The Complete Rockstar Series

by Heather C. Leigh

  “Right. Anyway, you’ve got my number. I’ll be in the area, following leads and getting my house cleaned up. So, if you need anything…”

  Mitch glances at me and I see it. Under the false bravado, under the stupid T-shirt that has psychology spelled backwards across the front, under the brawn and the brains and the (yes, I keep checking) very hot body, lies a confused, insecure man. He’s nervous, fidgeting with his keys, shifting from one foot to the other and chewing on that damn lip.

  Christ, he can’t even look me in the eye he’s so unsettled.

  Unfortunately, I don’t have it in me to care how he feels at this moment. He’s avoiding what happened between us by avoiding me, and that pisses me off to no end.

  “We’ll be fine. We don’t need you,” I snap. Then, like the diva I’m not, I slam down my mug and leave the room.

  By the time the front door closes and I hear Mitch’s car pull out of the drive, I’m in the backyard by the glistening swimming pool, fuming. Annoyed, I pull up Ellie’s contact on my phone and hit dial. She answers immediately.

  “Gavin! What happened last night? I was going to ring you up if I didn’t hear from you.”

  I drop into the nearest chair and sigh. Rubbing my eyes with my free hand, I tell Ellie about my evening. Everything from Mitch declaring us boyfriends, to the incident in the bathroom, to the destruction at his townhouse—it all comes pouring out of me, unfiltered.

  “Oh my god, Gav! You could have been seriously injured! What if that monster was still there?” Ellie’s voice raises an octave.

  She skips right over the part where Mitch attacked my mouth and goes for the danger. Grinning at her concern, I talk her off the ledge. “I’m fine, El. The guy was gone. And besides, I had Mitch with me.”

  “Hmmmm,” she hums into the phone.

  “Hmmmm, what?” I lie back on the lounge, close my eyes, and enjoy the few minutes I’m allowed outside.

  “Nothing. It’s nothing, Gav. Just…you should hear the way you say his name. You fancy him,” she giggles.

  “I do not! I hate him!” I insist. “He’s a total prick. I mean, look what he did,” I rant. “He fucking went and left me here with some guy I don’t know for who the hell knows how long!”

  Ellie doesn’t say a word.

  “Ellie!” I complain, “I don’t like him!” Great, now I sound like a whiney teenage girl.

  “All right, Gavin. You don’t like him. Whatever. You want to get lunch?” Her change in subject throws me off.

  “Lunch? What’s Adam up to today?”

  Ellie’s husband, Adam, is our lead singer.

  “He has some all day photo shoot. He’s already left. C’mon Gav, I’m bored. We haven’t gotten together in ages. The nanny is here for a few hours and I want to get out.”

  “Laying it on thick, aren’t we? Fine,” I huff, pretending I’m put out. “I guess I can spare you an hour or two out of my grand plans of doing nothing all day.”

  Ellie laughs. “You’re so generous.”

  We make plans to meet at one at Rockdale’s, a little seafood shack near my house in Huntington Beach and hang up.

  I lie on the lounge for a while, enjoying the cool breeze and the trickling of the waterfall that splashes into the pool. Of course, my thoughts immediately turn to Mitch. I picture his dark, wavy hair curling up behind his ears. Those intense grey eyes that can’t seem to stop finding excuses to look at my mouth. His warm hand clasped around mine as if he’s somehow staking a claim.

  Shit. I begin to grow hard.

  Jerking off while Marcus watches from the other side of the patio doesn’t exactly sound like a great time. Instead, I groan, ignore my throbbing dick, and head inside to get ready for my lunch date.

  * * *

  “You look dreadful, Gav.” Ellie pulls me into a hug, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “Thanks, El. Love you too.” I squeeze her tight, letting her warmth seep into my frigid disposition.

  “You know what I mean,” she says when she lets go.

  Rockdale’s is first come first serve. We find an open table on the patio overlooking the ocean.

  “Is this too bright for you?” I tease. “That delicate British skin of yours burns so easily.”

  “Hey, you’re half British as well,” she counters.

