alexa play everything pinka by monaleo

Jermaine had never sprayed this much cologne in his entire life.

He stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, his chest bare and glistening from a fresh shower, a white towel wrapped around his waist. He picked up the bottle of cologne, hesitated, and then gave himself two more heavy spritzes right on his neck.

"Man, you tryin' to suffocate the girl before she even gets through the front gate?"

Jermaine glared at the mirror’s reflection. Jackie was leaning against the doorframe, a toothpick dangling from his lip, looking thoroughly amused. Behind him, Marlon was peering over his shoulder, a grin stretching across his face.

"I don't smell like too much," Jermaine grumbled, grabbing a green and white striped shirt from his bed and pulling it over his head. "I just wanna make sure I smell fresh. You know she’s been traveling all day."

"Traveling all day because you flew her out from a whole different state, Mr. Moneybags," Marlon teased, walking into the room and flopping onto Jermaine’s neatly made bed. "I still can't believe you did that. You've been on the phone with this girl every single night like a love sick puppy."

"Leave me alone, man," Jermaine grumbled.

Usually, he could throw on whatever was sitting at the top of his dresser, run a pick through his afro for two seconds, splash some cologne on his neck, and walk out the door looking like a million bucks. He was a Jackson. Confidence was practically written into his DNA. But today, Jermaine was sweating even after his shoulder.

After putting on his shirt, he just kept adjusting the collar for the fifteenth time. He unbuttoned three buttons. Too much. He buttoned one back up. Too stiff. He sighed, running a hand over his face, his heart thumping a heavy, nervous rhythm against his ribs.

"Man, get it together," he muttered to his reflection.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of the most intense, late night phone marathons of his entire life. Ever since that night at Flipper’s Roller Palace when he had literally flattened you onto the hardwood floor, you had been the only thing occupying his mind. He’d kept that sticky, silver gum wrapper tucked safely inside his wallet like it was a winning lottery ticket.

The first time he called, he’d been so nervous his palms were sweating. But the moment you answered, your voice coming through the receiver with that familiar, teasing attitude, all his nerves had melted. After that, it was over for both of you. You guys literally couldn't get enough of each other.

Every single night, the second the clock hit nine, Jermaine would drag the extra long telephone cord all the way into the hallway closet, squeezing his large frame between the winter coats just to get some privacy from his loud ass family. You two would talk about everything and nothing– the music you actually liked to listen to, his crazy schedule, how much your head had throbbed the day after the fall, and how cute his nose really was up close.

Half the time, the calls would end with you laughing so hard you had to hold your stomach, or Jermaine whispering sweet, low toned melodies directly into the receiver just to hear you sigh on the other end.

Other times, the calls only ended because your dad would start shouting in the background.

"Girl! If you don't hang up that damn phone! This bill is gonna look like a car payment! Hang it up now!"

You’d have to whisper a rushed, giggly, “I gotta go, Jermaine, he’s coming!” before clicking the receiver down, leaving Jermaine staring at the phone with a goofy, longing smile.

Which brought Jermaine back to the massive oversight that had almost ruined everything.

During one of those late night, whisper quiet conversations, when the longing to actually see your face was getting too heavy to ignore, Jermaine had blurted it out: "Man, I was thinking," he had said, his voice smooth and lazy. "Maybe I can slide by your house tomorrow after we finish this vocal tracking session. We can go grab some of that nasty pizza you like so much, or maybe walk around the park. I just wanna see your face."

"What park are you talking about? The park down the street from me is surrounded by sand and tumbleweeds."

Jermaine had frowned. "What you mean? The park by the arena. It's only like a twenty minute drive from the studio."

You had laughed, a sweet, musical sound that made his stomach do flips. "The studio you’re talking about is in Los Angeles, California. Jermaine, you do know I live in Las Vegas, right? Like...Nevada. That's a whole other state."

Jermaine had frozen in the dark closet, his jaw dropping. He’d completely forgotten. The night they met, the Jacksons had been in Vegas for a quick weekend trip, just hitting up Flipper’s on a whim while they were in town. In his mind, you were just there. He hadn't even processed the three digit area code on the gum wrapper until that very second.

“Oh,” Jermaine had muttered, his stomach dropping. “Man...I forgot. You...you really live in Vegas.”

“Yeah,” you had sighed. “And my daddy barely lets me go to the grocery store by myself, let alone out of state. We literally can't even see each other.”

But Jermaine wasn't about to let a few hundred miles get in the way. He was already too far gone.

“Wait, hold up,” he’d interrupted, his voice suddenly filled with determination. “Don't worry about none of that. I can pay for the flight. I'll get you a ticket, first class, round trip. I'll handle everything. You just gotta say yes.”

The silence on the other end of the line had been deafening. You were completely speechless. For a girl who was used to regular neighborhood boys who could barely afford to buy a slice of pizza, the offer was mind blowing.

"...Jermaine?" you’d whispered.

"Yeah?"

"You serious?"

"Dead serious. Just let me do this for you. I wanna see you."

"That’s...that’s a lot of money. I can't just let you do that.”

“Hey,” he’d said softly, his voice incredibly tender. “Listen to me. I want to see you. Just say you'll come.”

So of course you said yes. But getting you to California wasn’t as simple as just buying a ticket. You had to go through the ultimate gauntlet: your parents.

You had spent three solid days begging, pleading, and practically doing chores on your knees. First, you had to tackle your dad, who was convinced that some "fancy haired singer boy" in California was trying to kidnap his daughter. You had to sit him down, show him the respect he deserved, and let him speak to Jermaine on the phone for a terrifying ten minute conversation where Jermaine had used his most polite, "yes, sir," "no, sir" church boy voice.

Then came your mama. Your mama was a tough nut to crack, but once Jermaine had promised that his mother, Katherine, would be supervising the entire visit, and that you would be staying in a completely respectable guest room, she had finally softened.

"Yo, Jermaine! Earth to Jermaine!"

Tito’s voice snapped him back to the present. Jermaine blinked, looking at his brother, who was waving a hand in front of his face.

"Man, you got it bad," Tito laughed, shaking his head. "Look at him, he’s daydreaming already. She ain't even here yet."

"He took a whole shower for this girl," Marlon said from the bed, a massive grin on his face. "A shower, Jackie. Jermaine usually just splashes some water on his face and calls it a day if we ain't performing. He is whipped."

"I am not whipped," Jermaine said, though his voice lacked any real conviction. "I'm just being a gentleman and I want her to feel welcome."

"Oh, 'welcome'?" Tito walked by, holding a soda, shaking his head. "Is that what we're calling it now? Man, you better hope she doesn't remember you leveling her at the rink. If I was her, I’d make you wear a helmet the whole time you're around me."

"She forgave me for that!" Jermaine protested, his cheeks heating up.

"She only forgave you because you bought her pizza and you got that pretty boy face," Michael’s voice drifted in from the hallway. He popped his head into the doorway, holding a bowl of popcorn. "But for real, Jermaine, you look nice. Very fancy. Are we doing the movie night in the theater room?"

"Yeah, that’s the plan," Jermaine said, trying to regain his composure. "I was thinking we could put on a movie or something."

"Mmm, sweet," Marlon teased. "Can we sit in the back row and throw popcorn at y'all?"

"No." Jermaine said, his face all screwed up, pulling on a pair of dark slacks and stepping into his shoes. He smoothed down his shirt, checking his hair one last time.

The brothers all burst out laughing. It was rare to see Jermaine like this. Usually, he was the cool, quiet, flirty one who had girls chasing him left and right. He never had to try. But today, he was visibly shaking in his boots, acting all shy and soft over one girl who didn't even listen to their music. They loved every second of it.

"Just make sure you behave yourself," a stern voice boomed from the end of the hall.

The laughter instantly died down. The brothers parted, clearing a path as Joseph Jackson walked slowly, his eyes hard and calculating as they swept over Jermaine.

Joseph stopped in the doorway, his presence immediately shifting the lighthearted energy in the room to something very tense and heavy. He looked Jermaine up and down, his chest expanding with a slow breath.

"You got a lot of distractions going on lately, Jermaine," Joseph said, his voice low and gravelly. "I don't mind you having a little friend over, but don't forget we got rehearsals tomorrow morning. Early. I don't want to see you dragging your feet because you stayed up all night with some girl."

"I won't, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly, his posture straightening up instantly. He kept his eyes respectful, but there was a faint tightness in his jaw. "I’ll be ready for rehearsal."

Joseph stared at him for a long, silent moment, then gave a single, curt nod. "Make sure you are." He turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps fading down the stairs.

Jermaine let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, slouching slightly. The brothers exchanged knowing looks, the teasing temporarily paused. They all knew how Joseph could be.

Just then, the distant sound of a car engine pulling up the long driveway echoed through the open window.

"She's here!" Marlon yelled, springing up from the bed, and sprinting down the stairs. "First one to the door gets to introduce themselves!"

"Marlon, don't you dare!" Jermaine shouted, his voice cracking as he scrambled past Jackie and Tito, rushing down the grand curved staircase.

Within ten seconds, they both were flying down the grand staircase, shoving each other, their brothers trailing closely behind them like a pack of eager puppies.

Jermaine reached the massive front doors just as the driver opened the back seat of the black car and you stepped out.

Jermaine’s breath caught in his throat. You looked absolutely stunning. You were wearing a simple sundress that complimented your smooth brown skin perfectly, your hair styled beautifully with a matching headband, and a pair of neat sandals. You looked around the massive estate, your eyes wide with a mix of awe and slight intimidation, clutching your small suitcase in front of you.

