Not that Riot Maddox is my boyfriend. I have no claim on him. In all the years I’ve known him, it’s never occurred to him that the reason I’ve stuck close is because of how much I care about him. He’s never considered the possibility that we could be more than friends.
Well, I suppose it’s friends with benefits these days.
I press a hand to my stomach as Sonatina Savant drapes herself against Riot and uses one of her claws to drag his attention away from me. She’s pop royalty. And he’s a rock god. Watching them flirt makes me sick.
Although the nausea could be from watching that sixteen-year-old at the meet and greet puke on her shoes earlier. I’ve been around these guys long enough to have built up a tolerance to things like vomit, but it’s still nasty.
I turn my back on Riot and the barely dressed pop princess. It’s probably for the best that Riot finds himself a new “friend” to fuck around with. It was one thing when we were accidentally losing our minds and hooking up in the heat of the moment. But this jealousy I’m experiencing tells me I’m in too deep.
I was screwed from the first kiss we shared. He was still with Rochelle Kitt, and we were drunk on red wine and blissed out over a shared spliff. But mostly his relationship with Ro should have been all the reason I needed to walk away.
My stupid decade long crush told me it meant something. He told me it didn’t. I chose to be smart and believe him. But there was a part of me, a sliver that pounced with hope on the idea that he could be wrong.
All these months sneaking around, tiptoeing into his bed in the middle of the night, quickies in dressing rooms, and I still don’t know where I stand.
He’d tell Sonatina to back off if he didn’t like it, wouldn’t he? Has he only been with me because I threatened to quit last Christmas? What is that saying about catching more flies with honey? Riot certainly knows how to catch those fancy flirtatious flies.
“We need to get Riot into the studio as soon as the tour is over, so he can record with Sonatina,” Carmine announces. “I believe he has some reservations. It’s your job to convince him otherwise.”
“Absolutely, sir.” I’ll do my homework first, though. Make sure it’s in his best interest.
“And you’ll talk to Neil about his place in the band if he doesn’t get his head out of his ass?” He checks the heavy goldwatch on his wrist. “Normally we don’t care how our bands like to party, but when you need to be revived after nearly every show—”
His callousness makes me bristle. Neil has been my friend almost as long as Riot has. It’s hard to watch him go through all the insecurity and anxiety and addiction. “Already have. We’re driving him to a treatment facility tonight.”
As a band. As a family. Because that’s what we are. We’re more than just an asset in the Savant label’s portfolio.
“I knew I could count on you, Kelsey.” He grins, satisfied. “Excuse me, I need to talk to Bronx.”
I really do feel sick. It’s like that odor burned itself into my nose. It’s all I can smell. My stomach heaves.
Riot is still chatting with Sonatina. She has her hand on his arm, and she’s showing him something on her phone. No, it’s his phone. She hands it back to him and he blacks it out before sticking it in his pocket.
I’ve seen this move a thousand times since we started in this business. The years of watching him get close to other people gave me ample opportunity to learn his moves. He’s gotten her number.
Bile rises in my throat. Bitterness I have no right to feel fills my belly. The urge to puke hits like a sledgehammer.
It is hard to retain professionalism when you need a bathroom stat. I hurry out of the main room and into an adjacent bathroom. I fall to my knees and promptly empty the contents of my stomach into the bowl.
“Sympathy puking?” Riot asks gently as he steps into the room and crouches behind me. He rubs circles on my back while I retch until there’s nothing left to come up. “A somewhat delayed response if it is.”
Groaning, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. It ruins my lipstick. “Could be food poisoning. I don’t usually go down at the sight or smell of someone getting sick.”
“Yeah, but you only ate a Twizzler. That would have to be some fucking awful candy to take down you and a sixteen-year-old girl.” He keeps those circular motions going. They’re soothing, but I’m supposed to be mad at him—or at least cool toward him—after seeing him with that woman all over him. As if I have the right to be either.
“Okay.” I wave off his touch. “I need a minute to get my shit together. Fix my makeup. That kind of thing. Why don’t you go back to shmoozing with your new collab?”
He gives me the space I need, leaning against the counter. “That woman is going to be a nightmare to work with. You saw her. She was all over me.”
“I saw.” I wash my hands and rinse my mouth with water. There’s no possibility of him missing the ire in my voice. I can’t hide it. Every day it gets harder to pretend I’m chill with secret sex and watching him flirt with other women.
I dig a pack of wipes out of my purse and clean up the remnants of my lipstick and fix the sharp line of my cat eye. A quick refresh on the liner, a new coat of Killer Cherry lipstick, and a couple of breath mints will have me good as new.
Riot watches as I do all that. He waits until I toss my products back in my purse before snagging my wrist and tugging me toward him. “Did you also see the way I hated every second of it? How all I wanted to do was steal you out from under Carmine’s nose? You know I had my eyes on you the whole time, don’t you?”
“Don’t try and sweet talk me, Riot Maddox. I’m not one of your groupies.” I shove at his chest, but he melts me with those serene grays and their flecks of steel blue.
God, he takes no prisoners. It’s always a slaughter of hearts and panties with him.
