You weren’t the jealous type. Not usually. Not unless some girl in a mesh top was leaning across Spencer’s guitar pedalboard asking him to sign her chest.

You knew what you were getting into when you decided to date him years ago, but he wasn’t that famous yet.

You watched from side stage, arms crossed. He couldn’t even believe that a fan would ask him that, but after he made sure that she was totally okay with it, he went for it. And that made your blood boil.

When he walked offstage, sweat still clinging to his jawline and adrenaline in his veins, you didn’t say anything, but he clocked your expression immediately. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said, which obviously meant everything.

Spencer scoffed. “Oh, here we go.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I saw you staring like you wanted to rip that girl’s face off.”

“I wanted to rip your face off,” you snapped. “Because you actually signed her chest? What the—“

“She’s a fan,” he said, voice tight. “I can’t say no.”

“So you felt totally comfortable doing that, knowing I was here, too?”

He snaps. “You’re insecure, and you’re pissed at me for something meaningless, again.”

You froze. “You wanna talk about insecurities? You’re the one who made me promise not to post us online because your label might ‘freak out.’ You don’t even want people to know we’re together.”

That hit. He went quiet for a beat, breathing hard. “You knew what this was when you signed up.”

You stared at him. “Yeah. I just didn’t think you’d forget.”

Silence hung between you.

Spencer dragged a hand down his face, jaw clenched. “I’m not doing this right now. I’m going to celebrate with my band mates.”

He turned, walked off down the hallway and left you here, while he joined his friends in the other room.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to scream, cry, or chase after him. Maybe all three.