Page 68 of Saving the Rockstar

"You'd what?" he stammered, his voice hoarse and strained.

For a moment, I thought Mason might actually combust on the spot, his face turning an alarming shade of purple as he stared down at Dylan with a kind of dazed, disbelieving wonder.

But then, just as quickly, the moment passed, and he was stepping back, his arms crossing over his chest once more in a gesture of defensive retreat.

"Yeah, well," he mumbled, his eyes darting away from Dylan's, his cheeks still flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and something that looked suspiciously like longing. "Too bad I'm not into guys who think skinny jeans are an acceptable form of torture."

As the night wore on and the drinks kept flowing, Dylan's antics only seemed to grow more outrageous, his laughter louder and his smiles wider and his hands more and more prone towandering, to lingering on Mason's arms, shoulders and back in a way that was just a little too possessive.

At one point, he even managed to convince Mason to join him in a game of darts, his eyes bright with challenge and his grin sharp with mischief as he dragged the taller man over to the board, his fingers locked tight around his wrist in a grip that was as unyielding as it was tender.

"Come on, Mase," he wheedled, his voice high and pleading. "Just one game. I promise I'll go easy on you, let you win and everything."

"I don't need you to let me win," he said, his voice flat and unimpressed. "I'm perfectly capable of kicking your ass all on my own, thank you very much."

But despite his bravado, it quickly became clear that Mason's skills at darts were somewhat lacking, his throws wild and erratic and more likely to hit the wall than the board.

After his third consecutive miss, Dylan let out a crow of laughter, his hand coming up to clap Mason on the back in a gesture of mock consolation.

"Aw, don't worry, big guy," he said, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "We can't all be naturally gifted at everything. I'm sure you have other talents. Like, I don't know, brooding and looking vaguely threatening."

Mason growled, his eyes narrowing to slits as he glared down at Dylan.

"Shut up," he gritted out, his hand tightening around the dart until his knuckles turned white. "I can do this. I just need to concentrate."

Dylan's grin turned sly, his eyes glinting with a kind of wicked amusement.

"Is that so? Well then, by all means, let me help you out."

And with that, he stepped up behind Mason, his chest pressing against Mason's back and his arms coming up to wrap around his waist, his hands settling low on his hips.

I could see the moment Mason's breath caught in his throat, his entire body going rigid and still as Dylan's fingers dug into the hard planes of his stomach, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

"Relax," Dylan murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of Mason's ear, his breath hot and damp against his skin. "I've got you. Just let me guide you."

And slowly, carefully, he began to move Mason's arm, his hand wrapped tight around his wrist as he helped him line up the shot, his body molded against his back like a second skin.

I could see the way Mason's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief, heated moment before snapping open once more, his gaze fixed firmly on the board in front of him.

And then, with a flick of his wrist and a soft exhale of breath, he let the dart fly, the point sinking deep into the bullseye with a satisfying thunk.

Dylan let out a whoop of joy, his arms tightening around Mason's waist as he lifted him off his feet, spinning him around in a dizzying circle of laughter and excitement.

"You did it!" he cried. "I knew you could do it, Mase. I knew you had it in you."

Mason, for his part, looked slightly dazed, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide and his hair mussed from Dylan's enthusiastic embrace.

Chapter 21: Asher

The tour bus rumbled through the bustling streets of Hong Kong. It had been a whirlwind few weeks, a blur of shows and interviews and stolen moments with Jared, and I was starting to feel the weight of it all pressing down on me.

Now the door to the bus swung open, and Jared stepped inside, his face breaking into a warm smile as his eyes met mine. "Hey, you," he said, crossing over in a few long strides and pulling me into his arms. "I've been looking for you."

I melted into his embrace, feeling some of the tension drain from my body at the solid warmth of his touch.

Jared pulled back. "I have a surprise for you. Something that might help take your mind off of all this, at least for a little while. But first, we have to make a little detour."

And with that, he took my hand and led me off the bus, ignoring my protests and questions as we wound our way through the crowded streets of Hong Kong.

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