Too Good at Goodbyes

by RC Boldt

  I press the Call button, and Matty answers quicker than I expect.

  “Hey, you okay?” His tone is one of pure concern, and it makes my shoulders relax a fraction more.

  Settling against my bed pillows, I stretch out my legs and sigh. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  “So…” There’s a slight pause. “I should probably warn you about how you’re trending—”

  I fist one of the other fluffy bed pillows and stuff it over my face to muffle my loud groan.

  “—and the headlines are all like, and I quote, ‘The Ice Princess of Pop is on fire in the bedroom,’ referring to your multiple lovers. But can I just be honest and say I fought hard against angry tweeting and telling those morons off?” Just when I think he’s done, he adds, “And I kinda regret not explaining just how contradictory that headline is.” He scoffs haughtily before muttering under his breath, “Ice Princess of Pop along with the mention of fire. Please.”

  I huff out a tiny laugh and toss the pillow aside.

  “Anyway, I’m assuming you ripped that guy a new one?”

  “Pretty much,” I answer drily.

  “You know, I’m always here if you want me to stand in as—”

  “No.” My tone comes off harsher than I intended, so I soften it before adding, “But thank you.”

  “—your arm candy because I’m more than happy to,” he continues without missing a beat.

  “Matty,” I say on a sigh. “I won’t let you compromise a relationship or the potential of one just to help me weather this stupid shitstorm of rumors.”

  “Fine.” He sounds a tad bit exasperated. “But just so you know, I wasn’t offering my services for free.”

  A little laugh bubbles up. “Right. Because you’d only do it if I made my famous French toast?”

  “Damn straight, woman.”

  My lips curve into a genuine smile for the first time all day. One only my best friend can pull out of me after a day like this.

  “Want to vent about it more? Or move on?”

  “Move on.” My tone is firm, and I’m grateful for the subject change when he continues.

  “How’d rehearsal go?”

  “I’m pretty pleased with everything. So was Connor.” Matty’s familiar with my choreographer. “Using the Versaclimber for training for my live shows has really paid off. I’m not out of breath the slightest bit, even when I do the wild spin during ‘Love Me More.’”

  “That’s great, Sim.” Affection lines his tone. “I’m proud of you.”

  “You’re still on for the next tour stop, right?”

  God, I hate the vulnerability threaded in my voice, but having him with me on tour while rumors are flying—especially the ones about Jackson—serves as a safety blanket of sorts. And I know I shouldn’t let myself be this way. It’s not healthy, and he’ll find a great woman someday who’ll become his main focus. But for the time being, we’re each other’s safety nets. He’s the only person I trust in every way possible.

  “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  Relief shimmers through me at his confirmation. “Awesome. I’ve gotta get some dinner and rest up. See you in a few days.”

  “Can’t wait. And be sure to line up an appointment with Mr. Lethal Glare for me because I’m not kidding about my next contract negotiations. I’d be zing-zanging my death glare all around the—”

  “Good night, Matty,” I interrupt pointedly.

  I end the call to the sound of his laughter.

  6

  Kane

  I reckon I should just call it what it is. I’m still nursing my wounds over the tongue-lashing Simone gave me, wishing I hadn’t gone against protocol. Wishing I hadn’t made a scene.

  Now, I’m intent on proving I can do a damn good job and keep my nose clean. That I’m not a complete fuckup.

  Our driver’s already eaten and is in his bunk, catching some shut-eye while we’re parked in the lot of the massive truck stop before we hit the road. I quietly approach the kitchen area of the tour bus with the bag of takeout Vance just delivered for Simone in one hand and my notes from David in the other.

  My movements are cautious too. It’s not that I’m afraid of her, but basically living with a woman I don’t know is a new setup for me. Even though her living quarters are at the opposite end of the bus from mine, it still feels odd.

