Chapter Fourteen
Viola
The next morning dawns bright and early, and though I’ve never been a morning person and no matter how much I’m getting paid I’ll never be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, I’m not dragging as much today.
Spending almost all of yesterday in bed certainly helped.
I didn’t go back to sleep right away after Mason left, instead flopping around in bed with my brain circling around and around his apology.
Is that what he really wanted to say to me the night before after we got home from the club? That he’s sorry? That’s why he wanted me to come into his room and have a drink.
I don’t know …
Or did he just feel bad for waking me up and my unhinged tired and nearly incoherent babbling made him feel sorry for me enough that he apologized.
Though he did apologize for calling me the wrong names. He still couldn’t quite bring himself to call me Viola, though. Not even when I prompted him in the rudest way possible.
On second thought, that might’ve been part of the problem.
In any case, he’s apologized, and I’m going to take it at face value. For now. Maybe he’ll call me Viola someday when I’m not treating him like he’s an idiot. But really, who could blame me? For weeks he’s called me anything and everything else.
With a deep, bracing breath I drag my luggage to the hallway and station it by the elevator. “Hey, Luke,” I say to the security guard on duty. “I’m just going to leave this here while I get the guys.”
He offers me a nod of acknowledgement. Luke’s not much of a talker, but he seems pleasant enough.
One by one, I knock on the doors, checking in to make sure everyone’s on schedule, going down the line in my usual order—Marcus, Danny, Aaron, and Mason.
At Mason’s door I stop, square my shoulders, and take a deep breath. I don’t know what kind of reception I’ll get from him. I normally expect irritation and antagonism. But after yesterday? I don’t know. Politeness, maybe? Hopefully? At least?
I knock firmly and prepare myself to wait a while. Have to knock again. I’m not using my damn key card, though. Not after the last time. My cheeks heat at the memory, and I jump when the door opens in front of my face.
Mason looks me over, a sly smile claiming his lips. “You feeling alright?” he asks, just like yesterday. “You look a little flushed.”
“Fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” I stammer, trying to exorcise the memory of his bare chest, abs, narrow hips, and the thick, round head of his dick that played peek-a-boo with me behind his hand. Instead of calming down, though, my cheeks only get hotter. But I ignore it, despite the way Mason’s looking at me, his eyes roaming my face and down my chest. I know I’m pink all the way down to my neckline. But I’m just going to pretend I’m not.
“Are you ready to go? We’re scheduled to leave for the airport in five minutes.”
“Yup,” he answers, his eyes finally returning to mine, his smirk pulling wider. “My suitcase is packed. I just have to put my shoes on.”
I give him a nod and step back. “Great. Meet you at the elevator.”
He nods and lets the door shut. I take a deep shuddering breath as I walk down the hall, thankful that silent Luke is standing guard and not anyone else. No matter what he notices as I come to stand next to him, he never says a word.
The next few weeks pass without any more Mason mishaps. That’s how I’ve labeled everything that’s happened between us in my head—the kiss, me seeing him naked, me walking in on him masturbating—mishaps, every last one.
He still won’t call me by name, which irks me far more than it should. Everyone else is friendly and warm, they call me Viola or just Vi, and I’ve mostly settled in as part of what Marcus calls the Cataclysm family.
Except for with Mason.
He’s no longer a thorn in my side—I don’t have to babysit him till all hours of the night, he’s ready and waiting when I collect him to go from one place to the next, and while I’ve seen women disappear into his dressing room a few times, they’re always gone by the time I collect him to go on stage or back to the hotel.
And between shows, he avoids me. If I’m talking with Kendra or Ava as we settle on the plane, he walks past and goes as far away from me as possible.
When we have band meetings, he positions himself on the opposite side of the room. If I’m in the middle, he’s in the back corner of the room lounging against the wall.
But for all his avoidance and our short and civil exchanges, he always watches me.
He doesn’t even bother to hide it.
When I look up and glance around the plane, his eyes capture my gaze and don’t let go.
When I stand to go over the schedule in the band meetings, he watches me intently—far more intently than he ever watches Marcus when he’s dispensing set lists and other pertinent details.
It’s … disconcerting.
And I don’t know what to do about it.
“Blaire! I haven’t heard from you in ages. How are you?”
My cousin’s low chuckle answers my enthusiastic greeting. “I’m good. Busy, but you know how it goes.”
“Holy shit. Yes. I had no idea. I mean, I know you’ve always said it wasn’t all fun and games and parties with rock stars, but … damn. The sheer exhaustion is … grueling.”
“Yeah, that part takes some getting used to. Are you handling it okay, though?” All the laughter is gone from her voice, replaced by genuine concern.
“I am.” Now, at least. “We’re all adapting. And Mason’s stopped partying every night, so that helps too.”
“That’s good,” she says slowly, “but why should that
