much I loved his album. How I had it on repeat. But I couldn’t. I was jealous of every single person who got to work on that album with him, and I hated seeing him at publicity events. He looked so happy.
Then his singles failed to hit any charts, and I got busy throwing myself into making sure the same didn’t happen to me.
Reggie finishes the song, and I find myself having to wipe away a tear.
“That was perfect,” Mason says, his voice raspy.
“Really?” Reggie’s eyes light up.
“Do exactly that during filming, and there’s no way labels won’t notice you,” I say.
He looks like he’s sweating. “Oh. Okay. Umm, pressure.”
“You’ve got this,” I say. “Want to go through it again?”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
The second time around, I force myself to look at Reggie the whole time because if I even glance at Mason, all this emotional shit will bubble to the surface when I’m trying like hell to push it all down.
Reggie’s eyes are on me too, and it helps to keep me focused. One of the first things I told my group is I know how easy it is to get overwhelmed onstage, and the best practice is to pick a spot to stare at and block out the rest.
He finishes it as flawlessly as the first time, and I’m confident enough to cut our session short.
As soon as he’s out the door, Mason’s shaking his head. “Fucking hell.”
“What?”
“Do all your contestants want you?”
“What?”
“That guy is into you.”
“No, he’s not. He was using me as a focal point.”
“It was more than that.”
“If you say so.” I stand from the piano and move to the minibar in the room. “Water?”
“Thanks.”
I pull two out and hand him one.
He runs his tongue over his top lip. “Shame he’s a contestant. You could’ve done that experimenting thing with him.”
Except Mason still doesn’t get it that the only guy I’ve ever had eyes for is him.
“Yeah. Shame,” I say half-heartedly.
“Do you think you’re going to be okay staying in the house overnight with all these hot, young people lusting after you?”
“I’m sure I’ll manage. I did last night.”
“My door’s always open if you need a place to hide.”
My mouth opens to say I’ll be fine, but … sharing his room? His bed? I really shouldn’t take him up on that. “All good.”
“Offer’s there. I don’t like the way either of them looked at you.”
I grunt. There he goes with the big brother act again. “I know how to turn down an aggressive fan, remember? We did it together for seven years.”
“You know how to run away,” Mason says. “There’s a difference. Where will you run to in your own house?”
That’s actually a really good point, but I don’t think the answer is his bed.
I have to be strong and not take him up on his really tempting offer.
Don’t do it, Denny. Do. Not. Do. It.
Chapter Twelve
Mason
Something still isn’t sitting right with me as I try to get to sleep. I punch my pillows, trying to fluff them up, but it doesn’t work. I can’t get comfortable, and I don’t think it’s purely a physical problem.
Sure, I could say that I’m being my overprotective self when it comes to the way those contestants were looking at Denver, but it’s something deeper than that.
When I dropped by to see how things were going because he seemed to be taking longer with Blondie than the others, it was only to warn Denver that the mutterings out by the pool were that he was giving her extra time.
After hearing her sing, I can see why she needed it, but I wasn’t expecting to walk in and find her practically in his lap.
I trust Denver not to cross professional lines because he’s been in the industry long enough to know it could fuck up his entire career by sleeping with a contestant. Despite that, the scene I walked in on was just too ick.
Then the Jealous kid sang all puppy-dog-eyed, and I wanted to tell him to back off too even though he was at a lot more professional distance.
The sickly feeling in my gut is because I’m looking out for Denver’s career. That’s all. Because I know what it’s like to lose one, and I don’t want the same for him. He’s too precious for this industry.
When I hear the sliding door to the guesthouse slide open, I raise my head. Denver’s tall but slim frame fills the space.
“Don’t tell me,” I whisper, “you found a naked contestant