Always Theirs: A Male/Male/Male Menage Rockstar Romance (The Always Series Book 6)

by J. P. James

  I can’t stop Damon though, so I’ll let him try. Who knows, right? Maybe the man of my dreams is walking around the hotel this very moment.

  2

  Jordan

  “Thank you. Have a good evening,” I tell the woman as I hand back her ID and welcome her through the double doors.

  She kisses the palm of her hand, and blows it towards Jameson, and then myself before she enters the main room.

  Jameson stifles his laugh as he checks her off the guest list. “No thanks. Anyways, she should be the last person,” he whispers. “The party started three hours ago.”

  I laugh at him. He gives me a cross look, but I don’t feel bad. Sometimes Jameson sounds so naïve.

  “I don’t think late has ever stopped any of these people from doing anything,” I sneer. “We’ll be here all night.”

  Jameson groans, but he knows I’m right. These people come and go as they please. We just have to make sure they’re on the list and keep out anyone that isn’t. It’s a simple job, but we’ll be here well into the morning with this crowd.

  I steal a glance into the party, and almost choke on the décor. The designer must love winter, because the tented-off veranda is brimming with blue and silver fairy lights. There are silver tablecloths, blue glass rocks, iridescent pillows, and drapes covering every inch of the patio. My eyes can’t escape the sparkle and shimmer reflecting off every single surface. It’s as if the host wanted the party inside a damn snow globe.

  “You look like you’re in pain,” Jameson teases me.

  I turn around and blink fiercely. “I didn’t think a winter wonderland could look so terrifying.”

  Jameson and I share a laugh when a kid steps out from around the hallway. Based on the way he sways and catches himself on the walls, he’s at least five drinks into his evening. I have to say I’m impressed though. His head might be spinning, but he’s able to keep eye contact with Jameson and me as he staggers. He definitely likes what he sees.

  “Uh oh,” Jameson whispers.

  The guy zeroes in on us. He licks his lips, probably too drunk to know how obvious he is.

  “Hey boys,” he drawls.

  He stops just a foot from me. If he were sober, I’d go into full-on bodyguard mode, but this guy looks harmless.

  “Name?” I ask. Jameson grips the roster in his hands harder.

  The guy looks me up and down, and then Jameson, before he lets out a contented sigh.

  “My name’s Eddie,” he breathes. “You must be the Man of my Dreams. Is this your brother, Prince Charming?”

  Jameson laughs loudly, knocking the guy down a peg and dragging him out of his drunken rambling.

  “Sorry. My brother doesn’t have much tact,” I tell the poor kid. “But you’re not our type, Eddie.”

  “He’s not on the guest list,” Jameson says, chuckling.

  “I’m here for another party, but this looks like fun. Plus, I thought I could get my mouth on some eye candy,” Eddie purrs.

  Whether he’s off balance or trying to make a move, he tries to lean his chest into mine. As gently as I can, I push him back.

  “I’m flattered Eddie, but sorry,” I tell him. “We have a job to do. If you aren’t on the guest list, then you have to leave.”

  I watch his eyes sober that much more, and there’s nothing but rejection painted on his face.

  “I can treat you right,” he says firmly. “Both of you.”

  I look at Jameson, and he catches my gaze. We hold our poker faces, but I can tell by the glint in his eye that Jameson feels the same way.

  This kid is barking up the wrong tree. My brother and I might be gay, but this kid is desperate. We’re used to getting hit on when we bodyguard. I think there’s something about a guy in uniform that ruffles people’s feathers, in a good way.

  Under other circumstances, maybe I’d be into a fling. Hell, it’s been a long time since Jameson or I had a guy, and this one’s so eager. Still, I’m not looking for a one-night stand these days, and neither is Jameson. We just entered our thirties, and I’m getting tired of the booty calls. Besides, the job always comes first. We like to keep things professional.

  “Eddie, please,” Jameson tries, putting his hand on the kid’s arm.

  Something snaps in Eddie. “I don’t need your pity,” he cries, pushing against Jameson with all his might, which isn’t much.