  One thing’s for sure—the so-called Ice Princess of Pop packs some serious heat when she’s angry. It was evident she was striving to control her temper at the arena, but I still caught a glimpse of it beneath her layers. She’s definitely got a side to her that she doesn’t show people.

  What’s unsettling and what caught me off guard was the small part of me interested in seeing what else is beneath the surface.

  I immediately shut it down. No way am I going there. Not only because I’m working for her, but also because having my curiosity piqued by a woman is the last thing I want or need.

  As I set Simone’s takeout on the table and my notes on the opposite side, a traitorous part of me taunts, Call her. Maybe she’s changed her mind. It’s so tempting that I find myself reaching for my cell phone in my pocket.

  Just as my fingertips make contact, the telltale slide of an opening door accompanies it. I immediately straighten, arms at my sides, and my eyes land on a far different version of Simone King than I’ve encountered.

  Long hair in a messy bun atop her head, fresh-faced, and looking young enough to be in her first year of college, she pads over to the fridge. As she bends slightly and reaches inside for a bottle of water, my eyes drift to where the fabric of her sweatpants draws over her firm ass. I manage to avert my gaze before she turns around.

  She settles a look of tired exasperation on me, and I wonder if that’s actually a hint of humor in her tone I hear. “Please tell me you’re not planning to hover over me while I eat.”

  “No, ma’am.” I quickly force out the words, scrounging for an excuse for me standing here like a dipshit with my damn attention lingering on her. “I just wanna be sure of your safety at all times.”

  Ahh, fuck me. I sound like some overeager chump. Luckily, it’s actually truthful. I do feel the need to prove myself even more now than before.

  Simone simply nods and downs half the bottle of water before recapping it.

  “Do you mind if I sit with you while you eat?” Before she can form a protest, I try to remove as much gruffness from my tone before I continue. “I’d just like to ask you a few questions to get a better idea of security from your perspective. I promise it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

  She eyes me, and for the first time, a woman’s gaze traveling over me—over my features—makes me feel fidgety as hell. I fully expect her to refuse, which makes it that much more surprising when she relents, taking a seat at the table.

  “Okay.”

  I’m about to settle into the spot across from her when a knock sounds on the door. Quickly, I stride over and peek through the blinds, relieved to see Jed standing outside with another bag in his hand.

  I tug open the door, and he grins at me. “Hey, man. Good to see you’re still around.”

  Simone snickers. “You harassing the new guy, Jedidiah?”

  “Dang straight, I am,” he answers good-naturedly as he steps inside quickly and deposits the small bag on the table in front of her with flourish. He flashes her a wide smile, and something odd sparks inside me before I tamp it down.

  “Some of your rabbit food was accidentally mixed in with my bag.”

  “Jedidiah, huh?” I study the younger man, and he flashes me a sharp look.

  “Nobody gets to call me that.” His expression morphs into one that resembles something akin to puppy love when he turns his eyes back to Simone. “Only Simone, here.”

  She rolls her eyes, but a hint of a smile tugs at her lips. It dawns on me that I’ve never actually seen a real smile from her. Just the plastic, polite one when I introduced myself.

  And damn if a part of me
doesn’t wonder what a genuine smile would look like on her.

  “Thanks for delivering this.”

  “Anytime.” Jed salutes her with another toothy grin before quickly exiting the bus.

  Just as Simone uncovers one of the containers, her eyes lift to mine briefly before she places a napkin onto her lap, gaze averted. Her tone is cool but not rude. Just…indifferent.

  “Grab whatever you want from the fridge. There’s always plenty of food around since I tend to eat more when I’m working out and training for the live shows. David normally helps himself.” She stops herself, and a faint grimace lines her features before she mumbles, “But he probably already told you that.”

  “I appreciate it.” I settle into the seat across from her with the folder containing the notes David supplied me with along with a pen and notepad. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some things out of the way before I eat.”

  She gives a quick nod, eyes attentive. “I’m all ears.”

