“It’d be silly to miss out on a chance to see a sold-out tour,” I reply. Cat and mouse games only work when there’s a little chase. “We’ll just have to see what happens.”
Michael leans in and whispers in my ear, “I’d love if you watched. It’d give you a preview to how well I can keep tempo.”
I have to give him credit for that line. I feel myself blush despite myself, but I don’t balk at his forwardness. I continue the game. Men like him always want something they think they can’t get easily.
“Maybe. Lillian might need me.” I smirk at him, letting him know that I’m intrigued but promising nothing.
“Hmm,” he says in my ear. “She could join us.”
I laugh at that because maybe this guy’s gaydar is broken, or maybe he legit never noticed that Lillian’s branding is all colors of the lesbian pride flag. “You’re not her type, sorry.”
He missed the message. He taps my nose with his finger and says, “We’ll see.”
As he walks away, I decide that maybe I could sleep with him at some point on this tour, but I don’t think I’d get much enjoyment out of it. It’d end up being a headache later if ever it came out.
I don’t want it to negatively impact anything in the future. It’s too risky to sleep around with other professionals, I remind myself.
Lilli is doing an amazing job, and her set is wrapping up. I wonder if I’ll take her up on her offer and go out and sing a song with her at some point over the next eight shows. This is going to catapult her career to the next level, and maybe mine too. Many of these songs she’s singing I either helped write or wrote in their entirety. I think briefly about those fish that latch onto whales to help them travel across great distances. Is that how I am? Attaching myself so securely to Lilli that I can ride the wave of her success into my own? No, that’s not fair. I work hard at what I do. There’s a reason why I get writer credit on these songs. If my best friend wants to use my words, then so be it. If she rises to fame and I happen to rise with her, what’s the harm? She’ll give voice to my words. It’ll be fine.
So why do I have this sinking feeling that I’m dooming myself to a life in shadows?
It’s not until this moment that I realize Eric is watching me. He’s positioned in front of the stage on the floor, in that space between the stage and the crowd. He’s got fire in his eyes that tells me he saw the flirtation with Michael, and he’s seriously jealous.
Part of me feels like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and part of me feels indignant. He has no claim to jealousy.
13 – Eric – Now
Something feral within me wants to claim Connie, and I check it at the door. I can’t be a possessive asshole; that’s not going to help anyone. Still, I can’t deny the fact that watching her flirt with that guy pissed me off to new lengths. Ihadnoticed thatsameguy making out behind a tour bus when we got here.
Rockstar lifestyle, I guess.
It’s hard to imagine Connie would be into that, but maybe I don’t know her like I thought I did. After Lilli’s set, I make my way backstage and prepare to escort them to their dressing room. Lilli is quiet, probably crashing from the adrenaline of being on stage, which means Connie is quiet. She’s back to avoiding my eye contact.
Lilli’s dressing room is two parts: a sort of lounge area and a bathroom. She goes in the bathroom to change and wash her face, leaving Connie and I in the lounge area.
The silence is nipping at me until I can’t take it.
“You should stay away from him,” I say.
Her eyes snap to mine, and there’s fire in them. She’s angry and I get it, but come on. A sleaze is a sleaze even if he is a rockstar. Can’t she see that?
“You don’t get to say that,” she says dismissively.
“You could get any person you want, you really want Michael Soren? That guy is a petri dish waiting to happen.”
She leans forward, “What does that even mean?”
“Sure, Stardust, he’s a hot rockstar, but I don’t care. He’s a jerk. Ash told me about him.”
“And what did Ash say?”
All Ash had said was not to trust him within ten feet of our girls, but that it shouldn’t be an issue, since we were going to be in our own bus. “He’s just… bad news.”
“You know, Eric,” her irritation comes out thick, “you’ve got a lot of opinions about one conversation I had. I wonder where all this concern for my wellbeing have been the last five years.”
It’s like a slap in the face. “Phones work both ways, Connie.”
“You hurt me!” She’s standing now, pointing a finger at me like an accuser. “Because you didn’t even try to fight for me. One week. We knew each other less than one whole week, and somehow, that was enough for you to break my heart.” She shakes her head, and quietly, not looking at me, she says, “I hadn’t felt that weak in a long time. I didn’t realize how fragile I had become.”
