by R. Cayden
“I’m so sorry. Fuck, Jameson, I should have known better. I might get away with that bullshit back in Albany, but I shouldn’t be doing it here.” Guilt gnawed at Gray, followed by a wave of self-doubt. He had been fooling himself, acting like he was good enough for Jameson, when in truth he wasn’t even good enough to be Jameson’s security guard. He had no business curling up in that bed. He hadn’t earned feeling so good.
Jameson lowered his phone. He had a dazed look in his eyes, but he nodded, resigned. “It will pass,” he said. He blinked a few times quickly, then pursed his lips to let out a slow breath. “I’ve been through this a million times before. It sucks, but it passes.”
Gray tightened his jaw. “It’s not okay. I made you a promise, and I didn’t keep it. I just made things worse.”
Jameson pulled himself up, then took Gray’s face in his hands. Gray startled at the touch, but he let Jameson hold his gaze. “Listen to me, Gray. I wouldn’t take anything that happened back, okay?”
Gray laid his hand on top of Jameson’s. “You wouldn’t?”
“They can try to knock down my door all they want, but they won’t get this.”
The room went still. Gray felt reluctant. Little voices whispered that he was a fuckup, no better than his grandfather and the rest of his lowlife family. He was a disappointment to everyone he cared about. But the longer Jameson’s hand pressed against his cheek, the more the objections started to melt away, something even more urgent taking shape.
Gray leaned forward, then planted, at last, a kiss on Jameson’s lips. Their connection lit him up, and they both fell back to the bed as their bodies met. Gray pulled Jameson closer and traced his hand down his side while Jameson whimpered, the pleasure of his soft kiss washing over the morning.
“They’ll never touch this,” Gray agreed, whispering the words against Jameson’s mouth. “I promise I won’t make that mistake again. I’ll be responsible, I swear.”
“Don’t,” Jameson answered, then laughed. “I mean, you should be responsible, sure. But the only promise I want from you is that you won’t change. You’re good for me, Gray. You reminded me that I can still have fun. Even when the world is about to come crashing down on us, I can still have fun.”
Gray noticed the way Jameson said us, and his heart jumped. “I promise.” He pushed his hand through Jameson’s hair, which was mussed from sleep. It felt strange to hear Jameson say that, about wanting Gray the way he was. But Jameson knew himself, that was clear, and Gray wasn’t about to argue.
“You ready for breakfast? I can cook if you need to call your publicist. And I’ll keep an extra eye on the security cameras today, just to make sure things stay quiet, so you can relax.”
Jameson laughed softly. “I wish it were that easy. Things are usually a bit more complicated at this point.”
“More complicated?”
He nodded toward Gray’s phone. “Can you link into the front gate video feed from that thing?”
“Sure, no problem,” Gray answered. The software was new for him, but it only took a second to find the right feed.
“Oh. Shit.”
The image was blurry, but there was no denying what was happening. A good number of vans and cars had parked themselves along the road outside the gate, and it looked like more than a few reporters were broadcasting with the driveway behind them.
“Am I looking at what I think I’m looking at?”
Jameson pulled his knees up to his chest with a sigh. “The morning crowd is usually pretty well-behaved, but if no other gossip breaks by noon, the afternoon crowd might get rowdy.”
“Aw, fuck,” Gray swore. “You weren’t kidding.”
Jameson smiled, then leaned forward, taking Gray in one more kiss, slow and soft and indulgent. When he pulled his lips back with a smack, he laughed. “Thought I’d get one more taste in, while we had the chance.”
Gray rubbed the back of his head. “I guess I should get down to the guest house and keep an eye on the feeds.”
“I’m sure my publicist is already on the way,” Jameson answered. “She can help walk you through the ways we handle a crisis once she gets here.”
“Right,” Gray answered, the warm feeling in his gut turning into a tighter and tighter knot.
Into a hot lump of coal, in fact.
“I’ll be ready for her.”
