Myx ⋆.˚

One thing was true in all aspects of your relationship: Jermaine liked to show off.

That’s exactly why you started your day luxury shopping and by the end of the night he had you against the wall, on the kitchen countertop, and as of right now, on your back!

“enough Jerma- ‘s too much”

He smiled “you really expect me to believe that?” he tilted your head up to look at him

you whined still holding his waist towards yours, digging your nails in as you rolled your hips.

“the way I see it, we’re a perfect fit…”

he pulled all the way out and startled circling your clit with his thumb

“ain’t that right?”

“jermaine!”

“what? don’t be embarrassed baby”

he ran himself up and down your folds

“I asked you a question didn’t I?”

“yess! please jer you fit inside so well, you fuck me so good pleasee” you didn’t care how loud you were, all class and couth was out of the window.

“ah so it wasn’t too much” he kisses you on the forehead “i knew it, knew you could take all i give you”

he slides himself back in slow, you were already close from the back to back teasing.

“baby ‘m cumming”

“keep them eyes open my love…that’s it” he groaned as he felt the wetness splash against the base of him.

“I remember when you told me you couldn’t do that, must’ve felt real good then…” he kept thrusting all the way through your release.

People were running back and forth with clothing racks, stage hands were shouting about mic checks, and the faint, muffled thumping of the opening act was vibrating right through the walls. But inside the dressing room, none of that noise mattered. The door was shut tight, the heavy brass bolt thrown into place to keep the public, the press, and any wandering eyes out.

Because for now, the secret was still safe.

To the rest of the world, you and Jermaine Jackson were just two rising stars under the same musical umbrella, doing a highly anticipated, one off duet for a television special. The rumors were always swirling in the magazines, sure, but nobody had the slightest proof. The fans didn't know. The media didn't know. Only the inner circle, the families, knew the real story. It was impossible to keep a secret that big from a house full of Jacksons or from your own tight knit, sharp eyed parents. They knew about the late night house phone calls that practically lasted until the sun came up, and the way you two had been completely, hopelessly locked in with each other for months. As far as the media, the screaming fans, and the nosy reporters were concerned? You were just "good, good friends" who possessed a whole lot of natural musical chemistry.

Inside your private dressing room, though, the "good friends" act was completely out the window.

The room was warm, illuminated by the bright, harsh bulbs bordering the massive vanity mirror. You stood right in the center of the space, taking a final look at yourself, and honestly, you were looking like an absolute vision. You were rocking a stark white, thigh length dress that hugged your curves perfectly before flaring out just enough to give it some movement. But the real star of the show was the styling underneath, you had on these vibrant, bright orange, white, and pink patterned leggings that caught every drop of light, paired with some chunky, pink platform shoes that made your legs look a mile long.

And, of course, you and your man were completely coordinated thanks to your manager. Jermaine was standing right behind you, adjusting his collar in the reflection. He was wearing a sharp, tailored white blazer that fit his shoulders like a glove, but when he moved, the silk inside shirt underneath perfectly matched the exact same patterns of your leggings. You looked like a matching set, a complete power couple, even if you couldn't announce it to the world yet.

Jermaine caught your eye in the mirror, a slow, heavy grin spreading across his lips. His dark eyes darkened with that look, that deep, appreciative gaze that always made your stomach do a whole flip. He didn't care about the wardrobe people outside, he didn't care about the stage manager pacing the halls, and he definitely didn't care about the strict schedule they were running on.

He leaned in close, his tall frame enveloping yours from behind as he looked at your reflection in the mirror. His eyes were dark, heavy with affection, a slow, appreciative smirk spreading across his handsome face. Before you could even smooth down the hem of your dress, his large, warm hands slid around from behind you, settling right on the curve of your hips before sliding further down, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass firmly through the white fabric, giving it a slow heavy squeeze.

"Mmm, look at you," Jermaine mumbled against the back of your neck, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that always got you weak. He pulled you flush against his front, his chest pressing right into your shoulders. "You look so good, baby. It's taking everything in me not to just lock this door and tell them production gotta wait."

You giggled, leaning your head back against his shoulder, but you tried to play it cool, reaching behind you to weakly swat at his hands, though you didn't actually make him move them. "Jermaine, stop it. You need to behave yourself. We got like seven minutes before they call us to the stage, and you out here trying to start something."

"I ain't trying to start nothing, I'm just appreciating what's mine," he turned you around in his arms so you were facing him, his eyes looking down into yours with so much heat it made your knees go a little weak. "You nervous?"

"A little bit," you admitted, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady, calm beat of his heart. "I just hope my voice stays clear. I don't want it cracking, you know? We worked too hard on it for me to mess up a note."

"Look at me," Jermaine said, his tone softening into that warm, reassuring tone he only used when it was just the two of you. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing the line of your jaw. "You ain't gonna mess up nothing. You’re a star, baby, that’s literally your name. Your voice is beautiful, and once we get out there under them lights, it’s just gonna be me and you. Just like in the rehearsal room."

You looked up at his cute nose, his perfect lips, and the intense sincerity in his eyes, and your heart just melted. "You always know what to say, Jermaine." You breathed.

"Yeah? Well, let me show you, too," he whispered, his gaze dropping instantly to your lips.

You had just finished your makeup, and your lips were painted with a nice layer of glossy pink lipgloss that made your mouth look completely irresistible. Seeing him lean in, his eyes locking onto your mouth, you instantly pressed your hand against his white blazer to hold him back.

"Unt unt! No, sir," you complained, swatting at his chest playfully. "Jermaine, I just put this lipgloss on. Like literally two seconds ago. Do not mess up my face before we gotta go under those big ass lights."

Jermaine didn't give a single fuck. A slick, arrogant little smile spread across his handsome face, his thumb coming up to gently catch your chin. "I don't care nothing about no lipgloss, baby. Come here."

