Anyone But You

by Jerica MacMillan

  But by the time we’re finishing up our stint in Vancouver, BC, I’ve had enough of the distance. Enough of the going straight back to the hotel after a show. Enough of being on my own.

  Back in my dressing room, I wipe myself down with one of the fluffy white hand towels in my bag, dig out my deodorant and my extra shirt. I might not be fresh as a spring daisy, but it’ll do for a night out.

  A knock sounds on my door as I put my arms through the sleeves of my T-shirt. “It’s open,” I call, waiting to pull the shirt over my head till I see what’s up.

  Viola opens the door and freezes, her eyes tracking down my bare chest and torso, her ruby lips parted in … shock? Desire? Some combination of both? I’d be happy if it were more the latter than the former.

  Slowly, I put my shirt over my head, smirking as she seems to startle out of a trance as I pull the fabric down my torso. “Did you need something?” I ask.

  Her gaze snaps up to meet mine, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Uhhh … no. No, I’m good. I was just, uh, seeing if you need anything.”

  “Actually, yes. There is something you can do for me.” My dick twitches at the thought of the many, many things I’d like her to do for me, but that’s not what I’m getting at. Not right now, anyway.

  “Oh?” she asks, a little breathless. “What’s that?”

  “Pick a club for tonight. I want to go out.”

  Her face falls at that. “Alright. I’ll contact the hotel concierge and book you a private room. And I’ll let Dave know.”

  She whirls away and is gone before I can correct her misconception. I could chase after her and set things straight, but a private room with just her? Might not be so bad.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Viola

  Fuming, I stomp my way back to the greenroom, phone in hand as I contact the concierge to get a list of clubs that cater to celebrities.

  I thought this was all behind us. I thought Mason wasn’t out to torture me and make my life difficult.

  I guess I should be grateful he’s doing it when we have a rest day scheduled for tomorrow, but still.

  I don’t want to stand around till the wee hours of the morning watching him get blowjobs from groupies. I’ve gotten used to the low-key groupie-free lifestyle we’ve had going on. He’s had a few in his dressing room, but …

  My steps slow as I wait for the concierge to email me the information I’ve requested, my mind whirling. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen a groupie enter or exit Mason’s dressing room.

  Racking my brain, I try to remember exactly how long. Was it in Chicago? Or Minneapolis?

  It all runs together at this point. The only reason I know we’re in Vancouver is because I’ve seen it written on the schedule. All I’ve seen are hotel rooms and the bowels of the venues we play.

  My phone alerts with a new email and I put Mason and his sex life out of my mind as I start going through the list. Fortunately, I only have to call three clubs before I find one with an open room for Mason and company tonight.

  Turning on my heel, I go in search of Dave.

  We get to the club and follow the hostess through the back entrance up to the private room, me underdressed as always in my all black backstage leggings, tank, and comfortable flats. But when we get to the room, I’m confused. I take in the black leather couches, the low tables, the ice bucket of champagne and bottles of liquor waiting for us just as I requested. But there are no people.

  Turning to Mason, my brow furrowed, I flap my hand at the empty space. “What’s going on?”

  His hands in his pockets and a devilish smile flirting with his mouth, he shrugs. “You’re the one who ordered all this. You tell me.”

  Sighing in frustration, I cross my arms and cock my hip. If I start tapping my toe, I’ll be the spitting image of my mother waiting for an explanation. “This is what you always want when you go to a club. I called and requested your normal requirements as soon as you told me you wanted to go out tonight. But you’re the one who handles filling the room with people. Where is everyone?”

  He makes a show of looking around the room, his biceps flexing under the sleeve of his faded T-shirt as he rubs a hand over his jaw. I can’t hear the rasp of his stubble because of the music playing, though it’s quieter in here than in the hallway or on the dance floor. We could make it just as loud if we wanted to. The hostess showed us where the volume control for the speakers is. Personally, I prefer it like this. At least for now.

