None of these women are here for more than just a quick fuck. Bringing one of them back to my room isn’t an option. Aside from my own personal rule not to bring groupies and randoms to the floor where my band stays with their families—and that’s because I care about them and not because Marcus would tear me a new asshole for doing it—bringing one of them there would be like bringing a piece of the club. Bright, loud, flashy. Not comforting. Not warm.
Truthfully, this clichéd rock star life lost its appeal years ago. Fucking hot chicks is still fun, but I got used to the steady reliability of having someone I know, someone who knows me available when I needed her. She’s gone, and I’m the odd man out.
So I’ve thrown myself back into this existence, hoping it would drown out the melancholy that’s been swirling inside me since Blaire bailed.
And it does. For a while. But the melancholy’s still there, waiting for me when the night falls quiet.
Gently setting away the woman who brought my drink, I drop a kiss on her cheek and head for Viola and Dave. Knocking back the drink, I set it on a tray next to the door. “I’m done. Let’s go.”
With a nod, Dave opens the door and leads the way.
Chapter Twelve
Viola
I follow Mason out of the elevator on our floor at the hotel, trying not to watch the way his ass moves in those jeans.
I shouldn’t even think he’s attractive at all. Not with the way he is—rude, moody, deliberately provocative. A slut.
He had an entire flock of women surrounding him at the club, pawing at him, shoving their tongues down his throat.
But for some reason his eyes kept coming back to me.
Of all the things I have to do, babysitting Mason while he parties is my least favorite. But Marcus is concerned about Mason getting out of hand and thinks that I’ll somehow be able to exert control over him. I have no idea why.
Though, to be fair, Mason hasn’t been staying out as late since Marcus put Dave and me on babysitting duty.
I just … don’t want to do it. I don’t want to watch Mason make out with random women. I don’t want to watch him getting drunk. At all. And I especially don’t want to stay up late to do it when I have to get up early in the morning. An afternoon nap doesn’t really make up for the lack of sleep.
At least Marcus has declared tomorrow a rest day. The next day we’re up early again to fly to Florida, and the whole grind starts over again.
If Mason wants to party tomorrow night, at least I can sleep half the day tomorrow to prepare myself for it.
Though, if I’m honest, I’d expected him to stay out extra late tonight, since nothing’s on the schedule tomorrow. It’s just after one in the morning, and we’re already back at the hotel. Which is even more surprising, given his willing harem at the club. I’d expected him to screw them all before we left.
Instead, he had one drink and declared himself ready to go.
Maybe all the late nights are catching up to him too?
Mason stops at his door, but I keep going. He’s a grown man, and he’s sober, so I’m confident he can get himself inside his room without my help tonight. When he’s drunk, Dave and I make sure he gets to his bed, and I leave ibuprofen and water on his nightstand like a good little assistant, but tonight I don’t have to.
What a relief. I can take a quick shower and crawl into bed and not move till I wake up all on my own.
But Mason’s hand on my arm stops me short. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute.”
Pulling my arm out of his grip, I turn to face him, crossing my arms protectively. “What do you need, Mason?” The tired seeps into my voice, despite my usual resolve to not show him any emotion at all. Ever. My guard is down tonight, and I’m too tired to mount a proper defense.
“Come inside and have a drink with me. I promise I won’t keep you long.” His voice is soft, and he sounds sincere, but … even if he’s being less of a dick than he started out, I don’t quite trust him.
I glance at Dave, hoping he can give me some kind of direction, but he just shrugs. No help there.
“Is there something going on between you?” Mason’s sharp question cuts through the quiet of the hallway, the soft sincerity gone in an instant.
“What?” I can’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “How is that even any of your business?” Shaking my head, I take a step back. “I’m tired, Mason. I don’t want to do”—I wave my hands in the air between us—“whatever this is right now. Can we talk tomorrow?”
His mouth tightens, his jaw clenching, and for a second I think he might object and insist I speak to him right this minute. But he surprises me by giving a nod. “Alright. Tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Sighing, I take a step in the direction of my room two doors down. “Goodnight, Mason.”
Even though I should collapse into bed and fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow, I’m kept awake by thoughts of what Mason wants to talk to me about.
Normally he just barks orders in my direction and expects me to follow them.
To be fair, I do follow them. The only time I’ve raised an objection to anything he’s asked was the first time he wanted me to find him a club in Boston. And his stance on my job duties was made crystal clear at that time. I’ll draw the line at anything illegal, but otherwise, he seems to be correct.
I do what they tell me.