By the time he made it back down to the guest house, Gray was beating himself up again. Jameson might not hold the catastrophe at the door against him, but whatever crisis was about to unfold, Gray still knew it was his own damn fault. He got one of his ideas and acted out like he thought he was some kind of bigshot, and not only did he mess up Jameson’s peace and quiet, he made an ass out of himself, too.
“You just had to slap the asshole,” he muttered to himself. “You just had to go and piss him off.”
He sighed, then sat down at the desk with all the video feeds. Sparing the crowd at the gate, the monitors all looked to be clear. Maybe, Gray thought, rumors about the violent security guard would at least keep a few reporters on the right side of the fence. In the meanwhile, though, he was smart enough to know when he was in over his head, and he reluctantly punched up his uncle’s number on his phone.
“Gray? How the hell are you? I was going to call you later today to get an update on the job.”
“Does that mean you’ve seen the news?”
Declan grunted. “Seb and I are still in bed. We haven’t seen shit today.”
Gray swallowed his pride, then launched into the story. He left out some of the finer details, like how many times he had kicked the photographer in the ass while he tried to climb the fence, and he carefully skipped over the slapping detail from the incident the night before. But he shared enough to get the basic problem across and to own up that he hadn’t exactly been professional with Jameson, at least not entirely.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Declan,” he said. “I didn’t mean to let you down. And I really didn’t mean to let Jameson down, either. He’s so great, he really is, and he doesn’t deserve this mess.”
His uncle didn’t say anything for a minute, but his breath sounded heavy in the phone. Gray wanted to punch the wall, he was so frustrated with himself. On top of all else, to disappoint his uncle and show that he wasn’t mature enough for the security gig? He hated that.
“Listen, Gray. I need to ask you something. Are you and Jameson hooking up?”
Gray bit down on his lip. He wanted to tell his uncle the truth, but he was scared to say it aloud, like the paparazzi might have bugged his phone. And anyway, the answer was technically no, although that morning in bed was just about the most intimate thing Gray had ever shared with a guy, considering his usual hookups tended to take off before the cum dried.
“Right,” Declan said. “Got it.”
Gray jumped to his feet and started to nervously pace around the house. “I can do the job,” he said. “I swear I’m not going to mess it up. Your business won’t suffer at all for this.”
Declan barked a laugh. “I’m not worried about that. You know Justin Sweet is the one paying the bills, Gray. And I have the impression your client is very satisfied with the work you’re doing. But if you’re distracted, you’re right—that’s no good for his security. We really should think about getting someone else in there.”
Wincing, Gray shook his head. He felt like his uncle was about to take Jameson away, and all of his instincts rose up, ready to swipe. “I can do the job, I swear.” One thing he knew: leaving Jameson with someone else, someone he didn’t trust, would not help his client at all. “And I’ll be honest with myself. I won’t let anything bad happen. And if it looks like we’re in trouble, I’ll let you know.”
Declan grunted. “You’re just lucky we listed a shell company for the security services to keep things discreet. If those fucking tabloids came knocking at my door, I’d have your ass. But I understand, Gray. You gotta do what you gotta do.”
Gray stopped walking. He was i
n the kitchen, between the table and the high counter. “You do?”
“Listen,” Declan answered. “When I was working as Seb’s security guard, I tore myself up, trying to deny what was happening between the two of us. But it didn’t do me any good. In fact, it only made things worse. Because you can’t deny who you are, Gray, and you can’t deny who you’re meant to be, either.”
“But how do you know?” Gray objected. “Just because something was right for you and Seb doesn’t mean that’s what’s happening here. We’re still barely getting to know each other.”
Declan laughed. “Gray, do you have any idea how many texts you’ve sent me about your client?”
“I’m updating you on the job,” Gray protested. He leaned back, his elbows on the counter. “It’s part of the contract.”
“The contract doesn’t say you need to tell me what the guy had for breakfast.”
Gray sucked on his teeth. “Okay, fair point. So what, you’re saying to just go for it? He’s like a mega celebrity, Uncle Declan. I’m just some messed up kid.”
