Page 32 of Saving the Rockstar

"Oh, cry me a river, drama queen." Mason's drawl was as dry as the Sahara. "It's just a little hot sauce."

Asher and I shared a look of amused resignation. In the week since Mason had joined the tour, he and Dylan had been at each other's throats constantly - bickering and sniping like an old married couple.

It was honestly kind of adorable. Not that I'd ever say that to Mason's face.

The men in question burst into the kitchenette, Dylan waving a half-empty bottle of hot sauce like a weapon.

"A little hot sauce?" He brandished the bottle under Mason's nose. "You put thisnuclear wasteoneverything! It's like you're trying to burn a hole through your own esophagus!"

Mason rolled his eyes, unfazed. "Not my fault you're a delicate flower who can't handle a little heat."

Dylan sputtered. "I am not delicate, you overgrown G.I. Joe! I just happen to like my food edible and my taste buds un-seared, thank you very much."

"Wimp," Mason said with a smirk. "Bet you couldn't even handle a jalapeno popper."

"Oh, you're on, beefcake." Dylan drew himself up to his full height - which was still a good five inches shorter than Mason. "I'll have you know I once ate an entire ghost pepper on a dare."

Mason raised an eyebrow. "And how did that work out for you?"

"I may have spent the next hour crying and chugging milk," Dylan admitted. "But that's beside the point!"

Asher, the traitor, chose that moment to chime in. "Didn't you also lose feeling in your fingers for like, two days?"

Dylan shot him a betrayed look. "Asher, you're supposed to be on my side!"

"Sorry." Asher held up his hands, fighting a grin. "Please, continue. I'm riveted."

Dylan huffed, turning back to Mason. "The point is, you can't just go around dousing everything in capsaicin like some kind of spice terrorist. It's rude and it's frankly dangerous to the structural integrity of our intestines."

Mason, to my surprise, looked like he was struggling not to laugh. "Capsaicin, huh? Someone's been reading the hot sauce bottle."

"That's not-" Dylan spluttered, his face going red. "Shut up, that's not the point!"

Mason grinned. "Sure it's not, baby boy. Whatever you say."

Dylan, for his part, looked like he'd been hit over the head. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, fish-like, before snapping it shut.

"You," he said finally, jabbing a finger into Mason's chest. "Are theworst. The absolute worst, do you hear me?"

Mason caught his hand, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "Loud and clear, sunshine."

They stared at each other for a long, charged moment. I could practically see the sparks flying, the air thick with a tension that had nothing to do with hot sauce.

Asher cleared his throat pointedly. Dylan jumped, snatching his hand back like he'd been scalded.

"Well! This has been illuminating." He edged around Mason, making a beeline for the door. "But I think I hear my bunk calling my name. Goodnight, gentlemen."

He paused in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. His eyes caught on Asher and I, still standing close together, and a sly grin spread over his face.

"Oh, and Ash? Try not to stay up too lateconnectingwith your bodyguard, hmm? We've got an early call time tomorrow."

With that parting shot, he flounced out, leaving a ringing silence in his wake.

Mason, the bastard, started laughing. "Well, seems like I'm not the only one gettingfriendlywith the locals."

I felt my face flame, my whole body going hot and then cold. Beside me, Asher made a strangled noise.

As Asher's personal bodyguard, I was never more than a few feet away from him, a constant shadow at his side. But it was in the quiet moments that I started to see beneath Asher's carefully crafted exterior. Glimpses of the man behind the rockstar, the vulnerable heart beneath the polished facade.

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