Danny opens the door tonight, greeting me with a warm smile, his infant daughter cradled against his shoulder. “It’s time?”
“It’s time,” I confirm. “See you at the cars.”
With a nod, he closes the door. He always brings his family with him to the venue. Ava stays for varying amounts of time, depending on how she’s feeling and how the kids are doing. Every day is a new adventure.
After that, I move to the next door. Sam answers, her and Aaron’s daughter Maddy clinging to her leg. “Hey, Vi!” she says.
“Hey, Vi!” Maddy echoes.
“Hey, guys. The cars are ready.”
Sam swivels her head and calls over her shoulder, “Did you hear that?”
“I heard.” Aaron appears behind Sam, his hand slipping around her waist. “Thanks. We’ll be right down.”
I give the three of them a wide grin. Watching these three couples and the kids is one of the most fun parts of the tour. Once we’re at the venue, we’ll have dinner together before the special fan meet and greets take place. Kendra, Sam, Ava, and the kids usually end up congregating in the greenroom during the opening act to allow the guys time to get their heads in the right space to perform. They’ve all been doing this long enough that they have their own routines. I just facilitate them as much as possible.
Once the door closes, I turn around and face the door across the hall. Mason is last. As always. Like when I was a kid and my mom made green beans, I always pushed them to the side, waiting as long as possible before eating them. By then they’d always grown cold, which Mom always claimed made them worse. I don’t know, though. I tried them once when they were still warm and didn’t notice a significant difference.
That’s what Mason is to me. The green beans of the band. The one I dread having to deal with, putting him off as long as possible.
Though, to be fair, he’s been slightly less awful since Boston. And he did try to apologize that one time, even if it came out sounding like the perfunctory apology of a preschooler who’s forced to say sorry for hitting his sister. When we all know full well he’d hit his sister again in a heartbeat.
First green beans, and now projecting my older brother onto him. Again.
Except Mason is nothing like my brother.
Will’s torments were stupid and childish. And left behind by the time we were both entering adolescence.
Mason, on the other hand, seems to needle me with his very existence. His sexy stubble. His broody stares. The way his hair falls over his forehead, the way his muscles flex when he shoves it back.
The way he kissed me that first night, grabbing me and taking control of my body like he owned it and knew exactly how to handle it.
Which was infuriating.
And not at all a huge turn on.
Because he’s what my college friends would term a fuckboy. Even my parents can tell. Condoms or not, I’d never be safe with him. At all.
But I have to go knock on his door, because it’s my job. Barring the one incident where I found him naked, nothing untoward has happened when I’ve gone to collect him. Well, not at the hotel anyway.
Last week I walked in on a blowjob in his dressing room at the venue in Philly …
He never has anyone to his room, though. And it’s the same call time as always. He’ll be ready to go. I have no reason to worry.
Lifting my chin, I take the few steps to the door, raise my hand and knock.
No answer.
I knock again, this time louder.
After counting to thirty, there’s still no answer. I know their suites are comfortably sized, but no one takes this long to answer me. Especially not at call time.
So much for thinking he was over his petty attempts to make my life more difficult. That was nice while it lasted, at least.
With a sigh, I dig the key card for his room out of my bag and swipe it through the reader, waiting for the light to turn green before pushing it open.
“Mason,” I call, hoping he’s just finishing up in the bathroom or something. Maybe he ate something that didn’t agree with him.
A grunt comes from the direction of the bedroom. I walk slowly toward the open door, my brain not quite making sense of the slick sounds I’m hearing.
“Mason?” I call again. “The cars are waiting. Everyone’s headed down. It’s time to—” The last word go never makes it out because my vocal chords freeze as I round the open doorway to find Mason on the bed shirtless, his jeans open and shoved partway down his thighs, his dick out and his hand flying over its length.
His dark eyes are trained on me, his jaw working, abs flexing as his hand moves faster.
I stare, open mouthed. My eyes can’t decide what to focus on—his stare that never deviates from my face, the broad expanse of rippling muscle that is his torso, or the way his hand works over his dick. I bounce between all of them for a few seconds, finally coming to rest on his dick as it spasms, ropes of white cream shooting out of the tip and landing on his abs.
His eyes finally slide closed as his body shudders. The loss of his gaze seems to break whatever spell I’m under, and my face heats.
“Sorry to interrupt,” I squeak, starting to stumble backward. “You didn’t answer when I knocked. The cars are ready!”
Flushed and