  When there are people fucking everywhere, the loud music mercifully covers the wet, sloppy noises.

  But there are no people here. Other than us. So there will be no fucking in this room.

  There’s a click behind me, and I turn to see that Dave has vanished. He must’ve decided to stand sentry in the hallway. Maybe he knows who’s supposed to show up and when?

  I hitch a thumb over my shoulder. “Why is Dave outside? He normally waits with me in here to keep an eye on you while you party.”

  Mason finally returns his attention to me, dropping his hand and shrugging again. “I just said I wanted to go out. I didn’t say I wanted a whole crowd of strangers with me. You just assumed this was what I wanted. You never let me finish.”

  My arms drop along with my jaw. “What?”

  “I told you to pick a club. I wanted to go out with you. I’m tired of being a good little church boy who’s home by nine every night. I got my fill of that life as a kid. I wanted to go out and have some fun. The other guys won’t come out with me, because two of them have kids.” He tilts his head back and forth. “Marcus and Kendra probably would’ve come if I’d asked, actually, but being the third wheel sucks. Which is why your boy Dave went out in the hallway.”

  I look over my shoulder then back at Mason. “What?” I repeat, feeling dumber by the second.

  Mason chuckles, the quiet sound filling me up with tingles.

  This isn’t what I need right now. After coming face to face with his chest tonight during his little reverse strip tease in his dressing room, my brain turned to mush. If we’d stayed frozen like that long enough, I might’ve actually started drooling. Or done something really stupid, like step closer and run my hand over his skin. Only to snap back to bitter reality when he told me to get him a room at a club tonight.

  But is that actually what he said?

  I rewind the night and replay it in my memory. He just said to pick a club. That he wanted to go out.

  I lift my hands in the air in an exaggerated gesture of frustration. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t bringing along all the groupies in a hundred mile radius? That’s what you’ve done every other time you wanted to go out!” I’m being loud. Too loud. But there’s no one here to witness it. And no one can hear me outside of this room.

  Well, I suppose it’s possible Dave could if he had his ear to the door. But with how loud the hall is? Eh, that seems unlikely.

  Mason takes a step closer to me, the smile gone from his face, that predatory look in his eyes again. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear then softly trails his fingers over my shoulder and down my arm.

  The gesture raises goosebumps in its wake. What …? What is he doing to me?

  Abruptly he steps back and moves to the low table where the alcohol selection is ranged. Picking up one of the liquor bottles, he looks from it to me. “What’ll you have? There’s champagne. Or shots.” He shakes the bottle a little. “Or we could call the waitress and order mixed drinks. Whichever you prefer.”

  “Uh … aren’t I …” I lift a hand and gesture at the closed door. “I’m usually on babysitting duty. I have to stay sober.”

  He unscrews the top of the bottle in his hand and pours a stream of clear liquid into a glass. “You’re off the clock tonight, V. Pick your poison.”

  I hesitate for another moment, but Mason spears me with a look that means he’s in no mood to deal with more dithering. There’s no one else here. No risk of him getting caught on camera getting blown or
fucking someone against a wall. Because the only person available for either of those activities is me, and … yeah. That’s clearly not gonna happen.

  “Champagne,” I say in a voice that sounds firmer than I feel.

  He gestures me over with a tilt of his head, pulls the champagne bottle out of the bucket with a slosh and peels back the foil. I move closer to pick up a champagne flute, holding it at the ready to catch the bubbles when he pops the cork.

  A giggle bursts out of me as effervescent as the wine while he fills my glass. He meets my eyes from under his lowered brows, a smile tipping up his full lips.

  And I’m transfixed once again. Caught.

  Thankfully he seems unaware of whatever spell he casts on me. Or I don’t cast a similar spell on him, in any case.

  Once my glass is filled, almost to the brim, he replaces the bottle in the ice bucket, picks up his glass of liquor, and settles on one of the couches. He pats the seat next to him with his free hand, sipping his drink. “Sit. Talk to me.”

