“Hey!” I yelp. “You better not drop food in my hair!”
“Maybe you should be still, then,” he suggests calmly, completely unfazed by the fact that he has me trapped and practically draped over his lap. Only my insistence on trying to get free has me arched over his thighs instead of lying on top of them.
But my back is getting tired of holding myself in this awkward position, and yanking against his hold isn’t getting me anywhere. “Fine,” I mutter. “You win.” Maybe if I lure him into a false sense of security, he’ll relax his grip and I can break free. And I go limp, right there on top of him.
“I like the sound of that. Say it again.”
When I twist around to look up at him, intending to let fly some kind of snarky retort, it hits me. Or more precisely, I hit it.
Either he’s smuggling an iron bar in his pants, or I’m turning him on.
Our eyes meet, his eyelids drooping as mine flare wide with realization.
And just like that, he lets me go, his grip releasing like a lock springing open. He levers me upright with his hands on my shoulders. Without even a glance at me, he scoops the rest of his food into his mouth and stands. “I’m gonna get ready for the show,” he mumbles before tossing his paper plate in the trash and leaving.
I blink at his retreating back, not quite sure what just happened here.
Was that … were we just flirting?
When I turn back from the doorway, my gaze clashes with Kendra, who gives me a wide smile and a thumbs up. A quick scan of the room shows that everyone else is smiling and casting furtive glances my way too.
Apparently there’s no question in anyone else’s mind about what just happened. Cheeks heating, I scarf down the rest of my dinner and scurry out of the greenroom. I have things to do before the show, like always. But right now I just want to find a closet and hide. At least for a few minutes.
Chapter Seventeen
Mason
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I’ve been trying to keep my shit together around Viola for weeks. Trying to ignore the fact that spending time with her is an exquisite type of torture. That I still can’t stop staring at her lips, especially when she wears that scarlet lipstick. That she’s the feature in all my fantasies. That groupies have lost all their appeal.
Has she noticed that the revolving door of women in and out of my dressing room has stopped?
Shoving a hand through my hair, I pace the narrow confines of my dressing room to try to work off my frustration.
It’s not helping.
Having her squirming and twisting in my lap had been the next level of masochism, but I couldn’t bring myself to let her go. Not when that’s the most I’ve gotten to touch her since our misunderstanding her first night.
That kiss … that kiss means we could be amazing together. And I sound like a love-sick fool getting hung up on a girl over one stupid kiss.
I’m not, though. Just a lust-drunk moron.
Maybe I should pitch that to Marcus as a new song title. It has a certain ring to it.
But any hope I’d harbored of her eventually coming around and giving me a chance was effectively extinguished by the look on her face when she realized what she was rubbing against.
That wasn’t the look of someone looking forward to what comes next.
No. That was the same look on her face just after she pushed me away when I kissed her. That same wide-eyed shock.
I didn’t stick around for the breathless rebuff this time.
Motherfucker. All the work I’ve put in to turning around her idea of me—poof. Gone in a few minutes of flirty fun.
That she started.
I didn’t ask her to start trying to tickle me. She did that on her own.
Dropping my head in my hands, I let out a low groan of frustration.
This chick is killing me. And I don’t think she even realizes it.
A knock on the door interrupts my disgusted thoughts. I scrub a hand over my face and do my best to compose myself, assuming it’s Viola.
But when I pull open the door, Aaron’s smug face is grinning at me. “How’s it goin’, Mason?” he asks slowly. He makes a great show of looking all around my dressing room. “You alone? Can I come in?”
I gesture him inside with a jerk of my head. “What do you want, Aaron?” I’m not in the mood for pleasantries. Or gloating. Or whatever this is.
Closing the door behind him, he steps inside, still peering past me at the corners of the room. “Where’s Viola?” he asks.
“How should I know?”
He sticks his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. “Wellll, it looked like you two were getting pretty cozy at dinner. And then she disappeared less than five minutes after you. So …” He spreads his hands for me to fill in the blanks.
“Soooo …” I cross my arms over my chest. “You decided to see if you could interrupt anything? Is that it?”
That smug grin settles back in place, and he shrugs. “Not precisely.”
“What—precisely—were you aiming to do?”
“I dunno, man. I was just curious what was going on. I didn’t really think she was in here, because I’m pretty sure I saw her ducking into the janitor’s closet. Which made me a little bit more curious, I’ll be honest. Because why would she need to hide in a closet? Especially when you have a dressing room all to yourself?”
“Nothing,” I grit out. “Nothing’s going on.”
“And all that giggling and squealing at dinner?
