My heart swells in my chest. “You won’t feel weird being the only single guy there?”
A crooked smile tips up half his mouth. “I’m used to being the odd man out. I grew up feeling like I didn’t quite fit and trying desperately to sand off or disguise the parts of myself that didn’t meet with my parents’ approval.” He shakes his head. “I don’t have to do that here. Not with Marcus and Aaron and Danny. Not with you. And I don’t give a shit what some gossip sites have to say about me. They don’t matter.”
“Right.” I look down at my hands, wishing I could harness some of his give-no-fucks attitude. But I also know that attitude was hard won for him. He told me a couple weeks ago about his fundamentalist parents and their hard-line attitudes, about how he tried so hard to please them for so long, but by the time he was in high school he realized that it was impossible, that living up to their standards, to their religion’s standards, was impossible. At least for him. He loved music too much. Liked girls too much. Wanted to experience the wider world.
So he worked his ass off in secret, staying late to practice on the school’s drum set. His audition at Berklee got him a scholarship, and once there he made friends with Danny, who introduced him to Marcus. They started a band with another friend who eventually bailed and was replaced with Aaron. And the rest, as they say, is history.
I, on the other hand, haven’t worked up the courage to tell my parents to stop sending me job listings. That I have no intention of coming back home anytime soon, and when we get our month off after this awards show is over, I’ll be spending most of my time sleeping or with Mason. Or sleeping with Mason. If this conversation and the seriousness in Mason’s eyes is anything to go by, I’m pretty sure his plan is to spend as much time together as possible during that break too. We haven’t discussed it, because we rarely talk about anything more than a day or two in the future. But from his reaction to even considering taking a fake date to an event for publicity purposes, I’m reasonably certain that he considers us a couple, rather than just friends who fuck.
He tips my chin up with one hand and brushes a kiss across my lips. “I don’t want anyone but you,” he says softly, and the words wrap themselves around me like a fuzzy blanket, comforting and warm.
“I don’t want anyone but you either,” I whisper back.
“Good.” He smiles. “I’d like it if you came with me as my date to that show, but I understand if that kind of scrutiny is too much for you right now. But if they ask if I’m seeing anyone, I’m going to say yes. You’re not my dirty little secret, Viola. And I don’t want to be yours.”
“Okay,” I whisper. Because what else is there to say? I don’t want to be his dirty little secret either, so I’m good with that.
He pulls me in for another kiss, this one hotter, hungrier, but still too short, and he cuts it off with a groan. Nudging me to my feet, he stands and adjusts himself shamelessly, his eyes twinkling. “I’m afraid the food will be gone if we don’t get back for dinner. Plus, we both know that the concerts with Beckett have even more meet and greets, so we won’t even have time for a pre-show quickie.” He gives me an exaggerated pout, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close. “But we’ll definitely finish that in my room tonight.”
After one more hard kiss, we head for the door. It’s usually Mason who’s complaining to me about how he can’t wait to get the night over with so he can get me back to his room. But as I stumble after him to dinner in the greenroom, I relate more than ever.
In a rare moment of downtime, I manage to corner Blaire while the opening act is performing. “Hey,” I whisper to her. “Can I talk to you?”
She gives me a quizzical look but follows me down a hallway away from the main stage where we can talk more easily. Since that email and my conversation with Mason, I’ve been all twisted up about what to do, and Blaire’s the only person who has any real perspective on this situation. Plus, I know her the best and feel most comfortable divulging all my insecurities to her.
A few techs dressed all in black saunter past as I pull Blaire into a corner, and I wait for them to turn another corner before launching into a quick explanation of what happened earlier.
Understanding dawns on her face. “I wondered why you two disappeared. I mean, I know Mason likes to indulge himself before a show, but he usually waits till after dinner. And he doesn’t make that much of a spectacle of it.”
My cheeks heat. “Right. That’s not why we left. We needed to talk. That’s all.”
Her blue eyes study me as she stands with her arms crossed. “What are you gonna do?”
Lifting my hands in a gesture of helplessness, I let them fall back to my sides. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m talking to you. I want you to tell me what I should do.”
She’s already shaking her head before I finish talking. “Nah-uh. That’s not how this works.” She points her finger at me and waggles it back and forth. “I’m no longer responsible for helping those guys clean up their love lives. After Marcus meddling in mine, although it worked out for the best, I saw how annoying it really is.” She holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m out.”
Pushing down the zing of fear and … something else at her use of the L word, I clasp my hands together in front of me. “Please, Blaire. You’re the only one who can help me out here. You know this life. You know what it’s like. You’re dating a rock star, for god’s sake. And you know me and what I’m like. If you don’t want to tell me what to do, fine, but at least help me figure it out. Should I show up as his date? Is that smart, given that I’m also the band’s assistant? Practical considerations of doing my job and being his date aside, how bad will the media feeding frenzy be? Is it better to just lay low and keep things between us for now?”
She opens her mouth to respond but closes it without saying anything, her gaze abstracting as she actually takes the time to think about my questions instead of just blowing me off. Finally.
