“Ha. No. I wasn’t partying with him. Marcus was getting upset about Mason showing up in the tabloids all the time and sent Dave the security guard and me to babysit. Dave was in charge of collecting phones, and I was there to … I don’t know, exactly. Make sure he got back to the hotel, I guess.”
Blaire makes a thoughtful sound. “Is Mason doing okay?”
“I guess? I mean, he’s stopped partying nonstop and showing up hungover to sound checks and shows, which makes Marcus happy. And I’m getting more sleep, so that makes me happy. But Mason and I don’t really talk, much less have deep heart-to-hearts where we discuss his feelings.” I laugh at that, but the laughter dies an awkward death when Blaire doesn’t join in.
“He doesn’t talk to you? Like at all?”
“No? I mean, I tell him things, and he acknowledges me, and he asks for snacks or water or whatever if he needs it, but we don’t, like, chat.”
“What about the others?” She sounds troubled.
“Oh, they’re great,” I quickly reassure her. “Kendra is warm and bubbly and always available to talk to. Ava and Sam are busy with their kids, of course, but they’re friendly and welcoming too. Don’t worry, no one’s treating me poorly.” Anymore. Mason’s not being a dick anymore, and he apologized, so even though he’s not friendly, we’re fine. Everything’s fine.
“Are you sure you’re handling it all okay? I’d hate to think I dragged you away from your life and threw you into this with promises of glamour and travel and then you ended up hating it even more than the insurance agency.”
I can’t help laughing at that. “Come on, Blaire, really? You’re worried I’d prefer the job that was more boring than watching paint dry? Not hardly. I can deal with one moody guy trying to piss me off just for fun. I grew up with Will, remember?”
She laughs a little too, but it sounds forced. “Yeah. He was way worse to you than he ever was to me, though. And just because you survived your big brother, doesn’t mean you need to put up with Mason being a dick to you. What’s he doing, anyway?”
“Oh, nothing. Don’t worry about it. He apologized and isn’t being an asshole anymore.” I know she and Mason had some kind of relationship, even if she’s with someone else now, so I don’t really want to get into all the mishaps. Or the fact that he still won’t address me by name. Or the way my skin prickles with awareness when he stares at me.
“Do you want me to talk to him?” she asks. “I might be able to kick his ass for you over the phone.”
I force out another laugh. “Nah. I can handle him. It’s my job to kick his ass now, remember? You have other asses to kick.”
“Yeah,” she says on a sigh. “They’re all too scared of me now to step out of line. I miss ass-kicking on a regular basis.”
This time my laugh is genuine. “I’ll keep that in mind. If I need help with the ass-kicking, you’ll be my first call.”
“I look forward to it.”
We hang up soon after that, both of us needing to get back to our respective busy schedules. I have a short break for a nap right now—shorter since I spent part of it talking to Blaire—and then we have another show tonight. Tomorrow we’re flying to the West Coast, where we’ll crawl our way down from Seattle to San Diego. After that we’ll be in Canada for a few months.
But instead of resting, when I lie down, my brain swirls with the conversation with Blaire, the fact that she’s upset about Mason not being nice to me, the memory of every encounter with Mason, the way his eyes constantly seek me out. The way I seem to be attuned to his presence, vibrating with awareness whenever he’s nearby.
It’s distracting. And annoying. And … arousing.
Dammit.
Chapter Fifteen
Mason
I almost jerk in surprise when Viola settles on the couch next to me on the flight to Seattle. I saw her stand from her spot next to Samantha and Maddie, where I’d watched her play a game with the little girl on a tablet for the last half hour or so. But when she started walking this way, I assumed it was to use the bathroom at the rear of the plane.
Instead, she’s sitting next to me, one leg pulled up between us, her arm propped on the back of the couch and her pensive face resting on her fist.
At least she’s not wearing her temptress-red lipstick today. No, today it’s a shimmery pink gloss that’s almost as distracting for its sweet innocence.
I pull the headphones out of my ears, because she clearly wants to talk to me about something. I can’t fathom what, though, since we went over today’s travel schedule at yesterday’s pre-show band meeting, and we’ll meet again before the sound check tomorrow. Anything band-related should’ve been covered already.
“Is there something I can do for you?” I ask politely, not letting an ounce of suggestion into my tone. Because there are many things I want to do for her. But she made it abundantly clear on day one that she’s not interested in me doing anything like that for her. Even though she did kiss me back …
Not that it matters. She’s treated me like a stranger at the best of times, and an aggravation at the worst. And who can blame her? I went out of my way to make her life more difficult.
The fact that I’ve apologized and made an effort to be better over the last month doesn’t seem to have made any impact, though. She still treats me like someone she doesn’t want to get to know.
Except now she’s here. Staring at me. Sharing my couch.
“Is it
