Page 58 of The Groupie

“Shut it, pipsqueak.”

My other two sisters and mom laugh, but Dad looks at me like he expects a further explanation.

“What?” I shrug. “We may be seeing each other, but it’s no big deal.”

Jett shakes his head, and drinks are served, thank God, putting an end to the Rylee discussion—permanently, if I have anything to say about it.

The meal goes fine after that because I turn the topic to news from home and make the girls tell me what’s going on in their lives—which is probably more than I want to hear, especially from the pipsqueak.

“You can’t date yet. You’re too young,” I insist and look at Dad.

“I agree, but your mother says otherwise.” He shrugs. “Tell us more about the promotional deal, Jett. How does the money work with two celebrities? Is it an even split or what?”

Jett dives in despite my glare and attempted kick under the table.

“In this case, Zak is the main draw for the brand and would normally get the lion’s share of the fee given Rylee’s relatively unknown status, but Zak insisted on an even split.”

The pipsqueak blows out a loud whistle attracting attention, and Dad sits back in his chair and examines me like I’ve turned into an elephant wearing a tutu.

“Are you crazy, son?”

“He’s right. You are crazy,” Jett agrees.

“Crazy in love.” The pipsqueak grins at me.

I look at her, and the retort dies on my lips. Lowering my head, I stare at my empty plate.

“Is it true, Zak?” Mom’s words force me to face her, and I shrug. “I’m worried about you,” she says.

“Me, too. I won’t lie. I’m scared shitless. But I had to help her. She needs the money.”

“That’s nice of you, Zak,” Dad says. “But watch out for yourself.”

“I will.” I plan to hang on for dear life.

Jett and I have to leave, so we all stand.

“I’m so proud of you, honey,” Mom says as she hugs me goodbye.

My sisters wish me good luck, and when it’s the pipsqueak’s turn to hug me, she holds on for an extra beat and squeezes me tight.

“Don’t let her take advantage of you, Zakky. I know you’re a big teddy bear underneath all your muscle.”

I smile and squeeze her back. “Don’t worry about me, pipsqueak.” I step back and look at what a young beauty she’s becoming, and a spike of worry about guys going for her makes me shudder.

“I’m serious.” Her expression is fierce. “I swear I’ll beat her up if she makes a wrong move.”

I smirk, and my worry eases somewhat. “You and what army?”

She punches my arm, and we leave. I exit with an odd mixture of warmth from my family, satisfaction about my contract, and trepidation about Rylee because I’m unsure how I feel about her. I should be wary and cautious and keep her at arm’s length.

But I can’t get that reasonable approach to stick. I can’t not feel the connection, and I can’t not care.

Back at my hotel room, I have the bright idea to text Rylee, but she doesn’t respond, doesn’t even read my text as far as I can tell. I don’t know if that’s because it’s past midnight or general principle.

Either way, the puck is on her ice. Now, she owes me a call, and I need to stay disciplined enough to wait it out.

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