  I settle on the couch, but not as close to him as he indicated. I’m not dumb enough for that, at least. Sitting too close would only make it easier for me to fall under his spell. And even though we’re supposed to be friends, I’m not dumb enough to think he wants more from me than that.

  Well, from the way he kissed me that first night, I doubt he’d object to a physical relationship.

  I’m just not sure I’m built to separate a physical relationship from an emotional one.

  I’ve never done it before. And somehow being in close proximity to one’s fuck buddy all the time seems like a recipe for disaster as far as casual relationships go.

  Look what happened with Blaire? She had no problem maintaining casual relationships in general. She extolled the virtues of such arrangements to me on multiple occasions when I’d complained about the apparent lack of available men who even wanted a real relationship.

  And even she caught feelings for someone she was only supposed to have a casual relationship with. Which sent her even farther away, joining a new tour, where she started yet another casual relationship only to have it turn into more.

  Which just proves my point.

  Casual relationships can’t happen in the context of a tour. Spending so much time together means feelings will inevitably get involved.

  “What are you thinking about so hard over there?” Mason asks, his voice a soft, intimate rumble.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mason

  Viola’s keeping her distance from me, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, her face going through a range of expressions as she thinks about something.

  When I ask what she’s thinking about, her head jerks up and her blue, blue eyes clash with mine. “Huh?”

  Looking her up and down, taking in the hint of cleavage over the top of her standard black tank, her legs curled underneath her, I gesture at her with my glass before taking a sip. “You seem like you’re having an argument with yourself over there. Care to share with the class?” I wave my arm at the empty room.

  She smirks in response and shakes her head. “No.”

  “No?” I arch one eyebrow high up my forehead. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting. Not that I thought she’d actually tell me, at least not everything she’s thinking, but I thought she might splutter out a protest. Or pick some neutral subject. Not a flat refusal.

  Her chin lifts in challenge. And god, that spark of defiance sends all my blood rushing south. “You said I’m off the clock. That means I don’t need to accommodate your every whim.”

  “I did say that.” She’s got me there. I sip my drink, considering my next move. Because this feels like a battle of wits that requires some kind of strategy, even if I’m not sure what the winner gets in the end. And when is the end? How do we even declare a winner?

  She sips her champagne, her eyes sparkling in the low light, an irrepressible smile flirting with the edges of her mouth. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen her, and win or lose, I’m glad we’re playing whatever game this is.

  I slouch down on the couch, spreading out and settling in. This maybe isn’t quite the evening I had in mind when I suggested going out—I’d imagined being down on the main floor of a club, sitting with V at the bar, maybe dancing—but I have no complaints. And I didn’t make myself very clear when I told her to pick a club, so even though I teased her that she was responsible for this, it’s on me too.

  With just the two of us alone in a room, maybe we can work on that whole “being friends” thing we said we’d do. I don’t have a great track record with female friends, and if I’m being honest, “friends” isn’t the label I’d like to use. But at this point, the cessation of hostilities is welcome. Keeping up the angry, needling facade is exhausting. And it’s been a relief to let it go.

  Still, she’s a stranger for the most part. “Tell me about yourself.”

  She startles, coughing, and when she finally regains control of herself, her eyes are watering.

  I give her a quizzical smile. “You alright there? I didn’t expect a request to get to know you to almost kill you.”

  Waving a hand in front of her face, she nods. “Fine. Fine.” Her voice comes out hoarse, and she places her hand on her chest as she clears her throat and coughs a few more times into her elbow. “Fine. Sorry. You just caught me off guard.”

  “Clearly.” I shift so I can face her better. “I apologize for the shock. I can see how after months of working together, me making an effort to learn more about you now might be something of a surprise.” Because I’ve been an asshole for most of that time. “We had a rough start.” She snorts at the understatement, and I grin. “But you said you wanted to be friends, right?” I wait for her nod. “So …” I wave a hand in her direction. “Friends talk. Your turn first.”

