20
Mason
Brunch isn’t exactly my thing.
I don’t crave it, don’t meet friends for it, and frankly, I eat my breakfast before dawn and my lunch after one in the afternoon, and I’m happy with that. I don’t need some trendy mash-up that’s just an excuse to drink tomatoey or orangey acid with alcohol and talk shit about people you know behind their backs.
I’m explaining all this to Sorsha during our descent to brunch, and she’s nodding along, but I’m noticing her lackluster stare as she opens a compact and checks herself out in the mini-mirror.
“I’m boring you,” I say, leaning against one elevator wall and crossing my arms.
Sorsha dabs at the corners of her lips, perfecting that dastardly raspberry pink she has on that won’t wipe off my cheek unless I use some form of chemical.
“Not at all, babe,” she says, moving her profile to and fro in the mirror. She smooths down some baby hairs.
I feel the need to point out the giant mirror behind her, actually a whole wall of it, but I’d rather skip our versions of pleasantries.
“Wanna tell me why you showed up at my door at four in the morning then?” I ask. “Drunk as a skunk?”
Sorsha casts an annoyed look my way. Even with a frown, she’s gorgeous. Wide, anime-like green eyes, flawless, spa-maintained skin, gel-plumped lips, and golden hair for days. She’s tall and works out about as much as I do, except she uses a trainer that makes her run up staircases and hills before he appreciatively smacks her in the ass and they fuck.
Yeah, they fuck.
It’s why I dumped her appreciative ass and haven’t seen her in months, yet last night she made it a priority to shove herself back in. She tripped into my suite the moment I opened the door, giggling and smelling like sour champagne, what was once a chic up-do hanging lopsided on one side of her head and smudged mascara trailing down her eyes like a sad noir clown. I righted her with a hand on her arm, and she fell into my chest in tears.
“I-I miss you, Mase,” she said, sniffing and garbling. “Oh my God, I miss you. I was at this awards show and I thought, where’s my guy? Where’s my prince? He’s here in the UK and he’s not visiting me. Why doesn’t he care about me anymore?”
“Because you fuck your staff when you think I’m not looking,” I deadpanned as she sobbed into my shirt.
She smacked my pec with a weak hand. “That’s a lie. The tabloids told you that.”
“No, my own eyes showed me that when I walked in on you in your guest bedroom doing it doggy-style with a guy who’s poindexter head doesn’t reach your chin.”
“You’re so crass,” she mumbled into my skin, then pushed away, sneering. “Why do I even like you?”
The question forced me to think about Mack and the things I did to her. The stuff I’m still doing. “Chicks dig a guy who treats them like shit, I guess.”
Though I’m not as triumphant as I once was. It’s a pussy move, to bring a woman to tears. I wished someone had told me that as an eighteen-year-old punk. Would’ve saved me a lot of shoes being flung at my head, and submitting to hurled insults while their faces crumbled with hurt and heartache.
Ah, Mack. You’re the first girl I broke. I’m still thinking of the way you cracked in half and how I was responsible.
I tried shooing Sorsha out the door, but she was too wobbly-eyed and unsteady to go anywhere far. I called down for a separate room, but with Nocturne Court’s presence in the hotel, all other rooms were sold out by those clamoring to get a peek at us—press and fans alike. Reluctantly, I opted for the couch and Sorsha took my bed. There were a few drunken sneak-ups once we both went down, when Sorsha crept into the main room, naked, hair tousled, face clean, and while I appreciated the view, all I could think of was Mack next door, asleep in a ratty, oversized tee, her hair all over the place and sober as a nun.
It didn’t matter my dick twitched, anyway, because Sorsha fell dead asleep while climbing on top of me. I carried her back to bed, and that was that.
Except it couldn’t end there, now could it? Mack had to be the first witness to Sorsha gliding out of the room, looking to all the world like she spent a satisfying night with her ex. She does that—appears exceptional after a night of heavy drinking and drug-use. It’s been embedded in her since she was discovered at sixteen and her agent introduced her to nightclubs, underage drinking, and unlimited lines of coke to keep her entertained off-set.