I force myself to take deep breaths while she contemplates her answer. After what feels like hours but is probably less than thirty seconds, she shakes her head slowly. “I dunno, Viola. It’s a tough call, and you’re the only one who can decide the best choice. You should talk to Mason more about it. About how serious you two are.” She finally meets my eyes again. “If this thing between you isn’t going anywhere, if you’re just fucking because it’s fun and it feels good and that’s it? Let him go alone. But …” She looks away again, trailing off and sucking her lower lip into her mouth.
“But?” I prompt, wanting—needing—to hear the rest of her answer.
With a shrug, she crosses her arms again and meets my eyes. “He never objected to picking someone from the PR-approved list when he and I had our arrangement. Neither did Aaron. That wasn’t our deal. The fact that his first reaction is to tell them to go to hell and that he’d rather go alone than with someone other than you?” Another slow shake of her head. “Talk to Mason. Figure out where you both stand on what’s between you. Then you’ll know if it’s worth it to feed yourself to the paps or not.” She drops her arms and starts to turn away, but stops herself. “But just so you know, whether you go to this event with him or not, the longer you two are whatever you are to each other, the more likely it is the media will catch wind of it. It’ll happen eventually. It’s really just a matter of time. Might as well go to a fun party with a hot rock star when you have the chance, right?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Mason
Back at the hotel after the concert, I waste no time getting Viola into the shower where I lick her soaked pussy until she comes on my tongue then hoist her up against the wall and chase my own bliss. I can’t wait for the upcoming break. We haven’t discussed it yet, so I don’t know all her plans, but I intend for us to have some uninterrupted time together away from the demands of the tour, time for us to just be, to soak up each other’s presence and talk and fuck and live a life of pleasure-soaked hedonism.
Once w
e’re dried off and in bed, she rolls part way on top of me, her legs tangled with mine, her chin resting on her hand on my chest as she studies my face. Smiling, I tuck one hand behind my head so I can meet her gaze and use the other hand to play with a strand of her still-damp hair.
“I’ll do it,” she says apropos of nothing.
My eyes jolt to hers, my eyebrows lifting as my mind filters through the possibilities. What have we talked about recently? Or has she been reading my mind about inviting her to live in my condo during our break? She’s mentioned that she put most of her things in storage and sublet her apartment when she took the job with us. Which means she doesn’t have an apartment to go back to. I know she said her parents live in the Inland Empire, but what grown woman wants to live with her parents? I have to tamp down the expression of revulsion that wants to escape at the thought of moving back in with my parents for any length of time. Mr. and Mrs. Fundamentalist Preacher raining hellfire and brimstone on me day and night? No, thank you.
While her parents aren’t like mine, evidenced by the fact that she still actually talks to them and they haven’t disowned her nor do they hold her up as some kind of object lesson of how not to be a good person as I’m sure my father does at every opportunity, I also know they’ve been pressuring her to quit basically since she took the job. So I can’t imagine that moving back in with them for a month would be much more fun for her than living with my parents would be for me.
“I’ll go as your date to the awards show,” she says, drawing me out of my thoughts about parents and back into the present.
I have to blink a few times before her words actually penetrate my brain. “Wait, what? You will? Are you sure?”
A smile tips the corners of her mouth, and she nods. “Yes.” The way she whispers her agreement makes me think she’s still uncertain about her decision, but I’m thrilled.
When she showed me that email earlier, my entire body revolted at the idea of taking anyone else. And from the look on her face, I don’t think she was thrilled by the idea either. But when we discussed it more in my dressing room, she was so hesitant, I didn’t think there was any way she’d agree to go as anything other than my assistant. I’d already begun envisioning a night of having to keep my hands off her in a vain attempt to keep the charade going that we’re just band member and PA rather than … whatever we are.
Lovers is the best word, but that makes me think of those old SNL characters that Will Ferrell and Rachel Dratch used to play where they called each other lover in the most disgusting way. It’s hilarious on TV, but not so much in real life.
But girlfriend just sounds juvenile. And we haven’t had that talk yet. No time like the present, though.
With one hand under her arm, I tug her closer so her face is level with mine, draping an arm around her and rolling to the side so we’re lying face-to-face on the same pillow. “People will talk, you know,” I point out. It needs to be said. I need to make sure she knows what she’s getting herself into. Not that I think she’s clueless, but … it pays to be clear.
“I know,” she says quietly. “I saw the kinds of things they printed about Blaire. That they still write about her, actually. I know what I’m getting into.”
My chest fills with wonder, and I have to clear my throat a few times before I can speak. No one’s ever willingly made the choice to open themselves up to the kind of scrutiny she’s going to endure for me before. And the fact that she knew all that already and still decided to do it anyway? Fuck.
I don’t even know what to say to that. So I don’t say anything. I kiss her, long and slow and deep, hoping that she’ll understand everything I’m trying to tell her without words.
When I eventually end the kiss, she cups my face and looks me in the eyes. “I don’t want anyone to accuse you of keeping me a dirty little secret. You said you don’t want that, don’t want us to be hidden, and I don’t want that either. If that’s the case, if …” She stops and clears her throat. “No secrets. Let them print whatever lies they want to tell about us, paint our relationship as sordid if they want. You and I both know the truth.”