  She takes another cautious sip of her champagne, eyeing me warily over the glass. “What do you want to know?”

  “What did you do before this?” That seems like a safe place to start.

  She cocks her head, her brows wrinkled, another smile flirting with her lips. God, those lips. I have to tear my gaze away or else I’ll lose myself in fantasies of where I want those lips.

  Draining the rest of my drink, I sit forward and reach for the bottle of tequila sitting on the low table. It’s high quality sipping tequila, and I just knocked it back like water. But I’m going to need to fortify myself if I’m going to be alone with those lips all damn night.

  Her voice floats around me like a caress. “You weren’t paying even the tiniest bit of attention during my interview, were you?”

  I pause mid-pour, realizing she must’ve talked about her last job, her reasons for wanting to join us, all that superficial shit in the interview. Of course she did. I pour another inch of liquor into my glass and replace the cap on the bottle before sitting back and facing her again. “No,” I finally answer her. “I really wasn’t.”

  I was too wrapped up in my own head, too busy being pissed off that we were interviewing a replacement for Blaire, as though Blaire could just swap in her cousin and none of us would notice the difference.

  Of course that’s not what Blaire was trying to do. She’d moved on, landed a better job—because tour manager is definitely a promotion from PA—and fallen in love on top of that. When she said she was going temporarily, I’d believed her. Apparently I’d been the only one.

  No one was surprised when she said she was going back to him. The only surprise was that she’d come back to us at all. At least according to literally everyone else.

  And when we were interviewing Viola, I didn’t care. I didn’t want a Blaire replacement, so it didn’t matter to me who we hired. No one could measure up.

  Swallowing another mouthful of tequila, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, V. I’ve been the worst kind of asshole to you from day one, and none of it was about you. I’m listening now. Tell me all the things that everyone else already knows. I’ve got some catching up to do.” I noti
ce her champagne glass is empty. “And you have some catching up to do, too.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Instead of answering her, I grab another glass and pour three fingers of tequila into it. “You’re never going to get drunk enough to tell me all your secrets from champagne. Drink this so we’re even.”

  She takes the glass from me, her fingers brushing mine, her eyeballs bouncing between me and the glass dubiously. “Does that mean you’re going to get drunk enough to tell me all your secrets too?”

  That prompts a laugh from me that comes out much lower and more wicked than it should, all things considered. “Only if you ask nicely.”

  Her answering chuckle has a nervous quality to it. She takes a delicate sip of the tequila, making a face as she swallows. Leaning forward, she sets the glass on the table, giving me a front row view of her cleavage as her top gaps. “How about this,” she says as she picks up the champagne bottle and refills her flute, completely oblivious to my growing arousal. Literally. It’s growing by the second. In my pants.

  Maybe this was a terrible idea after all. Not like I don’t make a habit of acting on terrible ideas. That’s always been my claim to fame. What’s one more to add to the list?

  But she’s talking, and I’ve gotten lost in the lines of her body, wondering what she’d taste like, if she’d like it if I held her down or if she prefers to be on top. I force myself to focus on her words. But all I catch is, “okay?”

  Blinking at her, I cast about for a response, but all I can come up with is a grunt. She nudges her tequila glass in my direction and settles back on the couch with her champagne, her brows drawn together in question. “That wasn’t an answer. I don’t know what grunting means. English, please.”

  I shake my head. “Sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.”

  Her eyes narrow, and I worry she’s about to call me out for being an asshole again. Then she stands and moves to retrieve the remote control where the hostess left it, hitting a button a few times and turning down the music. “Sorry,” she says as she reclaims her spot. “Your ears are probably still ringing from the show. Even with the ear protection, I know that can sometimes happen. My back was to you, and it’s not exactly quiet in here.” She waves a hand at the room and smiles. “Can you hear me better now?”