  “I’d like to request specs of the venues in advance, especially the ones that’ve recently undergone renovations. This is to ensure the team’s aware whether the number of emergency exits has increased, changed location slightly, et cetera.”

  Head tipped to the side, the hair wound on top of her head shifts slightly within the hair clip, drawing my attention to it. My fingers twitch around their grip of the pen with the urge to reach out and touch it. To see if it’s as soft as it looks.

  Christ’s sake. Inwardly, I shake off whatever odd sensation brought that on.

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  The tension in my shoulders eases at her response. This simplifies things considerably on my end.

  “Is there anythin’ that’s been on your mind that the security team could do to make you feel more at ease, more secure, especially off-site and at venues?” Partially, I ask because of the shit I stirred up for her with the press. I feel the need to try to make up for that. Hell, maybe she’s not as bad as they say she is…

  I can’t help it, but even though David’s done nothing but sing her praises, claiming the press has given her a bad rap, the cynical part of me wants to call bullshit. Deep down, a part of me recognizes it’s a reaction to my own relationship clusterfuck I’m trying like hell to leave behind.

  She pauses while cutting another piece of her grilled chicken breast, then tips her head to the side in thought. “I’d prefer to have security tighter backstage only because I…” Trailing off, she clears her throat before finishing with, “I sometimes have special guests who may not feel comfortable having photographs leaked to the press.”

  I’ll bet you do. The thought echoes within my brain, cynicism fully engaged.

  As if hearing my thoughts, her eyes narrow on me, and she shocks the hell out of me, bitch-slapping that cynical part of me hard enough to concuss.

  She lifts her chin, her voice hard as granite. “There are some kids I see from Make-A-Wish who don’t like photos.” The challenge in her tone is loud and clear. “It’s hard for them to see themselves like that.”

  I barely resist the urge to scrub a hand down my face because I’ve been a grade-A asshole. My expression should be unreadable at all times when I’m on the job, but clearly, something about this woman manages to eke past my professional front.

  Simone takes a small bite of her chicken and chews slowly, steadily eyeing me. Like I’m an intriguing specimen she’s inspecting under a microscope.

  Shit, I haven’t felt like this since a mission in West Africa had come close to going to hell in a damn handbasket. The penetrating stares from those militant locals were unnervingly similar to how it feels to have Simone King study me.

  I realize just how much of a shithead this makes me—being judgmental toward a woman I don’t even know. Especially since I’m the lowlife who’s been wishing with every single fucking bone in my body that a certain woman would walk away from the man she’s supposed to marry. Hell, if anyone deserves to be judged, it’s me.

  Her eyes, now appearing more golden brown, are watchful. “You ever know anyone with cancer?”

  With a curt nod, I hold her gaze. “Yes, ma’am. A good friend, a while back.” I pause, toying with my pen before adding, “She’s been in remission for a while now.”

  “Then you know how it can be. When they lose their hair. Or the steroids cause swelling.” She averts her eyes, looking down at the table, but I get the feeling she’s not actually focused on it. Her features look thoughtful and…sad. “I can’t have photos leaked. Especially not after promising them they won’t be.” Her grip on her fork turns punishing.

  Before I even realize it, I find myself doing something completely out of character.

  I reach out, my fingers brushing against her hand that grips the fork. “You’re gonna bust that thing in two if you’re not careful.” How the hell is her skin so damn soft?

  Her sharp intake of breath is what wakes me the fuck up, and I jerk my hand back. Holy shit, what the hell’s wrong with me?

  I clear my throat and curl my fingers into a tight fist, fighting to ignore my strange reaction to her. “Sorry ’bout that, Miss King.” I force my words to sound as nonchalant as I can. “Was afraid you’d injure yourself. Can’t have that happenin’ so soon on my watch.”

  “No.” Her words sound rushed and a bit breathless. “We certainly can’t.”

