Chapter 12
CONOR
My hotel door slammed behind me, and I leaned my back against it, closing my eyes.
I wanted to put a stop to this fake relationship with Ashley.
Although it seemed to be generating loads of publicity for the tour, did it actually encourage people to buy tickets or would people buy them anyway for the music?
I shrugged off the door. I made a deal to get my name alongside Ashley’s as co-headliner for this tour, and I’d have to see it through—for Noelle’s sake.
Sidestepping my suitcase, I wandered to the sliding glass door overlooking the bay. My reflection stared back at me. I couldn’t stomach myself, so I opened the door and stepped onto the balcony.
I leaned over the rail, and the salty breeze lifted the ends of my hair. The pictures from the concert last night revealed something I’d been avoiding ever since this tour started—I still had feelings for Noelle. If I couldn’t admit it to myself, those fan pictures made it clear.
Then I smacked myself in the face with the other truth, as brisk as the sudden wind that kicked up off the San Diego Bay...
those feelings had never gone away. I thought I dealt with them when I wrote that song for her.
The song helped me move on, but the minute I saw Noelle’s face, inhaled her sweet, fresh scent, saw those flecks of gold in her brown eyes, I fell into some sort of vortex time machine that landed me back on that first Five2Go tour bus where one night we frantically ripped each other’s clothes off as we squeezed into a single bunk. The first time I slipped inside her...
The knock on my hotel door made me jump...and lose my boner. I still took my time getting to the door. When I pressed my eye to the peephole, my boner deflated even more when I saw Ashley standing in the hallway.
I pulled open the door, blocking the entrance to my room, hoping to make this short. “Room okay? You’re not getting this one.”
“Don’t be annoying. Why would I want your room?” She stood on her tiptoes, peering over my shoulder, her hand wrapped around an iced coffee. “I’ve got a perfectly good room down the hall with an even more unobstructed view of the water than this dump.”
“What do you need?”
She placed a fist on her hip and pouted. “No, good job out there, Ashley. Thanks for maintaining the magic, Ashley. Thanks for saving my ass, Ashley.”
“Yeah, all of the above.”
She pushed past me and twirled around my room with her bare feet. “The timing worked out perfectly.”
“Yeah, about that.” I scratched my scruff. “The paparazzi seemed a little too convenient.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “They’re always convenient when there’s an album or tour to promote. Otherwise, they’re a pain in the ass. An old pro like you gets that.”
I doubted Ashley ever considered the paps an annoyance unless she was stumbling out of a club at two in the morning with her makeup smeared across her face. “Ticket sales are good, yeah?”
“They are picking up as we speak.” She placed her drink on the table and stood against the sliding door to the balcony, her hands behind her, pressed against the glass. “Did you like my performance?
“Your performance?”
“The supportive, eager girlfriend. I figured one of us had to step up, and as you were stumbling off the bus after a three-hour trip, looking...a mess,” she patted her chest “...that someone had to be me. I mean, you’ve already done your part a couple of times. It was my turn.”
“Yeah, yeah. It was brilliant, Ashley.”
Whether she called the paps or not, her actions furthered the narrative of Conley, and I couldn’t argue with that. Couldn’t fault her either. I’d always been the good guy of the band, the least troublesome. Her association with me would do a lot to polish up her image.
And my association with her got me more songs on stage and more publicity for my music.
She was right—we were both old pros.
She swept through the room and turned at the door. “I actually dropped by to let you know a bunch of us are going to the Oxford Social Club in the Gaslamp District for drinks a little later.”
“Isn’t that a nightclub?” I held up my hands. “I’m out.”
“We’re just going for drinks before the music starts. You can arrive late and leave whenever. Tomorrow’s show isn’t sold out yet—a little publicity the night before can’t hurt.” Her voice went sing-songy at the end in a clear attempt to lure me out in the wilds.
“I’ll think about it.” Maybe being out with the group, with or without Noelle there, would get my mind off her. She ghosted me when I went on tour to Australia. Why would she change her mind now? If anything, she’d run away even faster if the fame scared her off the first time.
Ashley waved and let herself out of my room.
I started unpacking when I noticed her iced coffee on the table. She still had more than half left, so I grabbed it and flung open my door to catch her in the hallway.