  “Yeah, well, I guess that’s one good thing about my dad. I got his tan skin.” I frown at the thought.

  “How are things with your dad?” Ellie reaches across the table to put her hand over mine.

  “Same as always, El. I don’t have a dad.”

  I’m glad to be wearing sunglasses. Otherwise Ellie would be able to see that it still hurts. Ten years since my dad suspected I was gay. Ten years since he beat me and ridiculed me on a daily basis until I couldn’t take it anymore and tried to kill myself. Ten years since I’ve had any kind of relationship with my dad that doesn’t involve him telling me what a disappointment I am.

  “That’s so sad, Gav. I miss my dad so much. I just don’t see how he can toss you aside. I’d give anything to have my dad back.”

  A drunk driver killed Ellie’s dad about a year after my incident. Believe me, I understand why she thinks it’s unfathomable. But then, she didn’t know my dad.

  I twist my mouth into a scowl. “Yeah, well…my dad’s a bastard, El. Even my mom figured that out.”

  “She’s still in London, then?”

  The server takes our order and promises to be right back with out drinks.

  “Still in London, yes. After…” I shift in my chair. Ellie is one of the few people who know I tried to kill myself but I still don’t like discussing it. “After the incident,” I glance at Ellie and see her nod, urging me to continue. “She brought Hawke and me to London where I met you and the guys. Mom never came back to the U.S. and hasn’t been here since.”

  Ellie’s mouth falls open. “Not once? Not even to visit you?”

  I shrug, pretending it doesn’t hurt that my own mother won’t make an effort to see her only child. “I go there a lot with the band. You know that. So I guess she figures that’s enough.”

  Ellie gives me a sad look. At that exact moment, our drinks arrive. I’ve never been more grateful for something alcoholic. I order another one before I even take my first sip.

  Ellie gives me the mommy glare that makes you feel as if you deserve a time out.

  “What? I’m having a bad day,” I huff, justifying my actions. Lifting the glass, I down about half of the fruity rum cocktail.

  “You didn’t drive, did you?” she scolds. Ellie is like a pit bull when it comes to drinking and driving.

  I laugh. “Heck no! I have my babysitter with me.” I use the glass to point towards Marcus, who is sitting on a nearby barstool, scanning the patio for potential dangers.

  “Oh, I forgot about all that.” Ellie winces. “I’m so sorry, Gav.”

  I shrug it off. “I know you did, El. It’s okay.”

  “It’s bloody well not okay!” She straightens up, leaning over the table. “It’s not okay to threaten you and frighten you and make you afraid to live your life!”

  Other patrons are tilting their heads in our direction as Ellie rants. I catch my name being whispered. Now I’ve been spotted and after ‘coming out’ last night, what a joke, I’m sure I’ve been the talk of the town. Especially here in Huntington Beach, which has a thriving gay community.

  “Shhhhh, El. People are staring.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” she scowls. “I bloody hate this part. The whole lack of privacy.” She waves her hands around in frustration.

  “Me too,” I agree, although I’ve lived in the spotlight for nearly a decade with the band. Ellie and Adam only reunited a year ago so this is all fairly new to her.

  Our food arrives and we manage to move on to lighter topics, the new album, Ellie and Adam’s daughter, Sadie, who at nearly one is the love of Adam’s life, and Hawke’s latest adventures.

  We finish up and pay the bill. As
the server leaves, I notice Marcus getting up and stalking over, his face a mask of determination.

  “El,” I caution, grabbing her wrist to keep her in her seat. “Wait.”

  She follows my line of sight. Marcus is hustling to intercept a young man who is headed for our table. Marcus reaches out to stop him right as he arrives in front of me.

  “Sir, I need you to step back,” he commands in a low, menacing voice.

  “I just want to thank Gavin,” the kid says, his voice filled with nerves.

  “Not today.” Marcus wedges himself between the kid and our table.

  The boy’s eyes find mine and I get it. I see something familiar in his expression. I see me ten years ago.

  I stand up. “Let him through, Marcus.”

  “I strongly caution you—”

  “I know. It’s okay. I want to talk to him.”

