Even the fact that Dillon had a girlfriend didn’t dispel the rumors. Meredith was accused of being a beard, of being paid by our management team to ‘date’ Dillon, and the fans lashed out at her for corroborating the ruse of their relationship. They thought Dillon and I were devastated that we couldn’t be together. They hated our management team for being so close-minded, which wasn’t true at all. And the rumors never seemed to go away no matter what we did.
I’d pretty much learned to let the garbage roll off my back, but I knew it still affected Dillon. More so lately, since I’d heard him on the phone with Mere a few times over the past few months assuring her that things between them were good and no, he and I hadn’t been whispering inappropriate things to each other at the back of the stage.
We’d been accused of that recently, but the truth was that Phillip had farted on stage, and neither Dillon nor I could keep our shit together. We’d moved to the back of the stage to laugh, and someone had caught us giggling and me whispering something to him. It was all really stupid, immature guy stuff, but it was things like that that got blown out of proportion all the time.
“Mere is kind of a saint,” I told Dillon.
“Amen,” he agreed.
We heard movement on the other side of the suite, and a few minutes later a half-asleep Van emerged from one of the bedrooms, rubbing his eyes and squinting at us.
“Why is it so bright in here?” he grumbled.
“Because it’s daytime,” I said, being a smartass as usual.
He glared at me. “Close the damn curtains, Cam.”
“No. I’m tired of feeling like we live in a cave.”
The bus we’d essentially lived on for months had always felt like that – tiny and cramped and cave-like. Now we had a spacious suite at the top of one of the grandest hotels in New York, and Van wanted me to close off the view. Screw that. He could go back into his room if he wanted to live like a vampire.
Van grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge and slumped down at the kitchen table. He set the bottle down, but he didn’t drink from it.
“Rough night?” Dillon asked him, his eyes still on his video game.
“Yeah,” Van said, his voice still sounding like he was asleep. “Phillip and I drank too much. There were girls. Then the sun was coming up. It was bad. What time is it anyway?”
“Three. We have to be at Madison Square Garden in an hour.”
We all knew the drill. Sound check, hair and make-up, dinner, fan meet-and-greet, chill for a few minutes, perform, after party. We’d done it too many times to count, but this would be one of the last times for a while.
Van nodded. “Cool. I should be human by then.”
“I thought you were staying at Phillip’s last night?” I asked him as I made my way to the kitchen to get a bottle of water.
I uncapped it, took a long drink and leaned against the counter appraising my friend. His nearly black hair was sticking up at odd angles, the product he’d had in it from the night before giving it an unruly look. He looked up at me with the light blue eyes our fans went nuts over.
“I was going to stay there, but Nadia was there, and they were just about fucking on the dining room table, so I left. I grabbed a cab and crashed here. I’ve seen Phillip’s bare ass too many times over the past few years, and I wasn’t up for it again.”
That was a reality we’d all gotten used to. Cramped spaces and four guys who weren’t exactly modest led to the bus having the feel of a locker room at times. We’d all walked in on each other engaging in some sexual act more than once, we’d all heard each other having sex, and we’d all yelled at each other to put clothes on at one point or another. It was just our reality. And not that I’d ever experienced it personally since I hadn’t gone to college, but I had a feeling it was a little like living in a frat house.
“Phillip’s gonna be on time to sound check, right?” Dillon asked.
He was always concerned about being late for things. He felt like if we had a schedule, we should stick to it, and I agreed. I just didn’t ride the other guys like he did.
“He said he would,” Van said before he downed half the bottle of Gatorade.
“He’d better,” Dillon said, shaking his head, his eyes never leaving his game.
“He will. He said something about Nadia catching a flight to South Africa or something, and once she’s gone, his head will be in the game,” Van said. “I guess she has a shoot down there. She asked him to go with her, so he’s taking off on Sunday. He’ll be MIA for a few weeks.”
“Ah, the downfall of dating a supermodel,” I said to no one in particular, wondering what it would be like to go off the grid like that. It kind of appealed to me.
Of course, I had no one to go off the grid with, so that wouldn’t be all that fun. But lying on a beach on some Caribbean island after spending the last leg of our tour in the freezing cities of North America wouldn’t exactly suck.
“When do you guys leave for Detroit?” Van asked, because he had the worst memory in the world after he’d been drinking.
Dillon and I had already told him when we were leaving, but apparently the alcohol he’d consumed the night before prevented him from remembering.
“Sunday morning,” Dillon told him.
“I checked the weather. They’re expecting snow,” I shared, not all that excited about the freezing temperatures I’d purposefully escaped when I’d moved to L.A. three and a half years ago.
We’d all relocated, since our management team wanted us together in the same city as we got to know each other, rehearsed our asses off, and found our rhythm. Dillon and I had lived in an apartment back then, and so had Van and Phillip. Van now lived in a house in the Hollywood Hills since he said it reminded him more of the mountains he’d grown up around than the flat beaches. Phillip, who was from Florida, much preferred the beach and had a condo near us.