"Hey," Jermaine called out, his voice softer than usual as he walked down the front steps.

You looked up, and the moment your eyes met his, a massive, brilliant smile broke across your face. All the nervousness you’d been feeling on the flight completely melted away. "Jermaine!"

Before you could even take another step, he was there. He reached out, his large hands gently taking your suitcase from you and setting it aside on the driveway, before wrapping his arms securely around your waist. He pulled you into a warm, tight hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. You hugged him back just as tight, your hands sliding up the softness of his shirt, laughing softly against his chest.

"Man, you don't even know how good it is to see you," he murmured, his voice rumbling against your collarbone.

"It's good to see you too, clumsy," you teased, pulling back just enough to look at his face. "And look at you, all dressed up. You look nice. And you smell...really good. A little strong, but good."

"I try, I try," he grinned, his cheeks warming under his skin. (Imagine the picture on the banner)

The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by a wall of people. The Jackson siblings were lined up like a welcoming committee, all of them grinning, while Katherine stood in the center, looking beautiful in a soft floral dress. Joseph was standing a few paces back, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

You froze for a second, a bit overwhelmed by the size of the house and the famous faces staring at you.

Jermaine felt you tense up and gently squeezed your shoulder. "Don't be nervous. This is everybody."

You took a breath, stepping forward with a polite smile. "Hi, everyone. It's so good to formally meet you all. I...okay, I gotta be honest." You looked at the brothers. "You all are gonna have to introduce yourselves and say your names, because I still don't know which is which. I don't want to call the wrong brother." You admitted, your hand covering half your face. "Jermaine only talks about himself on the phone."

The brothers burst out laughing, the tension in the room instantly breaking.

"I'm Jackie," the oldest said, stepping forward with a warm smile and shaking your hand. "The actual smart one."

"Tito," the next one said, nodding with a cool, relaxed grin. "The one who told this fool his plan was stupid."

"It was," you agreed, nodding solemnly.

"Marlon," the younger one waved energetically. "The one who predicted he was gonna break something."

Michael stepped forward, his eyes soft and sweet, a shy smile on his face. "I'm Michael. It's really nice to meet you. Jermaine hasn't stopped talking about you for three weeks."

"And I'm Randy," a smaller voice piped up from the back, as a young boy squeezed through his brothers' legs, staring up at you with wide eyes.

You also met the sisters– you hadn’t known about them. La Toya was sweet, and little Janet, who was only about five years old, peeked out from behind her mother’s dress, her eyes all wide and innocent. You knelt down, giving Janet a little wave, and Jermaine watching the interaction, his expression melting into something so tender.

"Alright, boys, leave the poor girl alone," Katherine said, her voice like warm honey. She walked straight to you, her hands reaching out to clasp yours. "Hello, beautiful. I'm Katherine. Welcome to our home."

"It is so wonderful to meet you, Mrs. Jackson," you said, your voice naturally dropping into your most respectful, polite tone. "Thank you so much for having me in your house."

"Oh, the pleasure is all ours," Katherine smiled, her eyes searching your face with a gentle, approving look. "And let me apologize on behalf of my son. Jermaine has always been a bit clumsy when he gets nervous, but running over a beautiful young lady like you...I raised him better than that. I hope you're feeling much better."

"Mama, please," Jermaine groaned, covering his face with his hand.

"Oh, I am, Mrs. Jackson," you smiled warmly, feeling completely at ease with her, glancing at Jermaine. "He bought me pizza to make up for it, so he's partially forgiven."

"Good," Katherine nodded. "He should be working hard. Now, let's get you settled..."

From the back of the room, Joseph let out a low grunt. He stepped forward, his eyes locking onto you. The warmth in the room seemed to dip a few degrees. "Welcome," he said, his voice flat. He gave you a long look, just staring at you, his sharp, scary ass eyes evaluating your dress, and your posture, and your hair.

Nobody else seemed to notice the coldness of the look– or maybe they did and just didn’t show it, but you definitely felt it. You offered him a polite nod. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson."

"Jermaine, remember what I said about tomorrow. Don't be running around all night."

"Yes, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly.

With that, Joseph turned and walked into his office, closing the door behind.

"Jermaine, show her to the guest room so she can put her stuff away," Katherine said, breaking the brief silence. "Then we'll have some food ready."

After a long dinner filled with the brothers teasing Jermaine along with Marlon flirting with you, Katherine asking you about your family in Vegas, and Joseph sitting quietly at the head of the table giving you occasional, sharp looks that you tried your best to ignore.

The tension broke the moment Joseph left after dinner, not wanting dessert that they were all making. The brothers piled in, and suddenly, the house felt alive again. La Toya and Janet, seemed to have taken an immediate liking to you. You were showing them how to make a proper milkshake, the three of you laughing as the blender whirred. Michael was showing you his new dance steps he’d been practicing on the tile floor, his feet moving so fast they were a blur. Marlon was trying his best to flirt again, cracking jokes, but you kept brushing him off.

Jermaine stood close to you the entire time, his hand occasionally resting on the small of your back, his eyes tracking your every laugh.

He was so soft with you, so attentive. Every time you spoke, he leaned in close to listen, completely ignoring his siblings' loud antics.

"Look at him," Jackie whispered to Tito as they watched Jermaine carefully wipe a drop of melted chocolate from the cookies off your thumb with a napkin, looking like he was handling a piece of fine china. "I've never seen him this quiet in my life. He’s usually the loudest one in the room when a girl is around."

"He's in loveee," Tito agreed, grinning.

After the milkshakes and cookies and a quick tour of the grounds by Marlon and Michael, including the pool and the exotic rat cages, and the game room, Jermaine decided it was time to get some privacy.

"We're gonna go upstairs," Jermaine announced, grabbing your hand. "Watch a movie in my room."

You blinked, “Oh, okay.”

"In your room?" Marlon raised an eyebrow, a devious smirk playing on his lips. "We got a whole theater room, Jermaine. Why you gotta go to your room?"

"Because the theater room TV is acting up," Jermaine lied smoothly, not even blinking. "And I got a TV in my room. Come on."

He didn't wait for them to protest. He gently pulled you up the stairs, your hand locked firmly in his. Your heart started doing that flutter as you walked down the hallway.

When he opened the door to his bedroom, you stepped inside and smiled. It was spacious, and clean, and completely him. There were bass guitars resting in the corner, posters of classic soul artists on the walls, and a large, comfortable looking bed with a dark comforter. A small television set sat on a wooden dresser opposite the bed.

Jermaine shut the door, locking it. The chaos of the Jackson household was completely locked outside.

"Sorry about them," Jermaine said, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking very shy as he stood by the door. "They don't know how to act."

"It's okay," you smiled, walking over to his dresser to look at a framed photo of him and his brothers on stage. "I think they're sweet. They clearly care about you a lot."

"Yeah, well...sometimes they care too much," he muttered, playing with a singular ring on his finger.

You walked over to the window, looking out at the sprawling, moonlit backyard. "It's really beautiful here, Jermaine."

"It's alright," he said, shrugging. "But it's a lot better with you in it."

You turned around, giving him a look. Jermaine was standing a few feet away, fidgeting with his fingers, that shyness taking over him once again.

"You're really sweet, you know that?" you said softly, walking over to the edge of the bed and sat down, resting back on your elbows, looking up at him as he finally moved from his door to near his dresser, trying to play it cool.

"I'm just being real," he murmured.

"So," you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. "You brag about being the singer. Are you gonna show me something, or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?"

Jermaine grinned, his confidence returning suddenly. "You wanna see something?"

You only nodded, your tongue pressing against the back of your teeth.

He walked over to his guitar case in the corner and pulled out the instrument. He sat on the floor, making you sit up just so you could see him fully. He started to play; just a soft, bluesy melody.

He didn't sing like you’d. He just hummed a low, soulful tune, his fingers dancing across the strings. His eyes sometimes locking on yours.

Eventually he stopped playing, setting the guitar aside. He stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, right next to you and for a few minutes, you both just talked, but the conversation was different now. It was quieter, and slower. Jermaine’s eyes kept dropping to your lips, then back up to your eyes, his breathing getting a little shallower.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered. "I spent three weeks trying to remember exactly what you looked like under those lights. But the memory didn't even do you justice. You're perfect, truly."

"Jermaine..." you whispered, "Thank you. I would say the same but then I'd be lying."

The tension snapped instantly as Jermaine threw his head back, letting out a bright, startled laugh. You couldn't help but join in, the playful mockery melting away any lingering nerves between you. For a few seconds, the room filled with the easy sound of your shared amusement.

Gradually, the laughter subsided, tapering off into soft, breathless smiles, a sudden wave of shyness washed over the space. Jermaine ducked his head slightly, a faint flush creeping up his neck, though he never broke eye contact. You found yourself looking down at your hands, suddenly hyper aware of how close he was sitting, your heart doing a nervous flip.

Jermaine slowly reached out, his large, warm hand gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb lightly brushed over your cheekbone.

"I’ve been wanting to do this since the night I met you," he whispered, his voice dropped to a low tone.

"What's stopping you?" you whispered back, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

He didn't say anything else. He just leaned in, slowly. You thought about pulling away but you didn't. You leaned in too, your eyes fluttering shut as the space between you completely disappeared.

