Anyone But You

by Jerica MacMillan

I dart a look around the plane, but no one seems to be paying any attention to us. “What are you doing?” I hiss.

  His finger trails down my neck, raising goosebumps in its wake. “You didn’t object to me touching you the other night. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it.”

  I tap on the screen, adding a note about one of the interviews to the calendar, trying really hard to ignore the way Mason makes me feel. Even if I did enjoy our kiss—which, I mean, how could I not? He’s an amazing kisser. But that doesn’t actually change anything. I still don’t do casual sex, and that seems to be all he does.

  Pressing my lips together, I shake my head. “I’m not one of your groupies, Mason.”

  He pulls his hand away, curls his fingers into his palm, and straightens. “I know that, V. I promise I’m not treating you like one.”

  I look at him then, raising an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

  Shaking his head, he blows out a breath, looking annoyed. “Yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure I know how I act with groupies. And it’s definitely not the way I act with you. For one thing, groupies don’t end up on the plane.”

  I snort. “Okay. Right. Since I’m employed by the band, then you can’t possibly be treating me like a groupie. If you say so.”

  He studies me for long enough that I turn back to my screen, trying to block him out. I can’t, though. Especially not when he starts talking again. “Groupies are …”

  “Disposable?” I supply.

  He shoots me a dark glare. “That’s not what I was going to say.”

  Realizing I’m not going to get much work done with him sitting here talking to me about his feelings and philosophy regarding the use of groupies, I put my tablet to sleep and sit back against the couch with my arms crossed. “I apologize. Please continue.”

  His glare hasn’t lightened. “Groupies have a specific set of expectations. And they understand that whatever happens, isn’t the start of anything serious. That it’s a one-off opportunity. I’ll likely never see them again, and if I do, I won’t remember who they are, because they’re—”

  “Not important,” I butt in. “I get it. You really don’t have to go into all this detail explaining something to me that I’ve adequately pieced together already.”

  Another glare, and I’m not gonna lie, he looks extra hot when he’s smoldering at me like that. “It’s not that they’re unimportant as people. But they’re strangers. Are random strangers important to you?”

  “That’s a false equivalence. I don’t go around having sex with random strangers. If I did have sex with someone, then they would be important to me.”

  He studies me. “You’ve never gone on Tinder just looking for a hookup?”

  I shake my head. “No. That’s not … I’m not like that. Sex matters to me.”

  “It matters to me too,” he declares.

  It’s my turn to glare at him. “Clearly. But we have different definitions of how it matters. To you, having it matters very much. To me, it matters in the context of the relationship. Sex is intimate. Vulnerable. A way to get closer to someone you care about. How do I know if I want to get closer to someone I don’t even know? I don’t want random dudes touching me within five seconds of meeting me, much less meeting me with the expectation that they’re going to get in my pants shortly.”

  He grunts, like that answer isn’t what he expected. “Okay. So what does that mean? You need a relationship before you have sex? A three date rule? What, specifically?”

  I sigh. “I don’t know. It’s not like there’s a hard and fast rule, where I’ll definitely have sex on the third date. It’s not a game or a challenge to see who can jump through my hoops and sex is the prize.” I spread my hands in front of me. “I just want to know the guy cares about me before I feel comfortable taking off my clothes.”

  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. After Aaron got back together with Sam, it seemed natural to take my relationship with Blaire to the next level given that we had chemistry and everyone else had paired off already. I figured, why not make it official? Except she didn’t want that. And if I’m honest with myself, neither did I.

  My anger at her for leaving was that I felt left behind once again. Unwanted. Left out.

  But the fact that I considered it means I do want a real relationship on some level, even if I buried it under a layer of fucking and partying.

  My attraction to Viola is different than anything I felt for Blaire. And my feelings for Viola are … strange. While I gave up groupies for a fling with Blaire, that was a practical consideration at the time.

  I gave up groupies this time around because I stopped wanting them. Viola has consumed my thoughts since she joined the tour, and no amount of fucking has erased the feel of her from my skin.

  The fact that she still wants to be friends with me even after I tried to make her as miserable as possible during her first weeks with us only illustrates how sweet she is. And those flashes of defiance that flare up now and then are sexy as fuck.

  She said that she only has sex with someone she’s in a relationship with.

  So why can’t that someone be me?

  I’ve done my best to spend as much time with her as possible since that first night I kissed her, seeking her out, giving her extra chores just so I’d have an excuse to see her again. And while yes, some of that was motivated by spite, the root of all of it was that I wanted her to notice me. Smile at me. Talk to me. Not the stilted, cool politeness she gave me. But the warmth everyone else got.

  And the other night at the club? That’s the most relaxed she’s been with me. And I want more of that.

  More of her.

  Her giggles, her stories, her sleepy cuteness.

  The way she melted when my lips touched hers.

  I want it all.

  There’s a knock on my dressing room door, and then Viola’s head pops inside, a smile gracing her face. “Cars are ready. I also put in the order for room service, so that should come up pretty fast after we’re back.”

  I scowl at her. “Viola. I could’ve done that. When I invite you to my room for drinks and food, it’s not so you’ll do everything for me. I can order room service for us.”

  Her lips part on a gasp, and she blinks at me from the open doorway several times before quietly slipping inside and closing the door behind her. “You just called me Viola,” she whispers.

  “Yes. I did.” I pitch my voice to match hers, the significance of the moment not lost on me. Because I’m an asshole, this is the first time I’ve actually said her name out loud.

  She blinks a few more times. “Say it again.”