“I’m not concerned about snow,” Dillon said absently. “I’m going to have all the body heat I need to keep me warm, and I can order anything I want and have it delivered.”
“You’ll have to go outside eventually. You know your mom will be pissed if her little boy skips out on Thanksgiving.”
“I know,” Dillon said around a sigh as he finished the race he’d been in. “Mere and I are heading up to Detroit for the day. Her parents are coming over. We’re making it a joint family thing.”
“Aww, that’s sweet,” Van teased him.
“Fuck you. Who are you spending your holiday with?” Dillon asked him.
Van shrugged. “College ski bunnies are rampant in Tahoe this time of year. I’ll do alright. In between getting runs in and getting laid, I’ll make time for the three turkey dinners I need to eat in order to satisfy Mom, Dad and Grandma, all of whom are still not speaking to each other.”
I eyed him knowingly, since as a child of divorce, I knew exactly what that was like. I was already going to have to divide and conquer to make sure I didn’t disappoint either of my families.
“Are we having the after party here tonight?” Dillon asked as he stood and switched off the TV.
“Where else would we have it?” I asked him.
“Phillip’s apartment.”
“Nah, he said he promised Nadia he wouldn’t have girls over when she’s not there,” Van supplied.
“Can she really tell him that?” I asked. “She’s not even his girlfriend.”
Van shrugged as he scrolled through his phone. “She gives good head. He’s willing to do what she asks. Whatever. It’s not like we’re hurting for a space to party.”
“I’m going to get a shower,” Dillon announced.
“Have fun,” I told him.
“You’re not joining him?” Van asked me.
I flipped him off. “Fuck you.”
“What? It says here that you two snuck off last night after the concert for some alone time. There’s also a rumor that you’re going on a romantic getaway over Christmas – something about Fiji. It sounds lov
ely.” Van was smirking as he looked up and met my gaze.
“Fuck off, Van,” Dillon said in annoyance as he left the room.
“Don’t do that, dude,” I told Van. “You know it pisses him off.”
“Why? It’s not like you two are actually fucking. What did you do last night anyway? Come back here, drink beers and play video games while Dillon talked to Meredith?”
“Exactly, except he was multi-tasking in talking to her while we played. He’s getting good at that.”
“Important life skills,” Van said sarcastically.
“I’ve always thought so,” I said as I pushed off the counter. “I guess I’ll get a shower too.”
“Give Dillon a kiss for me.”
I turned and blew a kiss at Van. “You know you’re the only guy for me.”
“Ugh, that’s gross. You always take shit too far.”
I shrugged. “Quit calling me gay, and I’ll quit inviting you to join me.”
“Fine, I’ll stop.”
We both knew he wouldn’t. He hadn’t quit in all the time I’d known him. But it didn’t really bug me. I knew I was ‘pretty’. I’d been teased for it my whole life and called worse things than gay. I was used to it, and I was secure enough in my own sexuality to not let it bother me.
Growing up in a rougher neighborhood, looking the way I did, taking vocal lessons and being into theater, I’d gotten picked on a lot when I was younger. But I’d spent my teenage years training in MMA at my uncle’s gym, so no one messed with me after that. Gay or not, I could kick most people’s asses, and they knew it. Thankfully I hadn’t needed to fight anyone in years.
“Text Phillip and tell him to get over here,” I told Van since he was still messing around on his phone. “We don’t need him to be late today. Damon told me the fan meet and greet is double the size since it’s our last stop on the tour. We’re starting earlier than normal. Same drill tomorrow night.”
Van groaned.
“Hey, our fans are awesome,” I reminded him. They were pretty much the reason for our success.
“I know. I’m just tired.”
“Two more nights of smiling and hugging and gushing,” I promised him. “Then you’ll be relatively free for three months.”
“Salvation, brother.”
“Exactly,” I said, even though I didn’t really mean that. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d miss touring. I really would.
Chapter Three
Andi
“How much do you love me?” my friend Tory asked as she slid onto the banquette next to me and grinned, having just left the dance floor where she’d pretty much been since we’d arrived.
We were at a trendy downtown club that she and Hannah had wanted to try, and I’d begrudgingly left my apartment after being coerced by my friends that if I didn’t jump back into the land of the living, they were going to stage an intervention. It had been two weeks since David and I had broken up, and although I was no longer wallowing in depression – which I considered a step up – I still wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind.
It was the first time I’d gone out in weeks, and Hannah and Tory only told me after we were in the cab on our way downtown that I had to dance with at least two guys before the night was over and talk to at least one. I had yet to do either thing, because I was still in denial that I was single again. I hated being single.
I wanted to be with David. I also wanted him to not be married, not be a liar, and be in love with me. He wasn’t any of those things, so I couldn’t be with him. It was a vicious realization that hit me each morning when I woke up.
What made it worse was that I knew he still wanted to be with me. He’d been calling almost every other day, but I had yet to pick up. I gave myself credit for that, at least. I was trying to stay strong, and I did that by remembering what it had felt like to see him kiss his wife.
