I smiled. “Where?”

“Century City.”

“I think I can fit that into my day.”

He beamed, looking truly happy for the first time this morning, and leaned in and kissed me—but he knew my lips too well. He pulled his face back. “What?”

I let out a sigh. “I just…I got an email—not a bad one,” I said quickly, when I saw the instant worry on his face. “For a painting. A real one. Not Etsy stuff.”

He beamed. “That’s great! What do they want you to paint?”

I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It’s a little girl on a swing. And they’re offering me a lot of money for it.”

He pulled me into him by my thighs and smiled. “Of course they are. You’re incredible.”

I smiled weakly. “I miss creating. Feeling like I’m reaching my full potential. I totally want to do it and I can’t.”

He wrinkled his forehead. “Why not?”

I shrugged. “We’ll be touring. I can’t paint on a bus.”

“When do they need it by?”

“Christmas.”

“So do it on our break.”

I shifted on his lap. I hadn’t thought about that. “Five weeks isn’t very long to finish something like this.”

“Leave a little early,” he said. He leaned in and kissed me. “And I’m glad this came up because there’s another gift in the bag,” he whispered to my lips. “You missed it.”

I pulled away slightly and looked at him.

“Go on.”

I leaned over and picked up the bag again, pulling out the tissue paper. A gift card sat at the bottom.

It was to an art supply store.

For a thousand dollars.

“Jason! This is too much!” I gasped. “I can’t take this!”

He wrapped his arms around my back and put his lips to my ear. “I just think you’re so sexy when you paint,” he said, trailing kisses down my neck. “And now that there won’t be any more astronaut cats, I figured you might want to go back to painting your own stuff. You’ll need supplies, and I want to support you like you support me.”

Something hard in his lap was supporting me at the moment.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He nipped at my lip. “You’re welcome.”

Then he got up and threw me over his shoulder like a caveman. He slapped my ass and I shrieked, giggling as he turned us for the bedroom.

Chapter 35

Sloan

? Little Black Submarines | The Black Keys

Fourteen weeks later

The alarm on Jason’s phone went off. Even Tucker whined from the end of the bed.

Jason moved next to me to flick on the light and I winced. “It should be illegal to get up before the sun,” I mumbled.

He laughed a little and propped himself up on his elbow, his hair messy. “How you feeling?”

“My ears are stuffy.”

A cool hand was pressed to my cheek, and I closed my eyes. “You don’t feel hot,” he said.

“I think it’s just allergies or something.” I sniffed. “I’m okay.”

Jason scooted up on his forearms until he was hovering over me. He gave me one of his amused smiles, which meant my hair was probably crazy.

“Don’t kiss me,” I said. “I don’t want you getting sick.” If he did, they’d just make him sing through it.

He grinned and nuzzled into my neck instead.

“What city are we in?” I asked, yawning.

He shifted to look at his hand. “Last night was Atlanta. So I’m thinking Memphis?”

Zane always wrote the city on Jason’s hand before he went onstage so he wouldn’t thank the wrong place.

“Aww. I’ve always wanted to see Memphis,” I pouted. We’d be gone by tonight.

“Why don’t you skip sound check and go sightseeing with Jessa?” he asked, looking down on me.

Jessa was the lead singer of his opening band, Grayscale. She was also very good friends with Lola. I didn’t hold it against her. Jessa was actually pretty nice, and we seemed to have an unspoken agreement that we didn’t discuss Lola, which helped. Zane was super close with Jessa’s personal assistant, Courtney, so we all hung out a lot. We always got rooms next to one another so we could go in and out the connecting doors and borrow curling irons and watch TV together.

I shook my head. “I’m not going sightseeing without you. If we’re not seeing Memphis, we’re not seeing it together.”

He kissed my forehead and smiled, his blue eyes creasing.

I put a hand up to his cheek. “I hope our kids get your eyes.”

His smile got deeper. “And their mother’s artistic talent.” He took my hand and curled it up in his.

I sighed. “I haven’t done anything talented in a while.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Well, maybe not artistically. But there was that thing you did with your mouth on the bus last week.”

I gasped and hit him, and he chuckled.

“You know how I knew you were the girl for me?” he asked, pulling me into him, his forehead to mine. “When I saw you licking that chip bag. I said to myself, ‘That’s her, Jason. She’s the one.’”