to it, I’m still heartbroken, yet there’s that little part of me that craves approval. It’s fucking twisted, and maybe I should see a therapist about it.
I suck in my nerves and try to swallow them as I make my way across the lawn and up the back steps onto the balcony.
Denver’s voice stops me just short of the door. “So, I have a little secret to share with you guys, and it’s really important when I say you can’t tell anyone. No producers, no friends, nothing.”
“Is this where you induct us into Scientology or something?” one of the guys asks. Smartass.
Denver laughs. “Uh, no. I have a friend staying with me at the moment. Someone who’s trying to stay out of the spotlight for a while.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Can I trust you all to keep his location to yourselves?”
There’s a feminine squee and a couple of half-hearted promises.
“Need us to pinky swear?” a girl asks.
“Nah, this type of thing needs a blood oath,” the same smartass voice from before says.
“Your word will be fine. As long as I can trust you won’t break it.” Denver’s using his professional voice. The charming, nice, and manufactured one.
He was given the nice-guy role. The naïve persona. Probably because he was the youngest of us. In reality, he drinks like a fish and swears like a sailor.
I was given the bad-boy persona after the label used my heartache over my fiancée cheating to their advantage. I treat women like dirt, and no one can tame me. Apparently.
That’s the story they give. I’d love someone to tame me. I want to wake up next to my soul mate every day and make love to them every night, but fame changed all that. After that first crushing heartbreak, I didn’t know who I could trust. So I leaned into the bad-boy reputation. It’s no surprise I’ve ended up alone.
“He should be here any minute,” Denver says.
“I’m here,” I croak and step around the corner and through the sliding door.
“I knew it!” I’m guessing the brunette is the one who squeed before.
I glance at Denver, wondering if he’s thinking the same thing as me. The fandom of Eleven never gets old. But instead, he’s staring at me, his eyes wide, his lips parted.
Oh, right, my hair. “Did I fuck up my haircut?” I run my hand through the product-heavy tufts.
“No. It, uh, looks good.” He turns to his contestants. “Everyone, this is Mason. Mason, this is Cece, Declan, Henry, Isla, and Reggie.” Denver points as he goes, but I’ll probably remember them as Super Fan, James Blunt 2.0, Preppy Boy, Blondie, and Token Black Guy. With Super Fan being Latina, I guess they’ve hit their diversity quota.
I wave awkwardly. “Hey.”
There’s a spot saved for me at the opposite head of the table to Denver.
“Dig in,” Denver says about the pizza boxes laid out in front of us.
We all grab ourselves some pizza, but there’s a weird vibe around the group. I don’t know if it’s because I’m here or if they’re nervous or what. I raise an eyebrow at Denver in silent question, but he looks as confused as I do.
I lean back in my seat. “I take it from your silence, you all have questions for me.”
“There he goes with that ego of his,” Denver snarks but smiles at me.
“Where have you been?” Blondie asks.
“Montana.”
She rolls her eyes. “We know that, but I mean why?”
“Oh. Uh, to be close to my family. It’s where I grew up. I was tired of Hollywood bullshit.”
Five pairs of eyes blink at me.
“We’re supposed to be trying to get these people interested in the business, Mase,” Denver says.
“Right. Oops.” I put on an over-the-top voice. “Get a record deal, kids. It’s great.” I throw them two thumbs up.
Denver’s not impressed. “Okay, now you’re plain scaring them.”
“You guys are funny,” Super Fan says. “So it’s really true, then? You guys are actually friends?”
Wow, hello, loaded question. Not that they know any better. Denver pierces me with that aqua gaze I have such a soft spot for. He wants me to answer this? Fine.
“Best of.” Rule number one in Hollywood. Stick to the script. Once upon a time, it wouldn’t have been so difficult to say how close we are. Now …
“He’s lying.” Denver smirks. “He’s just here for the food.”
“That too,” I agree.
The James Blunt lookalike turns to me. “I’ve seen what’s been said about you after that photo … and, uh … I don’t really know proper etiquette