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a deep, heavy, lingering kiss. You groaned into his lips, trying to pretend you were annoyed, but within two seconds, your hands slid up his chest and wrapped around the back of his neck, completely giving in. He kissed you deep, his tongue lightly tracing your bottom lip, completely smearing the sticky, sweet pink gloss all over his own mouth, blending your flavors together. His hands back on your ass, squeezing and pulling you into him like he was trying to merge your two bodies into one right there in the room.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door to the dressing room swung open without a single knock. "Hey, the stage manager said y'all need to-"

Jackie walked straight into the room, stopping dead in his tracks. He stared at the two of you, Jermaine with his hands fully gripping your ass, and you wrapped around his neck with pink lipgloss completely smeared across both of your mouths. Jackie let out a loud, dramatic sigh, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head.

"Oh, man...see, this is exactly why we can't ever find you when it’s showtime," his loud, amused voice boomed.

You instantly tore yourself away from Jermaine, your face burning hot as you let out a loud, embarrassed giggle, covering your mouth. Jermaine just laughed, completely unfazed, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, only succeeding in spreading the pink shimmer even more.

"Man, Jackie, don't you know how to knock?" Jermaine grumbled, though he had a lazy, satisfied grin on his face. "We were just...rehearsing the emotion of the song."

"Right, right. Rehearsing," Jackie laughed, checking his watch. "Well, the director is calling for y'all. The announcer is about to go out. Get your face wiped, lover boy, and get your asses down to the wings. Don't keep the people waiting."

"See? I told you! Look at you, you're a whole mess." You carefully dabbed at his lips and cheek, fixing the smudge while he just stood there like a big, happy puppy, staring down at you with pure adoration.

"Alright, we good," you said, tossing the tissue in the trash and taking a deep, sharp breath. You shook your hands out, trying to rid your fingers of the lingering nervous jitters. "Let’s go do this."

Jermaine reached out, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly. "Right behind you, baby."

Walking through the backstage wings was a blur. The heat from the massive stage lights was already spilling into the darkness of the wings, and the sound of the audience was deafening. You could hear the stage manager counting down from the back. You took a step onto the edge of the stage, the slick wood smooth beneath your chunky platforms.

Suddenly, the house lights dimmed slightly, and the booming voice of the announcer echoed through the stadium speakers, cutting through the noise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, up next we have a special treat for you tonight. Performing their smash hit collaboration that has been tearing up the charts across the nation...we have a brilliant young woman and man...please put your hands together for the incredible Jackson 5's own Jermaine Jackson, and the beautiful, talented young lady herself...Star!”

The moment your stage name left the announcer's mouth, the crowd went absolutely wild. The roar was deafening, a massive wave of applause, screams, and stomping feet shaking the entire studio.

The moment the audience caught sight of your outfits, another massive wave of cheers erupted. They were absolutely loving the look, the sharp contrast of the pure white dress and blazer against those loud, unapologetic orange, pink, and white patterns.

You walked out to the center of the stage where two microphone stands were set up side by side. The announcer exited into the shadows as you took your place, reaching up to adjust the mic right to where your mouth was. You took a quick glance back toward the live band, giving the musical director a sharp thumbs up, and then you looked down for a brief second, centering yourself in the music.

The opening brass and the heavy, sweet roll of the drums came in, giving you a few seconds to prepare. While the intro built up, you and Jermaine instantly caught the groove, your bodies swaying perfectly in sync to the beat. But you weren't trying to stay confined to a metal pole tonight. You reached down and removed the microphone from its stand, wrapping your fingers around the grill, ready to really perform.

Jermaine did the exact same, his eyes already locked onto you, a soft, knowing smile playing on his lips.

The music dropped to that perfect, intimate pocket, and Jermaine brought his microphone up to his chest. He didn't look at the cameras. He didn't look at the hundreds of screaming fans in the crowd. He looked straight at you, watching you sing.

Your voice coming out like a purr. "You're all I need to get by... y-y..." You sang, the smooth run at the end making the boys and girls in the front row let out a collective scream.

Then, the tempo picked up just a bit, the groove settling into that classic, undeniable Motown bounce. Jermaine took a smooth, sliding step toward you. The lyric came up, and he sang it with so much emotion. "Like the sweet morning dew, I took one look at you..."

As he hit that line, he reached out with his free hand. His long, smooth fingers gently caught the edge of your chin, his thumb resting against your jaw, tenderly turning your face so you were forced to look directly into his eyes.

"...And it was plain to see...you were my destiny," he crooned, his eyes shining with so much genuine love it was a wonder the whole world didn't figure it out right then and there.

The crowd went absolutely berserk at the gesture. The romance of the movement had people screaming, clapping, and clutching their chests.

Jermaine let go of your chin, his smile widening as he backed up a step, his body grooving to the bass line. He gave a little nod, signaling it was your turn.

You stepped right into the spotlight, your voice coming out clear, loud, and absolutely flawless, carrying over the heavy instrumentation with ease. You looked right back at him, singing your heart out:

"With my arms open wide...I threw away my pride. I'll sacrifice for you...dedicate my life to you..."

As you finished the line, Jermaine quickly threw in his vocal cue "Oh..." but his feet were still glued to the floor because he was too busy admiring his woman. He was grooving, but he was so lost in the beauty of your voice and the way your afro bounced with every note that he literally forgot where he was for a second.

"I will go where you lead...always there in time of need," you sang, pouring every bit of your soul into the lyric, looking over at him to lock eyes for the transition. But you noticed Jermaine was just standing there, grinning like a fool, completely mesmerized by you, totally forgetting his cue to hit the little synchronized footwork routine y'all had rehearsed.

"And when I lose my will...you'll be there to push me up the hill..."

You caught it instantly. Out of the corner of your eye, you looked down into the VIP section. Your parents were sitting right there, nodding along to the words with massive, proud smiles on their faces. Right next to them, the Jackson family was clumped together. Mama Katherine was smiling sweetly, but Joseph had his eyes narrowed, and Jackie and Tito were furiously gesturing from their seats, trying to signal to Jermaine to move his feet.