  Jameson and I switch gears instantly. He may be drunk, but this guy has gone too far. I pin Eddie against the far wall, barring his chest with my forearm as Jameson steps backwards.

  “Hey, kid,” I shout at him. “You’re drunk, and you need to leave. I don’t want to throw some punk out the window for assaulting my brother.”

  “Eddie!”

  Jameson and I turn to see a suited-up executive running towards us, his hands up in protest. He stops short a few feet from us.

  “Is this yours?” Jameson asks point blank, motioning to a floundering Eddie.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” the guy says.

  “Damon, I don’t need you to help me,” Eddie babbles.

  I look between the two strangers, and despite my better judgment, release the kid. He falls to his knees as Damon grabs him.

  “Don’t tell me you’re trying to get into this party too?” I tell the new guy.

  He stands with Eddie under his arm. Eddie wipes a stray tear falling down his cheeks. Alcohol and emotion have left Eddie looking like a cherry tomato.

  “Unlike this charming young man, I’m on the guest list,” he prides himself, smoothing the lapel on his jacket. “Damon McAllister.”

  Jameson rolls his eyes but checks the list anyways.

  “He checks out,” Jameson admits, as I inspect the guy’s ID.

  “You can go in, but your friend here can’t,” I remind him.

  “I don’t care about the stupid party,” Eddie whines. “I just thought you guys were interested in a little fun.”

  Damon smirks this time, and Jameson and I keep quiet.

  “Eddie, I have a VIP suite downstairs. Tell the staff you’re with me, and they’ll let you in. Take as many of your friends as you want,” Damon appeases.

  Eddie’s eyes light up. He musters the rest of his energy to pull himself back down the hall towards the elevators.

  “Nothing like ‘VIP’ to send someone running,” Damon chuckles as he turns back to face us.

  Jameson grips the roster again, his posture tall and foreboding. “My brother and I don’t care about ‘VIP’.”

  I shrug without taking my eyes off Damon.

  “We stick to dive bars most nights.”

  Damon nods, and looks us up and down again.

  “What are your names?”

  Jameson and I give each other a look, but proceed.

  “I’m Jordan Jones, and this is Jameson.”

  Damon has a sparkle in his eyes. It’s different from Eddie’s gaze, but it unsettles me all the same.

  “Twin bodyguards? Have you two considered acting?”

  Damon smirks and digs around in his jacket pocket before he brings out two business cards, one for each of us.

  “You’re an agent?” Jameson asks.

  “The very best,” Damon states, pocketing his hands. “You’re hot, burly twins. I’m sure I could get you plenty of work.”

  I push the business card back at him. “No thanks.”

  Damon’s face contorts, but he pockets the slips of paper. He looks at us like we’re aliens.

  “Why else would you bodyguard, if you aren’t trying to get famous?” he asks.

  I can’t help myself and laugh right in his face.

  “This is a job, buddy. We clock in, do the work, and clock out. That’s it,” I say, hoping he gets the point. “We already have careers.”

  “As?” Damon tries, curiosity dancing on his face.

  “We’re firefighters. This is a side gig until we go back in two weeks,” Jameson declares proudly.

  “Forced vacation?” asks Damon,
a small smile ghosting his mouth.

  Jameson shrugs but says nothing, so I clear my throat.

  “We don’t want to be away from our company for long, but our chief told us we need to relax.”

  He nods again, but slow and considerate. His brain looks like it’s working out some complicated equation, before he meets our eyes again.

  “You seem like good guys. You’re honest, hard-working, and handsome to boot,” he charms us.

  Jameson and I tense, but Damon halts us.

  “I’m not coming onto you, trust me,” he smiles wider as his hands shoot up in surrender. “I just have a proposition for you.”

  I look him up and down. This guy has more grease in his hair than Danny Zuko, but he also doesn’t seem like a fraud.

  “I’m listening,” Jameson says, and I give him a surprised look. Jameson is always the skeptic.

  Damon pulls his business cards out again, dangling in front of us.

  “One of my clients,” he says with an impish expression, “he also needs to relax, if you know what I mean. I was hoping you guys might keep him company later tonight.”

