by J. P. James
Number one, my voice. Alcohol can mess with it, especially if I have a performance the next day, so I don’t like to overdo it.
Number two, my body. It’s not just my voice that feels it. I’m sluggish most of the next morning, and if I have an early morning interview or a press tour, I have to be up at the crack of dawn. Why add the burden of a hangover?
Number three, and this one gets to me the worst, is my safety. I have a level of fame that continues to surprise me, and that means complete strangers come up to me on a daily basis. I usually have Damon or someone from my team around, but I don’t keep personal security. Most places I go have their own security, and it’s never been an issue before, partly because I always have my wits about me. I know Damon loves the Kardashians, but I refuse to be tied up in the bathroom of a Parisian penthouse. That’s why I’m always sober, or just south of it, in case something does happen.
Tonight, though, I just wanted to let loose a bit. Damon is staying in the hotel. If I need him, he’s a call or text away. Plus, the hotel’s security team is top notch. This place is a must-stay for high-profile businessmen, and I saw at least thirty security cameras since I entered the building. It’s one reason I let myself go a bit wild tonight, but not the only reason.
The buzz helps me not feel so lonely. I’m surrounded by hundreds of people all day long and still come home feeling unwanted. The music industry has a way of doing that. It is one extreme to the next, complete suffocation to utter isolation. When my mind feels as loose as it does now, everything feels lighter. I don’t take it all seriously, but allow my mind to wander from thought to thought openly.
My brain settles on the fact that I’m finally alone, away from the prying eyes of my agent and the rest of the party. I set the drink down on the coffee table. The silk fabric shifts against my crotch, and my cock jumps at the contact. The smooth material feels amazing, and the alcohol sends the muddled blissful sensation coursing through my veins.
I groan into the room. With my arm still covering my eyes, my other hand rests on the fabric over my crotch. Fuck. Suddenly, the thought of being tied up doesn’t sound so bad. I might be in my mid-twenties, but my sex life has always been pretty vanilla. I’ve had plenty of flings, but that can make it difficult to get … kinky.
As my hand drags against the fabric, I let my brain conjure up mouthwatering images. I can picture it now. I’m hogtied on a bed, or maybe a plush carpet on the floor. The ropes are elegant, nothing from a common hardware store. I’m talking quality Shibari ropes, maybe in royal blue or crimson red. I can imagine the way the material bunches around my wrists and arms, keeping me tethered and grounded.
My cock throbs, and it’s had enough of my daydreaming. I plunge my hand under my shorts and instantly hiss at the skin-to-skin contact. I haven’t fantasized in forever, but this is exactly how I want to spend my night.
My mind wanders to Damon for a moment. It’s late, and there hasn’t been any random “companion” knocking on my door. Suffice to say he failed in his mission for the night. I’m glad, I guess. Judging by my straining erection, though, I could use a hand for tonight.
Just as I give my cock a few tugs, there’s a knock at the door.
I jump so fast that I knock what’s left of my drink, and my phone, off the coffee table and onto the floor.
Damnit. I look down at the state of me, as a second hurried knock blasts through the silence of the room.
“Just a second,” I call, unable to keep my voice from cracking.
There’s only one way to handle this. Quickly, and as painlessly as possible, I take a bit of skin from the base of my cock and give it a firm pinch.
“Ouch,” I hiss, but the bit of pain does the trick.
My erection softens quickly, and I grab my pants off the ground to cover up as much of my body, and my embarrassment, as possible.
Great timing, Damon, I think as I pad across the suite towards the door. If he thinks I’m going to talk business with him at this hour, he has another thing coming.
“What do you want?” I groan as I swing the door open.
A pair of swirling blue eyes greets me, and my mind sobers up instantly. I just groaned at a complete stranger. A handsome stranger, but stranger nonetheless.
“It’s really you,” the blonde guy says, his eyes glistening that much more. He might be on the verge of crying, or yelling, I can’t really tell. But there’s floodgate inside him that looks like it’s about to break.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask. Then my eyes widen.
