“Unlike Jackson.”
“I heard about the Paris video, but it sounds like the team caught it before it got too far.”
Derek grunted. “For now. It’s only a matter of time before something else surfaces. And his drinking…”
Kat waited for him to continue, tension in the set of her jaw, but he wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. Famous pop stars partied, especially Jackson Hayes. That wasn’t new. But something felt different this time. He just couldn’t put his finger on exactly what.
“What does Becks say?” Kat asked.
“The same thing Beckett always says. ‘He’s fine.’” Derek shook his head. He wasn’t sure Beckett would tell him if he wasn’t.
Kat seemed content to take Beckett’s word for it, the tightness in her posture easing as she stretched her neck side to side in the California sun. “You and Jackson have always gotten under each other’s skin. If Beckett says he’s fine, I’m sure he is. And before you know it, you’ll be back on the road and finding new ways to annoy each other.”
Derek glanced towards the now-empty section of beach where Jo and Annie had spent the morning piling wet sand into nondescript shapes. He should be grateful they’d finally moved on to something else. Jo in her sherbert orange bikini and tropical patterned sarong was too big of a distraction while he was trying to work, especially since he knew there were tiny bruises on her hips where his fingertips had dug into her skin as she rode his face the night before. Never mind that he was already imagining all the things he wanted to do with her once Annie went to bed. They had two more nights together and he intended to make the most of them. And if she’d really meant what she said the night before, if she wanted to go bare next time…
He cleared his throat and turned back to the volleyball game. “Let’s see how the next thirty-six hours go before we start celebrating,” Derek said as he caught sight of Jo and his daughter weaving their way through the beach chairs at the edge of the beach, an overstuffed food court-style tray in Jo’s arms.
Kat followed his line of sight and grinned, her voice taking on a teasing sing-song. “Speaking of the next thirty-six hours…”
“No.”
“Come on, bossman.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“I spent the entire night watching reruns ofGhost Hunters—”
“I wish she wouldn’t watch that.”
“—and letting your seven-year-old paint my toenails.” She lifted her sandaled foot and wiggled her toes at him, highlighting the alternating pattern of hot pink and glittery blue nail polish. “I made her brush her teeth and call your ex-wife to say goodnight. I think I even convinced her to invite some kids from her class to the trampoline park for her birthday. I am the ultimate wingman. The least you can do is give me the details.”
“No.”
No way in hell was he telling Kat—or anyone for that matter—anything. All those little noises Jo made, the way her hips chased his tongue when he pulled away right before she came, the loose, unselfconscious way she curled into his side and interlaced their fingers before falling asleep—those moments were just for him.
Besides, it was a terrible idea to parade his private life in front of his employees. Bad enough that Kat knew there was something more to his relationship with Jo, but if the band caught wind—ifJacksondid? He’d lose all credibility when it came to behaving professionally. And he needed everyone to act like professionals if this comeback had any chance of getting off the ground.
Kat sighed. “At least someone’s getting laid on this trip.”
Derek could almost swear her eyes drifted towards Beckett, scowling on the edge of the volleyball court as he dusted sand off his thighs.
“Daddy, we got tacos!” Annie caught her father off guard, barreling into him and knocking him back on the lounge chair.
“Yougot tacos?” Annie didn’t eat tacos. Annie had a list of exactly twenty-seven foods she would eat, and most of those required copious amounts of ketchup.
“I got chicken nuggets,” she amended. “But we got tacos for the grown-ups.”
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Jo said, setting her tray down on the little table between his and Kat’s lounge chairs. “We have barbacoa, sweet paprika chicken, and salmon tacos.”
“Plus chips and salsa,” Annie said. “Of course.”
“Of course,” Jo echoed.
“You are a lifesaver,” Kat said, reaching for the chicken. “Who knew volleyball games lasted so long?”
Jo held out two tightly wrapped tin-foil packets. “Barbacoa or salmon?”
Derek reached for a chip, dunking it in the salsa and popping it in his mouth to keep himself from putting other, more inappropriate things in his mouth. “You choose.” She hesitated, but only for a moment, before handing him the barbacoa. He smiled, pleased to see her giving weight to her own desires, even if in such a small way. But then she moved to pick up the tray again. “Where are you going? Stay. Eat with us.”