  I suck air into my lungs, my brain trying to process what this is asking.

  “Do we look like hookers to you?” Jameson almost shouts at him.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” Damon amends. “I’m not sure my client is even in the mood for sex, but I think he needs good guys by his side to cheer him up.”

  I can feel my eyebrows digging further down my face. This guy has to be full of it, right?

  Damon redoubles his efforts. He adjusts his posture like he’s going in for the kill. “Whatever you’re getting paid tonight, I can quadruple that, just for some companionship,” he says.

  Damon’s face softens, and he fixes his gaze on the wall, lost in thought. “My client, he’s like a little brother to me. I just want him to be alright.”

  He shoves his business cards in our hands faster than I can process it.

  “Think about it. If you change your minds, I’m staying in the hotel tonight,” he finishes, and turns back down the hallway without another word. He pulls his jacket tight as he disappears around the corner.

  “Did we just turn a trick?” Jameson asks.

  “No,” I say flatly, looking over the card. “But the offer stands.”

  A woman comes around the corner after that, and for the first time tonight, I wish we’d never taken this job. The last hour has been an utter shit show, and I’m ready for the night to end. Usually I try to charm every guest that enters, but I’m fresh out of charm for this poor woman.

  She gives us a curt nod before she enters the party.

  “That’s good money,” Jameson says out of the blue, “if Damon really can quadruple our pay.”

  Jameson’s right. We’ve been itching to buy an apartment in the city, and this would definitely add a healthy cushion to our savings.

  “I don’t know,” I admit, despite the flashing dollar signs. “I know we’re good-looking, but I’m not comfortable selling my body.”

  “We don’t have to sleep with the guy,” Jameson reminds me.

  I clench my jaw, wondering if I can take Damon for his word. “What if his client doesn’t know that, and tries to make a move?” I fire back. “Besides, you’re usually the one to question someone’s motives. What gives?”

  Jameson folds his arms over his chest, eyeing me down. “And aren’t you the one who usually goes with your gut? Why so hesitant now?”

  He has a point. This potential job has us so worked up that we aren’t ourselves right now.

  From the corner of my eye, I see a figure looming from around the corner down the hall. I shift my eyes, and Jameson follows my vision until he sees the strange figure too.

  “Hey you,” Jameson calls in his alpha voice. “Are you lost?”

  A boy shuffles from behind the wall, and walks briskly towards us. He looks young and very slim. He has icy blonde hair and blue eyes, and a striking face. Handsome, for sure, but there’s something off about him. He looks shaky and on edge.

  “Can we help you?” I offer, and the kids’ eyes dart from Jameson to me.

  “Is this the Fyre Connell after-party?” he pleads, his voice cracking on the name.

  Jameson looks extra confused, but I try to play it cool. “This isn’t that event.”

  Judging by the boy’s face, you’d have thought I told him his childhood pet has terminal cancer. I’ve never seen someone look so unhinged.

  “I can call the hotel front desk and ask for you. Are you on the guest list?” I try again.

  “No,” he says, his voice deadly cold. “I’m going to meet my idol tonight. Fyre Connell is my world.”

  The kid definitely gives me the creeps, but then again, I’ve never been much of a fan of anything or anyone before. I look at Jameson, who nods quickly back.

  “What’s your name, kid?” Jameson asks calmly, smiling to try and cheer up the boy.

  “Percy,” he says, the ice in his voice melting slightly. “I’ve been checking his social media to see where he is, but he hasn’t posted anything.”

  Suddenly the boy’s phone pings, and his eyes dart to the device. After looking for a moment, a wicked smile paints his face. To some he might look stupid happy, but I can see the deranged glint in his eyes.

  “You okay, kid?” Jameson tries again, putting his arm on Percy’s shoulder.

  Like a wild animal, Percy flings Jameson’s arm off him and jumps back from us.

  “Hey,” I shout at him.

  I try to grab him, but he bounds back farther.

  “I’m fine!” His wild eyes dart between us, his breathing as ragged as if he ran a mile around the hotel. “I know where he is.”

