Page 7 of Everything In Between
“So do you,” she says, glowing at me. “As always.”
“How’s everything going?” I ask her, and she launches into it.
“Can you believe it’s already been two years since my first album released?” Her eyes take on a wide, awestruck glint.
“Time flies, doesn’t it? But it’s done so well. I’m always so happy when I hear your songs come on the radio.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” she says earnestly, reaching to play with a strand of her blonde hair. “You played such a huge role in helping me throughout that whole process. Without your help, I think I would’ve gone crazy.”
I hug her again, holding her close. “It was my pleasure. And I’m always here for you. Any time.”
“We’ll need to get together sometime soon. I have a few ideas that I’d love to run by you.”
“Absolutely,” I agree. “You let me know when and I’ll be there.”
“You’re the best, Jersey. Really.”
“I agree,” Roy Stevens adds. He’s a producer who worked with Kira on her last album and has contributed to my songs in the past, too. “Not everyone would make an effort to come play at a thirteen-year-old’s birthday party.”
“Or donate to my charity auction,” his wife, Iris, says, nodding.
Roy raises his glass. “To Jersey, a class act.”
My cheeks flush but I raise my glass, taking a small sip, being mindful that I’ll be up on stage shortly. “Thank you, guys, so much. That’s so kind of you.”
I’m forever thankful for the friends I’ve made on this crazy adventure. There’s something to be said about fame feeling lonely, but that is much less when there are people around youin the same boat. As much as I love putting energy into my own career, I equally enjoy helping others in the industry too.
Taking my seat, I make small talk with some of the other celebrities at the table, catching up and filling them in on some of my upcoming events—without giving too much away, of course.Cal wouldlovethat.
An hour or so into the show, Bethany appears at my shoulder. “You’re on deck,” she whispers. “They’ve got two categories to go before yours, but they’re ready for you backstage.”
I excuse myself from the table and follow Bethany, where I meet Kelsey backstage. She shows me where I’m supposed to wait until I’m announced. When my name is called, the audience cheers loudly and I walk onto the stage. I give smiles and little waves as I go to my mark, trying to ignore the anxious flutters in my belly. You’d think at this point I’d be used to being up in front of audiences like this, and I am, but this is being broadcasted onlive television, and who knows the number of people watching me give my very first award tonight.
Taking a deep breath, my eyes find the teleprompter in front of me—just in case—and I start my short speech about the award I’m presenting this evening, hoping my voice comes out level and not shaky.
“Every year, we gather to celebrate some of the biggest and most successful names in our industry. It’s an honor to have been invited to award the Best Hip-Hop music video of the year.” I pause to take a breath while the nominees are announced on the big screens behind me.
The spotlight falls on me again and the entire auditorium falls silent as I hold up the white envelope in my hand.
“It takes a lot of dedication, creativity, and motivation to create music that embodies the genre and can be appreciated for generations to come, which is why the winner of this awardshould be celebrated as a master of their craft. So, the winner of the Best Hip-Hop award is”—with a mega-watt smile, I look up and announce the winner into the microphone—“J-Money,Tell Me I’m Wrong.”
The place erupts in cheers.
Music plays in the background as J-Money and a group of other people join him on the stage. The attendant on stage passes me the award for the category that I hand to J-Money when he walks up to me. He accepts it and surprises me by wrapping me up in a tight hug. I laugh, a little awkwardly, and pat him on the back before he lets me go and turns toward the group of people behind him, holding it high. His people all cheer and whoop, celebrating their success.
J- Money turns back to the microphone and addresses his fans. He has every pair of eyes on him—except mine. Every ounce of my attention is on the tallest and broadest man of the group.
And as luck would have it, his entire focus is on me, too.
FOUR
jersey
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10
I feellike I’ve seen him before, but I can’t locate his name in my brain. It’s impossible not to notice the confidence of his presence. He’s a beast of a man, but he holds his tall frame so elegantly, like it’s nothing that he’s towering over the other men on stage with him. I blink a few times, appreciating the way his broad shoulders fill out the shape of his jacket, which holds no sign of a wrinkle. His hands are delicately placed in the pockets of his dark navy slacks, which are hugging the contours of his muscular thighs. His physique stands out against most of the other men around him. He’s handsome, that’s for damn sure. Intimidating, athletic, stunning.
His eyes are raking me from top to bottom, leaving a trail of tinglyawarenessover every inch of me. The heat in his eyes makes me feel desired, sexy. My whole body lights up, and suddenly, I worry I might self combust up here. My palms turn clammy, and my chest rises as I take a deep breath, trying to cool myself off as this man tilts my world on its axis.
