Drumming his fingers on his thigh, his brow furrowed, Mason grunts again. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t open his book again, just sits there apparently lost in thought.
Who knew that saying I only have sex with guys who care about me would send him into a deep meditative state?
After waiting for him to respond in some way for several minutes, I give up and go back to my work. Eventually, he returns to his book, and soon enough it’s time to deplane.
I put the conversation out of my mind. Everything about my interactions with Mason have been strange from start to finish, so why should today be any different? But I have more important things to worry about than Mason’s feelings about my sex life. As if his feelings had any bearing on the situation anyway.
With a mental shrug, I focus on the never ending to-do list on my tablet. I have a whole band to manage. And Ava just informed me that she needs more diapers at this stop, so I need to find the nearest store with delivery and order more.
Thankfully Mason is fully clothed when I poke my head in his dressing room after the next show. “Need anything?” I ask, my face a careful mask of politeness.
He rubs his hand over his scruff as he thinks, the sound audible in the relative quiet back here. As always, it sends a little thrill through my belly and heat spiraling down between my thighs. But I’ve gotten used to ignoring that sensation. Or at least setting it aside and thinking about it later when I’m alone in my room.
Maybe I don’t want to have a casual fling with Mason, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think about what it would be like. What he would be like if we somehow ended up in an alternate universe where he wanted a relationship with me. Or I could handle a no-strings sex relationship.
“I’m good for now,” he says, interrupting my budding fantasy of him and me naked somewhere. What that scruff would feel like … other places.
I blink rapidly and force a smile. “Okay. Great. I’ll let you know when the cars are here to take us back to the hotel.”
He takes a step closer and holds out a hand to halt my progress. “Hang on a sec. I have a question.”
“Oh? Should I close the door?” I step more fully into the room, but don’t take my hand off the doorknob.
“If you want? I mean, it’s not private. I was just wondering …” He looks over my shoulder, and I throw a glance behind me to see if someone’s there waiting to speak to me, but all I see are crew members dressed in black carrying equipment down the hall.
Turning back to Mason, I step all the way inside and close the door behind me. Maybe it’s not private, but he seems like he’d be more comfortable asking his question privately. Or with fewer distractions, at least. “You were wondering …” I prompt.
His eyes find mine, searching, and he takes another step closer so we’re almost close enough to touch. He clears his throat. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me in my room. For a drink. Maybe get a bite to eat.”
“I …” I don’t know how to answer that.
But before I can, he jumps back in. “We had a nice time at the club the other night, or at least I did, and I thought it would be fun to do that again. I always feel like a show needs some kind of minor celebration to mark it, even after doing so many. But making you hunt down a private room at a club seems like too much work if it’s just you and me. So …” Trailing off, he lifts one shoulder in a half shrug like that’s sufficient to fill in any blanks.
I blink at him, my mouth still hanging open on my unfinished answer as I rewind and review his explanation. He doesn’t want to be alone. That’s the core of what he’s saying. He wants to mark the occasion with someone. And I’m the someone that’s available. And, as he’s insisted several times, we’re friends now. I’m the one who said we should be friends, after all, so I can’t even fault him for pushing that.
Closing my mouth, I give him a small smile. “Sure. Drinks and a bite to eat sounds nice. I’m always hungry after a show. Let me know what you want, and I’ll call in an order to room service on our way back.”
His brows lower, like something about that statement makes him unhappy, but he nods. “Great. It’s a plan.”
With one more smile, I open the door and head out, off to check on the status of the cars, not at all thinking about how being alone with Mason in his room late at night with drinks and food sounds suspiciously like a date. Nope. Not thinking about that one tiny little bit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mason
Viola’s revelations on the plane yesterday left me reeling and reconsidering my determination to win her over.
She wants a relationship. Hearts and candy and roses and dates and love kind of relationship.
Can I do that? Do I want that? And do I want that with her?
After spending most of the night tossing and turning, bouncing between fantasies of her and the reality of being in a relationship, I decided that the answer to all those questions is yes.
Yes, I can do that. I almost did with Blaire, after all. Arguably we had a longterm relationship already, even if it was nonexclusive.