Damon. Shit.
“I’m so sorry,” I start again, and the guy’s eyes cloud slightly.
I raise my hand to plead with the guy. Suddenly his smile deepens as my hand moves closer to him. It’s as if he’s watching my every move.
“I know my agent put you up to this, but I don’t think I’m in the mood tonight.”
Why am I lying? Of course, I’m in the mood. A second ago, I was about to come on the couch by myself. Now I could do it with someone. I wouldn’t have to be alone.
Still, there’s something about this handsome man that … doesn’t sit well with me. He’s got a jaw chiseled by Michelangelo, but he looks a little too eager. Damon sure knows how to pick them … not.
“What do you mean?” he asks, and I realize this isn’t so much a man as a boy. He sounds young, younger than I am. He’s just tall for his age.
I groan again, and I can see him deflate, his smile dropping away.
“This isn’t about you–,” I start before I wait for him.
“Percy Ellis,” he says sheepishly.
“Percy,” I say back. He beams hearing his name on my lips. “My agent told you I need cheering up, didn’t he? Well, I’m fine. Really. I’m sorry for your trouble. Keep the money, but I don’t need you tonight.”
For the third time in as many minutes, Percy’s face contorts. No longer smiling, his eyes darken and his shoulders slump.
“You don’t need me?” he says, more of a statement than a question. “But what if I need you?”
What the hell?
My spine straightens as my nerves fire. Maybe I’m on edge from my interrupted bedroom time, but this guy has me on the defense. Instinctively, I ground my feet into the carpet, shifting my weight so I’m steady on my toes.
“You weren’t paid to come here?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and unaffected.
He shakes his head slowly, and the sinister smile that paints his face makes the vodka tonic in my stomach do a backflip.
“I’d be your companion, free of charge,” he purrs. “I love you, Fyre Connell.”
I don’t move, but my name on his lips makes me dizzy with nausea. Maybe the alcohol is making me dizzy too. Why did I let myself drink so much?
I have to get out of this situation. I have to get myself to safety.
My phone is still sitting on the floor. If I can somehow close to door, I could barricade it and call for help. I need Damon, or the front desk. I need someone to help me.
I gently move to rest my hand on the door. I try to look casual, and manage to smile at the boy.
“Percy,” I whisper, because now my voice can’t muster anything louder. “Thank you for telling me. Unfortunately, I have an early day tomorrow, and I’m tired. Did you see my performance tonight?”
His eyes light up and he nods vehemently.
“You were amazing, as usual,” he breathes, the words sounding like a prayer to him.
“That means so much to me,” I tell him. I ball my other hand into a fist, to keep it from shaking at my side.
“You must be exhausted. Why don’t I give you a massage?”
His offer almost causes my knees to buckle, but I just grip the door harder, digging my nails into the wood. It’s painful and comforting. It’s keeping me from passing out in fear.
“Thank you for offering, Percy, but I have a massage scheduled tomorrow.” I throw another smile in to feign gratitude.
“Oh, I see,”
he says, and I jump at my shot.
“I tell you what,” I say, and he lifts his eyes back to me, “Maybe we can have breakfast tomorrow, in the restaurant downstairs. Would you like that?”
He grins wide, his teeth pearly-white and shining back at me like the fangs of a lion. I’ve never felt more like prey in my life.
“That would be wonderful,” he says.
Yes, I’m almost there.
“Be in the lobby tomorrow morning at 8 AM,” I tell him. “I’ll be waiting for you. For tonight, though, I really need to get some sleep. Thanks for coming Percy.”
“Of course,” he whispers back.
I watch him for a moment, and when he doesn’t move, I slowly step back. My hand pushes the door slowly, closing out the crazed fan just inches from my face. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, and my limbs haven’t stopped shaking, but I’m almost there.
Once the door is closed, I can barricade it. I can run for my phone. I can call for help. Once this door is closed, I’m safe.
