Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
“That’s messed up.”
“I know. It’s why I want to make sure that people like Reggie and Cece perform the shit out of their songs so they might catch the attention of a label that’s serious about music, not just the fandom.”
“I’ll help. Let’s do this.”
“I could kiss you” almost falls off my tongue, but I don’t let it. Because I really could kiss him again.
I won’t, though. I learned my lesson the first time.
Reggie is a great person to work with. He listens and doesn’t actually need that much coaching and reassurance. He’s confident but not cocky. The song he’s performing is Labrinth’s “Jealous,” and even though I’ve heard this song a million times, when he starts singing, my gaze gets stuck on Mason.
My fingers move over the piano effortlessly. This is one of the first songs I learned on the piano. It came out around the time the label wanted us to learn more instruments.
Reggie has so much emotion when he sings, it sends a shiver down my spine. It throws me back to every moment when Mason and I were apart where I thought about him and what he’d been doing. It was self-preservation that kept me from contacting him, but until he ran away to Montana, I was following him every step of the way.
I know people hated his solo album because, as the critics said, it was erratic and misguided, but if they had bothered to sit down and listen to each song individually, they would’ve seen the amazing artist Mason is.
I wanted to reach out and tell him how 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.