It was your very first real kiss, and it was everything the phone calls had promised and more. His lips were incredibly soft, and warm, pressing against yours with a gentle, slow rhythm that made your head spin far more than the fall at the roller rink ever had. You reached up, your hands finding the collar of his shirt, your fingers curling into the soft fabric as you pulled him just a fraction closer.

Jermaine let out a soft, shaky sigh against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your neck, his fingers gently tangling in your soft curls, holding you like you were the most precious thing he had ever touched. The kiss was slow, and completely intoxicating, a perfect blend of sweet innocence and a burning, built up desire that had been waiting for weeks to finally be set free.

You felt yourself leaning back slightly, pulling him down with you onto the plush comforter, completely lost in the warmth of his mouth, the smell of his skin, and the absolute perfection of the moment.

The door swung open, and a tiny, energetic body burst into the room.

"Jermaine! Mama said you gotta-"

You and Jermaine scrambled apart so fast you practically got whiplash. Jermaine flew to the opposite side of the bed, his shirt slightly wrinkled, his face a deep, burning red. You sat up instantly, smoothing down your dress, your heart beating in your throat as you tried to look completely casual.

Little Randy stood in the doorway, his eyes darting between the two of you with a weird look. He might have been the youngest, but he wasn't stupid.

For a solid five seconds, there was dead silence in the room.

Jermaine stared at his little brother, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He looked around the room frantically, trying to find something to make it look like they hadn't just been locking lips.

"Uh..." Jermaine stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he suddenly pointed to the carpet. "We...we were just...looking at the carpet pattern, Randy. Yeah. The...the weave is really interesting. Look at how the fibers...they go left to right."

You quickly leaned over, staring at the plain brown carpet like it was a piece of high art. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. It's...it's a very fascinating weave, Jermaine. I’ve never seen a brown like this. It's very...brown."

Randy looked at Jermaine, then he looked at you, then looked down at the completely plain, uninteresting carpet. He blinked slowly, completely unimpressed.

"Mama said you gotta bring the extra pillows down to the guest room," Randy said. He crossed his arms, looking at Jermaine. "Why y'all standing so far apart? You look weird."

"We don't look weird!" Jermaine snapped, his voice cracking. "Go tell Mama I'll be right down! And knock next time, Randy! Seriously!"

"Alright, alright," Randy giggled, turning on his heel and running back down the hallway, his loud laughter echoing through the house.

Jermaine let out a long, defeated groan, covering his face with his hands. "Man...I am so sorry. My family has absolutely no timing."

You turned around, looking at his embarrassed face, and let out a beautiful laugh that filled the room. "It's okay, Jermaine. It keeps things interesting."

The guest room at Hayvenhurst was nice, and big, and clean, smelling faintly of incense and whatnot, but right now, it looked like a full blown convention center.

You had just finished washing up, your skin still warm from the shower, and you were wearing your favorite pair of pajamas. The second you walked back into the bedroom, you stopped in your tracks and just had to laugh. It seemed like the entire Jackson lineup had decided that the guest room was the only place to be at ten o'clock at night.

"Alright now, don't y'all be crowding her out," Jackie said, leaning casually against the doorframe, acting like he wasn't part of the problem. "She had a long flight from Vegas, she needs her rest."

"You're the one who led us up here, Jackie." Marlon grumbled from the corner, sitting backwards on a wooden chair, flashing you a dazzling smile. "I just came to make sure the pillows were soft enough. You know Jermaine don't know how to host a lady."

It was honestly the cutest thing you’d ever seen. The little ones were the best part. Janet, who was wearing her little nightgown with her hair in two neat puffs, came running right up to you the second she saw you. She didn't say a word, just wrapped her little arms right around your thighs.

"Oh, look at you, sweet pea," you cooed, melting instantly. You dropped to your knees on the thick carpet, wrapping your arms around her small frame and lifting her up for a proper hug. She smelled like baby powder and gave you a big, toothy grin.

Then Randy, trying to act way older than he actually was after busting into Jermaine's room earlier, marched over. "I gotta get a goodbye hug too," he demanded, crossing his arms. "Since Jermaine almost took my head off earlier."

"Come here," you laughed, pulling him into a hug too. You looked over his shoulder and saw Michael standing by the edge of the bed, doing a little shy shoulder shimmy, holding a book.

"Goodnight," Michael said softly, waving five fingers at you with a giggle. "Don't let the bedbugs bite. And don't let Jermaine sneak in here either, he's sneaky."

"Michael, shut up!" Jermaine’s voice yelled from the hallway. He appeared in the doorway a second later, looking completely flustered, his chest heaving like he’d just sprinted up the stairs. He looked at his siblings with murder in his eyes. "What are y'all doing in here? Get out! Let her go to sleep!"

Marlon was quick to get his hug though he was lingering, his small hands rubbing your back, giving Jermaine a look. "We're just saying goodnight, man! Dang!" Marlon complained, holding his hands up as Jermaine practically shoved him out the door but he still lingered in the doorway.

It took another ten minutes of laughing, and shooing, and extra hugs from them all, including La Toya, and Tito, and Jackie before the room finally cleared out. Katherine’s voice could be heard from down the hall, calling the little ones to bed, which finally broke up the party. Jermaine was the last one left. He stood by the edge of your bed, looking at you with those big, apologetic brown eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, rubbing the back of his neck. "They got no boundaries. I swear they act like they never seen a girl before."

"It's okay, Jermaine," you smiled, climbing into the big bed and pulling the covers up. "It’s sweet. You got a beautiful family."

"Yeah. They alright," he chuckled, leaning down to plant a quick, gentle kiss on your cheek. "Get some sleep, okay? I'll see you in the morning."

Oh, but by midnight, you were still wide awake.

The house was dead silent now, save for the distant sound of the wind rustling the trees outside. You turned over on your side, staring at the unfamiliar shadows on the ceiling. This wasn't your room. It didn't smell like your house, and the bed was way bigger than yours back in Vegas. Your brain just refused to shut off.

Sighing, you reached over and turned on the small lamp on the nightstand, casting a warm, golden glow across the sheets. You pulled a book out of your bag and started flipping through the pages, trying to force your eyes to get heavy.

The sound of the door handle turning was so quiet you almost missed it. Your head snapped up, your heart doing a quick, nervous stutter in your chest.

The door cracked open, and a tall shadow slipped into the room. It was Jermaine. He had changed into a pair of soft grey sweatpants and a plain white tee, his hair a little messy from laying down. He closed the door behind him carefully, making sure the door didn't snap loud.

He turned around and paused when he saw you sitting up with your book.

You raised one eyebrow, putting your hands on top of the book, giving him a look that spoke volumes. You glanced at the glowing numbers on the alarm clock: 12:14 AM, then looked right back at him.

"Jermaine," you whispered, your voice a hushed, teasing scold. "What are you doing here?"

Jermaine offered a sheepish grin, treading softly across the carpet until he reached the side of your bed. He didn't sit down immediately; he just stood there, looking down at you like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I just...I wanted to check on you," he whispered back. "Make sure you were comfortable."

"Uh huh," you smirked, closing your book and setting it on the nightstand. "At midnight, though? You couldn't check on me at seven AM?"

"Nah," he murmured, finally sitting down on the very edge of the mattress. The weight of him made the bed dip, bringing him closer to you. "I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking about you being right down the hall. It’s crazy having you in my house."

You shifted under the covers, pulling your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them, making the covers slide down to your feet. The golden lamplight caught the edges of his jawline, making him look entirely too handsome for this hour of the night.

"It's a little crazy for me too," you admitted softly. "Your house is huge. And your siblings...man, they are a trip."

"Tell me about it," Jermaine grumbled, a small smile playing on his lips. "Which one was bothering you the most? Let me guess...Marlon?"

You let out a tiny, hushed giggle, covering your mouth so the sound wouldn't carry through the quiet hallway. "Actually, yeah. I think Marlon might have a little bit of a crush on me, Jermaine. The way he was looking at me at dinner? And he kept trying to flirt with me during dessert."

Jermaine rolled his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck, crossing his big arms over his chest. He let out a low puff of air through his nose.

"Marlon wishes," Jermaine muttered, his voice suddenly thick with attitude. "Don't pay him no mind. He’s just a flirt. Besides, he knows better than to try and move on something that’s mine."

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat at that last word. Mine. You bit your lower lip, looking up at him through your lashes. "Oh, so I'm yours now? I don't remember agreeing to that, Mr. Jackson."

Jermaine leaned in closer, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. The playful jealousy in his eyes melted into something much warmer. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently sliding over your ankle through the material of your pajamas.

"You agreed the second you gave me that gum wrapper, beautiful," he whispered, his eyes dropping to your lips before rising back to your eyes. "And you definitely agreed when you kissed me on the sidewalk in Vegas. I ain't forgot about that."

"I’m pretty sure you almost tripped over the curb right after," you reminded him, your voice barely a breath.

"Because you had me dizzy," he murmured, his thumb starting to trace slow, soothing circles against your skin. "Still do, honesty."

You felt that familiar, thrilling flutter in the pit of your stomach. The shyness was completely gone, melted away because it was midnight, and it was quiet, and you were alone, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only person left in the world.

Slowly, you uncurled your legs. You shifted forward on the mattress, your pajamas rustling softly against the sheets until you were sitting right in front of him on your knees.

Jermaine’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes tracking your movement.

You leaned in close, your eyes dropping to the center of his face, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right on the tip of his cute nose.