“I’m saying that you don’t just have to be honest with yourself, Gray. You have to trust yourself, too. I wouldn’t have hired you for this job if I didn’t think you could handle it. And if I know anything about my nephew, it’s that you’ll fight like hell for the people you care about.”
Declan cursed a little more, then went into giving a crash course for dealing with the reporters at the gate. He ranted about security protocol, and Gray scrawled down some notes on the back of a box of cereal while he listened, eager to get the information. When he got off the phone, his thoughts immediately returned to the morning and the way Jameson had tried to reassure him that things would be fine.
Thought I’d get one more taste in, while we had the chance.
Gray grinned. Just hearing Jameson’s voice in his head was soothing, and an idea lit up inside of him.
Declan was right—there was no use in hiding from himself. Gray knew what he was good at, and he knew how to take care of his people. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to offer Jameson more than just a taste after all.
He picked up his phone, then pulled up his recent contacts. “Raiden?” Jameson said once his friend picked up. “Sorry to call you so early, but I think I need your help with something.”
Jameson
By the time it was dusk outside, Jameson had to admit the crowd of paparazzi at his gate wasn’t going anywhere. People had started live-tweeting the whole thing and speculating wildly about when Jameson would make another appearance.
Standing in the sitting room by the front door, he pressed his hand against the front window, grateful for all the old trees and the budding hillside. He might be able to forget the world was barking at his door, but soon, the hottest cable gossip show was going to air their exclusive interview with the photographer Gray had slapped the night before. All the previews showed him complaining about a burly tattooed man, and Jameson knew the media storm would kick up to the next level the second it broadcast.
He turned away from the window. He retrieved his wine, sipping it and considering whether it was possible to lock Gray in his bedroom for the rest of the spring, keeping the guy all to himself. With how desperately he craved Gray’s company and touch, Jameson thought they might be able to last long enough that the media would move on to some new scandal.
“Jameson,” Gray said, stepping into the doorway.
Jameson turned. Gray had the hood of his sweatshirt thrown up, and black leather gloves were pulled tight on his hands. “Hi, Gray,” he said. “How does it look out there?”
Gray stepped forward, then took Jameson’s elbow. “You said earlier that you wished you could just disappear, right?”
Jameson narrowed his eyes. “It’s not that easy. You saw what happened at the movie theater.” He didn’t know what Gray had in mind, but his mansion was the only place he’d ever been able to safely hide away. Even luxury hotels known for providing privacy were only able to offer a star like Jameson two or three days of quiet before a crowd would start to gather in the lobby.
Gray brushed his lips across Jameson’s with a quick kiss. “That’s the thing, though. I’ve got a better disguise this time.”
“A better disguise?”
“Do you trust me?”
Jameson hesitated. He did trust Gray. It was just everyone else he had a problem with.
“Come on, beautiful,” Gray said, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Let’s have an adventure.”
Jameson draped his hands over Gray’s shoulders. “An adventure?”
Gray grabbed Jameson by the side, then ground their hips together. “Find someplace we can really be alone.”
Gray’s breath was on Jameson’s neck, and Jameson moaned softly as his head swirled. “Someplace we can be alone,” he finally said. He didn’t think that kind of place existed, but then again, he’d never spent time with a man like Gray. He seemed to know a whole different world than the one Jameson was used to. “If you’re confident...”
Gray shot alive with a smile, like he was getting away with something, and Jameson laughed warmly. “Grab your things,” Gray said. “I’ll meet you downstairs in five.”
Jameson hurried before he could doubt himself, only pausing to send Dee a selfie with a freaked-out message. He shoved some clothes in his backpack, enough for a night or two, and rummaged around in the bathroom for his travel pouch of toiletries. He stopped at the makeup counter long enough to grab some of his favorite colors, then caught his reflection in the mirror.
