let that ruin the rest of our weekend. I pushed aside the ache in my chest and focused on having fun with the guy who was all mine for another twenty-four hours.
When the hostess showed us to our table, a booth in the back that was somewhat private given how crowded the place was, I pulled Jagger down onto the bench seat beside me and cuddled up against him instead of reaching for the menu the woman offered. She placed it on the table in front of Jagger with a knowing smile and a wink before promising our waiter would be with us soon.
As soon as she walked away, he lowered his head and brushed his lips tenderly over mine, making me gasp at the perfection of the moment. I kissed him back, wanting more of him, his taste, his hands on my body.
“Dimples,” he groaned when he lifted his head and pressed his forehead to mine. “I still have SNL tonight. Don’t make me go on national television with a hard-on.”
I laughed softly and put a few inches between us. “I would say sorry, but it would be a lie.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He caught my hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing my knuckles before opening his menu. “How hungry are you, babe? Because I’m fucking starving.”
For the next hour, we sat there and talked while we enjoyed our meal. Jagger had always been easy to be around. He put me at ease even when he was driving me crazy. Before I’d made the mistake of falling for him, he’d been one of my closest friends, second only to Violet. I had missed just spending time with him, listening to his voice, hearing his deep laugh.
When our dessert plates were cleared away, I was reluctant to leave the small sanctuary we’d created for ourselves. “I wish we didn’t have to go home tomorrow,” I muttered, unable to mask the disappointment in my voice.
“Me too, Dimples,” he said with a heavy sigh. But then he pasted on a grin and kissed me one more time before standing. “Come on, assistant. I have to get to the studio.”
I didn’t like the sly look in his eyes. “What exactly is expected of me, boss man?”
He threw back his head and laughed in that creepy supervillain way that was much too sexy for my peace of mind. “Ah, baby. I’m so glad you asked.”
“Something tells me I’m going to regret this,” I grumbled as he opened the back door of a cab and slid in first.
For the next four hours, I was Jagger’s “assistant.” From the moment we got to the studio, he was a diva. It wasn’t that I didn’t expect it. Between Jagger and my brother, I knew exactly how demanding they could get before a show. It was their way of coping with their nervousness. They couldn’t control how they felt, so they needed to control everything else around them until their moment in the spotlight was over.
I didn’t think less of him for it, because I understood why he needed the control. It made him look like a spoiled brat, and yeah, there were times he seemed like a total dick because of it, but he wasn’t. At least not completely.
I got him a coffee, but it wasn’t made exactly how he liked it. I hadn’t been watching the barista when she was making it because the coffee shop had been too busy, even at the late hour. With a dramatic sigh, I flipped him off but went back to have them redo the drink. When I returned, he was arguing with some producer guy because they wanted him to sing one song, but he’d planned on performing a different one.
“I didn’t bring a band with me,” Jagger told him. “Just my acoustic guitar. My manager told your people this was the song I was going to do. It’s not my fault you got your wires crossed and assumed I would do whatever the fuck you wanted.”
“I spoke to your manager personally this afternoon, and she assured me you would be cooperative,” the guy told him, sounding annoyed.
“Seeing as she didn’t tell me the plans had changed, I know you’re full of shit.” He sat back on the little couch in the dressing room and crossed his legs in front of him. Casually, he lifted his phone to his ear while giving the man in front of him a dispassionate once-over. “Hey, did you talk to some dipshit