Call me.
Tyler
His phone number is scrawled across the bottom of the page.
I read it again to make sure I’m actually reading and understanding the words on the page in front of me correctly because surely they can’t be true.
Can they?
Or am I so hungover that I’m actually seeing things?
Is he really telling me that this whole time, he was only here to get exposure for Capital Kingsmen?
I guess it makes more sense why he was so willing to help me now. He didn’t care who won in the end, but he didn’t really want to see Gage win for some reason. He liked me over him. He wanted to help me—maybe as a way to make up for the bad thing he was doing. Maybe as a way to not look like such an epic jerk when the show actually airs.
Because how is that good publicity for a band?
I think back to the tip I got in some low-level marketing class I took in college and realize the singer of his band must’ve learned the same tip. It’s marketing one-oh-one.
There’s no such thing as bad publicity.
I think I need to be just a little less hungover to actually process this information, but it doesn’t change things. I won’t be using the number—at least not to call him and ask him out on a date or anything like that.
Because I’ve got one big problem. I’m in love with Gage, and I’m just not ready to move forward from that. I’m not ready to jump into something else.
Not yet.
CHAPTER 45: GAGE
We’ve managed to avoid one another all day. I was up early, so I did my usual routine, which includes a few laps in the pool followed by some eggs. I went up to take a shower, and that must’ve been when she went down to get her own breakfast. The same thing happened at lunch.
I’m glad the competition has thinned to the final two, but at least when Decker was here, I had someone to talk to. Now it’s just Kat and me, and our interviews have been all business since I rejected her advances.
So I spend the day in my bedroom listening to MFB music, memorizing the catalog, learning the words. I listen for the places where I might be able to interject back-up vocals, and I just plain study the music.
There’s literally nothing else to do, and it sort of feels like I’m preparing for a final exam.
Except I have no idea what’s going to be on the test.
I have no clue what this final competition might entail.
I’m actually sort of grateful for the day off. I didn’t really need much recuperation time even though Dax said that was what today was for.
Despite the deafening silence in the house, it’s giving me a day of preparation.
When I need a break from concentrating on the music, I spend time thinking about all the contestants who have already gone home. Some just couldn’t cut it talent-wise, and others didn’t have the right personalities.
I know what they see in Lexi. She’s a huge threat. She can play the hell out of her bass guitar, she can sing the hell out of a song, she’s gorgeous as fuck, and she’s a woman—something I will never be.
But I’m a threat, too. I’ve got the skill. I’ve got the talent. I know my way around a stage, and I’ve got the right charisma. I fit in with these guys. Our personalities mesh.
So it really comes down to what they’re looking for. Do they want someone who will fit right in so they can pick up where they left off without missing a beat? Or do they want someone fresh and new to really make a turn in what they produce?
Time will tell, and time is running short.
When dinner time rolls around, I head downstairs. She’s in the food room putting a salad together, and I pull out some vegetables in an attempt to be helpful. She gives me a cursory smile, and I can’t believe how awkward things are between us after everything we once shared.
It feels like a lifetime ago.
“Doing okay?” I ask her carefully.
She lifts a shoulder. “Ready for whatever the final comp is going to be, but I have to admit I could’ve done without all the whiskey last night.”
I chuckle. “Done with this?” I ask, holding up the bag of salad she left on the counter.
She nods, and I grab a plate and pour out the remaining contents of the bag.
We make our salads in that same awkwardness.
I have about a million things I want to ask her. Is she okay now that Tyler’s gone? Are they going to get together after filming is over? Does she think she’s going to win over me?
But I just keep my mouth closed.
She clears her throat, and I glance up at her. “He left me a note,” she says softly.
My brows come together. “Who did?”
“Tyler.”
I nod, returning my gaze to my salad. I don’t really need to hear about the special note he left her. Not when I still care so much about her. About us. I wish I knew how to get past this, how to move forward with her...but I don’t. “Okay,” is all I say.
“He confessed he wasn’t here to win. He just wanted a bigger platform for Capital Kingsmen to be seen on.”
I heave out a breath, surprised that she just admitted that to me. I turn to look at her.
That’s gotta hurt. It has to feel like a big, fat sucker punch after all they shared.
“How does that make you feel?” I ask.
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s separate from him and me.”
“Is it?” I don’t want to push her buttons, but I don’t want her to ignore what he did, either.
She nods and grabs a cucumber. She pops it into her mouth and chews thoughtfully for a beat before she gives me an answer I never saw coming. “He and I...we’re just friends.”
My brows dart down. “I thought you were a couple.”
She lifts a shoulder. “Yeah. That’s what we wanted you to think.”
I blow out a breath. Her confession should hurt. It should sting. It should piss me the fuck off.
But it does the exact opposite.
It gives me hope.
“But you slept in his arms...” I trail off before I can really form the question I want to ask—before I get myself into trouble again.
“You saw that?” She looks confused. I nod, and she shakes her head. “I was upset, and he was trying to make me feel better. We both fell asleep. That was all.”
“But you kissed him. In front of me.”
She presses her lips together. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong, and it wasn’t me, but I guess Los Angeles has turned me into someone I’m not. A new leaf or something.”
I stare at her for a beat and realize that it isn’t Los Angeles at all that’s done these things to her. She wanted this chance, and she was willing to do what it took to get to the top.
But now she’s there, and it’s just her and me.
I’m not exactly innocent in all this, either.
“Kat and me...” I trail off again, and she glances at me. I spot a bit of hope there in her eyes before she turns away. “Same deal. We were never really a thing.”
“I can’t believe she was willing to help you. She was supposed to be neutral.”
I lift a shoulder. “I think she wanted to cut off a real piece of the pie, if you know what I mean.”
Lexi giggles, but she shakes her head with a tiny bit of mock disgust.