A door across the corridor and a few rooms down from mine slammed shut on a couple of whispered voices, and Ashley had vanished.
I set the plastic cup on the floor outside my room in case she realized she left it. I didn’t want her banging on my door again. I had to play the devoted boyfriend in public, but we didn’t have to continue the charade behind closed doors.
I swept my phone from the credenza, and my thumb hovered over the screen. I wanted to check if Noelle was going out with the group tonight, but it shouldn’t matter.
When Ashley dragged me into the hotel after the bus ride, we left Noelle on the curb with a mixture of relief, exhaustion, and wariness stamped on her face.
She probably didn’t want to hear from me or anyone else right now.
The paps kept drawing her into the picture when she wanted to hide firmly behind it.
I needed to let her hide. For the sake of her job.
I unpacked a few things, hanging my toiletry bag on a hook in the bathroom.
Then I collapsed on the bed, dragged my computer onto my lap, and worked on a song.
I’d been mucking about with a particular refrain for weeks, and now the lyrics for that refrain ran through my head non-stop...
words that came from the time I just spent with Noelle on the tour bus.
Maybe I should go out tonight and let other words and feelings percolate in my brain—in my body, too.
Even though Noelle did me dirty all those years ago, the chemistry still burned hot between us.
When I looked at her mouth, all I wanted to do was kiss it.
When my hand brushed her skin, I wanted to take her in my arms. When her body pressed against mine on the floor of the bus, I wanted...
I shoved my computer from my legs and yanked my phone off the charger. I usually didn’t search for my name on social media, but I had to see those photos again from the concert last night.
I thumbed through the posts of fan pics from the show. Yeah, I was looking off-stage during a major portion of that song, and yeah, I had Noelle in my sights, and okay, I may have had a certain look on my face.
I read some of the comments aloud:
“Who is that in the wings?”
“Why is he looking at her that way?”
“Can he please look at me like that?”
“Is that the girl from In N Out?”
“He doesn’t look at Ashley with those eyes.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I dropped the phone face-down on the bed. These fans had better snooping skills than MI6.
The worst part? They weren’t wrong. I didn’t release “No Contact” as a single, so I never knew if Noelle had heard the song. And if she had, did she realize I’d written it about her and our breakup?
With Noelle on this tour and thinking about her day and night, the song selection was a no-brainer. It had been running through my mind from the moment I saw her at the first rehearsal.
When I sang it at the concert, I didn’t even realize I was physically singing it to her. I’d sung it to her so many times before when she was miles away.
Noelle had been concerned about Ashley’s reaction to the online storm over the pictures, but she didn’t need to be. Seemed Ashley had met the frenzy head-on by intercepting us outside when we arrived at the hotel and reinforcing our relationship.
I didn’t like it much, but it beat having Ashley overreact and lash out—hurting the tour...and Noelle. If she could be mature and professional about it, so could I.
I grabbed the room phone and ordered a sandwich and a pot of coffee. Then I rolled out of bed to get ready for my night out with my show girlfriend. Come late. Leave early. I could do that.
Bank a few more pap pics for the fake relationship, so I could start working on the real one in my private time.
***
My Uber dropped me in front of the club, and a few paparazzi stirred from the shadows. I ducked inside before they realized they had a live one.
I scanned the dark interior. A few bar patrons acknowledged me, and I nodded in response. With Ashley in charge of this social outing, there had to be a VIP area. She’d never mingle with the little people.
Enough people knew that about her, which affected her likeability, but she couldn’t help herself. Some celebrities let fame slide under their skin, and if you didn’t manage it—it managed you. PR relationships were a small, insidious part of the whole rot.
I thought I’d put that scammy behavior behind me. Baker Street had subjected all of us to showmances of one kind or another, but most of the lads seemed to have moved on from that.
Ian was mad about his fiancée, Ivy. They shared an unbreakable bond.
Charlie and Devon were made for each other right from the start. There’d never been anyone for Charlie but Devon—even if he hadn’t realized it until recently.
And even Sam seemed to have settled down with Kayla Prescott, his co-star in that movie. They were opposite sides of the same coin.
Just Jay and I remained out in the cold—still searching, still making mistakes. At least I was. Jay had shut himself away, probably avoiding further fuckups.