  “Gav,” Ellie hisses, worried for me, as usual.

  “It’s fine, El.” I turn to meet the boy’s stare. “What’s your name?”

  Grumbling, Marcus steps aside but doesn’t leave. He plants himself next to the table, crossing his beefy arms over his enormous chest.

  “I’m Cory.” The boy ducks his head. Crimson streaks run up his neck and cheeks. He’s adorable.

  “Hi Cory. I’m Gavin.” I hold out my hand. Cory’s dark eyes widen, then his lips part, revealing a brilliant white smile and matching dimples on his cheeks.

  I shake his hand, grinning back.

  “I just wanted to say thanks, for…” Cory shrugs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his tiny, denim cut-off shorts. “You know, for last night. For being brave.”

  “I’m not brave, Cory. I just don’t want to live a lie anymore.”

  “Well, I think you’re brave. My boyfriend and I talked about you all night.” His eyes widen and his cheeks color again.

  “You have a boyfriend?” I smile at the way the kid’s expression gets all dreamy when he nods. “He’s a lucky guy, Cory.”

  Cory grins again, giving me another glimpse of his perfect smile. He’s a cute kid, dark hair, lean body, with big brown puppy dog eyes. He’s a little small for my taste but I’ve never been much into twinks.

  “Thanks Gavin.” He turns to leave.

  “Hey Cory!” I call out, not caring about the twenty sets of eyes that are focused on us. He looks over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Cory smiles and continues on his way.

  Well, hell. Maybe something good came out of this shitstorm after all.

  Mitch

  I pull up to my townhouse and stop on the street. A Huntington Park squad car sits in my driveway next to a plain, dark blue sedan. There’s yellow crime tape across the front door, which is standing wide open. I see a uniformed officer inside, talking to someone inside the house.

  I sigh. My neighborhood is on the rough side of town. Across the street are older homes, built in the fifties. Bars bolted onto all of the windows. We’re no strangers to police activity around here, but many of the residents nearby don’t trust law so much as break it.

  Time to see what’s going on. I climb the front stairs instead of going through the garage like I normally do. Greeting the officer, I show him my I.D. and explain who I am and what I used to do for a living.

  “Go ahead in. Detective Vallejo is lead. He’s in the kitchen.”

  I nod at the officer and pick my way through the debris. An imposing man in slacks and a blazer is standing near the sink, talking to a gloved technician.

  Before I can speak, my phone buzzes. Sasha. Shit, she probably saw me with Gavin on the news last night. I already ignored calls from both my mom and CeCe. All of them have nothing better to do than dig around in my life.

  The detective’s deep voice interrupts my internal grumbling. “Good, Salter. Bag it up and take it back to the lab with everything else.” The technician picks up a piece of glass, depositing it in a Ziploc bag.

  “Mitch Hale!” Detective Vallejo crosses the room to shake my hand. “Long time, eh?”

  I laugh without humor. “Juan, I slept about thirty minutes last night after you left.” I met the detective when he came to the rental house last night to take Gavin’s statement and mine. I glance around at the mess. “When can I get someone in here to clean up?”

  “We’re done. Got some prints, we’ll run them at the station.”

  “They’re most likely all mine. I told you how meticulous this guy is.”

  “Probably.” The detective slaps me on the back with his huge hand. “Doesn’t hurt to try, though.”

  “Guess not. Listen, I need to use my computers. Is that a problem?”

  Vallejo scratches his head. “Nah. Crime scene is packing up. They got pictures. You should inventory the damage before clearing it out so you can give the list to your insurance company.”

  “Right.” Like I care about stupid shit like that while this psycho gets closer and closer to Gavin. “I will.”

  “All right. We’ll get out of your hair. You got my number?” The man’s dark eyes meet mine.

  “Yep. I’ll call you if anything turns up.”

  “See you later then, Mitch.”

  A few minutes later, the house is eerily silent. I rip down the bright yellow tape and lock the front door. It takes everything in me not to have another tantrum when I see the state of ruin in my home. Steeling myself, I ignore the mess and head for the office.

  While the computers warm up, I dial Sasha’s number.