Without breaking character or losing your smile, you smoothly danced your way over to him. Making it look like part of the act, you spun right up into his space and delivered a sharp, playful slap right to his white blazer covered arm, giving him a look that clearly said, Nigga, remember to actually fucking dance!

Jermaine blinked, snapping out of his trance, and let out a quick, quiet chuckle into his mic that luckily sounded like a soulful chuckle to the audience. He immediately caught the step, his hips swaying as he fell right back into the routine beside you.

Then, both of your voices came together for the chorus, blending in that flawless, spine tingling harmony that made the song a hit in the first place.

"There's no, no looking back for us...We got love, sure 'nough, that's enough..."

As you hit the main hook, the music suddenly softened, the heavy drums dropping out to leave just a sweet, melodic piano and a soft bassline. Your voices dropped down too, becoming incredibly soft, intimate, and quiet.

You and Jermaine looked directly at each other. "You're all..." you sang softly, your voice a tender whisper.

"You're all I need..." Jermaine countered, his voice dropping into that deep, velvety register, his eyes completely locked onto yours, full of a love and devotion that no script could ever replicate. "...to get by."

For the rest of the song, you were both just gliding across that stage, singing back and forth, hitting every single run and harmony with a precision that only came from hours of singing together in empty rooms. But more than the vocal technique, it was the look in your eyes. Every time the camera cut to a close up, Jermaine was staring at you like you were the only girl in the entire universe, and you were looking right back at him with that same, unmistakable glow.

"Just to do what's good for you..." you sang pointing at your man with a big toothy grin on your face, as he added in his lil, c'mon darling, "and inspire you a little higher..."

"I know you can make a man out of a soul that didn't have a goal..." he belted, his brows furrowed as he followed your steps.

Your voices blended into each other once again, "'Cause we, we got the right foundation and with love and de...termination..."

"You're all, you're all I want to strive for and do a little more..." Jermaine nudged your shoulder with his, almost making you laugh but you both continued. "All, all the joys under the sun wrapped up into one..."

"You're all, you're all I needdd...You're all I need..."

As the music finally began to dim and fade out, you repeated the chorus one last time, your voice following the fading notes down to a whisper, holding his hand tightly in the center of the stage.

"You're all I need..." He let out a hard, "Ohh..." into his mic, creating the perfect, warm background layer before you both continued simultaneously.

"...to get by." Your voices bled into one another, creating an overlapping chorus.

"Ohhh, baby." Jermaine sang into the mic, followed by your, ouuu.

"Oh, baby," he repeated, looking at you, "Ahh. Honey, honey, honey, honey," his honeys got higher before you both let out a synchronized, "yeah!"

The music slowly dissolved into the air. For a single, breathless second, the studio was dead silent. You and Jermaine just stood there, chests heaving, standing close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other's clothes, smiling sweet and completely, blissfully in love.

The moment the final note clipped off, the studio audience erupted. The entire crowd finally stood up out of their seats, cheering, whistling, and clapping just as loud as they did when you first walked out, if not louder. You and Jermaine stood there, catching your breath, bowing deeply to the left and right. Jermaine put his arm around your shoulder, giving you a tight squeeze, before the stage manager guided you both off toward the interview set.

The post performance interview was set up in a brightly lit alcove just off the main stage, where a row of microphones and flashing cameras from various entertainment reporters were waiting. You and Jermaine stood side by side against a decorative backdrop, a couple of prominent tv hosts standing in front of you with mics and notepads.

"Jermaine, Star, that was absolutely electric out there!" she gushed, her voice cutting through the chatter of the room. "The charts are already on fire with this song, but seeing it live? The chemistry up on that stage was undeniable. I mean, Jermaine, at one point you looked completely lost in the music, or was it something else?"

Jermaine let out a smooth, easy laugh as he looked down at the host's mic, then slid a quick, amused glance your way. "Oh, you know, it’s just the power of the song. The rhythm just catches you sometimes. When you're working with an artist as incredibly talented as Star, you just get caught up in the magic of the moment. It's all about the craft."

"The craft?" another reporter chimed in from the side, a skeptical but highly amused smirk on his face. "Come on now, Jermaine. We saw you out there. You were looking at her like she was the only person in the room! And Star, that little hit to his arm? It looked a lot less like a rehearsed dance move and a lot more like a lovers' quarrel! What's really going on between you two?"

You let out a loud, bubbly giggle, instantly covering your mouth with your hand, your cheeks flushing a deep, warm color under the harsh studio lights. You nudged Jermaine's shoulder with your own, playing it off completely.

"Oh, please!" you said, leaning into the microphone with a bright, charming smile. "That wasn't a lovers' quarrel, that was me reminding him of his steps! He was supposed to be hitting that side shuffle and he completely froze on me. I had to wake him up! If I didn't nudge him, Joseph would've been lecturing him all night about missing the choreography."

The circle of reporters erupted into a wave of laughter.

"So it’s strictly professional?" the first host pressed, leaning in closer, smelling blood. "Because the rumors have been absolutely flying. The coordinated outfits...I mean, look at you two! You’re wearing her exact same pattern inside your blazer, Jermaine. You look like a matching set."

Jermaine smoothed down the lapels of his white blazer, flashing that slick, arrogant, devastatingly handsome smile that always made the fans scream. He wrapped a casual, friendly arm around your shoulder, pulling you in just close enough for comfort, but keeping it perfectly appropriate for the cameras.

"Hey, you gotta credit the styling team for the coordination. They know how to make a duo look good," Jermaine said, his voice smooth as silk, completely unfazed by the interrogation. "But to answer your question—nah, man. It's not like that. We’re just good, good friends. We spent a lot of time in the studio getting the vocals right, and when you spend that much time working hard on a track, you develop a deep connection, musically. It's all love, but we’re just great partners in the studio."