She’s hungry, she says, which is why I thought to order her room service. She ate a few pieces of fruit and declared herself done. I told her of my brunch plans and she looked up at me with a blank stare.
“Babe, I came for a fuck, not a date,” she said.
I cock a brow. “Yeah? Well, good. Okay. Then we can part ways.”
“Except I didn’t get my orgasm.”
“It’s not coming from me, Sorsh. I gotta go. I’m already late.”
Her eyes narrow. “You never pass up an emotionless screw. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just don’t think the timing’s right.”
“Don’t tell me you’re hurt over what I did.” She laughs. “You’re the coldest man I’ve ever been with. I was trying to get a rise out of you! Boil up some emotion in that brain of yours! My mistake, thinking sleeping with my personal trainer would affect you.”
“You and I, we liked trying to piss each other off. We were even angrier in bed. It wasn’t good for either of us.”
“For you, maybe,” Sorsha mumbled, then stood. “I liked how we played together.”
This was going nowhere, fast. “Let’s go.”
She sighed with disappointment, but followed me to the suite’s door, then stepped out first, as that’s what she does.
Right into the eyeballs of McKenna Beckley.
Something curled in my gut at the sight of her and her expression as it computed who was coming out of my room with me. A snake, rather pleased with itself, coiled and slithered within, waiting for the emotional response to what she’d thought I’d done.
There was nothing. Not even an eyelid twitch. Mack made some comment about the lipstick on my face. Strange disappointment coated my frown when she said that, a foreign feeling at missing the mark when making someone jealous, and it made me uncomfortable.
Then Mack spun around and took the elevator on her own. She didn’t hold it for us, and I smiled.
So she was affected by Sorsha’s presence.
I tsk-tsk’d under my breath. “Rude, Mack.”
Sorsha glanced over. “Who was that?”
“No one.” Someone. “C’mon, now we gotta wait for another elevator.”
“You’re doing that stone-faced thing,” Sorsha said as I ushered her forward. Then her expression cleared. “Do you like her? That small woman who has the same amount of hair as a toy troll?”
“Don’t be mean,” I chastised. “That only looks good on me.”
So now here I am, in an elevator with my ex, waiting to depart on a lower floor so I don’t have to take her to the lobby and face cameras.
Once the floor to the ballroom hits, I peel away from the wall and head out, but Sorsha stops me when she unexpectedly presses up against my chest, and lays her lips on my own.
“I ain’t lying,” she says as she leans back with a smirk. She’s inadvertently fallen into her cockney accent, back when she used to be known as Maggie Dildendorf.
I tend to bring out the traits women hate about themselves the most. I’m still not sure if it’s a weapon of mine or a flaw.
“I miss you,” she says. “I miss your fucked up ways even more.”
I stroke a finger down her cheek. “That’s what worries me, darling. Safe travels.”
Turning, I leave her in the elevator. She doesn’t chase after me and has pulled out her phone and pressed it to her ear as the elevator doors slide shut. Typical Sorsha.
The carpeted hallway’s deserted as I make my way to the ballroom, but up ahead I see a flash of leg disappear
through a door. A milky, toned calf with a cream ribbon thing lacing up her skin and attached to her sandals.
Mack? Did Mack just witness Sorsha’s kiss?
Part of me’s delighted with this turn of events.
I’m no idiot—I’m sensing the parallels. Sorsha’s need to get a rise out of me to prove I still have feelings for her versus my instinct to push Mack into furious emotion to showcase that yes, I’m still present within her shattered heart.
Hey, nobody said I wasn’t as fucked up as my ex.
The banquet brunch is a cacophony of noise when I step in, plates being passed, laughter exchanged, surrounded by the comfort and ease of people who’ve been around each other twenty-four-seven. The buffet-style food is laid out in the back, and my stomach rumbles as soon as I spot pancakes.
Nodding, waving, but not stopping, I make my way through the tables, grabbing a plate once I’m near the food.
