The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

I had paused and blinked at him in stunned shock. No one had ever bashed my parents’ band to my face like that before. I mean, they’d bashed me for being related to them but never them for just being them. I’d always been super proud of Mom and Dad for their talents, a fact that had probably come across as bragging every time I’d been excited to share their newest accomplishments, like making it into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, which had led to snooty, jealous bitches bullying me in an attempt to knock some of that happy pride from my system.

“You don’t like Non-Castrato?” I’d asked Tucker, sure I’d misunderstood him, because how could anyone not like them? Even if someone didn’t prefer most of their songs, their music was so diverse, people usually liked something they created.

But Tucker had shaken his head insistently, still wincing at the logo in my locker. “Hell, no. I’m pure country, through and through. Luke Bryan, Kenny Chesney, Florida Georgia Line, Jason Aldean. Now those are my people.”

I had continued to stare at him as if he’d lost his mind. I had nothing against any of the artists he named, but my true love was that hard rock beat, loud drums, fast tempo, screaming your emotions in angst and righteousness. I bled rock and roll.

And besides, no one knocked my family. Ever.

“Then I guess we’re done here,” I had announced before slapping my locker closed and turning my back to him. “Later, Nashville.”

“Wait!” He’d hurried after me, laughing as if it were all a joke to him. “That’s it. Just because we like different music?”

“That’s it,” I returned, waving over my shoulder at him and striding away.

To this day, I pretty much still regretted doing that to him. But I was full of all that stupid pride stuff, and I couldn’t back down to take it back.

So, sadly, we’d become mortal enemies instead of, you know, what I’d hoped we might become.

And I’d never connected with anyone else at Albright the wa

y I’d connected with Tucker that first day.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I sniffed. “Of course. I should’ve guessed you’d be slinking outside my door, trying to get a jump on the competition.”

One thing I’d come to learn since meeting Tucker: he was as passionate about music as I was…just a completely different genre of it.

He sang at school assemblies, played for people at lunch, wooed girls with his songs. And he wasn’t half bad. If I wanted to be perfectly honest, all egos aside, I was probably better. But I’d grown up in the business around professionals, taught techniques by some of the best trainers there were. Music was the only thing I knew. From what I’d discerned about Tucker, he was basically self-taught. So his raw talent was pretty damn impressive.

But that didn’t mean I was happy about seeing him here. He was the only person who might give me any kind of competition tonight.

“You wish, sweetheart,” he smarted back as his gaze slid over my outfit where he paused at my knee and sniffed derisively. “Nice hole in the pantyhose, though. Going for the hobo look?”

Embarrassed heat stained my cheeks, but I’d die before I let him see my mortification. Slapping my hands to my waist, I scowled back. “Nope. I was trying to match the gaping hole in your brain.”

“Ah, baby,” he murmured, snickering. “If you keep thinking about me so much and trying to match me, people are going to assume you’re obsessed and secretly in love with me.”

“As if.” I rolled my eyes and cocked my hip as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Your delusions are frankly concerning, Holt.”

He shrugged and stepped past me. “Keep living in denial if you like. It’s no skin off my nose.” And he started down the hall away from me, calling, “Hey, but good luck tonight.”

I made a face at his back, calling, “You too. You definitely need it.” Then my gaze dropped to check out his butt, because come on, even jerks could have really nice butts that needed to be ogled.

Except Tucker glanced back and caught me in the act. He said nothing, simply lifted an eyebrow as if to say, see what I mean; you can’t even take your eyes off me.

I huffed bitterly and spun in the opposite direction to…hell, I’d forgotten why I’d even come into the hall. I just wanted to storm away in anger, so that’s what I did, marching down the hall until I remembered…oh yeah. The run in my hose. Shoot.

Trick was long gone by this point. I glanced down at my fishnet to discover the hole had already grown so big there was no way to hide it now. I was going to have to take them off completely, or make more holes so it’d look like they were there on purpose.

Because I didn’t want to take the time to unlace my boots and shimmy them off, I went with option two, poking sporadic holes here and there until I was satisfied with how I looked.

Checking the hall, I tipped my head toward the stage, realizing the contest had started. Some girl was currently butchering the Alicia Keys song, “Fallin’.”

Hoping I had a minute to pop to the bathroom, I dashed down the hall away from my room and hurried to take care of my business. My name was halfway through the lineup on the roster tonight, so I was pretty sure I still had a while before it was my turn. But I hurried through the break anyway, smiling vaguely at a girl and her mom who were fussing over the sequins on her dance costume.

It made me wish my own mom were here, but then everything would’ve been different if she’d shown up or even known about my big night. Suddenly, I wouldn’t be me anymore; I’d be her daughter.

I knew she never meant for that to happen. She and Dad had always supported me and my sisters, making sure we had enough love and attention despite how busy they were with their careers. But that’s what came with fame. And tonight, I wanted to be selfish and earn my own spotlight under my own steam.