"Just good friends?" the reporter asked, looking directly at you, trying to see if you'd crack. "Star, do you expect us to believe that? A handsome man like Jermaine singing a love song right to your face, touching your chin like that, and there are no sparks?"

"Jermaine is a beautiful person, and he's an amazing performer," you said, keeping your voice steady and sweet, though your heart was doing little flips against your ribs. You looked up at Jermaine, sharing a quick, private, highly amused look that the cameras definitely caught but couldn't quite define. "But like he said, we’re just really tight. We're great friends. The chemistry you see on stage is just us having fun and feeding off the energy of the crowd. We love the song, we love the fans, and we just want to put on a great show."

"So no secret romance? No wedding bells in the future for the two young rising stars of the industry?" another voice shouted from the back.

"Oh, absolutely not, y'all are trying to start trouble!" you laughed, waving your hand dismissively as the stage manager started gesturing that it was time to wrap it up. "We're just focused on the music. Go buy the record!"

"Just good, good friends!" Jermaine repeated into the final mic, giving a smooth peace sign to the main camera, his thumb secretly brushing against the back of your shoulder in a quick, hidden caress that sent a jolt of electricity straight down your spine.

As the handlers finally guided you away from the press line and back toward the quiet, dim hallway of the backstage area, the noise of the reporters faded. The moment the heavy door to the corridor clicked shut behind you, isolating the two of you from the chaos, the polite, professional smiles dropped.

Jermaine instantly let out a deep, rumbling laugh, throwing his arm fully around your waist and pulling you flush against his side as you walked.

"Good, good friends, huh?" he murmured into your hair, his voice dropping right back into that low, gravelly tonr that made your knees weak. "You played that real smooth, baby. 'Just reminding him of his steps.' You almost had me believing it."

"Shut up, Jermaine, you're the one who kept repeating that shit." you giggled, leaning your head against his broad shoulder, the heavy weight of his white blazer warm against your face. "You really did forget the steps! I had to save your ass on national television."

"Hey, I told you," he chuckled, stopping right outside your dressing room door and turning you around to face him, his eyes locking onto yours with that same, intense heat from the stage. "I couldn't help it. You looked too good under them lights. I forgot where the stage ended and where you began."

You looked up at his handsome face, noticing a tiny, lingering faint smudge of pink, shimmering lipgloss right on the edge of his jawline that the reporters had somehow missed. You reached up, your fingers gently wiping it away, your heart full to the absolute brim. The world didn't know, the media didn't have a clue, but right here in the quiet of the hallway, the secret was entirely yours to keep.

You adjusted your blazer and crossed your legs as the man across from you found a comfortable position. When you found out you had a chance to interview Jermaine Jackson, you jumped at the opportunity. Especially with him being your favorite.

“Hi Mr. jackson, it’s a pleasure to have you.” ” You started off, always giving a warm greeting wanting them to feel comfortable. You reached you hand out for a handshake.

He engulfed your palm into his, using both of his hands to shake yours.

“Jermaine is fine, and the pleasure is all mine.” He said with a bright smile.

“Well Jermaine, how are you?” You asked, scooting back into your chair.

“Amazing now that’s you’re here.”

You met out an airy laugh, face slightly warm from the obvious flirting.

“How kind.” you delivered a smile, eyes going towards your cards.

You began to ask about his Motown days, beginning from the start of his career.

He answered the questions easily, never taking his eyes off of you.

“Those are some nice shoes.” He said glancing down at your stiletto red bottom heels. “Oh! Thank you, these are one of my favorites.”

“I see why, might have to take you shopping one day, you have a good eye.”

Your eyebrow raised at his comments, his smile not faltering, glancing you up and down.

You couldn’t ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the man in front of you. If you didn’t care about your job, you probably would have jumped on him by now.

“Well, thank you. So do you have any upcoming projects?” You asked, adjusting the clear flirty one he possessed.

He answered the question again, crossing his arms making his bicep flex through his shirt. Your eyes darted towards his arm but reverted back to his eyes.

“You know your eyes are beautiful.” He complimented leaning a bit closer from his seat.

“Thank you, Jermaine.” You cleared you throat, reading the next card.

“Are you single?” Jermaine randomly asked making your mouth drop for a split second.

You cleared your throat, "On the topic of that, are you dropping any singles?"

He chuckled nodding his head before answering the question.

After a few more minutes, the interview finally wrapped up. You were already preparing yourself for the influx of public reactions from his constant flirting.

As you gathered you items in your bag, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You prayed it wasn't any of the staff, too tired to stay and chat. You turned around and your eyes widened, realizing Jermaine was still here.

"Hey, beautiful." You could've passed out in that moment, he was so close to you. "Jermaine! hi."

"Thank you so much for the interview, I truly enjoyed it." He gently took your hand in his, bringing the back of your hand to his lips.

"Likewise." You responded letting out a shaky breath at the respectful action. "I was serious about the shopping, let me take you out, beautiful."

You licked your lips, heart beating rapidly. "That'll be fine." You nodded, hoping you kept your cool. "This Saturday at 7, I'll take you to dinner."

You love a man that takes charge, you just nodded your head. He looked around the room, eyes landing on a small blank sticky note.

He grabbed and took a pen from his pocket, scribbling something down. You watched him, mind going absolutely wild realizing your celebrity crush just asked you out.

"Here you go beautiful, I'll see you soon." He handed you the sticky note, fingers grazing against each other. He leaned in, and swiftly gave you a kiss on the cheek, and it was by the grace of God you didn't pass out.

He walked away leaving you stunned, body temperature rising. Your eyes fell to the sticky note, and it was his number.

What are you about to get yourself into?

The bass from the speakers was vibrating straight through the hardwood floor, rattling right up into the trucks of your skates. Flippers Roller Palace was packed, a whole sea of brown skin, afros, wide collars, and the sweet, heavy scent of Murray’s pomade and Afro Sheen mixing with the concession stand popcorn. The DJ was spinning "Bounce, Rock, Skate, Roll," and the rhythm had everybody locked into a groove.