My plate’s piled with brunch food by the time I turn to find Nocturne Court’s table, where I know Mack will be waiting because I’ve demanded it. I scan the tables, find my guys and gal, and move to—
Wait a damned minute.
My brother’s in my seat beside Mack, his arm thrown around the back of her chair, their heads close together in conversation.
Mack glances up, acknowledges me with some kind of bland slow-blink, then goes back to Brax.
My smile drops.
My strides become a lot more pissed.
My food crashes down next to Brax, and he jumps.
“Jesus, man,” he says.
“You’re in my seat,” I say.
“Your seat?”
Wyn gestures to Brax with a fork. “Let him have the table, man. We gotta talk logistics on the next show, anyway.”
East leans back, crossing his arms and enjoying the current show. Rex eyes my plate, the pile of food toppled by my firm drop.
“I thought you hated brunch, Mase,” he says.
“I dislike the act of brunch, not the food of brunch,” I snap, then turn back to Brax. “Out. Before I drag you up by your shirt-collar.”
“Dang, bro.” Brax throws his hands up. “I was only entertaining your girl until you got here.”
“I’m not his girl,” Mack pipes in, and there it is, what I want. The death glare. Not whatever that blank look was when she saw me at the buffet.
“His tour companion, then. Friend buddy.” Brax rolls his eyes. “I’m out of whatever you two got cooking.”
Brax stands, leaving me, the band, and Mack at the table. I fall into my seat and dig into a stack of pancakes, finding I’m ravenous.
“Active night?” Mack asks wryly.
“Why?” I say through the side of my mouth. “You curious how I spend my nights with a woman?”
“Not in the least.” Mack pushes a sad, bruised strawberry around her plate.
I smile while open-mouth chewing. “Uh-huh.”
“Ugh,” she says. “Learn some manners.”
I swallow, then lean into her ear. “Decorum isn’t part of the package when I’m focused on playing the notes of a body. Stroking, strumming, until I use that rhythm to make us both come. Preferably at the same time.” I steal her strawberry. “Remember how that was?”
The color on her cheeks tells me she does.
I smile and lean back.
“We should have more studio time after the tour,” Wyn’s saying. “I think Mase is inspired to actually write these days.”
I slide my gaze over to Mack who steadfastly ignores me. “My muse is rather stunning, I’ll admit.”
Mack’s jaw locks, but she says nothing as she picks up her OJ. In fact, she seems to be glaring at Rex.
“Yeah, Rex,” she says. “Shouldn’t you guys be booking studio time for your next album?”
Rex pauses in his chewing, and suddenly I’m witness to a random stare-down between my tour-campanion-friend-buddy and my lead singer.
“We still need to sort that out,” Rex says.
“Oh, really? Now seems to be a good time,” Mack says, then motions around the table. “Everyone’s here.”
“Spinner’s not,” Rex says, referring to our manager. “He’s the one who has our calendar. And I’ll thank you to butt out of our business, Mack.”
“Hey.” My tone whiplashes across the table. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
Rex shoots me a look. “Ah, don’t don the shining armor, Mase. It’s not a good look on you.”
“Don’t patronize me,” I say. “Mack has a point. Why haven’t we booked studio time? We always do in the middle of a tour. To get our schedules straight once we hit home.”
“We’re delayed this time, okay?” Rex says. “It’s not a big deal. East, back me up, man.”
I’m looking between Rex and East, trying to figure out what their silent exchange means. Or their random team-up.
“Boys,” I say carefully. “What’s going on?”
“Dude, nothing,” Easton says. “Quit it with all the sensitivity training.”
Mack makes an annoyed sound in her throat. Her fork clangs against her empty plate. “Can I talk to you privately, Mason?”
Rex’s head jerks back up. Easton goes still. And Wyn … Wyn reaches over and steals one of my pancakes.
“I guess,” I say, and stand, whipping my cloth napkin locker room style at Wyn’s face before throwing it across my plate.
“Great,” she says and pushes out of her chair.
“Mack…” I hear Rex say.
