Idol (VIP 1)

Killian steps close, his hands clasping my upper arms. “Hey, stop.”

I glance at him. “What?”

The corners of his eyes crease in agitation. “I shouldn’t have brought that shit up. I did those things in my past. My present is all you.”

“Believe me,” I manage to get out, “I have no interest in thinking about your past. I know it has nothing to do with us.”

He frowns, his gaze darting over my face. “Then why are you upset? And I can tell when you are, so don’t deny it.”

Killian, the mind reader. I roll my eyes, trying to shake him off. He won’t let me go.

“I’m not jealous.” Much. Okay, I hate thinking about him with other women. Sue me. “It’s just…is that what we’re doing? Using each other to get off?”

“No,” he says calmly. “I’m making sweet, sweet love to you. In a supply closet.” His dark eyes glint. “On a rag.”

“You just had to get that in there, didn’t you?” I sigh and push a hunk of my hair back from my face. “You know what? It’s stupid. I’m the one who practically mauls you every time we end a set.”

“I like it when you maul me.” Killian waggles his brows.

Despite my mood, I snicker before sobering. “I just… It suddenly felt a little seedy when you said that. As if you’d be doing this regardless.” Would I too? No, I can’t imagine having sex with anyone else.

Killian’s expression goes serious as he cups my cheeks. He doesn’t say anything as he kisses me, no tongue, just his lips mapping mine with tender care. When he pulls back his gaze is intent. “We are never seedy. Dirty, kinky, hot, sweet, okay. But never seedy. And if I didn’t have you tonight, I’d go jerk off somewhere.”

“Lovely.”

“I’m all class, babe.” He gives me a happy smile and a kiss on the cheek. Then, checking to see if the hall is clear, he glances back at me. “I’ll go first this time. The guys think you have an after-show vomiting problem, so we’ll just go with that.”

“Great. I’m known as Betty Barf. “

Killian laughs softly at my expression, then kisses me again. “My Betty Barf.”

The second he’s gone, my smile fades. I can’t shake my unease. My attachment to Killian, my need for him, is in danger of consuming me. When I’m with him, it’s as real as anything I’ve ever had. But if we weren’t in each other’s pockets, would it last?

Chapter Nineteen

Killian

Anyone who tells you it’s easy to go on tour is lying. Performing is basically your reward for constant travel, no sleep, fighting exhaustion, and making nice with endless people who view you as something not quite human. Idolized, adored, isolated. Worst of all are the long nights on a damn tiny bus where I can’t crawl into bed with Libby. It makes me…twitchy.

I’m not sure I even like this dependence on another person. But, like any addict, I’m not looking to break the habit. If anything, I crave more.

Thank God for Chicago and two nights at a proper hotel—and the suite with an adjoining door to Libby’s that Brenna booked me.

Unlike other tours, we’re keeping the partying to a minimum. We have tonight off and have taken over the hotel’s private movie theater. It’s fairly small, about fifty seats, with a small lounge just outside.

While the staff loads up the movie, we hang out in the lounge and have drinks.

“I’m going to ask Libby out on a date,” Whip announces, casual as fuck.

The beer I’m holding almost slips out of my hand before I clutch it tight. “What? Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? She’s hot in that girl-next-farm-over kind of way.” He flicks his tongue against his teeth. I want to punch those teeth in.

“Lots of hot women on the road,” Rye says, his attention half on a group of women he gave passes to last show. They’re now walking into the lounge. One or all of them will get lucky tonight.

“Pick one of them,” I say to Whip, trying to calm down. Honest to God. Because I’m having a hard time not launching myself at my friend.

Whip scowls. “I told you chuckleheads, I want a girl I know. No more groupies. And Libby is fun.”

Fun. Yeah. I know exactly how fun Libby is, and I don’t share. The thought of stomping my foot like a two year old and shouting “Mine!” runs through my head. That would go over well.

Jax gives Whip a long look. “We don’t fuck the staff.”

“Libby is not staff,” I snap. Though why I point that out now, I don’t know. Stupid. Let Whip think that if it means he’ll back off.

“We pay her a lot of money to perform with us,” Jax says in a bored tone. “So I’d say that makes her staff.”