My scowl is back, but this time it’s directed at Aaron. Irritated, I decide to needle him right back. “I dunno, man. I’d be happy to have the same kind of arrangement we used to. You think Sam’d be down for that?” It’s an asshole question, and I know it, but I’m feeling like an asshole right now. For one, I actually have no desire to share a woman with Aaron again. Not when I know I’d be number two. I wasn’t supposed to be number two with Blaire. We were supposed to be equals. But somehow I still came in second. Story of my life, I guess.
And I know that Aaron would never share his girlfriend, Sam, which is readily apparent by the angry glare he throws my way. “Fuck off, Mason.”
With a dark chuckle, I shake my head. “Aww, I get it. You already share her with the kid. I can see why you wouldn’t want to add another person to the mix. Makes sense.” He and Sam have a four-year-old daughter. “And anyway,” I continue, “I’m trying to fuck off. That’s the whole point here. I thought I had my post-show pussy locked down when that fine piece of ass walked in my dressing room. Only to find out that she’s our new assistant.”
Aaron holds a fist over his mouth, chuckling into his hand. “Oh, man. I was listening at your door, just waiting for her to slap you. I was disappointed that she didn’t. I can’t believe you didn’t recognize her.”
I spread my hands, eyes wide. “She looks nothing like the chick on the video chat.”
Spluttering some more, Aaron shakes his head like I’m ridiculous. “Whatever you say, man. Still. It seems like making our new assistant hate you on her first day isn’t a smart move. Might wanna rethink your strategy here.”
“What are you talking about? I’m a fantastic kisser. And me wanting to get with her is a compliment.”
Aaron reaches over and pats me on the shoulder. “Sure, if you wanna think that, I can’t stop you. But in my experience, women don’t enjoy being referred to as ‘post-show pussy’ or a ‘piece of ass.’”
He lifts his chin to indicate something, and I turn to see our new assistant—Violet? No, that’s not right. It was weirder than that. Whatever the fuck her name is, she’s standing less than five feet away, staring at me like she wishes she could shoot daggers out of her eyes. “Uhh …” I start, but I have no idea what to say right now.
“Hey, Viola.” Aaron stands and greets her. “Did you need something?”
Viola. That’s her name. See? I knew it was weird. And why the hell is Aaron asking her if she needs something? Isn’t that her job? To find out if we need anything?
She gives him a relieved smile. “I was just checking on you guys. See if you need any more water. Or snacks. Or whatever.”
“I’m good,” he says. “I’ll just grab one of the waters from the tub here, then I’m heading back to my dressing room to freshen up before the meet and greets. Thanks, though.” He glances at me. “You good?”
“Actually—”
But she cuts me off with a sharp glare, her luscious red lips pulled into a tight pout. “I don’t supply post-show pussy,” she spits at me, venom lacing her words. “Or pieces of ass. As you can see, there’s plenty of water over there. Help yourself.” Then she spins on her heel and stalks off, leaving Aaron laughing his ass off, and me sitting on the couch like an idiot.
The next morning, I drag myself to Marcus’s room for our official band meeting before we head for the cars that will take us to the airport. A grim smile cracks my face when I think of the fact that Blaire gave up touring with us on a chartered plane to travel by bus. Bus tours suck ass. And now that we’ve graduated to using a plane, I have no desire at all to go back to that. Guess that’s what she gets for abandoning us.
Though, from all accounts, she’s happy.
I suppose I should be happy for her, instead of glorying in the idea of her slumming it on a tour bus. But I’m too hungover—okay, I might still be a little drunk—and pissy to give a damn.
With a courtesy knock on the cracked open door, I push my way inside, ready to get this farce over with. I don’t know why Marcus insists on these meetings all the damn time. It’s not like we don’t all know by now what to do and how to act. It’s too goddamn early to be fussing over schedules this early anyway. And Blaire …
Except no. Blaire’s not here to slap us all around and make sure we’re where we need to be.
It’s Violeta or whatever the hell her name is. The chick I thought was a contest winner, but—surprise!—she’s actually our new assistant, who let me grab her ass and suck on her tongue before shoving me away. And then berated me in the middle of the greenroom after the show.
Is this new chick going to be able to keep us all in line the way Blaire did?
Guess we’ll find out.
When I stagger into the room, everyone’s talking and Violeta is laughing, her head thrown back, the long sweet column of her throat exposed, those pouty lips parted. They’re not red today, though. Instead they’re light pink. She’s wearing leggings again, but these are red, and instead of the tight, scoop neck tank top, all I see is a long white sweater that covers her ass. Which is a shame. I enjoyed checking out that ass last night.
If I can’t have Blaire, and I get called out for screwing groupies, the least I can do is admire the ass of