Another long kiss that ends with me rolling on top of her and settling between her thighs. When I can’t take it anymore, I reach for a condom.
Once it’s in place and I’m back where I belong, I nudge at her opening, needing to say one last thing before sliding inside her. “You know they’ll call you my girlfriend, right? Are you okay with that?”
She giggles, the sound dissolving the tension trying to pull my shoulders up to my ears. “Aren’t I, though?” Her hand finds my cheek again, the gesture full of affection and warmth. “If that’s the worst they say about me, I’ll be thrilled. Like I said, no secrets. I am your girlfriend. Which makes you my boyfriend. Right?”
Grinning, I push inside her, stealing her breath and wiping the smug grin off her face. “Right. And now I’m going to fuck you. Because that’s what rock star boyfriends do.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Viola
“You got a text from Kendra,” Mason calls to me from the bedroom. I’m brushing my teeth in his bathroom after a lazy morning of sleeping in, wake-up sex, and room service breakfast. Rest days are the best days, as far as I’m concerned. Especially now. And especially after Mason and I clarified our relationship a few nights ago. I feel more settled with what’s going on between us and happy that we’re on the same page. Some part of me kept waiting for him to get bored and go back to his groupies. But that doesn’t seem to be his intention at all.
“What does it say?” I ask around a mouthful of toothpaste.
He appears in the doorway behind me, his eyes tracking down my back and lingering on my ass as I bend over to spit and rinse my mouth. “Hmm?”
Laughing, I rinse off my toothbrush and put it in the cup by the sink before turning to face him, hand outstretched for my phone.
“Oh, right.” He hands me the phone. “She wants you to come to her room.”
Puzzled, I look at the text to see if it says why. Nope. Just, Hey. Get dressed and come to my room. I tap my finger on the side of the phone for a second, trying to decide what to do. I’d planned on spending the day watching movies and hanging out with Mason. Naked. Finally, I type Why? and hit send.
“You gonna go?” Mason asks, drawing my eyes to him. He stands in the doorway still, shoulder propped on the doorframe, inked arms crossed over his naked chest. God, he’s delicious. When my eyes finally make their way up to his face, he’s smirking. “Do you even know what I asked?”
“Uhh …”
He chuckles and drops his arms, reaching for me and reeling me in. “You should go. See what she wants. I can hang by myself for a little while.”
“But we were going to have naked day.” I can’t quite keep the whine out of my voice.
His lips twitch like he’s trying to fight back his smile, and he gives me a soft kiss. “I know. We’ll resume naked day when you’re done. And I’m quite sure we’ll have plenty of opportunities for naked days soon.” He sucks in a breath, his chest expanding against me, and holds it for a second. “This probably isn’t the best time to talk about this, but Kendra can wait a few more minutes.”
As if on cue, my phone chirps with an alert, and I glance down to see her answer, Just come with an eye roll emoji.
Mason gently takes my phone from me and reaches past me to set it on the counter before returning his hands to my arms. “Our next break is less than three weeks out. Do you know what you’re going to do at that point?”
“Oh, uhh …” I focus on his chest, my eyes tracking over the colorful ink of the abstract tattoo covering his pec, not quite sure where this is going. I mean, I’d hoped to spend most of the break with him, but with the seriousness of his tone and the way he prefaced this conversation, I’m now a little worried he’s going to tell me that he’ll be largely unavailable. “No. I honestly haven’t given it much thought. Between working and spending every spare moment with you, there
hasn’t been a lot of time to think that far ahead.”
“Stay with me,” he says quietly. My stomach dips and my heart soars as he tips my face up so I’ll meet his eyes. “I know you said you sublet your place, so that’s not an option for you. The guys and I all have condos in the same building. Blaire does too, actually. Or she did.” He shrugs, his brows drawing together and his eyes cutting to the side as he continues. “I don’t know if she’s sold it or kept it. If you don’t want to stay with me, you could talk to her about staying in her place. That way you’d at least be close by, but you could still have your own space if that’s important to you. I know you still get your own hotel room, even though you sleep with me every night …”
I move my lips from side to side as I fight back my smile at his adorable rambling, waiting to see if he’s done before I tell him that I’d love to stay with him. When he looks at my face again, the worry lines smooth out and he narrows his eyes at me. “You’re laughing at me.”
“Am not,” I protest, but the wobble in my voice betrays me.
“You are!” he insists, squeezing me tighter. Then his fingers dig into my bare sides and I squeal, twisting to get out of his hold, but he keeps tickling me, dragging me back into the room where we collapse on the bed, him still tickling me. “I’m over here baring my soul, and you’re laughing at me.”
“No!” I shriek, laughing and writhing underneath him, trying to escape his tickling fingers. “That’s not—Stop!” I slap at his arms ineffectually, and he finally stops tickling, instead trapping me beneath him, his hands holding my wrists out to the side.
“You weren’t laughing at me? Cause it sure as hell looked like that’s what was happening.”
Shaking my head, my laughter still bubbles out of me. “No, well, I mean, yes, fine, a little. But I’ve never seen you all rambly and unsure of yourself before, and it was cute.”
Anyone But You Page 20