Jermaine let out a low, shaky exhale, his eyes fluttering shut. Taking advantage of his compliance, you slid your hands up his chest, feeling the solid, warm muscle beneath his plain white tee, and wrapped your arms securely around his neck. You shifted your weight, leaning into him as you moved your lips from his nose to his cheek. You pressed your mouth against his smooth brown skin, letting the kiss linger there, breathing in the scent of his clean skin.

He groaned softly, his hands automatically coming up to find your waist, his grip firm but incredibly gentle, but not pulling you against him.

When you finally pulled back just a fraction, his eyes slowly blinked open, completely filled with affection. You didn't give him time to speak. You tilted your head and pressed your lips directly to his.

This wasn't like the quick, shy peck on the sidewalk back in Las Vegas nor was it the hesitant kiss from his bed. This was a slow, and sweet kiss. His lips were impossibly soft, parting slightly as he tasted you, his hands smoothing down the fabric of your pajamas, anchoring you to him. You squeezed your eyes shut, completely losing yourself in the warmth of him, your fingers tangling into the thick, soft hair at the back of his neck.

Jermaine’s grip on your waist tightened, pulling you just a little bit closer but not into his lap. He deepened the kiss, his lips pressing harder against yours, and then he smoothly tried to introduce his tongue, wanting to take the kiss to a whole different level.

The sudden heat of it caught you entirely off guard. Your eyes snapped open, and you instinctively pulled your head back, your lips parting from his with a soft, breathy sound, the tiniest bit of slick following before breaking off.

You didn't pull away completely, your arms were still looped around his neck, and your faces were just inches apart, but you stopped him right in his tracks.

Neither of you said a single word. The silence in the room returned, twice as loud as before. Jermaine opened his eyes, looking a little startled, his face burning underneath his skin. He bit his lower lip, a nervous expression crossing his face as he realized he might have moved just a little too fast for the guest room at midnight. He looked at you like he was silently apologizing, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction.

You just stared at him for a second, your heart pounding against your ribs, a tiny, amused smile breaking through your surprise. You weren't mad; you were just teasing him.

Before he could spiral into his own head and start stammering out an apology, you pulled his neck back down.

You pressed your lips back to his, but the energy was completely different. The initial rush eased into something much more comfortable, a slow, synchronized rhythm that felt natural and easy. There was no rush, no pressure, just the two of you figuring each other out in the quiet room. Your tongue brushed against his this time, but it was gentle, a sweet, exploratory stroke that made your toes curl. He tasted like the sweet mint from brushing his teeth earlier, and you let out a soft sigh into his mouth, melting like butter in his arms.

The kiss went on for what felt like hours, a beautiful, lazy loop of warmth.

Slowly, your lips drifted away from his mouth. You trailed your kisses along the sharp line of his jaw, making him tilt his head back with a sharp inhale. You moved lower, pressing soft, warm kisses down the side of his neck, right where his pulse was jumping erratically against his skin.

Jermaine let out a ragged breath, his head dropping back, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Baby...you're gonna be the death of me," he whispered into the quiet room, his voice completely wrecked.

You only smiled against his neck.

Jermaine hadn’t gone back to his room. Instead, he had stayed right there, shifting under the covers to pull you against his chest.

Right now, he was asleep, his breathing slow, deep, and steady against the back of your neck. One of his large, heavy arms was wrapped securely around your waist, pulling your back against his chest, while his chin was tucked right in your hair. You were completely tangled up in him, your legs intertwined under the sheets. It felt incredibly natural, like you’d been waking up next to him for years instead of just meeting him a few weeks ago.

The quiet of the morning didn't last long. The door handle turned, and the door swung open with absolutely zero warning.

"Alright, lover boy, wrap it up. Time to get to work."

Jackie’s voice boomed through the quiet room like a megaphone. He was standing right in the doorway, fully dressed, rocking a pair of pants and a nice simple shirt, a smirk plastered all over his face. He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as his eyes locked onto the two of you tangled up in the bed.

Jermaine stirred instantly. His grip on your waist tightened automatically, a low, frustrated groan rumbling deep in his chest. He buried his face further into your hair, trying to block out his brother’s voice. "Man...Jackie, get the heck out of here," Jermaine muttered, his voice thick, and completely heavy with sleep. "Knock, man. Have some respect."

Jackie just let out a loud snort, completely unbothered. "Respect? In this house? You know better than that. Joseph is already downstairs, and the van is getting loaded up. Mama said breakfast is on the table right now, and you got exactly an hour to get your tail downstairs before we leave for rehearsal. Don't make us late, Jermaine."

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking against the sudden brightness of the room, your cheeks burning hot underneath. You tried to pull the comforter up over your face, completely mortified that his oldest brother had just caught you guys cuddling. "Morning, Jackie," you mumbled shyly from beneath the sheets.

"Morning, beautiful," Jackie smiled, his tone softening out of respect for you, though the teasing glint never left his eyes. He pointed a finger at Jermaine’s shoulder. "Up. Now. I’m not playing with you, Maine."

With that, Jackie finally stepped back and clicked the door shut.

The second the door closed, Jermaine let out a long, dramatic sigh, letting his forehead drop against your shoulder. "Christ," he grumbled, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips, squeezing gently. "I swear he times it just to mess with me."

You chuckled, turning around in his arms so you were facing him. His hair was a beautifully messy afro, his brown eyes still half closed and sleepy, looking so soft and handsome it made your heart ache. "Come on, Maine," you teased, "You heard your brother. Go get ready for rehearsal."

A half hour later, the dining room was loud, filled with the clinking of silverware, the smell of sizzling bacon, grits, and biscuits, and the chatter of the Jackson siblings.

You were sitting at the long table, quietly eating your breakfast, trying to keep a low profile. Joseph had already eaten and left the room, which made the atmosphere a lot lighter, but you were still a little shy surrounded by them. Jermaine was sitting right next to you, his thigh pressed against yours under the table for reassurance, though he was mostly focused on inhaling his eggs so he wouldn't get chewed out for being late.

La Toya was sitting across from you sipping her orange juice. She had been watching you with a sweet smile, and as the chatter around the table died down for a second, she leaned forward.

"Hey," La Toya said, her voice gentle. "Me and Janet were thinking about getting in the pool later on this afternoon, once the sun hits the backyard. You should come get in with us. It’s gonna be so hot today."

Little Janet, who was sitting next to her mama with a mouth full of biscuit, vigorously nodded her head, her eyes wide. "Yeah! Come swim!"

You paused, setting your fork down, looking a little embarrassed. You offered a small, apologetic smile. "Oh...thank you, La Toya, that sounds so nice. But I can't. I didn't even bring a bathing suit with me. Honestly, when Jermaine asked me to come to California, I was so rushed trying to pack and get permission from my parents, I didn't even think about the fact that y'all had a pool."

La Toya instantly giggled, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, girl, don't worry about a bathing suit. You can just put on some casual clothes- like some old shorts and a tank top or a t shirt. We do it all the time, it's no big deal at all. Just come hang out."

Before you could answer, Katherine Jackson walked into the dining room from the kitchen, holding a pitcher of oj. She caught the end of the conversation and set the pitcher down on the table, her warm eyes settling on you with nothing but kindness.

"Don't you worry about that for one second, sweetheart," Katherine said as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. "If you want a proper suit, I can easily take you out to the shop down the street later this morning, or I'll just send one of the bodyguards to go pick you up a nice one in your size."

You looked up at Mrs. Jackson, completely touched by how welcoming she was. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Jackson. You really don't have to go through the trouble, though. The shorts and a tee sound perfect."

That’s how you found yourself, like, three hours later, completely submerged in the cool, crystal clear water of the Hayvenhurst pool, floating on your back while the bright California sun beat down on your skin.

You had a proper swimsuit on, too. Katherine had put her foot down about the whole "swimming in casual clothes" idea. About an hour after breakfast, a huge security guard named Big Dan had arrived at the front gate to start his shift. Katherine immediately pulled him aside and asked him to run to the boutique down the street to grab a swimsuit for you.

"Oh, no, Mrs. Jackson, please," you had insisted, stepping forward with your hands raised. "I’ll go with him real quick, just so I can pick out the right fit."

The second you said that, Janet’s ears perked up like a little puppy. "I wanna go!" she gasped, dropping her coloring book onto the coffee table.

La Toya took one look at Janet’s face, then looked at you, and let out her soft, high pitched giggle. "Well, if you guys are going, I’m definitely coming. I need to get some stuff anyway."

What was supposed to be a quick, five minute errand turned into a whole chaotic, hilarious production. Big Dan looked so out of place driving a luxury station wagon filled with three laughing girls, looking through the rearview mirror every two seconds like he was concerned. When you all got to the boutique Janet kept running up to you, grabbing adult sized sun hats three times bigger than her head, putting them on, and asking, "Do I look pretty? Do I look like a star?"

La Toya was holding up these tiny, brightly colored two piece bikinis, whispering, "Get this one. Jermaine’s jaw is gonna drop right off his face."

You gave her a look, shaking your head.

You ended up picking out a nice yellow two piece that complemented your skin- cut just high enough on the hips to be flattering, but modest enough that you wouldn't feel awkward around Joseph if he randomly walked past the backyard. Janet approved it by giving you a big thumbs up, and La Toya bought you a matching pair of oversized sunglasses just because she thought you looked fabulous.

Now, back at the pool, the water felt like heaven.

"Watch this!" Janet squealed from the shallow end. She took a deep breath, pinched her little nose, and ducked her head under the water for all of three seconds before bursting back up, splashing water everywhere. "Did you see me?! I stayed under for an hour!"

