“They what?”
Roman’s head hurt. If he’d said that to any of his fans, they’d have heard it as had a hangover. It was a consequence of his PR decisions. One that he accepted begrudgingly at best, but there was no denying that he’d done it to himself. Nobody else made him portray himself in public as a rebellious drunkard. He’d done it to himself.
“You did this, didn’t you? Some weird thing you’re doing.”
“I’m not doing any things.”
The phone was heavy. His arm hurt. It had been one day in Detroit. One day. Well, two nights and one day. Couldn’t he just have one day to himself before the press decided to descend on him like a pack of vultures?
No, of course not. That would be asking far, far too much. He knew that instinctively. The press weren’t like a pack of vultures. They were a pack of vultures, and asking them not to act like it was like asking for a leopard to try to change its spots. It wasn’t going to happen no matter how badly he wanted it. He would be smarter to pretend that he didn’t notice and move on.
But now Mary was angry about it, and that was the difference. He didn’t have room to ignore it when the single, sole reason he was in town was about to be invalidated because of the press.
“Yeah, I bet. You’re the Prince of Propriety.”
“Mary, I’m sorry. Is there something I can do to make it right?”
“You could leave,” she said. She sounded angry. She was angry. And he more than understood why.
“Other than that. I can get an interview in a second, and tell them whatever you want me to tell them. I just wanted to… I don’t know.”
“You wanted a booty call, is what.” It stung like a slap, even through the phone. Her tone was so venomous it could poison a man.
“That’s never what it was about. Look, just give me a chance. I’m not who you think I am, okay?”
She sucked in a breath, audible over the line. Trying to calm down, he guessed.
“Look, what are you doing today?”
“I’m working,” Mary said. She was still angry with him, but she was at least making an effort to hide it now. That was progress, and he couldn’t ask for anything more.
“Come by tonight. Get a babysitter if you’re worried about me being a bad influence on Peter.”
“You think I can afford a babysitter on no notice, so I can come, what? Hang out? Be your little sex kitten?”
“I promise. No funny stuff. None whatsoever.”
“That’s cute. Loving it.”
“I’m serious. One night. If you’re still convinced I’m just some druggie asshole looking for trim at the end of it, I go home. It’s been a while since I’ve had time by myself anyways. It’ll be a change of pace.”
“And if you manage to convince me? What’s my end of the bargain? I suck you off just a little?”
“You do what you want to do. Just let me stick around a little while. I’m not asking you to do anything. I’ve been adrift a while, and I’m just looking for safe harbor, okay?”
“Don’t try your song lyric stuff on me,” she said. But she was less angry. Now she wasn’t trying to hide her anger—she was trying to find it again, and she was finding, to Roman’s pleasure, that it wasn’t there.
“It’s not a lyric. You think it would work?”
“You’re the expert, but I wouldn’t turn the song off.”
“Yeah? You hear that song, just know that it’s for you.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve said that to all the girls.”
“Only the ones who I liked,” Roman told her. It was half true. And at the same time, it was half a lie.
“Yeah, I bet. Look, I can maybe get somebody.”
“I can reimburse you, if it would help.”
“Now you’re going to pay me for my company? You know how much VIP tickets are to your shows?”
“My arm gets tired jerking those kids egos,” Roman said with a long breath. “But it’s the job.”
“I guess so. Your arms seemed to get very tired when I came to see you.”
“Different time,” Roman said. “Like I said. A lot of stuff changed. I’m clean. I mean it.”
“Well…” Mary paused a long moment. “Sure. I believe you. People change, right?”
“Right,” Roman said.
And if he had any luck in the world, he intended to prove it. It was one thing to say that he was a different person. It was quite another to actually demonstrate that to someone. But he was better than that. He was smarter than that.
And today, that was precisely what he was going to do. He just had to figure out what on earth they were actually going to do with that time.
He hadn’t planned on anything untoward. Had he imagined it? Of course. There was no denying that even after almost ten years, his image of Mary as a sex goddess barely managed to match up to the woman herself.
But it was a fantasy, and he knew it. He tried to make sure that his lower head knew it, too.
Even if he knew they weren’t going to bed together, though… well, it wasn’t much of an itinerary. And if he couldn’t prove that he was worth her time, then it was strike three. Batter out. He’d go home, and Tommy might finally get his way and have a tour that ended somewhere other than the rust belt.
But there was no way that he was going to just lay down and take it, not if he could do something about it. And he hoped to heaven that he could find a little bit of humanity to show her. He settled down into the hotel room sofa, and reached down for the lute. It sat across his lap comfortably, the neck propped up, and his fingers stretched a moment before wrapping around the neck.
He had a lot of thinking to do, and it was always easier to think when he was doing something with his hands.