Page 29 of Saving the Rockstar

I nodded slowly. "Okay, I can do that."

And I meant it. Even if it killed me, even if every cell in my body ached to close the distance between us, I would respect his boundaries.

If all I could be for now was his friend, his client, then I would be the best damn friend and client he'd ever had.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of interviews and soundchecks, meet-and-greets and rehearsals. By the time I collapsed into Dylan's bed that night, I was wound tighter than a guitar string. He took one look at my face and sighed.

"Okay, spill. What happened with Tall, Blond, and Chiseled?"

The whole story poured out of me in a cathartic rush. Dylan listened intently, making appropriately sympathetic noises at all the right moments.

When I finally ran out of words, he was quiet for a beat, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip.

"So, let me get this straight," he said slowly. "Jared acknowledged his feelings for you, and then, put you in the friendzone?"

I winced. "He's just being responsible. Doing his job."

Dylan chuckled. "Please. That man wants you like a kid wants candy. He's just too noble for his own good. In fact, I bet this is all part of his master plan."

I raised an eyebrow. "His master plan."

"Think about it." Dylan sat up, gesturing expansively. "He's lulling you into a false sense of security with all this 'professionalism' talk. Biding his time until the tour is over and he's not technically your employee anymore. And then, bam! He'll whisk you away to some romantic getaway and fuck you senseless."

I burst out laughing. "You're ridiculous."

"Okay, but seriously," Dylan said. "Jared's probably just trying to do the right thing. Be the good guy, you know? But that doesn't mean he doesn't want you."

I sobered slightly. "I get it. I just can't help wanting more, you know?"

He softened. "I know, babe. And you'll get there. Both of you will. You just gotta be patient."

I sighed. "Not exactly my strong suit."

"Preach." Dylan flopped back against the pillows, holding out his arms. "Come here. Let Dr. Dylan prescribe you a healthy dose of cuddles."

As the final preparations for the band’s world tour kicked into high gear, a new face joined our merry band of misfits. Mason, Jared's old Marine buddy, had been brought on to beef up security for the international leg of the tour.

I'd been curious to meet the man Jared spoke so highly of. But nothing could have prepared me for the sheer, unmitigated chaos that was Mason and Dylan's first meeting.

It started innocently enough. Jared and I were going over some last-minute itinerary changes in the green room when Dylan burst in, all manic energy and flailing limbs.

"Ash, holy shit, have you seen the new security guy?" he stage-whispered, eyes wide. "He's like a walking wet dream. All muscles and jawline and smoldering intensity."

I smirked. "You mean Mason? Yeah, he's not bad. In a ‘could snap you like a twig' sort of way."

"I would climb that man like a tree," Dylan declared. "And I would enjoy every splinter."

Jared choked on his coffee. I just shook my head, long accustomed to Dylan's particular brand of thirst.

As if summoned by our words, the door swung open again. And there, filling the frame like some sort of avenging angel, was Mason.

I had to admit, Dylan's assessment wasn't far off. Mason was an imposing figure, all broad shoulders and coiled strength. His features were chiseled and severe. But it was his eyes thatreally struck me - a piercing, icy blue that seemed to cut straight through to the soul.

Those eyes landed on Dylan, narrowing slightly. "You must be Dylan. I'm Mason Steele, your new head of security."

Dylan, to his credit, only gaped for a moment before recovering. "Mason Steele? Seriously? What, wasDirk Hardpecalready taken?"

Mason's jaw clenched. "Excuse me?"

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