"An hour?" you laughed, wiping the pool water from your eyes as you swam over to her. "Felt more like three seconds to me, little lady!"

"Was not! It was an hour!" she giggled, splashing you right in the face.

You spent the next forty five minutes completely splashing around with her and La Toya. You played marco polo, helped Janet practice her kicking, and just floated around talking girl talk with La Toya on the edge of the pool deck. They were just so normal.

You didn't really know how to put it into words. When you thought about "The Jackson 5," you thought about screaming television crowds, bright flashing lights, bell bottoms, and unapproachable superstars. But sitting here in the backyard, watching La Toya dry her hair with a towel and watching Janet, who was busy using a plastic cup to pour pool water all over a ladybug that had the misfortune of landing on the edge of the cement, you realized they were just a regular, sweet, Black family that happened to be ridiculously talented. It made you feel so comfortable, like you were right at home.

"Don't drown the little bug, Janet," La Toya said gently.

"I'm giving him a bath!" Janet protested as she dumped another cup of water down.

You swam over to the deep end ledge, resting your elbows on the smooth tile, kicking your feet lazily behind you. You pulled the wet hair back from your face, wiping a stray drop of water from your eye, and looked over at La Toya.

"I gotta be real with you," you said, resting your chin on your hands. "Before I came out here, I was lowkey terrified. I thought everybody in this house was gonna be all stiff and Hollywood, expecting me to act a certain way or whatever."

La Toya let out a soft laugh. "Stiff? With all these boys running around here? There’s no room for anybody to be stiff." She sat back a little, leaning back on her hands. "Besides, we were all excited to meet you. Jermaine hasn't shut up about you since that trip to Vegas."

You blushed a little, feeling that warm flutter in your chest again. "Really?"

"Oh, please. Don't let him play you coy," La Toya giggled, shaking her head. "That boy has been floating around here like he lost his mind. It’s funny, too, because Jermaine usually thinks he’s the smoothest thing walking on two feet. You know how he is– all that hair, that little smirk, always talking about his music. He usually has all the ladies swooning and running behind him, trying to get his attention."

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on your lips. "Oh, so he's a player, huh?"

"Well..." La Toya fanned herself with her hand, leaning in like she was telling a big secret. "...he likes to think he is. But the second he got back from Vegas, all that slick stuff went right out the window. He was practically pacing the floor waiting for a perfect time to call, yelling at Randy every time he picked up the house phone! Then he wants to act all shy, and quiet, and sweet around you, like he’s a little church boy who doesn't know what to say."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I guess he thought telling you he had all those fans would make him look big and important, but then he turns right around and acts like a softie the minute you actually look at him. It’s hilarious to watch. We’ve never seen him act like that with anybody."

You chuckled, feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction. "Good to know. I’ll make sure to keep him on his toes then."

"Please do," La Toya smiled warmly. "He needs it."

While you guys were out by the pool, you could hear the distant, heavy thumping of bass reverberating through the thick walls of the house. You’d assumed when Joseph said they had "rehearsal" that they flew out to some massive, soundproof studio in downtown Los Angeles with engineers and executives running around. But nope. They were literally just down in the living room.

They had cleared out the furniture, set up their equipment , and microphones, and were running through their vocal harmonies until the walls literally shook. Every now and then, between pool splashes, you could hear Michael’s high, clear voice cutting through the air, followed by Jackie yelling out a count: "One, two, three, go!"

Around one oclock, the side door that led to the patio creaked open, and Mrs. Jackson walked out into the shade of the overhang. She was holding a massive plastic tray stacked high with thick triangular sandwiches, wrapped neatly in wax paper, alongside a huge pitcher of ice cold lemonade with sweating plastic cups.

"Alright, girls, time to get out of that water for a little bit!" Mrs. Jackson called out, her voice sweet but firm. "Come on and eat before the sun bakes you completely. And make sure you dry off real good before you sit on those chairs!"

"Yay, food!" Janet cheered, instantly abandoning her soaked ladybug and scrambling out of the shallow end like a little dog, shaking water everywhere.

"Janet, don't run too fast or you’ll fall!" Mrs. Jackson scolded gently, handing her a big fluffy towel. She looked over at you with that motherly warmth that just made you feel completely safe. "How’s the water, sweetheart? Is the suit fitting you alright?"

"It’s perfect, Mrs. Jackson," you said, climbing up the ladder and wrapping your towel around your waist. "Thank you so much. Really."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, child," she smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. She turned toward the side of the house where the living was located, took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs; "BOYS! FOOD'S READY! COME GET IT BEFORE THESE SANDWICHES WARM!"

The response was instant. The loud bass cut out mid riff with a sharp screech.

Within three seconds, the herd arrived.

Jermaine was practically sprinting. His forehead glistening with a light sheen of sweat from singing and playing under the living room lights. All of that coolness completely evaporated the second he saw the tray of food.

"Man, I am starving!" Jermaine announced, stepping right up to the patio table, his big hands reaching straight for the biggest sandwich on the tray. He was greedy as hell, completely locked in on the food like he hadn't eaten in a week.

"Unt unt," Katherine said, lightly tapping his hand away. "Hands off that one, Jermaine. That one’s got mayonnaise on it. Yours is right over here on the side with the mustard, just how you like it; don't go grabbing blindly just cause you're hungry."

"Thanks, Mama," Jermaine mumbled, reaching for the correct plate, his mouth practically watering.

He lifted the sandwich toward his mouth, ready to take a massive bite before his eyes swept across the patio deck and landed squarely on you.

You were standing by the edge of the pool deck, pulling your wet hair back over one shoulder with one hand and the other holding your plate. The bright yellow two piece swimsuit fit you like it was custom made, highlighting your smooth brown skin, the slope of your waist, and your long legs, with just a hint of water glistening off your shoulders under the California sun.

Jermaine froze.

Literally froze mid motion. The sandwich was about two inches away from his face. His jaw subtly dropped, his big brown eyes widening as he took you in from head to toe. The greedy ass, hungry boy who had just sprinted out of the house completely vanished, replaced instantly by a man who looked like he’d just been hit over the head with a brick for the second time this month.

He completely forgot to eat. Entirely. He just stood there, holding his mustard sandwich in mid air, staring at you like you were a vision.

Jackie wiping his face with a towel, Tito grabbing a cup of lemonade, Marlon stretching his arms, and Michael was staring too as he took a sip from his cup. It took them all of two seconds to notice Jermaine malfunctioning.

Marlon stopped dead in his tracks, looking at Jermaine, then looking at you, and a massive grin spread across his face.

"Yo," Marlon whispered loudly, nudging Jackie with his elbow. "Look at the statue over here. I think his battery ran out."

Jackie looked over, let out a loud snort, and slammed his hand against Tito’s shoulder. "Man– Jermaine, if you don't put that sandwich in your mouth or put it down; lookin like a whole fool standing there drooling.”

Michael giggled, covering his mouth as he sat his cup of juice down. "His eyes are gonna fall out of his head!"

Jermaine snapped out of his trance, his face instantly twisting up. He quickly lowered the sandwich, clearing his throat awkwardly, trying his absolute best to recover. He adjusted his stance, though his hands were slightly shaking as he set the plate back down on the table.

"Shut up," Jermaine grumbled, his voice cracking just a tiny bit, making his brothers erupt into even louder laughter. He crossed his arms, glaring at Marlon. "I was just...I was just taking a breath. Mind your business."

You couldn't help the huge, glowing smile that broke across your face. Remembering what La Toya had just told you about him acting all shy and soft, you decided to lean into it. You took a slow step toward the table, sitting your plate down, tilting your head, resting one hand on your hip as you looked right at him.

"Hey, Jermaine," you said, your voice all smooth, and sweet, and playful. "How was practice?"

Jermaine looked directly at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The boy who could sing in front of thousands of screaming fans suddenly looked like he was trying to remember how the English language worked.

"It...it was good," he stammered out, his voice dropping into that quiet tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, his eyes darting down to your yellow swimsuit and then right back up to your face, a completely smitten, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Practice was...real good. You, uh...you look real nice."

"Oh, brother," Jackie groaned, throwing his head back. "Look at him– the man is paralyzed,”

"Gag me," Tito joked, taking a big bite of his sandwich. "He lost all his game in Las Vegas and never got it back." He mumbled shaking his head.

"Please, shut up," Jermaine snapped at them, though he couldn't even keep a straight face because he was looking back at you. He stepped away from his laughing brothers, walking closer to where you were standing by the edge of the shade, completely ignoring his food now.

He stood right in front of you, looking down at you with those soft, big eyes, his hands shoved into his pockets. All the bravado was gone, leaving just the boy who was hopelessly, completely crazy about you.

"You really do look beautiful," he whispered softly, so only you could hear it over the noise of his family. "For real."

You bit your lower lip, stepping just an inch closer to him, smelling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the fresh sweat from his rehearsal. "Thank you," you murmured back, your eyes sparkling. "You gonna eat your mustard sandwich, or are you just gonna stand here staring at me all day?"

Jermaine let out a low, sweet laugh, shaking his head as he looked down at his feet, his heart practically beating out of his chest. "Honestly? I think I'd rather just stand here and stare at you."

And that is exactly what ended up happening; Jermaine didn’t even touch that mustard sandwich for another twenty minutes. He was too busy hovering near you while you sat and ate. Jermaine offered to hold your lemonade, and Jackie shook his head like a disappointed father, but Jermaine didn't give a single damn, a dopey smile stuck on his face.