I knew we couldn’t be together. I’d accepted that. I didn’t like it, but what we’d had was a lie anyway, so it wasn’t like I could say I was missing out. What I wanted didn’t exist.
So in an effort to get over him, to move on with my life, and to appease my friends, I’d put on something cute, I was drinking a blood orange martini, and I was going to work up the courage to approach a guy – eventually. Just the thought put me in a bad mood. I hated dating. But I was willing to appease my friends, because they were right. At some point I had to move forward. Taking the first step was going to be hard, but it had to be done.
“Um, I love you bunches and bunches? Is that the answer you’re looking for?” I asked Tory over the loud music pulsing overhead.
The deejay was playing an amped up mix of what I thought was a Taylor Swift song. It was kind of brilliant, even to a non-fan like me.
Tory laughed. “Totally!” Then she looked around. “Where’s Hannah?”
“She’s getting us another round. What happened to the hottie you were dancing with? Did you get bored with him already?”
Tory grinned. “I left him wanting more. I might dance with him again before the night’s over. We’ll see.”
“You are such a player,” I teased her, knowing how much she loved hearing it.
But the description fit. She loved the chase and the games and the wondering if a guy was going to call. We were complete opposites in that regard. But that was why I’d loved her since the day she’d bounced into my cubicle at work on my very first day. She’d only worked at our PR firm for a month at that point, but she wanted to give me the lay of the land and demanded that I go out for drinks with her after work. She had been smiling at me with sparkling eyes and a playful look that told me she’d probably be a hell of a lot of fun.
We’d been friends ever since, and I hadn’t been wrong. She was mischievous as hell, which was as fun as it was scary at times. She brought out a side of me that I usually kept hidden, that not many people got to see, and I did what I could to keep her on earth when she threatened to float away on a cloud of bad decisions – at least when I could. I wasn’t always skilled in keeping her out of trouble.
“I’m just good at flirting and making them want more,” Tory explained. “Besides, the night is young, and there might be another, hotter guy who comes along. It’s important to keep my options open.”
I laughed. If anyone would have options, it was Tory. She was the epitome of what every guy dreamed about – thin, long blond hair, high cheekbones and wide-set eyes that gave away so much from the start. She knew it too. With just one look, they were usually hooked.
“So why are you asking if I love you? You know I do, darling,” I said blowing an air-kiss in her direction.
She blew one back. “Because I have amazing news,” she said, her eyes dancing.
“What is it?!” I asked with mock-excitement, because amazing to Tory and amazing to me could mean two very different things.
She grinned. “Well, remember when you said you wanted to try new things?”
“Considering it was about two hours ago, yes, I remember agreeing to that.”
It was Hannah and Tory’s way of getting me over David. They said I had to be bold and do things that scared me. I had to take risks. And for the girl who didn’t normally do that, I figured it was probably a good suggestion. I’d told them, ‘game on’. I realized now that I probably should have thought that decision through before flat out agreeing.
“Well, just so you know, today has pretty much been the best day. And I have the best idea!” she said excitedly.
“What’s that?” I asked warily.
“What are we talking about?” Hannah asked as she set our drinks in the middle of the table.
I reached for mine and took a long drink, having finished my other one a few seconds earlier.
“Tory is having the best day,” I told her.
“Did you do something slutty that we don’t know about?” Hannah teased her as she took a sip of her key lime pie martini.
Tory just winked at her and reached for her extra-dirty martini
. “Probably. But that’s not why I’m in a good mood.”
“Okay, so what happened?” I prompted.
Tory took a deep breath before saying, “I won tickets to the Westside concert tomorrow night, and passes to meet the band before the show! Can you believe it?!”
“Seriously?” I deadpanned.
“Who’s Westside?” Hannah asked.
Tory looked at her in shock. “Are you kidding me? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them.”
Hannah shrugged. “I haven’t. I don’t think.”
Tory turned to me. “Andi, you’ve heard of them, right?”
“Sure,” I said offhandedly, because I knew the name.
I couldn’t tell her one song they sang, but I’d heard their songs on the radio. I usually changed the station when they came on, but that was beside the point.
“Well, they are an amazing boy band, and I get to see them from the front row!” Tory gushed. “I have been seriously trying to win tickets for weeks, because the concert is completely sold out, and I absolutely refuse to buy resale tickets in the nosebleed section for five hundred dollars a piece. That is just ridiculous. So, this was my only option, and I freaking won!”
“What did you have to do?” I asked her as Hannah continued to stare at her in disbelief.
She didn’t always understand Tory’s ability to channel her inner eighteen year-old like I did. I sort of found it endearing.
“I went head-to-head with this thirteen year-old girl in a trivia contest,” Tory explained. “And I won, because I am obviously superior. So I’m going, and I have an extra ticket, and no one I know wants to go, so I figured this could be something new that you try.”
Westside Series Box Set Page 3