  He darts down the hall, running for the elevator at full speed.

  I take a quick look at Jameson for permission, and the moment he nods, I’m at a full sprint too. I try to catch up, but the second I turn the corner, Percy’s already inside an open elevator.

  I’m nearly there, just ten feet away before the doors close. I know it’s stupid, but I try to pry the metal doors open, willing them to bend and give, but no luck. I smack the side of the wall, and run back to Jameson.

  I may have been the one running, but Jameson and I both breathe heavy as a feeling of dread washes over us. We just let someone get away, who shouldn’t be wandering the hotel alone. Percy may look like an ordinary kid, but there’s nothing ordinary about lashing out over your idol. That’s borderline psychotic.

  I don’t know who this kid’s idol is, but I just hope Jameson and I can do enough to protect them.

  3

  Fyre

  The second I step into my hotel room, I peel off my clothes and throw them unceremoniously on the plush carpet. A stylist probably spent a few hours pulling this look together, and I shed it in less than thirty seconds.

  It’s been a long night. Damon’s voice wouldn’t stop berating me in my head, so I found Eddie once Damon ran off to do God knows what. I took a few photos with Eddie and the other Insta-fanatics. By a few, I mean at least one hundred, and it was all the same. The same pouty face, the same arm on hip angles, and the same fake laughs. It’s only pictures, but I was exhausted.

  Having Eddie close-up should have changed my mind about him, but I guess I’m not that desperate. He’s hot, don’t get me wrong, and seeing his muscles up close made my mouth water. But up close, I also got to see him dissect every selfie like it was a rare piece of art. Major turn off.

  At some point Eddie disappeared, and then reappeared looking worse for wear. His clothes were ruffled, and I think I saw snot and dried tears on his face. He didn’t stay long, pulling a couple of close friends into the VIP section with him. He didn’t invite me because, honestly, we’re not that close, but I would have said no anyways.

  I pull on a pair of silk boxers and a simple white cotton t-shirt, and instantly feel myself relax. I stroll over to the mini bar, debating whether I’m
going to drop $20 on a $5 shot of vodka and a mini-can of tonic water.

  Yes, yes I am.

  As I pour myself a nightcap, I rub my temples. My ears ache. For the last twelve hours, speakers blasted all kinds of music into my brain. All I want now is some peace and quiet.

  There’s a couch in the bedroom suite, and I settle lengthwise on the plush cushions. I take a cautious sip before grinning, congratulating myself on a successful cocktail. There’s nothing complicated about a vodka tonic, but my brain ignores the putdown the second the alcohol touches my lips.

  My eyes catch on the shimmer of my boxers. I love this pair. They’re evergreen silk boxers, with a gold button at the fly, and they make me feel sexy and confident. Come to think of it, the vodka tonic is making me feel sexy and confident too.

  Before I can mentally check myself, I grab my phone from the pants crumpled on the floor. I open the camera app, and snap a photo. It’s just my boxers down to my legs, with the vodka tonic in my hand, and a view of the skyline outside the far window.

  Thank you for an excellent night, Fyreflies. Now, for some R&R. I finish the caption for the image, check-in to the penthouse suite, and send off the risqué candid without a second thought. I meant it when I said that my superfans get exclusive content.

  I rest the phone on the coffee table and settle into the silence. My ears try to adjust to the lack of noise, and it’s both overwhelming and entirely welcome. It’s a blessing really.

  My life is anything but quiet, and it’s easy to get lost in all of this. I’m not just surrounded by music, but voices, opinions, arguing, whining, sound checks, airplane engines, and tour bus brakes. I get joy from classical music, but there’s something about complete silence that allows me to come back to myself.

  I sip my drink, swinging one arm over my eyes. My arm rests against my forehead. The weight of it pushes every racing thought to the back of my mind, and I let the calm wash over me.

  My life is busy with a capital B, and I have a million things running through my head every second. But when it’s quiet, it’s easier to reflect. As the vodka tonic streaks down my throat, I realize I can’t remember the last time I had this much to drink. I attend parties frequently, but I always keep it to one drink for a few reasons.