Once everybody finally finished eating and the plates were cleared, La Toya took Janet and Randy inside to get them cleaned up from the pool and settled down. Michael and Marlon vanished somewhere into the house to mess around with their record collection, their loud laughing fading up the stairs. That left you, Jermaine, Tito, and Jackie kicking around the shaded patio.

"Alright, look," Jermaine said, lowkey trying to reclaim his cool guy demeanor now that he was dressed in a dry shirt and some shorts. "I'm about to show you how to play real pool. Not that amateur stuff you play back in Nevada."

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your yellow swimsuit cover up. "Oh, so now you're a pool shark? Last night you were an expert roller skater, and look how that turned out for my head."

Tito nearly choked on his cup of ice water, letting out a laugh. "I cannot lie, she got you, Jermaine," he admitted, shaking his head.

"Man, leave my past mistakes in the past," Jermaine grumbled, the skin behind his cheeks burning, though he couldn't hide the grin twitching at the corner of his lips. He grabbed your hand, his large, warm fingers weaving effortlessly through yours, pulling you toward the double doors that led into the game room. "Come on. Let me beat you in eight ball real quick so I can get my respect back."

The game room had a massive felt topped pool table sitting right in the center under a stained glass hanging lamp, a jukebox tucked in the corner, and walls lined with framed gold records and posters.

Jermaine walked over to the cue rack, picking out two wooden sticks. He checked the straightness of one, rolling it along his palm, before handing the lighter one to you.

"Alright," he said, stepping up close behind you as you walked up to the green felt table. "You ever played before?"

"A little bit," you lied softly, biting your lip to keep from smiling. Truth was, your uncle had an old slate table in his basement back in Vegas, and you’d spent half your childhood hustling your cousins out of their pocket change. But watching Jermaine try to play the protective teacher was entirely too cute to interrupt just yet.

"Okay, so look," Jermaine whispered, his chest pressing lightly against your back as he reached around you to adjust your hands on the cue stick. His chin was resting right near your ear, his breath warm against your skin, sending a wave of goosebumps straight down your spine. "You gotta form a bridge with your left hand. Like this. Keep your fingers flat...yeah, just like that, beautiful. Now slide the stick back slow..."

He was so busy trying to smell your hair and act smooth that he wasn't even looking at the balls lined up in the rack.

You took a deep breath, adjusted your grip just a fraction, and lined up the cue ball. With one swift stroke, you pulled your hand back and struck the white ball dead center.

The break was loud and perfectly executed. The balls scattered across the green felt like marbles, two solid colors instantly dropping into the corner and side pockets with a satisfying thump.

Jermaine blinked, stepping back instantly, his jaw dropping open for the second time that day.

Tito, who was sitting on a high stool in the corner chalking up a cue stick, let out a loud whistle. "Lord have mercy! Jermaine, she set you up!"

Oh, you loved Tito.

He just kept going. "Man, she played you like a cheap fiddle! You out here trying to teach her, and she’s out here breaking like a whole professional.”

You turned around slowly, resting the pool cue against your hip. You looked Jermaine up and down with a sweet, innocent expression. "So...what were you saying about forming a bridge with my fingers, superstar?"

Jermaine stood there, looking from the pockets back to your face, somewhat flabbergasted. But instead of getting mad, that big, gorgeous, helpless smile broke out across his face. He shook his head, laughing softly to himself.

"You are something else, you know that?" he murmured. "You really are something else."

He reached out, catching you by the waist, pulling you in close before you could line up your next shot. You giggled, pressing your hands against his chest, but he didn't care. He leaned down, pressing a sweet, lingering kiss right against your lips, completely unbothered by Tito making gagging noises from the corner stool.

"Aye! No kissing the opponent!" Jackie yelled, tossing a piece of chalk at Jermaine’s back. "Play the game!"

"Shut up, Jackie," Jermaine laughed against your mouth, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, his hands resting soft on your waist. "She’s running the table anyway. I’m just trying to get my consolation prize."

You ended up beating Jermaine two games out of three, though he managed to sink a crazy bank shot in the second game just to save a little bit of his pride. You guys played music on the jukebox, danced a little bit in the tight space between the pool table and the leather sofa, and drank cold sodas while Tito and Jackie argued over who was up next.

It felt like a dream to you. You were laughing so hard your cheeks hurt, completely wrapped up in Jermaine's easy warmth and the playful, loud energy of his brothers that you didn’t hear the heavy wooden door opening, and Joseph Jackson walking in.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the easygoing laughter vanished into thin air. Jackie stopped mid sentence. Tito quietly set his pool cue back into the wooden wall rack. Jermaine’s hand, which had been resting casually over your shoulder as you sat together on the sofa, slowly slid back to his side, his body tensing up instantly.

Joseph didn't look at Jermaine. He didn't look at Tito or Jackie. His sharp eyes swung directly onto you.

It was the same look from yesterday that made the room feel twenty degrees colder. He looked at your bare shoulders, your bare legs hanging over the edge of the sofa, and the way you were sitting so close to his son.

"Jermaine," Joseph’s voice echoed.

"Yeah, Joseph?" Jermaine answered quickly, sitting up straighter. His voice sounded different, smaller in a way, more guarded, completely stripped of that confident, flirtatious tone he’d been using all afternoon.

"You got time to be messing around in here playing games?" Joseph asked, his eyes still lingering on you with a look of disdain, like you were nothing more than a distraction taking his boy's mind off business. "The tape deck in the studio needs resetting, and you haven't finished going over those basslines for the new track. Y’all already know rehearsal tomorrow starts at six in the morning. I don't pay for studio time so you can sit around doting on company."

The way he said company, like it was a slur, like you were an unwanted stray cat that had wandered in from the street, stung like a slap across the face.

You felt your throat tighten, your hands pulling the edges of your cover up tighter around your lap. None of the brothers said a word to defend themselves let alone you. Jackie stared down at his shoes. Tito literally turned his back to look at the wall. They were terrified of him, and the control he had over the room was terrifying.

Jermaine swallowed hard, his knuckles turning white where his hands gripped his knees. He looked over at you, his eyes filled with a sudden embarrassment, clearly hating the way his father was looking at you and talking about you right in your face.

"I'll get to it, Joseph," Jermaine said quietly, his head lowered slightly. "We were just finishing up."

Joseph gave you one final look, a look that plainly said you don't belong here, before turning and walking out, slamming the door behind him.

The silence left in his wake was deafening.

Jackie let out a long, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm...I'm gonna go upstairs," he muttered softly, stepping past the pool table without looking at anyone. Tito just gave Jermaine a sympathetic, quiet pat on the shoulder, and nodding at you before following Jackie out, closing the door softly behind them.

You were left sitting on the leather sofa, your heart pounding against your ribs, feeling smaller than you ever had in your life. You looked down at your hands, your throat burning with unshed tears of…embarrassment? Hell, you didn’t even know why you were crying–

"Hey..."

Jermaine’s voice was barely a whisper. He shifted on the couch, sliding closer to you, his large hands gently reaching out to take yours. They were warm, but they were trembling just a little bit.

"Look at me...please?" he begged softly.

You slowly lifted your head, biting your inner cheek to keep your lip from trembling.

Jermaine looked completely broken. His brown eyes were swimming with guilt, searching your face desperately. He reached up with one hand, his thumb softly brushing against your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with such gentleness it made a tear slip past your lash line despite your best efforts.

"I am so sorry," Jermaine breathed, his voice cracking without his permission. "I am so, so sorry for how he just looked at you. For how he talked. You don't deserve that; you don't deserve that at all."

"Jermaine, it's fine," you whispered, trying to pull back a little, feeling awkward. "He's your dad, I get it–"

"No, it's not fine," Jermaine cut you off firmly, his grip on your hands tightening, pulling you closer until his forehead leaned on your shoulder. "It's not fine at all. He acts like that with everybody, but he had no right to treat you like you're nobody. You are everything to me right now. You hear me? Everything."

The intensity in his voice made your heart stop for a beat.

"He doesn't see what I see," Jermaine whispered, his thumb catching that lone tear and wiping it away tenderly. "He just sees work and records and money. But I see you. I see how good you are to my family, and how smart you are, and how beautiful you are...how sweet you are to me even when I’m being an idiot."

You looked at him, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

"He ain't gonna ruin this," Jermaine promised. "I won't let him. I don't care what he says."

A tiny smile broke through your sadness, and you let out a shaky breath, leaning your forehead against his chest. "You really mean that?"

"On everything I got," Jermaine murmured, wrapping his broad arms around you, burying his face into the side of your neck, holding you so tight like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. "I mean every word."

You gently pushed against his chest, pulling back just enough so you could look him in the eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Hey," you whispered, your fingers lightly tracing the soft line of his cheekbone. "It’s getting real late...and we should probably head to bed anyways. I got that early flight back to Vegas tomorrow, remember?"

The second the words left your mouth, Jermaine’s whole body went completely stiff.

It was like somebody had just sucked all the air right out of his lungs. His lower lip twitched, a tiny, frustrated crease forming right between his eyebrows. He didn't let go of your hands, though. If anything, his fingers tightened around yours, holding on like you were about to slip straight through the floorboards.

"Tomorrow?" Jermaine echoed, his voice dropping into a tone that sounded completely wrecked. "Man...don't say it like that. Don't remind me."

"Jermaine, I have to," you said softly, offering him a sad, small smile. "My daddy barely let me come out here for the weekend as it is. If I miss that plane tomorrow morning, he’s gonna drive all the way to California himself and drag me back by my hair."