The lock isn’t two inches from the latch when the door swings violently in on me.
My legs already turned to jelly, and I fall to the floor. Percy pushes inside, standing above me with that demented look in his eyes. He rubs at his arm, having thrust it and blocked me from closing him out. He blocked me from anything resembling safety.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, but he makes no move to help me. “I can’t leave you. You’re like, my best friend.”
I can’t help myself this time, and my eyebrows practically dig a hole into my face as I give him the most confused look back.
“I don’t have a best friend, Percy. I don’t have any friends,” I tell him, trying to keep things matter of fact.
I want to de-escalate this, so I might as well go with honesty. Sadly, I don’t have any friends. Not really. I have coworkers, executives, fans, but friends? No.
“I’ll be your best friend now,” Percy says with a smile. “You won’t have to be alone.”
I gulp, willing my chest to suck in air. “Why would you want to be friends with me? I’m always on the road.”
Percy shakes off the doubt like a fly on a hot summer day. “I know you’re busy. We’re not very different. I’m gay ,and my parents don’t approve either. I could travel with you. We could be each other’s family.”
My eyes glisten, not out of wonder, but horror. I can’t cry, not now, so I suck in another breath and push the tears down.
“I’d love to have a family that cares,” I tell him. Again, it’s not a lie. I just don’t want it with him.
A lightbulb flickers in my head. I smile up at Percy, easing the tension from his shoulders.
“Let’s take a selfie together and send it to the Fyreflies. Then they can know who my Number One Fyrefly is. Does that sound good?”
Percy cheers, clapping so loud that he unravels my nerves that much more.
“But wait,” he says once he stops clapping. “We can’t post to the Fyre app. Only you can.”
I nod, keeping the smile on my face.
“That’s right. My phone is over there. I dropped it on the floor by the coffee table,” I instruct, pointing over my shoulder but not taking my eyes off him.
He takes the bait. He walks over me, his eyes fixing on the device on the ground. Once he reaches the phone, I make my move.
I flip myself over and crawl as fast as I can out of the room. I grab the doorway to haul myself up. Despite the jelly legs, I run.
I have jelly for legs, but I run as fast as they will carry me. I throw myself down the hallway like a rogue bowling ball going for a strike. I push against the walls every time I’m about to fall. I have to get help. Someone. Anyone. Help.
Two security guards round the corner of the hallway. I interrupt their leisurely conversation when they spot me. I wonder how terrified I must look, because seconds later, they are running at full speed towards me. My legs nearly give out as the guards close in, and I steal a moment to look behind me. Percy stands in the hall, his feet planted in front of the door as he watches with a sheet white face as his plan unravels. I catch the second his brain catches up, and he drops my phone onto the floor. He runs away from us, down the hall, and my heart lurches. It dawns on me that he’s getting away.
Bam! A third security guard rounds the corner as Percy reaches the stairwell, and launches himself at the boy. He tackles Percy to the ground.
“Sir, are you hurt?” One of the guards asks as he touches my shoulders. I crumble at his feet, sucking in air. My lungs feel like collapsing.
“N-no,” I stammer. I feel the tears stream down my face now, as my sight blurs and my voice cracks. “H-help.”
He drags me to my feet, and puts me under his arm as the other rubs my back, trying to keep me sane.
Through blurry eyes, I watch as the hulking guard takes the blonde blob away. They haul him off, somewhere. Even if my eyesight weren’t cloudy, I don’t know where they take him, and I know I can’t care about it either. I just want to be safe and, despite my ordeal, I can’t spend the night alone.
4
Jameson
“What do you think was that guy’s deal?” asks Jordan before taking another cautionary glance into the party behind us.
Jordan doesn’t care about the party any more than I do right now.
I know it’s just a distraction though. Maybe he’s hoping to see a fight or a fire … something to stop him from thinking about Percy.
Ugh. Just the name has my stomach lurching. I clutch the clipboard tight, my nails leaving tiny indents in the wood, and look down at the list of names. I crossed out nearly everyone with my highlighter, but there are a few names unaccounted for .
