Idol (VIP, #1)(68)

Scottie sits back, resting his ankle on his bent knee in that way men have of crossing their legs. “I am afraid to fly,” he tells me.

“Okay…”

“Utterly and completely,” he continues, his body stiff. “Every time I get on one of those death contraptions called a jet, I want to vomit.”

“But you fly all the time.”

“My job demands that I do.” Another brow quirk. “You understand my meaning?”

My head feels heavy as I nod.

Maybe Scottie notices that I’m on the verge of panic, because his voice goes soft as Kill John ends their set and the music stops.

“Killian believes in you.”

I refuse to look in Killian’s direction again.

“He brought you here, put you on that stage, because he believes,” Scottie murmurs.

A shuddery breath leaves me.

“You had to know this,” Scottie says.

“Yes.” I knew. But I’d never allowed myself to think too deeply on what was behind all his support. Had he pushed Scottie on me too?

As if reading my mind, Scottie makes a noise of disagreement. “No one in this group does something against their will. Including me.” He leans in, forcing me to meet his eyes. His expression is hard, serious. “I have little interest in managing a reluctant singer. You have to be all-in or you will fail.”

“Then why approach me at all? When you knew I’d be reluctant?”

“There’s a difference between snapping out of a fear and being unwilling to do a thing at all. I wanted to discover which scenario I was dealing with.”

“And now you know?”

Scottie gives me one of his quick, tight smiles. “Only you can tell me that. I’ve merely opened the door for contemplation.” He rises, crisp and fresh as ever in his perfect three-piece suit. “You know where to find me when you have an answer.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





Killian



“Where the hell are you going?”

Jax’s question stops me short. So close to the exit, and yet so far. I turn and adopt what I hope is a bland expression. “To bed. Catch a nap.”

Yeah, that goes about as well as expected. The guys look at me as if I’d just said I wanted one of them to put a diaper on me. Once they get over their horror, the questions start flying.

“Bed? There had better be a woman waiting in that bed.”

“More like three,” Whip adds. “It’s freaking four o’clock. You don’t go up to bed at four for anything other than three women.”

“Is that a new rule?” I deadpan.

“It ought to be,” Rye retorts, disgust still riding high on his face.

“Seriously, Kills?” Jax shakes his head. “Are we old men now?”

I can’t tell them the truth. That I do have a woman waiting for me. Or that Libby is better than three women, better than any amount of women. So I have to stand here looking like a killjoy and a dick. “I’m just tired.” Lame. Lame. Lame.

“Fucking lame, man.” Rye shakes his head.

I keep my mouth shut.

“Next thing you’ll be telling us you have a headache,” Whip says, his nose wrinkling like he’s scenting something ripe.

“Now that you mention it,” I start with a forced grin.

They all roll their eyes and groan. Jax tosses a water bottle at my head. I catch it mid-air.

“Take some aspirin and buck up,” he says, chucking a small pill bottle next.

I catch that too and clutch it in my hand. Fucking hell. I’m stuck. We have a rare night off. After we wrapped up our run-through and initial sound check, Libby went upstairs, saying she was taking some time for herself. None of the guys questioned that. Why should they? She’s entitled to some personal space.

I am not given the same leeway. No, they want to hang out, go to a bar and check out the local scene—which means women. Ordinarily, I’d be down with spending time with the guys. They’re my best friends; we’ve been apart for nearly a year. But having to push off advances from women without the guys figuring out why? Not easy. And not fun.

Neither is continuing to pretend that Libby is just my friend. I can’t touch her the way I want to, which is pretty much all the time and all over. I practically have to sit on my hands to keep from reaching for her. Makes me damn grumpy.

Worse? Libby has been sliding me looks all day. And they were not sexy, when-are-you-going-to-be-inside-of-me-again looks. She’s thinking things. Never a good sign when it’s accompanied by frowns.

Scottie talked to her earlier, so it’s a pretty good bet that’s what it’s about. But I can’t figure if she’s mad or not. And I want to know. Now. When she cut out on the evening early, it wasn’t like I could say, “Oh, hey, I’m leaving with Libby too.” I’m stuck biding my time.

I might have channeled my inner toddler and f*cking pouted were it not for the fact that the guys would wonder about that too. Fuck it.

Frustration claws its way up my throat, and I blurt out the one thing I know will make them back off, even if it humiliates me in the process. “I have the shits, all right?”

Three sets of shocked faces stare back at me.

“Now can I go, or is there anything else you wanted?”