Idol (VIP, #1)(90)

***

“Your connection is shitty. All I heard was something about Whip, awesome, and balls. Then it went dead. I’m not sure I want to know. Lie. I do. Tell me you haven’t moved on to balls. Oh, and say hi to the guys. I’ve got to go.”

***

“Service to the US sucks here. I can’t get a call through half the time. And—would you guys shut the f*ck up? I’m on the phone. Sorry. I’m trying to find a private place here. I’d call you when I get back in my room, but the time difference sucks too. I’m pretty sure you’re asleep right now. Shit. It’s breaking up…I…”

***

“It’s a lost cause trying to connect, isn’t it? Why don’t we try to talk when things calm down? And…well, if we’re really taking time to figure things out, maybe we shouldn’t be talking so much right now, anyway. Not that I don’t want to talk to you. I just…we’re both busy. I’m babbling so I’m going to hang up now. Take care, Killian.”

***

I listen to her final message three times. It doesn’t get any easier to hear. I’ve lost her. What I don’t know is if it’s because I sent her away or if she simply realized that she doesn’t feel as strongly for me as I do for her.

I want to ask—no, demand—that she tell me. I want to lay it all down and hash this shit out. But I can’t do that over the phone. And I can’t leave the tour. I can’t do that to the guys.

My thumb taps the edge of my phone as I think of what to say.

I’ll let you go for now. But text me if you need anything. K?

When she doesn’t answer my text, I chuck my phone across the room. The door to the dressing room opens before impact, and the phone smacks the center of Jax’s chest. He frowns down at the phone that’s clattered to the floor before looking back up at me. “Fans are waiting for the meet and greet.”

As if to punctuate his words, a group of women bursts in behind him on a wave of giggles. Their smiles are eager and all for me. All blonde, all gorgeous, they’re whispering in a language I don’t understand. Norwegian. We’re in Norway.

I rub the aching spot over my chest. Fuck. I need to let this thing with chasing Libby go. She’s busy building her life. The life I sent her to lead. My life is here. Doing what I’ve always done. I’ve survived just fine for twenty-six years without her. I can survive now.

“Right.” I find a smile and paste it on. I won’t touch them. The idea makes me ill. But I can play host. I can do that much for the guys. “Welcome, ladies.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight





Libby



I’m tired. So tired I don’t remember where I am half the time. Everything is nebulous. I’m living in this strange cloud filled with too many strangers and too many fake smiles—my fake smiles. I hand them out like a politician passes out buttons. And I feel just as slick doing it.

I have been completely on my own for a while now. But not since my parents died have I felt so utterly lonely. It doesn’t matter that I’m surrounded by people, my schedule full. I don’t have the one person I want at my side. Hell, I even miss the guys. A lot.

My backup band is great. But they aren’t true friends. When the job is done, they head home to family. And Scottie is a man unto himself. In a strange way, he’s a lot like me. Not shy, not antisocial exactly, just self-contained and private. I certainly can’t throw stones his way. But he doesn’t make for an ideal companion.

“Is it always like this?” I ask him as we leave yet another party in the Hills. The house was breathtaking, the people there even more so. I met actors I’d watched since childhood and those who are just now hot commodities. So many gorgeous creatures, I hadn’t known what to do with myself or what to say. Not that I had to say much of anything. Most of these people love to hear themselves talk.

All night, I had to check myself from turning to whisper a comment in Killian’s ear. Because he wasn’t there. Why can’t my brain and body seem to get that message?

“Is what ‘always like this’?” Scottie answers, nose deep in his phone calendar.

“The endless pushing.” I ease my shoes off my feet, wincing. Thanks to Brenna, I now own my own Louboutins. My appreciation for them died the first time I put them on. “Two months we’ve been at it. At this point, I feel like a snake oil salesman.”

Scottie’s lip twitches. “I do so love your expressions. Don’t change them. They add color to your persona.”

“Good to know,” I mutter, then nudge his arm with my elbow. “I’m talking to you. Get your nose out of that thing. It’s indecent.”

Good lord, Killian must have learned that imperious brow quirk of his from Scottie. This man’s is downright glacial. But he does put his phone down.

“What is the problem, Ms. Bell?”

“I go to these things you and Brenna book for me, and the parties y’all seem to think I need to attend, and I feel…I don’t know. Fake. Like I’m faking it.”

Scottie stares at me as our hired car snakes down the twisting mountain road. When he speaks, his tone is softer than I expected. “You are faking it.”

“Excuse me?”

“Calm down.” Scottie leans back, resting one ankle on his bent knee. “In here, we are simply Libby and Gabriel—”