  “Darling Mitch. You can’t live without me,” she drawls when she answers.

  “Sasha,” I growl.

  “Ooooh, someone is grumpy today!”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Sash. Not today.” I sent her an email detailing everything that went down last night, from the plot to lure out the stalker to the destruction of my townhouse.

  “Jeez, Mitch. Being gay sure has made you catty.” After last night’s ‘coming out’ at the album launch, Sasha now knows the identity of my client. There’s no use denying it.

  “Fucking hell, Sasha. Let it go, okay? Did you look over the stuff I sent?” I ignore the gay comment knowing she’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  “I did.”

  I wait a beat, and get frustrated when she doesn’t answer. This cat and mouse thing is her favorite game. She does it to draw out little bits of information she can use to profile you. Sasha’s been working on me for years.

  “And…?”

  “And, I agree with you, Mitch. There’s more than one perpetrator. Or, more specifically, more than one person writing the notes.”

  Leaning back in my chair until I’m balanced on the back two legs, I run a hand down my face. “I see.”

  “But one of them stopped a while back,” she continues.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The notes, the most recent ones all come from the same person. Whoever the partner was, for lack of a better word, is no longer involved.”

  I jerk upright, causing the chair to slam back down onto all four legs. “You’re sure?”

  “Am I ever wrong?” she purrs.

  No, she isn’t.

  “Thanks. I have to go.”

  “This is all very interesting, Mitch. I’d love to hear more. Call me if you need any more help. Especially with that gorgeous Gavin Walker.”

  At the mention of his name a rush of heat floods my skin, scorching hot as it travels down the length of my body.

  “For god’s sake, Sasha,” I stutter, trying to get my thoughts under control. “Bye.”

  “Bye, love!”

  After calling both my insurance and a company that will bring a dumpster and clear out the house, I begin my research.

  I always use the victim as a starting point and branch out from there. It feels wrong to poke around in Gavin’s past, but if I want to catch this guy, I have no choice.

  When I enter Gavin’s name into an everyday search engine, millions of results pop up. This isn’t the first time I’ve looked him u
p, but it is the first time since knowing the man personally.

  “Jesus.” I scratch at the itchy stubble on my neck as I gawk. There was no time to shave this morning. I had to get out of that house. I could see it in Gavin’s eyes. He wanted to discuss what happened in the men’s room last night.

  Fuck. Just the thought of it has my cock twitching. I want to think of something else, distract my errant dick, but on the screen in front of me are dozens of photos of Gavin Walker. Photos of that perfect, angular face, made softer by a set of full, pink lips and thick, dark eyelashes that any woman would kill for.

  I click on Images and am treated to an assorted array of tiny pictures of Gavin. One in particular has me literally about to come in my pants.

  “Holy shit.” My hand shoots to my groin, squeezing hard to stop the imminent orgasm.

  Don’t do it, Hale. This isn’t you. The thing with Grant wasn’t real and this isn’t real.

  My body is telling my brain otherwise. As if possessed by an unseen force, my hand moves the cursor to click on the thumbnail.

  It’s a spread in Men’s Health featuring Gavin, his surfboard, and not much else. The shot I’m drawn to is a side view of Gavin, completely naked, pressing his front against a tall blue board I recognize from his house. The long, tan, length of his body is exposed. With his arm closest to the camera bent and his hand gripping the edge of the board, the focus of the picture is the uninterrupted swath of skin from his ribcage, down his narrow waist, along the curve of his ass, to a gorgeous, muscled leg. Gavin’s model-perfect face is staring at the camera, his cheek resting on the board, his full lips slightly parted.

  I swallow, the lust built up in my throat making it difficult. My cock is now bulging painfully against the tight denim of my jeans. I press down on it with the heel of my hand and groan.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I close the browser and take a few deep, calming breaths. My dick is still rock solid, but I can ignore that if I focus on something else. This is exactly why I needed to get away from that house. Get some space to concentrate without the damn scent of coconuts or a view of Gavin’s tight round ass. Or his nearly hairless torso. Or that mouth. Hell, that sinful mouth.