I just look back at him and nod.
“There’s a lot of speculation that you two have gone your separate ways for good.” Randy leans back, one elbow draped over the chair. “Petra Andreyev was on tour with Rhys, and Dub Shaughnessy is on tour with you. Rumor has it that maybe you both have new flames.”
I’m so tired of people pairing me with Dub. Couldn’t be further from the truth. We’re just friends. Actually we’ve become really good friends since he’s one of the few people I knew before the tour started, and he’s been my bridge to befriend the other dancers. I’ve missed the camaraderie of a dance crew, and he gave that back to me. I’m not telling Randy that. I’m taking the no comment route, just smiling serenely.
As for Rhyson and Petra . . . just the thought of it is like a spiked ball rolling right over my heart, flattening and tearing at the flesh as it goes. Just because he’s sending mistletoe to my dressing room at every stop and texting and calling doesn’t mean he’s not screwing the more-than-willing Russian. On the one hand, wouldn’t that make things simple for me? But on the other hand . . . well, I don’t have enough hands to hold the hurt that would inflict.
“Nothing to say to that, Kai?” Randy demands in a follow up. “You and Dub a thing?”
Butthole.
“Dub is the most gifted choreographer in the business, and we’re lucky to have him on the tour.” I sit back, crossing one leg over the other. “That’s all there is to it. As for Rhyson and Petra, like I said, we haven’t spoken.”
“All right, then I got another question for ya.” Randy narrows his eyes a little more. “I’m sure you’re aware that a lot of people look at your meteoric rise and wonder if you have the talent to back it up.”
He pauses to see if I will respond. I don’t with any more than a set of raised eyebrows while I wait for his question.
“What would you say to people who think you wouldn’t be where you are now if it wasn’t for Rhyson Gray?”
Luke clears his throat and begins to speak before I can.
“I think Kai—”
“It’s okay, Luke,” I hold up a hand, eyes never leaving Randy’s. “I’d love to answer this question.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips before going in.
“I would tell them that no one finds success without the help of others along the way.” I look down at the hands in my lap for a second before looking back up. “I wouldn’t be here without my mother, who sacrificed all my life to make sure I had dancing and singing lessons. I wouldn’t be here without my best friend, Santos, who dragged me out to LA to pursue my dreams. I wouldn’t be here without my vocal coach, Grady, who took me under his wing in a strange new city.”
I pause, swallowing back unexpected emotion I hope I’m hiding well.
“And, yes, I wouldn’t be here without Rhyson, whose music and work ethic inspired me years before I even met him when I was just a fan. So in that sense, they’re right.”
I lean forward, elbows propped on the table, lips pressed close to the mic like the producer told me to.
“But I would also invite those people out to see me on the road because, though so many have helped me, I’m the one who has to perform night in, night out, and no one does that for me. I’d offer them a ticket, but my shows are all sold out.”
Randy’s mouth hangs open a little. Guess he thought this little country bumpkin was gonna roll on over under his line of questioning. I wait for his follow up question, but it’s Lola who breaks the silence that follows my words.
“Well, um, you’ve said a lot, Kai, and thanks for sharing.” She offers me a smile. “I’m sure you understand the public’s fascination with it all since Rhyson’s never had a girlfriend that we know of. “
“I get that,” I nod, smiling in return. “I do, but he’s a very private man. I think it’s that space he creates just for himself that fuels him to offer so much to us onstage, so we should let him keep it.”
“I can respect that.” Lola’s eyes hold the interest, the fascination Rhyson effortlessly inspires in people. “But isn’t there one thing you could tell us that few people know?”
I draw a shallow breath before speaking.
“Yeah. There is one thing.” I pause for effect, leaning forward like I’m about to share a secret. Anticipation lights their faces, and they lean forward to catch the inside information I’m about to drop. “He loves hummus.”
APPARENTLY A SQUIRREL HAS TAKEN UP residence in my mouth. That thick, furry thing moving around in there can’t be my tongue. In my current state—stretched out under my piano with a bean bag for a pillow, sledgehammer going in my head, and my eyes blearily barely cracked open against the morning light—I can’t come up with a better explanation.
Something pointy nudges between my ribs. What the hell?