“Is it just me, or has the last hour dragged by?” My voice drips with bitter sarcasm.
Jordan looks at his watch, and groans. “You’re right.”
We huff at the same time, and I know we’re on the same page.
We’ve never wanted a job to end so badly. Then again, I’ve never felt this helpless in a situation I should be able to control.
I want Percy gone. I want to cuff him myself. I still have an old pair from our cousins on the force that I keep in my truck as a good luck charm. It’d take me thirty minutes to make a citizen’s arrest and send him down to the nearest precinct. But I’m being overly protective. Percy is a strange guy, but lashing out doesn’t make him a threat. He just feels like one. My gut is telling me to stop him, but from doing what? I may never know.
I also don’t know who this Fyre Connell guy is. Maybe he’s God’s gift to the world, just like Percy thinks. More than likely, though, he’s just a normal guy. Actually, since there’s a Fyre Connell party somewhere in this hotel, he’s probably a celebrity. In that case, his priorities are fame and fortune, but unfortunately, one of his fans turned their celeb crush into an obsession.
Even if Fyre is a jerk or a diva, he’s a person. When there’s a potentially dangerous situation, he needs to be protected just like everyone else. Whoever and wherever Fyre is tonight, I want him a thousand miles away from his super fan.
“I’m glad you called the front desk,” I tell Jordan.
He grits his teeth, but nods. “Security should keep an eye out for Percy. Especially if his idol is in the building.”
I take my phone out of my pocket, letting my finger hover over my browser.
“Aren’t you curious who Fyre Connell is?” I ask before I think better of it.
Jordan shrugs, but it’s forceful. If he’s going for easy-going, it’s not working.
“Not really. Are you?” he asks, the edge evident in his voice.
Yeah, I am. But I can’t admit it to my brother. I don’t want to admit that I’m curious. Like I said, he’s human. He might be a bit famous, but why should I care?
I heave out a frustrated sigh when a figure rounds the far corner and a wave of relief washes over me.
“Julian,” I call out as Jordan waves to the security manager.
Julian marches down the hall to stand in front of us. He’s a few inches taller than Jordan and me, and even leaner. He may not be a firefighter, but he’d be a great addition based on build alone. He could carry a guy up and down a flight of stairs without breaking a sweat.
“Hey, guys,” he greets with a stern smile, equal parts enthused and overwhelmed. “I just wanted to personally thank you for the tip.”
“Of course,” Jordan responds, edgy to hear more.
“Did something happen?” I finally ask when Julian says nothing. My voice is eager and far too desperate.
Julian pockets his hands, looking back down the hall and into the double doors behind us. Whatever he needs to say, he needs to say it privately.
“There was a situation,” he whispers. “It’s been handled, thanks in part to you guys. We sent extra security guards to the penthouse level, and they caught the boy you described.”
My heart both soars and lurches, like beams warping under the heat and pressure of a burning building. It’s both the best and worst news I’ve heard tonight.
“Is Fyre Connell alright?” Jordan asks.
Julian looks at us, a bit shocked we know the name. To be honest, I’m shocked Jordan used to the name too. We don’t know the guy, but the name rolls off Jordan’s tongue effortlessly. It doesn’t sound half-bad either.
“Yes,” Julian confirms. “Everything is under control. As added thanks, I’m here to relieve you of your duties.”
Julian pulls two envelopes from his jacket pocket and hands one to each of us.
“Payment for this evening. You’ll notice a healthy bonus for your tip,” he says with a grateful smile.
Gobsmacked, I close my mouth tight and pocket the envelope. Jordan and I don’t bother confirming the amount. We know Julian is good for it.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Thanks,” Jordan says in turn.
Julian watches both of us, and pats our shoulders.
“You know what,” he says with a wink. “Why don’t you guys check out Fyre’s after-party? There’s an open bar that’s still going strong. Have a couple drinks before you head out.”