You had on this highwaisted, pleated wrap skirt that sat just right on your hips, and every time you took a deep stride, that fabric would catch the wind, flaring out and letting your legs breathe. It was free, flowy, and gave you all the room in the world to move. And you needed that room because you weren’t one of those casual skaters just coasting along the outer wall. You were a regular. A real rhythm skater. You knew how to work the floor, moving your shoulders, crossing your feet with in a way that looked completely effortless. You were zooming through that bitch, cutting through gaps in the crowd like hot grease through butter. You knew you looked good, but honestly, you were just lost in the music.

Over by the center island, leaning against the rail, stood the Jackson brothers.

They were trying to keep a low profile, but when you’re the biggest thing in music, "low profile" just means wearing bigger sunglasses. They’d been rolling around at a nice, cool, slow pace, just soaking up the vibe. Jermaine was leaning back, one foot crossed over the other. He knew he could skate, hell, all of them could, but right now, he was just playing it cool, watching the floor.

Then you zoomed past him.

The wind from your skirt practically brushes against his bell bottoms as you streak by; and that gust of wind was carrying the scent of strawberry perfume and a little bit of vanilla. Jermaine’s eyes locked onto you instantly. The way that skirt billowed around your thighs, the perfect rhythm in your hips, your skin under the multicolored rink lights, you looked like a damn dream. Jermaine’s cool facade melted in about half a second. He gripped the rail, his chin lifting as his eyes followed you all the way around the turn.

"Man..." Jermaine muttered, his voice barely audible over the bass, but his eyes were wide. "Look at her."

He follows Jermaine’s starstruck gaze across the floor and sighs, shaking his head with a little smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, she can skate. Move out the way, you blocking the view."

"No, I'm serious," Jermaine said, not taking his eyes off you for a single second as you did a smooth little transition on the far side of the rink. "She’s beautiful. I gotta go over there."

"So go over there, lover boy," Tito chuckled, leaning his heavy shoulders against the rail and crossing his arms. "Ain't nobody stopping you but you."

Jermaine's brows furrowed a bit, his mind working fast. He didn’t want to just walk up and say some regular, cheesy pickup line. A girl who skated like that probably had dudes trying to talk to her every five minutes. He needed an angle. Something memorable. He watched you swing back around the rink, completely in the zone, effortlessly weaving through a couple of teenagers who were struggling to stay upright.

Jermaine stood up straight, a slow, scheming grin spreading across his face. He smoothed down the front of his jacket, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Nah, I got a plan. See, I’m gonna skate out there, get in her path, and act like I don't know what I'm doing. A little stumble here, a little wobble there. I’ll accidentally bump into her, let her think she gotta save me, and then boom- look her in the eyes, and ask her if she can really teach me for real. You know, give me some lessons."

The group went dead silent for a beat.

Jackie stared at him for three long seconds, his expression completely blank before he let out a loud, mocking laugh. "That is the dumbest, most backward ass shit I have ever heard in my entire life, maine. You’re gonna act like a fool on purpose? In front of a girl that fine?"

"For real, that is terrible," Marlon chimed in, doing a little spin on his skates just to stay loose. "You're gonna look like a goofy fool out there. Just go use your actual face, you're Jermaine Jackson."

"Nah, y'all don't get the vision," Jermaine argued, waving them off, though his eyes immediately snapped back to the floor to locate you. "It’s about the damsel in distress vibe, but flipped. It forces her to get close."

Tito sighed, shaking his head but smiling a little. "Man, stop the games. You always gotta do too much. Just go over there, use your words, and talk to her like a normal man. Look at her, she’s right there."

All of them look toward you at the exact same time. You’re skating backward now, a gorgeous smile split across your face as you sing along to the lyrics of the song blasting through the speakers. Your hands are waving slightly to the beat, and you look so completely untouchable and beautiful it’s making Jermaine’s chest ache.

"Man, you better move before I go over there and show her how a real man skates," Marlon teased, nudging Jermaine’s shoulder.

Michael, who had been quiet, just watching the skaters with a big smile, looked over at Jermaine. "If you keep waiting, the song's gonna change, Jermaine. Go on. But don't do that fake falling stuff, you're gonna hurt yourself."

"I ain't gonna hurt myself, Mike, I know how to fall," Jermaine insisted, though his heart was starting to thump a little harder against his ribs.

"Man, just go over there and talk to her normally," Tito said again, shaking his head. He looked over his shoulder, watching you, looking finer than ever. Tito turned back to Jermaine with a challenging look. "Matter of fact, you better do something quick. Before I go over there and do it myself."

"You won't," Jermaine said, narrowing his eyes.

"Try me," Tito teased, shifting his weight like he was about to roll out. "She's bad. I'll go introduce myself right now."

Michael giggled and pointed. "She’s coming back around! Look, Marlon, he's scared."

"He definitely scared," Marlon chimed in, laughing. "He gon' mess around, do that fake fall, and actually break something."

"I ain't scared of nothing," Jermaine grumbled as he saw you approaching their side of the rink. He straightens up, adjusts the collar of his silk shirt under his jacket so he didn't look stupid, and gives his brothers a confident, smooth talking nod. "Watch and learn, fellas. Watch...and learn."

He waited until you were transitioning from your backward skate back to the front, and then he initiated the plan. He intentionally let his right skate wobble, flailing his arms out wide, letting out a loud, theatrical, "Whoa! Hold up!"

The problem was, Jermaine underestimated his own momentum...and yours.

You heard the sudden shouting and felt a massive shadow suddenly looming over you. Before you could even register what was happening to dodge, Jermaine’s heavy frame came barreling right into your space.

"Oh, shoot-!" you gasped, your instincts kicking in. You immediately reached out, your hands grabbing onto the fabric of his jacket to try and steady him, trying to use your own balance to keep both of you upright.

But Jermaine was a big, broad shouldered dude, and his fake stumble had turned into a very real, uncoordinated mess. The weight of him completely overpowered your wheels. Your skates slid out from under you.