Jermaine looked away, staring down at the dark green felt of the pool table like it had offended him personally. He let out a long, heavy exhale through his nose, his shoulders slumping.

"It went too fast," he grumbled softly, his thumb tracing nervous, restless circles over the back of your hand. "It feels like you just got here. I didn't even get to take you nowhere real nice. We just stayed in the house..." he frowned.

"Jermaine, stop," you said, reaching up with your free hand to gently cup his chin, forcing him to look back at you. "I had the best time. Seriously. I got to swim, I got to kick your butt in eight ball, I got to hang out with your mama and your sisters...and I got to be with you. I don't care about going nowhere fancy. This was perfect."

Jermaine looked into your eyes, searching your face like he was trying to memorize every single detail. He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

"I don't want you to go," he admitted, his voice barely louder than a whisper, completely raw and honest. "I don't."

"I know," you whispered back, leaning forward to press a sweet, lingering kiss to his cheek. "I don't want to go either. But I have to. Come on...let's get out of this room."

You both stood up from the leather sofa. Jermaine kept one arm draped securely around your waist as you walked out of the game room.

When you finally reached the door of the guest room, you stopped and turned around to face him. You stepped out of his grip, resting your back against the cool wood of the doorframe, looking up at him. He stood there in the quiet hallway, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts, looking down at you with those big, puppy dog brown eyes that were driving you completely crazy.

"Well..." you murmured, biting your lip. "goodnight, Jermaine."

Jermaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking down at the carpet, then back up at you. The quiet stretched out between you two, sweet and heavy.

"Hey..." Jermaine started, his voice cracking just a little bit. He took a step closer, closing the distance until he was standing right in your personal space, his chest almost touching yours. He reached out, his fingers lightly pulling at the ribbon of your cover up, his eyes swimming with hesitation. “Uh…”

"...you want me to sleep in here with you again tonight?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours desperately. "Just...so I can like…hold you? So we don't gotta waste the last few hours sleeping in different rooms?"

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart melt right into your chest. He looked so hopeful, so sweet, standing there asking for permission.

You looked up at his cute nose, his soft lips, and the messy afro framing his handsome face. A soft, warm smile broke across your lips, and you reached out, taking his hand and pulling him gently toward the open doorway.

"I thought you'd never ask," you whispered.

Jermaine’s entire face lit up with that beautiful grin, all the tension leaving his shoulders in an instant. He slipped into the room behind you, shutting the door, making sure the lock didn't make a single peep.

You both washed up quickly in the adjoining bathroom, stripping down into comfortable clothes. You slipped into your soft satin pajamas, and Jermaine pulled on a t shirt and his comfortable sweatpants.

The moment the bedside lamp clicked off, plunging the room into the soft, blue toned darkness, Jermaine didn't hesitate for a single second.

He climbed into the big bed, sliding under the heavy comforter, and immediately reached for you. He pulled you right against his chest, his long arms wrapping tightly around your waist, pulling your back flush against him. He tucked his face right into the crook of your neck, his warm, steady breath fluttering against your skin, sending a sweet wave of shyness through you.

"Mmm...much better," Jermaine mumbled into your skin.

You let out a soft, contented sigh, intertwining your fingers with his where his hand rested over your stomach.

"Jermaine?" you whispered into the quiet room.

"Yeah, beautiful?" he murmured, his lips pressing a lazy, sweet kiss right against the side of your neck.

"You better call me the second I land back in Vegas."

Jermaine let out a low, sweet chuckle, his chest vibrating against your back. He squeezed you just a little bit tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck.

"Girl, I'm gonna be staring at that house phone until it rings," he whispered softly, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your hip. "You ain't gotta worry about that. Now get some sleep...I got you."

And right there, wrapped up in his arms in the middle of Encino, listening to the steady, strong rhythm of his heart beating against your back, you finally closed your eyes and drifted off into the sweetest sleep you’d had all week.

His hand was on your lower back as he eyed the man up and down. He already knew this old trick and it pissed him off more that he asked you and not him. The man eyed you like you were a ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Jermaine could feel his irritation rising as you continued to feel bad for the nameless man. Jermaine saw where this was going and had to nip it in the bud.

"Hey brotha, we don't want that but good luck in your endeavors." Jermaine said as he ushered you away.

You pouted before turning to look at him with her hands on your hips. "Jermaine Jackson that wasn't polite!" You scolded him.

"Baby face, he was just trying to get you to give him some money. Nine times out of ten he was lying." He explained as he held your face in his hands.

You couldn't argue with him there. "I'm just protecting you." He kissed your forehead softly.

You couldn't help but melt into him. You couldn't help but see the good in everyone you meet. "I'm sorry." You mumbled as you wrapped your arms around him.

Another instance was when you were over the house while Katherine pulled you in the kitchen for some girl talk. You ate the fruit in the bowl as she spoke about each child with love. Katherine's smile widened as she sat next to you who was off in another world. "When do you and Jermaine plan on growing the family?"

Your head tilted. "You know, buns in the oven." She spoke happily.

"Oh, I don't do much baking." You told her with a giggle as her smile faltered slightly.

"No honey—"

"Mother, don't." Jermaine said as he came into the kitchen with a bag of things she asked him to get.

He kissed your cheek softly as he put a hand into your bowl of fruit. Katherine threw her hands up before leaving you two alone. "I don't bake."

"I know you don't, baby." He said as he moved a misplaced hair from your face.

"Then why would she—" You pause your chewing trying to think.

"I don't know, baby."

Don't let someone ask for your help. You are up and Adam Levine. A lady asked you to help her with her bags to her car and you accepted with glee. Jermaine turned around for a second and you were skipping off to her car with her. He was quick to snatch you up by your collar before politely declining the lady. "She can't, sorry."

"Well she already said yes—"

"And I'm saying no. We have to go, I apologize." Jermaine gave the lady a faux smile before dragging you away.

"Do you want to get kidnapped?" He asked you genuinely.

You looked at him as if he grew an extra head. "Well, of course not!"

"Right, I figured." He told you. "So why were you going to follow her to her car?"

"She needed my help!" You exclaimed with your arms out as he stared at you.

"Right, then where is she right now?" He asked as you scanned the parking lot to not see the lady. Come to think of it you didn't see a car or anything either.

"Oh. My bad." You smiled sheepishly as he nodded. "Right."

"What would I do without you?" You hugged his arm as he kissed your temple.

'Probably be in the back of someone's van.' He thought to himself.

"Let's not find out, huh?" He said as he pulled you into his side protectively.

The late afternoon sun of 1978 hung heavy and golden over Encino, bleeding amber and pale violet through the tall palm trees that lined Hayvenhurst.

Inside the Jackson house, the air was already warm and thick with the unmistakable, rich aroma of simmered chili peppers, toasted cumin, garlic, and melting cheese. It was a Sunday, but it wasn’t the usual Sunday routine where Katherine reigned supreme in the kitchen while the house buzzed around her.

Today, the apron belonged to Jermaine.

He stood by the long tile counter, wearing a high-waisted pair of dark denim jeans, a soft yellow fitted polo shirt with the top few buttons undone, and a beige cotton apron tied neatly around his waist. His pick was tucked neatly into the back pocket of his jeans, his iconic, glossy afro perfectly shaped, catching the golden light pouring through the wide kitchen window.

He was humming soft, low notes—a melodic fragment of an unreleased track—as he carefully layered corn tortillas, shredded chicken, and a rich, dark red sauce into a pair of massive glass baking dishes.

When the heavy wooden front door creaked open, followed by the soft click of your heels against the entryway floor, Jermaine immediately stopped humming. 

“In here, baby,” he called out. His voice was smooth as velvet, carrying that gentle, quiet warmth that always seemed to quiet the rest of the world down a notch.

You walked into the kitchen, taking in the sight. You were wearing a breezy, late-70s wrap dress—patterned in warm earth tones of rust and mustard—with your hair styled in a plush, gorgeous halo of soft curls that framed your face. You held a small tote bag over your shoulder, looking around the fragrant kitchen with a wide, bright smile.

“Look at you,” you teased, leaning against the counter as you watched him lower another dish into the preheated oven. “Cheffing it up for real. Should I be intimidated?”

Jermaine wiped his hands on a kitchen towel and walked around the island toward you. A slow, dimpled smile spread across his smooth face, his dark eyes glowing with pure affection. He didn't hesitate—he reached out, wrapped his large, warm hands around your waist, and pulled you against his chest, tucking you neatly into his frame.

"Intimidated? Nah," he murmured, his voice low as he leaned down to press a warm, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, and finally a soft, tender press against your lips. "Just hungry. You look fine as wine tonight, by the way. That color on you? Out of sight."

You felt the warmth rush to your cheeks, giggling softly as your hands rested against his broad shoulders. "Thank you. I was nervous about coming over today, Jermaine. You sure your family’s ready for me?"

"Are you kidding me?" Jermaine chuckled, his thumbs gently rubbing small circles through the thin fabric at your waist. "Mother’s been asking about you for three weeks straight. Ever since I told her about us going out to the roller rink last month, she’s been on my back. 'When are we meeting her, Jermaine? Bring that lovely girl over.' And you know how the rest of them are. If there's food, they're coming."

He stepped back just enough to grab a small wooden spoon from the counter, dipping it into a small pot of simmering red sauce on the stovetop. He blew on it gently, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a playful, heavy-lidded gaze.