  “I want you to know…” Thank fuck my voice sounds normal now. Casual. No-nonsense. “I’ll do everythin’ in my power to prevent photos from bein’ leaked."

  And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my damn hands off you, I add silently. Jesus. This is a job, for Christ’s sake. Time to keep my head down and get shit done.

  It’s when her eyes flick up to mine, when I see the smallest hint of curiosity in the depths before they dart away, that urges me into action.

  “If that’s all?” I barely wait a second for her to nod before I grab my shit and stand. Both of us find every excuse not to look directly at one another. Without a word, she turns her attention back to her dinner and continues eating.

  Body rigid with agitation and feeling antsy as fuck, I force myself to take even steps back to my room.

  I step inside and can’t say what the hell makes me glance back at Simone before closing the door. But what I see catches me by complete surprise.

  Simone’s head is turned, her side profile visible, as she stares sightlessly at the artwork adorning the wall above the table. If I didn’t know better, I’d have to say she looks a lot like I’ve felt for these past few months.

  Dejected and heartbroken.

  Celeb Radar Online

  SIMONE KING SHUTS DOWN SEXIST INTERVIEW

  Fans of the so-called Ice Princess of Pop may fall in love with her a little more (I know I did!) after hearing Simone King’s response to a radio interview she did for the Jazzy in the Morning show in Houston, Texas. Simone was interviewed via phone while she continues traveling for her sold-out stateside tour (which is ah-ma-zing, btw!).

  When asked about the lyrics of some of her songs—since everyone speculates they’re about her exes—Simone was asked if she was nervous that people might consider her “whiny.”

  Part of the pop star’s response had to be censored due to expletives. “A ton of male artists’ lyrics are about strippers and fucking girl after girl and how much money they’ve got. Does anyone ever ask them if they’re afraid of people thinking they’re egotistical assholes because of their lyrics? Why is it a big deal for me to perform songs about love and heartache? About tragedy? This is the mindset that prevents this world from progressing.”

  Well, all I have to say is, YOU GO, GIRL! Simone has once again handled the misogyny with her own brand of finesse.

  The audio clip of her interview response has been retweeted and shared on social media more than ten million times. Click the link below to listen.

  7

  Kane

  She FaceTimes with a little girl named Zoe.

  Not t
hat I was trying to eavesdrop or anything, but I don’t do well with being cooped up on a bus even though this thing is basically a penthouse suite on wheels. It’s just weird for me and definitely an adjustment. And this place isn’t exactly soundproof.

  From their conversation, I gathered Zoe’s in the hospital, and toward the end of their talk, when Simone’s voice took on a forced happy tone, I could tell something was bothering her. Whether it was just because the girl was in the hospital or something more, I couldn’t say.

  For some reason, it made me a little antsy, so I was relieved when she started playing her guitar and her soft humming drifted through the closed door.

  When the familiar sound of the guitar assaults my ears, my fingers itch, making me wish I’d brought my own along. Then I remember the last person I played for and the night that started out so great only to end in a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

  The specs of the upcoming venues are spread out in front of me on the large table. I’ve highlighted some areas and am jotting down notes on my legal pad about some of the renovations I feel should be addressed. Maybe I’m overanalyzing things because of my military experience, but with the knowledge of what some of these crazed fans of hers have done, I’d rather not take any chances and put her at risk.

  Just shy of seven o’clock, when I’m finishing up my notes, the faint sounds of the guitar abruptly stop.

  Simone opens her door, phone to her ear, and her eyes immediately find mine. Long hair that I’ve decided looks either light brown or dark blond depending on the lighting is pulled up on top of her head in a sloppy bun. Her tank top is snug, her breasts encased in what appears to be well-worn cotton with the block letters across the top: She believed she could, but she was so fucking tired she didn’t.

  “Let me check with the guys, okay?” A pause. “Yes, sir.” She draws her phone from her ear and ends the call. Stepping over to where I sit, she slides into the seat across from me. “I have a question for you.”