You really have to do that?”

  “Every fucking night.”

  Jack raises an eyebrow and looks like he’s going to say something about my delightful new responsibility, but we hear the mattress in the private room squeak and Aya moans loudly.

  “Fuck me,” Jack grimaces.

  I roll my eyes. “I thought you liked listening to women come.”

  He chuckles. “Normally, yeah. But when the name she’s screaming is your brother’s, it gets kinda weird.”

  “I get that.”

  Jack yawns and stretches. “But I’m happy he’s happy.” He gets up and heads for the kitchenette. “Want a beer?” he offers.

  “Please.”

  Jack plucks two bottles from the fridge. As he returns to the sofa, he trips over something on the floor. Aya’s straightening iron. He tosses it aside with a scowl.

  “Fucking hell,” he starts, “There are too many girls here.”

  He takes his spot on the couch, lying next to me again.

  I clear my throat. I’m a girl. Not that he ever seems to notice.

  “Nah,” he backtracks, “You’re supposed to be here.”

  Well, I can’t argue with that.

  Ever since Shawn pulled that shit bailing on the first few shows of the last tour to chase after Aya and Ian got caught fucking Cora outside a concert venue by a paparazzo, the band’s manager, Christian, aka my boss, has sent me on the tour with the band as their chaperone.

  Yeah. Because I can really keep four rock stars in line. The idea of me telling Ian, Shawn, Jack or Dylan not to go out and party or to be in bed my midnight is downright laughable.

  Then again, they’re really not really party animals anymore. Two are in committed relationships and they’re all starting to outgrow that wild boy phase. I mean, Dylan’s already thirty-two.

  But, still, these boys have done some dumbass shit in the name of love.

  I watch the television as all of the other Friends, congratulate the newly engaged couple. God, not that long ago, we were congratulating Ian and Cora like that on their engagement.

  “You jealous,” I tease, catching Jack watching the screen.

  “Of Monica and Chandler?”

  I laugh. “Pretty soon we’ll be doing that for Shawn and Aya.”

  “I know,” Jack says, “He’s got a ring picked out.”

  “Wow.”

  Jack nods. “It’s pretty,” he says, “It’s blue.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “It is,” he adds, “I mean I’m happy for them. But that kind of shit’s not for me.”

  I nod. Jack has explained his aversion to relationships about a million times to everyone. To me. To the guys in the band. Even to his mom, who gets kind of sad that he denounces monogamy so easily.

  He claims that no matter how intensely he might feel for a girl, he’ll eventually get bored of her.

  He’s also explained to me, multiple times, that I’m the only woman he’s ever been able to stand more than a few days with. Because we’re friends.

  Just friends.

  I finish my beer quickly and lie back down, wrapping one arm around Jack’s waist and letting my head settle into him. I feel his chest rise and fall with his breath. I revel in the familiar warmth.

  I fight the terrible urge to climb on top of him and suck the lips off his face.

  Fuck, I’ve got weeks left stuck on this fucking tour bus with my just friend, the hot, insatiable manwhore Jack Cordero.

  Kill me now.

  2

  Jack

  I half-pay attention to the TV. Mostly I watch as Nikki loses her battle with fatigue and falls asleep on my shoulder. I should move her, but I don’t. She’s comfortable and, surprisingly, I am too. So I let her lie there peacefully for about an hour or so while I stare at the ceiling, enjoying the quiet and the fact that she smells so pretty. Like summertime and peaches.

  She stirs.

  “It’s okay, darlin,’” I tell her, easing her through that weird moment of waking up in an unexpected place and not remembering how you got there. God knows I’ve been there too many times. “You’re on the bus. With me.”

  “Oh,” she says, her eyelids drooping. She tries get up, but stumbles.

  “Let me put you to bed,” I offer. I get up, help Nikki to her feet and steer her towards the bottom bunk on the left, closest to the front.

  Right next to mine.

  “No,” she says, “Bathroom.”

  I reroute her to the bathroom. She’s more coherent now and shuts the door behind herself.

  I flop down on the couch again and change the channel a few times. Television doesn’t interest me much. I’m generally not big on sitting still.

  Nikki returns to the living room area wearing a Killers tee shirt with the neck cut off and tiny, tiny shorts that should be fucking illegal on a woman with an ass that nice.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Headed to bed too?” she asks.

  I shake my head no. “Maybe I’ll keep watching and see if Ross and Rachel ever get together,” I tell her, flipping back to Friends in case she changes her mind about going to bed and wants to hang out longer.

  “They do,” she says, “It takes ten seasons and her getting a job in Paris.”

  “Spoilers,” I tease.

  “And they have a kid together,” she tells me.

  “Well,” I say, “No need to keep watching then.”

  “Sorry.” She shrugs, knowing I don’t actually care. “How about tomorrow? We’ve got the morning free.”

  “No plans. You?”