I go for a run the next morning, knowing I've been too sedentary the past week and it hasn't helped my mental state at all. Despite the reluctance of putting on my running gear, and the immense temptation to just get back into bed, when my feet start picking up speed on the pavement and the cool morning air rushes past my skin, I feel invigorated.
That feeling lasts about a minute, until my breathing gets heavier and my muscles really start to work. Then the determination sets in and my thoughts become background noise to the thud of my footsteps and the air moving through my lungs.
I'm feeling really good as I complete my loop and head back up to my apartment. Calmer, more focused, knowing that for now I've done everything I can to resolve my guy problems.
And then after my shower, I see Lissa's text:
Found Dimitri's manager. Tasha Ozera
There's a number below that.
And all at once, my anxiety returns. I've already insulted him, humiliated myself to him, then run away. Now I'm stalking him? What do I even say?
"Oh sorry I thought you might want to talk to me because of this one song you sang to five thousand people?"
God. This is so creepy. He's going to think I'm a crazy person. One of those fans, out for their pound of meat. What if he thinks I'm propositioning him?
I sit on the couch and hold my head in my hands. It seemed like a good idea last night, but in the stark light of day there's no way I come across well here. Really, I should cut my losses.
And yet...
I find myself searching for the video again, wanting the reassurance of hearing his voice. And there he is on stage, in the jeans I saw him putting on.
I remember his smile, my blush, the easy way he spoke to me. I'd been convinced I understood him, that he saw me.
I take a breath and hit play one more time.
Chords eminate from my crappy phone speaker, not even approaching the real sound. I think about how his guitar felt in my hands, how the strings sounded beneath my fingers. And the look in his eyes when I asked what it meant.
"Flowers fall, a vibrant red
Just beyond my reach"
He has to be talking about roses. You think about a red flower, it's a rose. Surely as a fan, I could at least be curious about this? I could ask him why he changed the lyrics, and if it meant he wanted to speak to me? That doesn't sound so creepy. It's just clarification. Making conversation, really.
"I'll remember what you said
And dream of you and me"
Well obviously he had to make it rhyme, so he's allowed some artistic licence with that last line. But nobody else even spoke to him, so he could only mean what I said to him...right? But which part?
I close my eyes and summon my nerve. Besides, after the dressing room scene, he probably already thinks I'm crazy.
I call the number.
"Hello?" a female voice answers.
Tasha's voice is rich and low, very pleasant to listen to.
"Hi Tasha, my name is Rose Hathaway. I was part of Dimitri Belikov's crew on Saturday night, and I was wondering if you could put me in contact with him."
She laughs, but it's cold, and immediately sets me on edge.
"Oh honey, I don't think so. I don't just hand out my clients' information to strangers. And besides, what makes you think he wants to talk to you?"
My chest is frozen, it's getting harder to breathe. But I try to remain pleasant.
I laugh as well, though it's the last thing I feel like doing. "I know this is probably out of left field, but he sang a song that night. And he changed the words."
Another nasty laugh makes me feel like I'm 2 feet tall.
"Let me guess. A hall full of thousands of people and you thought he was singing to you?"
Jeez. What is this lady's problem?
"How did you even get this number...Rose was it?"
Well fuck. I don't want to bring Lissa into this.
"Um well you see," I start, then I hear a familiar voice in the background of the call.
"Did you say Rose?"
A crackling noise as she covers the phone mic with her hand, then vague mumbling. Some more crackling as her hand shifts.
"I'm not kidding Tasha, give me the fucking phone!"
A final rustle indicates the phone has changed hands.
"Rose?"
His voice is beautiful, calming me immediately. He sounds happy to hear my voice, so maybe I'm not crazy after all.
I'm slightly breathless. "Hi. I heard your song."
He laughs. Oddly enough, he also sounds out of breath. "I'd hoped you'd hear it live, but I'm glad."
He wanted me to stay at the show. So he wasn't angry?
"It sounded like you wanted to speak to me," I say. "I kept thinking about the stuff I said, and I just didn't want you to...think badly of me I guess."
"Me think badly of you?" he laughs. "I was wondering if you'd ever want to speak to me again after I was such a dick."
I don't know what to say.
"I couldn't really blame you," I respond after a beat. "Not after I found out why."
"Roza, I..."
I hear Tasha's voice again. She sounds irritated. Then Dimitri is back.
"I feel like I can't say everything to you over the phone. Can we talk over dinner tonight?"
What? My heart jumps.
"Uhhhh. I'm kind of seeing someone."
He laughs. "Just dinner, I swear. I'm not trying to pull anything."
Dinner. With Dimitri Belikov. My head is reeling.
"Okay?"
"Great. I'll text you the details from my phone now that I have your number. See you later."
It feels like I've inhaled a cloud of pixie dust or something. My head is slightly foggy, my thoughts are erratic. My palms are sweating and my mouth is dry.
It's not a date, he made that clear. But what are we going to talk about? For a whole dinner? What if he wants to go somewhere crazy fancy? What if he asks where I got Tasha's number?
I shoot Lissa a thank you text and realise I need to start getting ready for lunch with Mason. Which piles on a healthy second helping of anxiety.
Despite his apology, it can't be denied that he seems to think our history gives him a free pass. And as much as I enjoy spending time with him, I don't want to upset him again.
Getting ready this time is night and day from the optimism I felt yesterday. My mind is all over the place, and it shows. I started doing my hair without plugging in my curling iron, and caught myself ten minutes into organising my mugs by size after I'd walked into the kitchen to get some water. At least it's lunchtime, so I don't have to pull together an evening look.
I end up in my favourite high waisted denims and a sunny yellow button down. I sling my cardigan over my arm and grab my car keys off the side table. I'd insisted that I'd meet him there, trying not to admit to myself it's so that I can make a quick escape on the off chance that it's necessary.
