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“Hell, if they were on the plane, I’d hitch a ride, too.” She laughed. “Anyway, when these guys found out true love was at stake, they agreed to make a pit stop in Wisconsin—but only if they can write a song about it.”
Seth shrugged. “Fine. Let’s just go.”
“Get your asses on that plane and save your girl.” Gloria paused. “Oh, and Ken? You owe me.”
“Add it to my tab.”
She chuckled. “I want updates, damn it. And, guys, don’t fuck this up.”
Now that Heavenly was beginning to trust them? Seth scoffed. “No chance.”
Less than thirty minutes later, the jet lifted off the runway. Seth and Beck had no clue who the stylish, pubescent Brits were. But the five-man boy band had a million questions.
“So which of you blokes is chasing your girl across the country?” asked one with brown waves brushing his shoulders, dimples, and fresh tats on his arms. “And the other, are you going for moral support or to be a third wheel?”
Seth shot Beck a stare. Apparently no one had given these youngsters the 411 about their trip.
Beck shook his head. “It’s complicated. We’re both in love with her.”
The blond kid twirling drumsticks in his fingers grinned. “So you’re going to fight for her? Brilliant!”
“No.” Seth raised a brow. “We’re past that. We share her.”
“In bed? At the same time?” asked another, looking less like a jaded pop star and more like a shocked kid. “Do you shag each other as well?”
“You ask the stupidest questions.” Another bandmate with a cleft chin and an attitude rolled his eyes.
“Hell no!” Seth answered.
“Ever. And we don’t plan on it,” Beck put in.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Seth added. If they’d bummed a ride to Heavenly with musicians who happened to be gay, he didn’t want any hard feelings. “If that’s your thing, it’s cool. It’s just not ours.”
“We’re not gay, either,” a quiet one on the other side of the aisle put in, then addressed his bandmates. “This might be the adult subject we’ve been looking to write about to prove we’re not kids anymore.”
A brief pause gave way to a chorus of hmms.
“I could get behind singing about two blokes banging a crumpet,” said the pretty one with the curls again.
The drummer flipped a drumstick in the air and somehow caught it between his middle and ring finger while still twirling it. “It would have our thirteen-year-old fan base losing the plot.”
The quiet one in the corner spoke up again. “Will we be encouraging young girls to have sex with two guys?”
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, knob head,” the drummer mouthed off. “How do you two keep from knocking cocks when you fuck her? That’s the important question. Because that would throw a spanner in the works.”
“Carefully,” Seth drawled, eliciting a round of laughter.
An hour, another dozen queries, and many sly one-liners later, the band was already writing a song about them. Mr. Cleft Chin had retrieved a guitar and started strumming. The drummer played along on an armrest. The singer belted out lyrics that definitely weren’t fit for radio while the others bandied around song titles, like “Braiding Boners,” “Sharing Kitty,” and Beck and Seth’s personal favorite, “Two Bangers in a Tight Bun.”
Finally, the plane approached the small regional airport in Wisconsin. Anxiety replaced their levity.
What if Heavenly only wanted them for moral support now? What if, tomorrow, she still decided to go her own way?
As the plane cruised down the private runway, Seth pressed his nose to the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Beside him, Beck did the same.
The second Seth saw her standing on the tarmac, looking like liquid gold with the afternoon sun shining off her hair, his heart thundered. Jeans cradled her slender legs and a bulky, cream-colored sweater hugged her breasts. She waved as the plane whizzed past her, wearing a hint of a smile.
“She’s stopped crying…for now,” Beck murmured. “Thank fuck.”