"Here," he said, holding the spoon out to you, placing one hand beneath it to catch any strays. "Taste this. Tell me if the spices are right."

You leaned in, closing your lips over the spoon. The sauce was incredible—smoky, rich, with just enough of a kick to linger on the back of your tongue without burning. Your eyes widened in genuine delight.

"Mmm! Jermaine, wait a minute..." You tapped his arm. "This is incredible! Where did you learn how to make enchiladas like this?"

He puffed out his chest a little, a proud, goofy grin breaking out across his face. "Told you I had skills, didn't I? Everybody thinks I just play the bass, but I got flavor, baby. I’ve been working on this sauce recipe for months. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

"Well, consider me thoroughly impressed, Chef Jackson," you laughed, resting your hands back on his hips.

Jermaine leaned down, catching your chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger, kissing you again—sweeter this time, taking his time, savoring the quiet moment before the house inevitably exploded with energy.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” he whispered against your mouth, his eyes soft and entirely sincere. “I wanted you in my space. With my people.”

Before you could answer, the faint sound of heavy footfalls bounced down the hallway, followed by the energetic beat of someone tapping out a rhythm on the wall frame.

"Man, what is that smell? Jermaine, did you burn the—oh, snap!"

Michael slid around the corner into the kitchen, wearing an oversized striped sweater, flared cords, and a wide, bright grin. He froze for a fraction of a second when he saw you two standing close, then a huge, teasing smirk spread across his face.

"Well, well, well," Michael chimed in, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms with a playful shake of his head. "So this is why he’s been in the kitchen since noon. He usually doesn't even wash a dish, and today he's acting like he's running a five-star restaurant!"

Jermaine rolled his eyes, though a small, fond smile stayed on his face. He didn't drop his arm from around your waist, keeping you comfortably tucked against his side. "Ignore him," Jermaine said softly to you, before flashing a sharp look at his younger brother. "Mike, don't you have a record to listen to or something? Go bring Mother down."

"Oh, Mother's coming," Michael laughed, stepping fully into the kitchen and extending a slender, welcoming hand toward you. "Hi, I'm Michael. It's really nice to finally meet you. Jermaine hasn't shut up about you for a month."

"Michael!" Jermaine snapped, his cheeks flushing a faint copper tone, though he couldn't hide his embarrassment.

You laughed, taking Michael’s hand warmly. "It's so great to meet you, Michael. I've heard so much about you."

"Don't let him fool you, he’s a pest," a warm, gentle voice interrupted from the doorway.

Katherine Jackson walked into the kitchen, looking elegant and comforting in a soft blue knitted dress, her hair neatly set. The warmth radiating from her instantly filled the room. Behind her, Joseph walked in slowly, wearing his classic button-down and trousers, looking calm and observant, followed closely by Randy and La Toya, who were already bickering good-naturedly over who was getting the first plate.

"Mother, look at this," Michael pointed at the counter. "He made the enchiladas. And the handmade tacos."

Katherine smiled brightly, walking straight past the food to approach you. She took both of your hands in hers, her hold gentle and motherly. “Welcome to our home, sweetheart. It is so wonderful to finally have you here. Jermaine has been talking about this dinner all week.”

“Thank you so much for having me, Mrs. Jackson,” you said softly, feeling the lingering nerves completely melt away under her kind gaze. “Your home is beautiful.”

“Call me Katherine, child,” she insisted softly, squeezing your hands before looking over at Jermaine with an approving smile. “You look radiant. And it seems my boy actually put some hard work into this kitchen for once.”

“Hey now, I always work hard,” Jermaine protested smoothly, wrapping his arm around your shoulder once more, drawing you close to his side. He looked down at you, his eyes shining with a mix of relief and deep pride. “I just wanted to make sure everything was right for my girl.”

"Alright, alright, less sweet-talking, more eating!" Randy called out from the dining room archway, setting down a stack of cloth napkins. "Jermaine, is the food ready or what? My stomach is sticking to my ribs!"

"Hold your horses, Randy," Jermaine barked back with a grin, though he immediately moved to grab oven mitts.

For the next ten minutes, the kitchen was a whirlwind of rhythmic, joyful movement. Jermaine pulled the bubbling, golden-brown pans of enchiladas out of the oven, the melted cheese sizzling along the edges. He set out bowls of fresh guacamole, warm crispy tortilla shells, diced tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and rich sour cream.

You tried to step in to help carry plates, but Jermaine gently intercepted you every time.

"Uh-uh, baby," he murmured in your ear, taking a heavy ceramic platter out of your hands and replacing it with a light glass of sweet iced tea. "You're the guest of honor today. You sit down. I got you."

The dining table was long, set with simple white china and tall glasses. You were seated right at Jermaine's right hand, with Katherine at the head and Michael sat across from you. The room echoed with the warm, chaotic chorus of a big family—laughter bouncing off the wood-paneled walls, forks clinking against plates, and gentle teasing flying across the table.

"Man, Jermaine," Randy muttered around a mouthful of a freshly made taco, shaking his head in disbelief. "I gotta hand it to you. This is heavy. You put your foot in these tacos!"

"Language at the table, Randy," Katherine corrected gently, though she too was enjoying her plate with a small, pleased smile. "He's right, though. Jermaine, this sauce is lovely."

"Told you," Jermaine said smoothly, resting his elbow on the table and winking at you. "Secret technique. Can't give away the recipe to just anybody."

"Secret recipe, my eye," Michael teased, wiping his mouth with a napkin and grinning at you across the table. "He probably called up the restaurant down on Sunset and asked for instructions! I saw him reading a cookbook yesterday!"

"Man, sit down, Mike!" Jermaine laughed, throwing a balled-up paper napkin playfully across the table at his brother. "You're just mad because you can't cook nothing but cereal!"

The whole table burst into laughter, the energy light, groovy, and entirely natural. You found yourself laughing along, feeling completely integrated into the warmth of the room. Every few minutes, under the cover of the tablecloth, you would feel Jermaine’s long fingers slide into yours, squeezing your hand softly, checking in on you without uttering a single word.

Whenever you looked over at him, he was already looking at you—not at his plate, not at his brothers, but at you. His dark, soulful eyes held a look of quiet fascination, an intoxicating blend of cool 70s suave and deep, genuine affection.

After dinner was cleared away—with Michael and Randy finally being dragged into doing the dishes—the energy in the house settled into a soft, cozy groove. The sun had completely dipped below the horizon, leaving Encino wrapped in a cool, starry California evening.

Jermaine gently took your hand and led you out through the sliding glass doors toward the patio near the back yard. The night air was pleasant, carrying the sweet scent of jasmine blossoms and the faint hum of crickets. Soft ambient light radiated from the pool, rippling in shades of quiet turquoise against the stone patio.

From inside the house, the faint sound of a soul record echoed through the open doors—a slow, smooth track by Minnie Riperton, her dreamy vocals floating out into the night air.

Jermaine led you over to a wide padded lounge chair near the edge of the garden, sitting down and pulling you right along with him so that you were leaning back against his chest, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, resting over your hands.

"You doing alright?" he asked quietly, his chest rising and falling beneath your shoulder. His voice was soft, stripped of the playful bravado he’d used with his brothers earlier.

"I'm more than alright, Jermaine," you murmured, relaxing into his heat, turning your face slightly to look up at his sharp, handsome jawline. "Tonight was wonderful. Your family is so sweet. And the food... honestly, you really blew me away."

He let out a low, smooth laugh that vibrated against your back. "I mean what I say, baby. When I care about somebody, I want to take care of them. I want to feed you good, make you laugh, make sure you feel like a queen every time you're around me."

He unclasped his hands from your waist, his large, warm hand moving up to gently cup the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with incredible tenderness.

"I was a little worried, to be real with you," he admitted softly, his eyes searching yours in the dim patio light. "My world can get kind of loud. Busy. Crazy, even. Bringing you into the middle of all this... I just wanted to make sure it wasn't too much."

You turned around in his lap, facing him fully now, placing your hands on his chest, feeling the steady, calm beat of his heart under the yellow polo.

"It wasn't too much at all, Jermaine," you said earnestly, looking straight into his dark, expressive eyes. "It was beautiful. You made me feel so special tonight. From the moment I walked into that kitchen."

A soft, breathtaking smile slowly lit up his face—the kind of smile he rarely showed the flashing cameras or the loud crowds, reserved entirely for moments like this.

"Yeah?" he whispered, his hands settling warm and heavy on the small of your back, bringing your hips closer to his.

"Yeah," you whispered back.

Jermaine leaned down, his forehead resting gently against yours for a brief, heavy heartbeat. The air between you felt warm, charged with a sweet, romantic tension that belonged entirely to the two of you. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was slow, deep, and impossibly tender. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, his thumb lightly stroking your jawline as his lips moved against yours with a practiced, romantic rhythm.

When he finally pulled back, just an inch or two away, his breath brushed softly against your lips.

"Good," he murmured, his voice dripping with smooth charm. "Because this is just the beginning, sweet thang. Next time, it's just gonna be you and me. I'll make you that Italian lasagna I was telling you about."

You giggled, resting your hand against his cheek, leaning up to kiss the corner of his lips. "Is that a promise, Mr. Jackson?"

"That’s a guarantee, baby," Jermaine whispered softly, pulling you back tight against his chest as the cool night breeze swept through the palm trees above, keeping you warm in his arms under the stars.

© 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐲𝐭𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛𝐱 ; 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅. 𝒏𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒊 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒅.