I grip the treadmill. “Can you just spit it out already?”
“Like I said, I don’t care who you bone.” He hits a few more reps, grunting harder with each one.
I step off the treadmill I’m not even using and come right in front of Wily. “What are they sayin’? Who’s gossiping about me? It matters, and you’re being weird.”
He lets go the arms of the machine, letting them crash back into position. He sighs. “I don’t wanna get in the middle of this.”
“Obviously you do, otherwise you wouldn’t have started.”
He’s about to go into another set, then stops and droops his head. “Fine. I overheard Ian say you’re seeing someone. Or at least he’s 95% sure you are.”
This is because of our conversation at that hotel bar and Ian leaping to conclusions as usual. “Wiles, I’m not—”
“If we keep on this success streak of ours and break through the charts the way Ian thinks we’re gonna on this tour, you need to be ready for it. Your head can’t be … wherever it is.”
“Wherever it is?” I laugh at that. “You think I’m too focused on who I’m ‘boning’ and not on the prize? Seriously, this is Ian’s job to fuss over my personal life. Not yours.”
“Maybe it’s all of ours. We all have something at stake here. I know what it’s like to … to watch a band fall apart because …” All his breath comes out in one huge sigh. “Damn it. I just wanted to come down here and work out. Not get into all of this.”
“So that’s what this is? You still think I’m goin’ rogue?”
“Just remember what you’re doing all of this for,” he grunts. “That’s it.” He starts in on his next set hard, because how else is he gonna maintain that bookcase he keeps under his loose shirts?
I turn back to the treadmill, grimacing in frustration.
Today was the best damned day. Timothy and his smiles, now and then cut by a sexy smirk he’d give every time I said something playful. It was driving me wild.
When it came time to part, I had the distinct feeling neither of us wanted to. We stood by my rental—Timothy offered to walk me back, even though I said he didn’t have to—and I just couldn’t help feeling like he wanted me to kiss him.
Some look in his eyes.
The way he lingered, cutely dragging the moment on, stalling.
For whatever reason, I couldn’t dare be the first one to make a move. Something in me kept saying the ball was in his court. But was it? Should I have kissed him then? I kept weighing it back and forth, back and forth. It probably drove him crazy, too, wondering what my hesitation was about.
Then I caught sight of people approaching from behind him.
One of them seemed to lock eyes with me.
I’m sure it meant nothing. I’m rarely recognized in public. It’s been this thing of mine since the start, keeping out of social media and away from cameras. Ian indulged me right away, loving the humble, anonymous thing. But quickly it became a point of deep, frustrated contention. “This won’t last forever,” he kept telling me with mounting agitation each time, adjusting his glasses every five seconds, “and to be blunt with you, it’s fucking ridiculous. People see you at your shows. Sure, you cover half your face with those cowboy hats of yours, but you can’t keep pretending to be one of those artists who live behind a mask. You’re a star. And a fucking hot one at that. Give up thispeekaboogame you’re playing with the world and let us have our first actual photoshoot with the whole band. Besides, when we hit it, you won’t have a choice anymore. The world has to fuckingseeyou, Chase.” It might be the most times Ian has said the F word. He was pretty serious about it.
But regardless of how much I don’t show, I still see the eyes in public—especially here in Texas where I’m from. And all it took was that one maybe-eye-contact from someone who may or may not have recognized me. I looked away, said, “I’ll see ya soon, T,” gave him half a smile when he deserved the full-ass thing, then slipped into my car and drove off.
I think he was too happy to notice my rushed departure.
“Wiles …” I lean forward on the screen of the treadmill, arms crossed. “No matter what’s goin’ on with me, you know the music always comes first. Music is what saves me every minute of my life and will continue to be ‘til I’m dust. I’m not goin’ rogue.”
Wily gets up from the machine. “Just forget I said anything. I don’t care who you’re seeing.” He pitches his towel at the used bin in the corner. “Just make suretheycare whothey’reseeing. Music always comes first, you said? Hopetheyknow that.” He snorts. “All we need’s another brokenhearted psycho fan when you eventually end it.” He heads for the door, then stops. “Now I feel like a shit-stirrer, and I’m not,” he mutters under his breath. “Leave that to Emmett.” He turns. “Two more shows were added while you were gone, by the way. One show the day after tomorrow. Another the day after that. Next day off isn’t until … whatever’s four days from now. Never know what fucking day it is anymore.” After one last hesitation, he mutters, “Sorry about all this. I hate drama.”
Then Wily truly leaves.
And I’m truly alone.
Well, except for Miss Wonders who can’t stop insisting how her daily serum will shed ten years off my skin.
And the nagging echo in my ears of what Wily just said—and just made me say.The music always comes first…All we need’s another brokenhearted psycho fan when you eventually end it…
I have no plan on ending it with Timothy. Not even close. And I don’t plan on going rogue. Can’t I have both? Haven’t I sacrificed enough for this career? For these people I love and work with?