She tosses him a closed-mouth smile. Whatever’s going on with them, it’s weirding me out. Makes me think I’m missing something. It’s not sexual, whatever it is. Rex would never jeopardize his relationship with Harper, but…
“What’s going on?” I ask Mack.
She responds my grasping my forearm and dragging me out of the ballroom. Once we’re in the hallway, she finds an emergency exit, and we go through, walking up one floor until we’re at the base of the next staircase and settled in quiet privacy.
“What do you have going on with Rex?” I ask again.
Mack makes a sound of disgust. “If you think for one second that I’m banging Rex on the side—”
“Actually, no. Didn’t think it for a nanosecond.”
She bites her tongue. “Oh. Well. Good. But enough about Rex, or your band, though you should do some sorting out there.”
“Why?”
“Mason, I don’t have time for—” Mack’s expression flickers like she’s warring with what to say. Then she takes a breath. “Look. You said yourself there’s distance growing with some of the members of Nocturne Court. Most especially Rex. Explore that, okay?”
I screw up my face. “Explore that? What are you, Therapist Mack, now?”
“Just—just figure your shit out, if this band means so much to you.”
I respond without hesitation. “This band is everything to me.”
Her lashes flutter. She says softly, “Then talk to your bandmates more. And not with crude jokes or sideswipes or whatever you guys do. Take it seriously.”
“Here we go. Don’t tell me you pulled me aside to talk about my perceived immaturity levels and how I’ve never grown out of the little boy that could. You still got that tag on me, huh? I’m still the guy you think you can improve—”
“I don’t want any of that.” She waves me away, and I’m oddly insulted at her dismissal despite hating her tendency to never believe I’m good enough. “I’m only judging by what I see, and you guys aren’t as close as you were starting out. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Uh-huh. Well. Thanks for your observation.” I cross my arms. “Anything else?”
Mack squares her shoulders. “You and Sorsha.”
Both corners of my mouth tilt up slowly. “So you do feel something about that.”
“It didn’t sit well with me, but not in the way you’re thinking.” She scrapes her hair back, a habit I’m finding I’d like to do to her myself. Before licking down her
neck and scraping my teeth against her breasts.
“Then what?” I add, because I’m an asshole, “You’re looking pretty close with Brax, anyway.”
“I—what? God, Mason.” She throws her hands against her hips. “Can you stop being so infuriating?”
“No.”
“Just because I do what I do, doesn’t mean I throw myself at any male specimen for cash. Not Brax, not Rex, and not you—”
I cock my head. “Why not? Isn’t that your business model?”
“Aargh.” She points a finger into my chest. “You are such a son of a bitch.”
“It’s not like I try to hide it.”
“I don’t want Brax. I don’t want Rex. And I don’t want you, okay? I’m only trying to keep to our agreement so I can walk away with the money you promised.”
A tiny bubble of bitter acid pops near my ribcage at her matter-of-factness. She can’t possibly mean that. There’s something between us.
I’m boring holes into her forehead with my stare, but she spars with verbal swords. “You’re just mad I didn’t react to you and Sorsha getting back together.”
“Correction. We’re not together.”
“Fine, screwing, then. Whatever. My point’s still made—I don’t care who you decide to be with. I’m only here because of an offer I can’t refuse, and that’s a whole lotta cash.”
I clench my jaw. Work it back and forth. Try not to rage against what is fast becoming an infuriating argument.
But she’s not done. “See, Mase, you keep thinking I’ll realize this changed man and suddenly decide that he’s the one to save me. But when I look at you, I still see a broken boy.” She steps up, and I don’t back down. “One who destroys his toys because he likes being surrounded by ruin. These days, you collect broken things, like me, thinking you can rebuild them the way you want, but let me tell you, I am not looking to be put back together again, especially by you. In fact, I want some of that money you promised me, in my hands, right now.”
To hide the staggering shock, I offer a quick, venomous smile. “I don’t buy it, Mack. This whole cold hard cash chick standing in front of me.”
“I want half. Especially after seeing you with your ex this morning.”
Strum Me Page 14