He looked alive. There was no dull smile on his lips, no steady strength in his eyes. He just looked bright and excited, like there was a light flicked on inside of him. Like he might burst apart at any minute, breaking free.
A text from Dee pulled Jameson back to reality, and he laughed as GIF after GIF rolled in, all of animals doing happy dances. He tossed his bag over his shoulder, glanced around the room one more time, and then hurried down the stairs. At the entrance, he stopped long enough to refill Pickles’s food and water dishes, then give her some quick love and attention.
“I won’t be gone long,” he whispered, petting her shaggy head while she licked his pantleg. Pickles turned her face up suddenly, then whined. “Okay, I don’t know how long, exactly.” He pulled out his phone, then sent a quick message. “Sandy will come by to feed and walk you and to play twice a day, and I promise, I won’t forget about you.” Pickles stood up, licked Jameson’s hand for a minute, and then yawned.
“Good dog,” Jameson said, then tore himself away.
Out in the dusk, Gray was already waiting with his own bag and a dark hat shadowing his face. Jameson zipped up his jacket as he walked down the steps. “You said something about a different disguise. Do I need the hat you lent me?”
Gray shook his head quickly. “No, that’s all taken care of. Are you ready?”
Jameson turned his eyes to the front of the house. He imagined the crowd waiting there, from the paparazzi he knew by name to the few obsessive fans who took any opportunity to creep across his boundaries. “I can’t believe I’m doing this, but yeah, I’m ready.”
“Great,” Gray answered, grinning widely. “This way.”
Gray took Jameson’s hand, but instead of heading toward the garage, he led them into the trees and toward the back of the property. They stomped up the hill together, pushing through bushes and then weaving around trees. Jameson tightened his grip, wanting to feel the warmth of Gray’s hand even through the soft leather of the gloves. “You know there’s no gate back here,” he said.
“Who needs a gate?”
The walked for a couple of minutes, getting deeper into the property than Jameson had gone in years, until they finally reached the corner where the fence turned. To one side, the hill peeked upward, and to the other, the road curved around a bend. Gray glanced around at the ground for a minute, then found a backpack, sprawled by the bushes.
He swooped it up. “Bingo.”
“Did you put that out earlier?” Jameson asked, confused.
Gray cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you asking about the backpack?” he asked, then unzipped it. “Didn’t you notice the pink motorcycle?”
Jameson refocused his eyes, and sure enough, there was a flashy pink motorcycle, parked off the road and behind a few large trees. “Oh my god!” Jameson said, blinking at it in the gray light, then giggled. “It’s cute.”
“I thought you’d like it. And it’s been cleaned up with some new license plates and a proper registration.”
“What’s that mean?” Jameson asked.
Gray fumbled in the backpack. “Just that the papers are all in order,” he said, then pulled out a pink helmet with a big pink faceguard, which he tossed to Jameson. Jameson held it in his hands, feeling the hard curves. He was dying for the thrill that was about to come, the excitement so loud whatever anxiety he felt was swept up in it.
“Your new disguise,” Gray said. “The helmet makes you faceless, and I figured no one would suspect that the action star Justin Sweet would be on a pink motorcycle, let alone as the passenger. Plus, there’s a chinstrap, so this one won’t fall off.” He rummaged around in the backpack a little more, then pulled out a key. “Now let’s go. The interview is on live, so everyone at the gate is distracted.”
Jameson gripped the helmet. It was a totally wild idea, but he was realizing that was how Gray operated. And anyway, maybe totally wild ideas were the kind of ideas he needed. “Okay,” he said. “I’m in. Over the fence?”
Gray hopped up, hooking his arm and a leg around the bars of the fence, then extended his hand down to Jameson. “Just take it easy,” he said. “I’ll hold you steady on this side, and once you get over, I’ll stick my arm through the fence so you can use it for support.”
Jameson stared up at Gray, then laughed. “It’s nice that you forget,” he said with a wink, then leapt straight up, grabbing the fence, crawling up the bars, and tossing himself over. “But I do my own stunts, thank you very much.”