"Wait, wait, wait-" Jermaine yelled, his eyes widening in genuine panic as he realized he couldn't stop.

It happened in slow motion. You went down hard, and because he was trying to catch himself, he came crashing down right on top of you. The impact was brutal. Your hands slipped from his jacket, and the back of your head made a sharp, sickening smack against the hard wood of the skating rink floor.

Everything went instantly black for a split second, followed by a loud, ringing in your ears. The bright neon lights above turned into blurry, spinning streaks of white and yellow.

A collective, sharp intake of breath left the group of people skating nearby. Over by the wall, the Jackson brothers collectively froze. Jackie closed his eyes and winced, turning his head away. Tito dropped his jaw, clutching the wall. Michael covered his mouth with both hands, his eyes large; all their bodies jerking backward like they just witnessed a car crash.

"Ohhhhh, man..." Marlon groans, covering his mouth with his hand. "Welp. That backfired. He killed her."

"I told his dumb ass," Jackie mutters, already starting to skate out toward the floor with a look of worry on his face. "He is so stupid, man. Come on, we gotta go help."

On the floor, the world was spinning in violent, sickening circles.

The loud, pounding bass of the music suddenly sounded like it was underwater, muffled, distant, and vibrating painfully inside your skull. A heavy, suffocating weight was pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Jermaine scrambled up as fast as his skates would allow, his face completely pale, his cool demeanor totally shattered into a million pieces. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over your body, trembling, not knowing where to touch or how to help.

"Oh my god- oh my god, I am so sorry," he stammered, his voice cracking. "Hey- hey, look at me, are you okay? Fu- damn it, I am so sorry..."

You couldn't even answer him. The pain in the back of your head was a sharp, white hot throb that quickly spread into a dull, heavy ache. You felt incredibly dizzy, like the room was tilted at a forty five degree angle. Groaning softly, you rolled your head to the side, your eyelids fluttering before slamming shut because the lights felt like needles poking into your brain.

"Don't move, don't move, just give her a second," Jackie said, who had quickly skated over with the rest of the brothers.

"Jermaine, you idiot, you fell right on her," Tito hissed, kneeling down on the other side of you. "Hey, girl, you alright? Can you hear me?"

You groaned again, bringing a shaky hand up to clutch your forehead. "Everything...everything is moving," you whispered, your voice sounding small and raspy, a far cry from the confident queen who had been dominating the floor just moments ago.

"Let's get her out of the rink," Jackie said, looking around as a small crowd began to form. "Come on."

Jermaine looked like he wanted to cry. This was supposed to be a smooth move, and instead, he felt like he had just committed manslaughter. "I got her, I got her," he said almost frantically. He slipped his arms under your shoulders and your knees, carefully lifting you up. Even through the fog of your dizziness, you could feel the solid, warm strength of his chest, but you were too miserable to care. You buried your face into his shoulder just to block out the spinning world.

He skated you carefully over to the carpeted floor, your legs dangling weakly. You could barely hold your own head up. When his feet hit the carpet, he set you down, but your knees instantly buckled like wet paper towels.

"Whoa, whoa, I got you," Jermaine breathed, catching you around the waist.

You stumbled forward, your hands blindly reaching out until they hit the wall of the rink. You gripped onto the wood trim for dear life, pressing your forehead directly against the cool wall, keeping your eyes tightly closed. Your breath was coming in deep pants. You felt violently nauseous, it felt like you were on a roller coaster that wouldn't stop.

"Hey, don't pass out on me, please don't pass out," Jermaine pleaded, his hand resting gently on the small of your back, his other hand hovering near your shoulder. He was close enough that you could smell his cologne, but right now, it was just making your stomach swirl. "Can you look at me?"

"No," you whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter. "If I open my eyes, I'm gonna throw up everywhere. Just...give me a minute."

Behind him, his brothers were standing in a line, looking absolutely stressed.

"Man, she looks bad," Marlon whispered.

Jackie smacked the back of Marlon's head. "Shut up, don't say that out loud!" He looked at Jermaine. "Take her over to the booth, man. Get her off her feet."

Jermaine nodded, not asking for permission this time; he just gently scooped you back up into his arms. You let out a weak protest, but you were too dizzy to fight it, wrapping one arm around his neck just to stay secure. He carried you past the blinking arcade games, past the snack bar where people were staring, and straight over to a empty, vinyl booth in the back corner away from the brightest lights.

He slid you into the booth carefully. You immediately slid down, resting your elbows on the table and burying your face in your hands, trying to ground yourself.

Within a minute, one of the rink staff members, a teenager who looked terrified himself, rushed over holding a thick plastic bag filled with crushed ice. "I saw the fall from the counter," the kid said, handing it to Jermaine. "If she needs an ambulance, let us know."

"No...no ambulance," you groaned, your head dropping forward. The ringing in your ears is finally starting to die down, but the throbbing pain is just getting started. "My head...shit, you hit me like a damn linebacker."

The staff member looked at Jermaine, eyeing him suspiciously. "You need to be more careful out there, man. If you can't control your skates, stay in the middle."

Jermaine looked like a kid who had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar. He couldn't even look the guy in the eye. "Yeah. My bad. It was an accident." He moved to sit down next to you.

You look directly at the young man sitting next to you. Up close, without the blinding lights of the rink floor, despite the fact that your brain felt like it was bouncing around like a pinball, you couldn't help but notice...damn, he's pretty. Perfect skin, deep, worried brown eyes looking down at you, a beautiful head of curls that were currently damp with sweat. "You...you big dummy," you managed to groan out, moving to lay your head on your left arm.

"I know, I know, I'm a dummy, I'm sorry," Jermaine was hovering, shifting his weight from one skate to the other, completely at a loss for words. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, then he pulled them out, then he crossed his arms, just totally anxious and completely invading your personal space, but right now, you don't even care. He wraps the ice pack in a spare napkin from the dispenser and gently, so gently, presses it against the back of your head where the lump is already forming.

