“You want me to just stand aside while you potentially hurt yourself?”
“No, I want you to trust that I can take care of myself. I also want you to respect that I’m at work and you can’t just barge into my job simply because you’re famous. Do you think Devon Chambers would let anyone else’s boyfriend or husband or baby daddy hang out backstage before his show? The answer is no. The only reason your ass didn’t get tossed out is because he’s flattered you’re here. But I’m more than willing to do the deed if you don’t stay out of my way.”
Mo’s eyes went wide, and he backed up a step. “Fuck, Mic, I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. I have to go.”
I stalked away to do a last check of the dressing rooms. On my way, I pushed a roll of spare cable wire against the wall. It was heavy, but probably not over twenty pounds. Still, the small act of defiance gave me back my control.
Devon was in his dressing room doing yoga. He was in upward moon, or downward ass, or whatever the position was called.
“Everything good in here?” I asked, walking the perimeter of his room. No surprise, Devon’s concert rider was extensive and demanding. The venue usually took care of making sure he had a glass bowl full of sour Skittles, his favorite Russian vodka, the temperature of the room set to precisely sixty-nine degrees—because he was a total perv like that—and everything else on his list.
“You’re ruining my Zen,” he said, staying folded over.
“Maybe I should do yoga. I could use some Zen.”
He stood up straight, pressing his hands together in prayer. “Trouble in paradise already?”
“Don’t sound so gleeful, Dev. It’s unbecoming.” I flopped down on the couch—something I’d never, ever do in a million years…if I weren’t pregnant and pissed.
Of course, he flopped down beside me. “You sound blue, Smalls.”
Yeah, he’d stolen Ansel’s nickname for me. I adored when Ansel called me that. Devon? Not so much.
“I’m fine. I just can’t believe I’m in this position.”
“I thought you were happy about all this.” He waved his hand in a circle over my stomach.
“I am. It was easier not to be afraid of all the changes I’m going to have to make while I was at home. But now—”
“Ah, ah. No, baby. I’m not your confidant. Those days are long over.” He said it gently, and he was right, but that didn’t mean it didn’t twist the special Devon screw I’d always have in my heart.
“Okay.”
“Moses Aronson, huh? I’ve listened to Unrequited. Some of their songs are tight.”
“They’re talented,” I agreed.
“Young.”
“That too. I’m sure you’ve gone much younger.”
He chuckled. “Damn double standards. You sure he’s ready to settle down, do the whole domestic scene?”
“I’m not really sure of anything. You know, you really screwed me up.”
He turned his head, looking at me for a long time. “I know, baby. I’m sorry for the way it ended, but not sorry we happened.”
I sighed, leaning my head back on the cushion. “I’m sorry for how we ended, but I’m glad we did.”
“Ooof.” He did the whole heart-clutching act again. “You got me all achy, Michaela, like always.”
“Do you think it’s possible to do your job, be on the road a lot, and remain faithful?”
He hummed, rubbing his hands over his jean-clad thighs. “Yeah, I’m sure it is. I haven’t tried it since you, not for anything long-term. I’m thinking I might like to settle down one of these days. If I met you now, without all our old baggage, I’d settle down with you, Mickey.”
“You always did talk a big game.”
He smirked. “Don’t believe me?”
“Not in the least. I think you’re a rolling stone. Maybe if you find a woman who’ll roll with you, but I can’t picture you settling.” I swatted his knee. “Thanks for the talk. You have to get ready, and I have to stop hiding.”
Before I could get up, he pulled me into his chest for a hug. “Love you, Mickey baby.”
I pushed out of his embrace and patted his cheek. “Break a leg, Dev.”