  I take a few steps, cutting the distance between us in half. “Viola.”

  Her eyes close, and she inhales deeply like she’s breathing in the sound of her name. When she opens her eyes again, they’re shiny, and she blinks quickly, taking another deep breath and giving me a small but genuine smile. “Thank you. Does that mean you’ll call me Viola from now on?”

  Smirking, I step closer, reaching out to stroke her cheek. “Do you want me to? I kinda like being the only one who calls you V. But it’s your call.” I pause and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I haven’t used your name sooner,” I murmur, taking another step so our bodies are almost touching. She tilts her chin back, so vulnerable as she blinks up at me.

  Before she can answer, I brush a kiss over her lips, needing to be close to her. To reassure her that even though I’ve been an asshole, I’m trying not to be anymore.

  It’s supposed to be quick. Soft. Sweet.

  But when my lips touch hers, all good intentions are lost.

  She clutches my shirt, pulling me closer, pressing herself against me. And any attempts at gentleness I might’ve considered are gone.

  I part her lips with my tongue, seeking out hers. My arms go around her back, reciprocating her desire for closeness, my hands gripping her ass and rocking her against me.

  The kiss ends almost as quickly as it begins, both of us parting as if by unspoken agreement, stopping and staring at each other for a breathless moment. Then she releases her hold on my shirt, and I let go of her ass, moving a half step back to give her room to breathe.

  She swallows. Looks down. Clears her throat. “Well, um, we should go. Like I said before, the cars are ready. Everyone’s probably already loaded up and wondering where we are.”

  I gesture at the door before stuffing my hands in my pockets in a bid to disguise the bulge in my jeans. “After you.”

  “Right.” She nods, her cheeks still flushed and her lips lush and pink. “You, uh, you have some lipstick …” She gestures to her mouth.

  I give her a wide grin but raise a hand to wipe it off. “Did I get it all?”

  Rolling her eyes, she steps closer looking like she’s trying to fight the smile pulling at her lips. “Almost. Here, let me.” She lifts her hand, her gaze focused on my mouth as her thumb passes over my lips. “You’d probably wear it around like a badge of pride, wouldn’t you?” she whispers.

  “Definitely. I’m not remotely ashamed to have people know I was kissing you.”

  She raises her blue eyes to mine and examines me for a long moment. “Good to know,” she says at last, then turns for the door once more. “I need to get my bag. I’ll meet you at the cars.”

  With a shrug, I follow her out the door. “Or I can just come with you.”

  She glances at me over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised. “Or you can just come with me, I guess.”

  “That’s the spirit.” I stop myself from reaching out and patting her ass, contenting myself with walking close beside her. While I might have no problem with announcing whatever’s going on between us to the wider world, I don’t know that Viola wants me to do that. So for now, I’ll hold off. Hold back.

  At least in public.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Viola

  Nerves flutter in my belly as I walk down the hall of our hotel with Mason, saying goodnight to the others as they head to their rooms.

  I fiddle with the strap of my bag as Mason unlocks his room, tossing me a smoldering smile as he holds the door open for me. With a deep breath, I step inside.

  It’s silly being this nervous. I’ve been in every single one of his hotel rooms, including this one just this morning.

  But I’ve never been in his room with the express purpose of spending time in his company.

  And that kiss in his dressing room …

  Is he expecting more of that?

  More than that?

  I’m flustered and out of sorts and I don’t know what to think.

  He called me Viola. What does that mean?

  What do I want it to mean?

  What does he want it to mean?

  So many questions and no answers, and if I ask him all my questions, will he answer them or just laugh at me or kiss me again?

  Okay, so, after the kiss the other night and then that one today, I suspect he’
d like to kiss me again regardless. But will he tell me what he’s thinking before? After?

  Ever?

  This man has me all twisted up and turned around, and the kissing doesn’t help make anything more clear.

  He clears his throat behind me. “Make yourself comfortable. Do you want a water while we wait for room service?”

  I spin around. Or I would, but my giant bag hampers the speed of my spinning. Ducking my head, I lift it off my body and drop it on the floor next to the couch in the sitting area. I can do this. I can be normal.

  I offer him a smile. “Sure. Water would be great.”

  He crosses to the table and grabs one of the bottles I set there this morning, cracking it open before passing it to me. Still standing in the middle of the room, I take a sip, watching him as he watches me. “Do you want me to call down and let room service know we’re here?” I ask.

  That same scowl he gave me earlier resurfaces. “No. I told you, you’re not here to be my PA. I can do that.” He crosses to the phone on the desk, picks up the handset and pushes a few buttons. His low voice sends tingles up and down my spine, even though he’s saying the most mundane things.

  When he hangs up the phone and turns around to perch on the edge of the desk, I work up my courage. “If I’m not here to be your PA, why am I here?”

  His eyebrows climb his forehead, and he crosses his arms as he studies me. “You really have to ask that question?”

  I spread my arms in a gesture of helplessness. “I don’t really know what exactly you expect from me, Mason.”

  “I don’t expect anything,” he says coolly. Standing, he moves closer to me, his brow wrinkled. “Wait … are you …” With a sigh, he shakes his head and starts over. “I only want you here if you want to be here. You get that, right? You can say no. I won’t be mad.”

  “I can say no to what?” What is he asking, exactly?

  He spreads his arms. “Anything. Everything.” Blowing out a breath, he rubs a hand over his jaw. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to feel pressured about anything. I know you handed me my ass the first day, but … just … if you want to go back to your room, I won’t make your life harder this time.”