The cold sting hits your scalp, and you flinch, letting out a sharp breath. "Ssss...damn."

"Hold it right there," Jermaine whispers, taking your hand and placing it over the ice pack so you can hold it yourself.

The cold sting felt like heaven, but the dizziness was still lingering. You leaned back against the vinyl seat, staring at him with a mixture of pain and irritation.

The slick, smooth talking singer was completely gone. He was just a dude who had just leveled a beautiful girl in the middle of a public place. He kept messing with the hem of his sleeves, shifting in his seat, looking at you with those big, apologetic eyes.

"I...man, I don't even know what to say," he started, his voice dropping low. "I am so, so sorry. Like, that was completely my fault. I didn't mean for you to hit the ground like that. Are you seeing straight? How many fingers I got up?" He held up three fingers.

You blinked, tracking his hand. "Three. And if you don't stop moving your hand, I’m gonna throw up on your nice jacket."

Jermaine immediately dropped his hand, looking incredibly guilty. "Right, right. My fault. Just breathe. You want some water? A soda? I can get you whatever you want."

You ignored his question, letting out long, heavy sigh, pressing the move into your head. "What happened out there? You were skating fine earlier, and then you just came flying at me like you were crazy. You don't know how to control your stops or something?" You frowned.

Jermaine sucked in a breath through his teeth, looking down at the table. He looked back over toward the rink, where his brothers who eventually left him, laughing their heads off from a distance. He looked back at you, realizing there was absolutely no way to explain himself that wouldn't make him look bad, so he might as well just be real.

"Look...I gotta be completely honest with you," Jermaine said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I actually do know how to skate. Like, really know how to skate."

You paused, lowering the ice pack just a fraction, your eyebrows furrowing. "Excuse me?"

"I'm serious," he said, his face flushing a bit. "I was watching you. For like, the last three or four songs. You were out there just...looking absolutely beautiful. The way you were moving, that skirt...you just looked like a whole queen out there. And I wanted to come talk to you, but my brothers were basically clowning me, telling me I didn't have the nerve."

You stared at him, the dizziness temporarily taking a backseat to disbelief. "So your grand idea was to assault me?"

"No! No, no, no," Jermaine said quickly, waving his hands. "The plan, which sounds incredibly stupid now that I'm saying it out loud again, the plan was to act like I didn't know how to skate. Like, wobble a little bit, bump into you gently, and then I was gonna use that to ask you to teach me how to skate for real, just to talk to you."

He stopped, looking at you with a completely sheepish, embarrassed grin. "But I tripped for real on my own skate, lost my balance, and...well, you see what happened."

You sat there, absorbing the information. The absurdity of the situation started to hit you. This gorgeous dude had literally engineered a whole meet cute falling routine just to get your attention, and instead, he almost gave you a concussion.

You looked at his worried, pretty face, the way his eyes were looking at you so sincerely, completely stripped of any arrogance. You couldn't help it. A tiny, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of your lips, even though your head was still throbbing.

You let out a weak chuckle, shaking your head, which made you wince again. "Oh god...you lucky you cute," you muttered, leaning your head back against the booth. "Because honestly? That is the most ghetto, backwards, ridiculous way to try and get a girl I have ever experienced in my entire life."

Jermaine’s eyes lit up, a huge, relieved smile breaking across his face, his perfect teeth showing. "Hey, I admitted it was stupid! But it worked a little bit, right? I mean, I'm sitting here with you."

"Yeah, because you practically disabled me," you laughed, groaning right after. "Ooh, don't make me laugh. My brain is rattling."

"Alright, alright, keeping it serious," Jermaine said, his voice dropping into that warm, comforting tone. He gently reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing against your wrist. "Look, let me make it up to you. Let me take you out to get some real food after this, and just do this right. Whatchu say?"

You looked down at his large, smooth hand resting near yours, then tracked the line of his sleeve up to his face. He was definitely charming, you couldn't deny that. Up close, you noticed little details you missed under the chaotic flashing lights, like the sharp, clean cut of his jaw line and how he had a really cute nose.

"Fine," you said, lifting the ice pack to adjust it against the throbbing knot on your skull, letting out a soft sigh. "But we can just stay here, it's no problem. You don't gotta do all that extra stuff; you just have to buy me pizza from the snack bar. And it better have extra cheese."

"Deal," Jermaine grinned. A wave of relief washed over his face, and he looked completely satisfied with himself. "I can definitely do that, beautiful. Extra cheese, pepperoni, whatever you want. I’m on it."

He slid out of the booth, his skates clicking against the concrete floor as he walked over to the counter. You watched him go, shaking your head. Even with a mild concussion, you had to admit the dude moved with a lot of style. A few minutes later, he came back balancing a small tray with two massive, greasy slices of rink pizza and two cups of ice water.

As you both started eating, you held the ice pack with one hand and a slice with the other, the conversation started flowing easy. At first, he was just asking about you, making sure your vision wasn't blurry and checking if you needed him to look at the bump. But eventually, the talk turned to what he did for a living.

Jermaine started explaining his life, his tone getting a little modest but definitely proud. He started talking about singing, traveling, being under big studio lights, and the fact that he and his brothers were actually famous. Like, household name famous. He was watching your face the whole time, probably waiting for you to scream or flip out like the girls usually did when they recognized him.

You chewed your pizza slowly, looking at him with a completely straight face. You wiped a bit of grease from your lip with a napkin.

"Look, I'm gonna be real with you," you said, leaning your elbow on the table. "I don't really listen to the Jackson 5 like that. My mama listens to a lot of blues and old soul at the house. I mean...I’ve seen y'all on tv a couple of times when my cousins had the station turned on, but that’s about it."

Jermaine blinked, a amused, slightly humbled smile breaking across his lips. "Oh, for real? You ain't a fan?"