But it's a beautiful day, and as soon as I'm outside the confines of my apartment, the sunshine succeeds in picking up my mood. I find myself slightly enthusiastic to see Mason again so soon, looking forward to laughing more with him.
Said enthusiasm dries up the second I think about the dinner, and I try to mentally cram that into a shadowy room and close the door. I'm seeing Mason, that's a good thing. I don't have to worry about tonight. Yet.
The cafe he chose is fairly busy for a weekday, and it has a cute little outdoor section with picnic tables and umbrellas. He's already at the table when I arrive, and he stands up to hug me hello.
"Gorgeous as always, Hathaway," he says by way of greeting. "I ordered you a coffee."
I sit down by the steaming cup and shoot him a grateful smile.
"Thanks Mase. How did you know I need caffeine?"
"Because the sun's up and I know what you do for a living," he laughs.
I feel myself relax as I take my first sip and settle into the pleasant feeling of his company. He's smiling at me from across the table, over his own mug of coffee, but his smile falters a little as he really looks at me.
"Are you okay, Rose?" His voice holds genuine concern, and he reaches across the table to touch the back of my hand. "You look a little..."
I'm honestly a bit surprised that he knows me well enough to tell. And that warm feeling starts to spread through my stomach.
"I've had a bit of a morning," I reply. "But I'm really glad to be here with you."
His face softens. "You forget, I've seen you at the start of a job, during, and after. I know your tells. You want to talk about it?"
"I mean, yes. But I also want to kiss you for some reason."
He does a ridiculous air punch that makes me laugh.
"Maybe save it until after I've made you feel better," he tells me with a responding grin.
"Okay," I agree, then my smile fades. "I needed to talk to Dimitri Belikov. And I managed to get his manager's number."
"Wait, what?" His surprise is evident. "Why?"
I open my mouth to respond, but he interrupts.
"Is this about what happened when you were setting him up?"
"Kind of yeah."
"Did that son of a bitch pull something?"
"Easy Mase. No, nothing like that."
"He'd better not have. I've seen the shit you've had to handle before, and you never backed down from that."
I wince. "Actually that's kind of the point. I was really grateful you didn't ask why at the time, but honestly Mase I was super unprofessional. And I needed to apologize."
He snorts. "The guy was a complete asshole, and you're saying you need to apologize?"
"You know me. I like to do a good job. It's not about him."
He frowns. "Yeah, I do. It's why you're such an asset to the team."
"Thanks," I laugh. "Anyway, his manager was kind of a bitch and we couldn't really talk. So he invited me to dinner. And I don't really know what to expect."
Mason reels backward. "Wait, he what? And you're going?"
"I am. But it's not a date, I told him im seeing someone. I just need to talk to him."
His responding laugh reminds me of Tasha Ozera. "Sure it's not. He totally just wants to talk."
I start to frown. "I don't really care what he wants. I know why I'm going, and that's enough."
"God Rose. You're so naive."
"How so?"
He sits back in his chair and waves a hand at me. "No man alive would just want to be friends with someone who looks like you. Trust me."
I go instantly cold, but I try to keep my voice light. He probably didn't mean it as an insult.
"What do you mean?"
Mason rolls his eyes. "Come on. You know how you look. And we both know why you dress like that."
I look down at my pretty normal outfit, making sure I didn't forget a button or something. Is he being a dick on purpose? Like maybe I can understand that he's not over the moon about me going to dinner with another guy. But firstly, we've never said we were exclusive. And second, from the way he's speaking to me, it doesn't even sound like he likes me. And he definitely doesn't trust me.
"Uhhhh, Mase?" I give a shaky laugh. "Are you trying out a different personality or something?"
He glares. "Are you? Or am I just not allowed to acknowledge the fact that you use your body to manipulate men?"
What. The. Fuck.
"Excuse me?" Now I'm angry.
"You strung me along for years, knowing full well I'd give anything to sleep with you. But apparently I wasn't good enough. Is this about his money?"
He may as well have punched me in the stomach. All this time, I thought we were friends. And all he wanted was sex? I guess he was only pretending to know me, pretending to care. But I guess that makes sense, since now he's accusing me of being some gold digger. Apparently he doesn't know me at all.
And then I laugh, but it's short and without humour.
"What?" he snaps.
"It's not really funny. I guess I was just anxious about the wrong meal today."
He looks perplexed for a second, then his eyes harden. "If you're dead set on going to 'have dinner' with him tonight, then I guess there's nothing else I need to say."
"Thank God for that." My voice is flat, and I brace my hands against the table to push my chair back.
"See, this is why I didn't give you his number like he asked. I knew that when it comes down to it, I can never compete with a guy like that."
Standing there, looking down at the man I thought I knew, I feel tears beginning to well up in my eyes. I'm finding it hard to believe he's even the same person who ordered me a coffee and asked if I'm okay.
"You know what Mase?" I ask. I keep my voice soft, but it still breaks. "I don't give a fuck about him. But apparently you can't even compete with the guy I thought you were."
I throw a twenty on the table as I leave, trying to hold in the scream I feel building in my chest. Somehow I make it home before allowing myself to break down. But by the time I'm back on my couch, I don't feel like crying anymore.
I'm just numb.
An unknown number texted me while I was at lunch, details for dinner tonight that must be from Dimitri. And while I've never felt less like leaving my apartment, I'll be damned if I don't go after what Mason said to me.
I can send a cab or I can let you know where to meet me. Which would you prefer?
With the amount I need a shot of vodka, there's no way I'm driving. So I thank him and go for the first option.
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading, and for all the support this fic has received so far! It's been so great to hear your thoughts. Please continue to tell me what you think, and feel free to favourite and follow if you want to keep in the loop when I post.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.