You chuckled, looking at him up and down, giving him a playful, teasing smirk. "I didn't say all that. I just don't know who is who. So...which brother are you again?"

Jermaine threw his head back and let out a laugh that made a few people at the nearby tables look over. "Man, you really don't know? I'm Jermaine. The handsome one, duh. The one who plays the bass and sings the co leads."

"Mmm, okay. Jermaine," you rolled the name around your tongue, nodding your head. You leaned in just a little bit closer, your eyes dropping to the center of his face. "Well, Jackson 5 or not, you got a really nice nose, Jermaine."

He instantly looked down at his hands, a shy, genuinely flattered smile taking over his face. He wasn't used to a girl being so blunt and nonchalant with him, and it was clearly throwing him off in the best way possible. "Appreciate that," he muttered, rubbing his neck again. "You got a way with words, you know that?"

By the time you both finished the food and the ice pack had melted down to warm water, the rink's overhead lights started turning up, signaling closing time. The loud bass dropped down to a low hum, and the staff started sweeping up spilled popcorn. It was time to go.

Jermaine held true to his promise. He helped you unlace your skates, unlaced his own, and carried your heavy rollers in one hand while his other arm stayed close to your side, making sure you didn't get dizzy again on the walk out.

Once you hit the cool night air outside the rink, the atmosphere completely shifted. The loud music was gone, replaced by the distant sound of crickets and the low rumble of cars idling in the parking lot. Suddenly, all that bold, smooth talking energy Jermaine had inside completely evaporated. Walking down the concrete steps toward the sidewalk, you both became hit with a sudden wave of shyness.

You stood by the edge of the curb, holding your skates by the straps, looking down at your shoes. Jermaine stood right in front of you, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked so big and fine under the yellow glow of the streetlamp, but his eyes were wide and nervous like a schoolboy.

"So...you feelin' any better?" he asked softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, gentle tone.

"Yeah. The pizza helped," you smiled up at him, twisting a curl round and round, a rhythmic habit you do without even thinking. "The bump is still there, but the world stopped spinning, so that's a plus."

"Good. That's good," he murmured, nodding his head slowly, his eyes locked onto yours. "I'd never forgive myself if I really hurt a pretty girl like you on our first meeting."

Just as the moment was getting real sweet, a loud, obnoxious honk shattered the quiet night air.

About twenty yards away, a massive, custom family van was idling under a tree. The side door slid open with a heavy clack, and Jackie’s head popped out, a huge grin on his face. "Hey, Romeo! The road awaits! Wrap it up, man, Michael says he's tired!" Marlon's head popped out right below him, making loud kissing noises into the night air.

Jermaine’s jaw tightened, and his shoulders slumped. He turned around and glared at the van. "Man, shut up! I'll be there in a minute!" he yelled back, his voice cracking just a little bit from the embarrassment.

You couldn't help but laugh, covering your mouth. "Your brothers are ridiculous."

"Tell me about it," he groaned, turning back to you, looking completely mortified. "They got no respect for a man's game."

Before you could reply, another honk came from the exact opposite direction. You turned your head and saw your dad's old station wagon pulled right up to the curb, the headlights shining directly on your legs. Your dad rolled the window down, leaning his elbow on the door.

"Girl!" your dad's booming voice echoed across the parking lot. "What did I tell you about lingering? Get in this car! Your mama got dinner waiting on us."

You felt your cheeks heat up. You turned toward the car, yelled back in the most respectable, well mannered way you could muster so you wouldn't get grounded. "Yes, sir! I'm coming right now, Daddy! One second, please!"

You turned back to Jermaine, whose lips were pursed into a thin line. "Your dad looks serious," he whispered.

"He is. And if I don't give you my number right now, I’m never gonna see you again," you said, your heart doing a little flutter. You frantically searched your small purse, but you didn't have any paper or a pen.

Thinking fast, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a shiny silver wrapper from a stick of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum you’d chewed earlier. You always kept a tiny eyeliner pencil in your bag. You pulled it out, flattened the foil wrapper against the hard plastic of your roller skate boot, and carefully scratched out your house phone digits. You made sure to write the three digit area code right at the front, pressing hard so it would show up on the paper side of the wrapper.

"Here," you said, pressing the small, crumpled piece of silver paper into his palm. "That's my house phone. Don't call too late or my daddy will answer, and he clearly ain't playing tonight. And make sure you dial the long distance code right, or it won't go through."

Jermaine looked down at the tiny gum wrapper like it was made of solid gold. He carefully folded it up and slipped it into the small coin pocket of his jacket, patting it to make sure it was safe. "I’m gonna call you soon. Promise."

"Looking forward to it," you said, nodding.

Your dad honked the horn again; the final warning.

You knew you had to go, but looking at Jermaine standing there, suddenly looking so shy and hopeful, you decided you weren't leaving without a nice goodbye. You stepped closer, invading his space. You were much shorter than him, especially now that you were out of your skates, so you had to shift your weight and stand all the way up on the tippy toes of your sneakers. You reached up, lightly placing one hand on the smooth fabric of his shoulder for balance, and pressed a soft, lingering, sweet peck right against his warm brown cheek.

When you dropped back down to your flat feet, Jermaine was staring at you, completely starstruck. His hand flew up to touch the exact spot on his cheek where your lips had just been, a massive, goofy, purely joyful smile spreading across his face. He looked like he’d just won a Grammy.

"Bye, Jermaine," you bit your lip, turning on your heel and sprinting toward your dad's car before he could honk another time.

"Bye..." he called out, his voice faint, just standing on the sidewalk watching you go.

As you hopped into the passenger seat and slammed the door, your dad grumbled something about "boys" and "big hair," but you weren't even listening. You looked out the window as the station wagon pulled away, watching Jermaine through the glass. He was walking backward toward his brothers' van, still holding his cheek, tripping slightly over the curb.

From the open door of the Jackson van, you could see Jackie, Tito, Marlon, and Michael throwing their hands up, cheering and hitting each other, completely hyping him up.