by R. Cayden
“Oh hey,” he said, finally sliding down the hood, then hopping to his feet. “Gray, I’m the new security guard.” He stuck out his hand. “Cute dog.”
The superstar’s smile actually flickered for a second, like there was a whole different smile waiting behind it, but it returned to normal when Justin took Gray’s hand with a firm, measured squeeze. “Sorry about that. It’s funny—she’s supposed to be a guard dog, but she almost never actually does her job. I don’t know what it is about you that got her attention, but she came running straight out here.” He bent down, then scratched the back of Pickles’s head. “Now why can’t you do that when there’s paparazzi hopping the fence, huh?”
“That’s what I’m for, I guess,” Gray said, then grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat in the car. “You want to show me around this place?”
“Oh sure,” Justin said, rising back up to full height. “As my assistant would have explained, you’ll have your own residence in the back here. If you’ll follow me, I can show you there first.”
Gray followed as Justin brought him to a little stone path around the house. He only managed to halfway listen as the actor explained the layout of the property, all information that Declan had made him memorize during “security boot camp,” as he called it.
Nodding along, Gray grunted every now and then to show his attention, but in his mind, he was starting to fixate on this scene in the third and final Broken Dragon movie, where Justin rode his horse into the battle for the last time, jumping it across the tops of skyscrapers.
Iconic. And hard to believe that the little twink from the movies was now grown up and standing there, gesturing to a little white cabin by the pond.
Talking with the most gorgeous pink lips Gray had ever seen.
“There’s a whole room in there with the security equipment,” Justin said. “We’ve installed cameras all over the place, you’ll see. The instructions left inside should be enough to get you started.”
“Right,” Gray nodded, then added quickly, “I probably will have some questions later, just to clarify.” It was true, he expected, despite the fact that his uncle had literally made him operate a switchboard for that model of security system with a blindfold on, which still made no sense to Gray.
But there were things you could only learn by talking to a real person, and Gray was suddenly desperate to discover more about the person standing before him. Not the movie star or the teen heartthrob, but the real, flesh and blood person.
“I’m sure I can help,” Justin nodded. He glanced back and forth between his house and Gray, almost like he was eager to end the conversation and run back inside. Gray supposed it was fair enough, considering how many people were after his attention. “Why don’t I have you up to the house this evening. Seven o’clock? Just come around to the back door. I should familiarize you with the property anyway.”
Gray pushed his hand through his hair, eager to look chill. “Seven works. I guess I’ll see you then?”
Justin extended a hand, then pressed a small gold key into Gray’s palm. They had barely touched before he pulled his hand away again, but the spark of pleasure went straight up Gray’s arm.
“See you then,” Justin agreed.
Gray pushed the door open to his new place. Everything was sleek and clean inside, from the big geometric paintings on the wall to the furniture, scattered randomly around the room. Tossing his bag aside, Gray spun in a slow circle, trying to take in what it felt like to be in a space like that, with ceilings that were two stories tall and views of a mansion.
“Fucked up,” he mumbled, then went to check out the fridge. Popping the top off a beer and pulling out a small box of donuts, he plopped down at the long counter. Gray really wanted to do his Uncle Declan a solid and pull in the kind of money for his business that this gig was going to pull in. He wanted to prove that he could keep his head down and get shit done. That he really was better than the dirtbags in his family and not just a cheap criminal like his grandfather.
He shoved another donut in his mouth. Now that he’d actually met Justin Sweet, like fucking touched the guy, actually?
Gray had a very stiff distraction. It was the kind of distraction that always made him act out. The kind that got him acting a fool at the bar or driving his car too fast to try to impress some man he barely knew. A distraction like a flood of hormones, smacking him in the face.
He pressed his palm flat against his crotch, then groaned. One thing was sure: that distraction wasn’t going away, no matter how many donuts he shoved down his throat.
JAMESON
Jameson sat in the lounge chair, his legs up on the accompanying ottoman, nursing a glass of wine while his eyes drifted across the backyard. It was his own idea to hire a live-in security guard, but still, now that the man had arrived, Jameson found himself hopelessly distracted by the fact that he was there, waiting in the guest house. Plenty of staff came and went from the mansion, so why did having Gray close by feel so different?
It didn’t help that he was steaming hot. Gray had just the right amount of beard, dark against his tanned skin and a brow line that practically made Jameson gasp. His hands were large, and his jeans were slung low on his hips.
But mainly, Jameson kept thinking about those eyes, dark like two burning coals. They pierced right through Jameson any time Gray looked at him, almost like they shattered his mask.
Jameson laughed softly to himself. Those eyes were part of the reason Gray looked so damn cute and funny when he jumped back on the car like he did, terrified by the nicest dog in the county. He took a sip of his wine, then set it down to give Pickles a friendly scratch. “Good Pickles,” he said, then giggled to himself again.
Considering he was a twenty-five-year-old virgin, it wasn’t surprising that Jameson was so worked up over Gray. The man was almost certainly straight, Jameson knew that, but no one else really came by his place, and especially not for an evening cocktail. Jameson would have said that he was happy that way, with his very occasional visitors, but then he had gone and blurted out an invitation to his new security without even meaning to.
Jameson worried himself for a minute, crossing his leg over his knee and bouncing it up and down with a nervous energy. Was he becoming pathetic? Was he so desperate for companionship he couldn’t even resist inviting his employee up for a cocktail? After years of practice controlling his desires and hiding himself, why did this guy with the cocky, funny way of talking suddenly make Jameson feel like the teenager he never was?
The lights flicked off in the guest house, and, when Jameson turned to look, he saw Gray step outside. Jameson jumped to his feet. He paused by a mirror to fix his hair, pushing a few strands tastefully out of place. Reluctantly, he pushed away the real version of himself and pulled his Justin Sweet smile back on, reminding himself that Gray was just another audience to act for, even if he’d spent half the afternoon fantasizing about something different.
“Good evening,” he said, pulling open the sliding door as Gray climbed to the upper porch. “Come on in. Can I offer you a drink? Cocktail?”
“Sure.” Gray had on a black sweater beneath his leather jacket, and his hair was brushed to the side more neatly than before. “You got a beer?”
“Of course,” Jameson answered. “Grab a seat.”
He battled down the sudden surge of lust as he grabbed a cool beer and a mug, then paused to pour himself a little more wine. He figured it would take twenty or thirty minutes of friendly Justin Sweet conversation to fill Gray in on the house, and certainly he could hold his act together for that long. Twenty or thirty minutes was child’s play.
Gray was sitting on the long blue couch, but he stood to take the drink. “This is the place the paparazzi are all trying to sneak in and photograph, huh?”
“I know, nothing special,” Jameson said with a dismissive laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”
And it wasn’t anything special, just tasteful decorations, all very current and sophist
icated. Everything special was kept safe and sound upstairs, locked in Jameson’s private quarters, a space that not even the cleaning staff entered.
They took seats across from each other, and Jameson raised his glass with a friendly smile. He’d learned that if he didn’t hold someone’s eye for a moment, most people had trouble relaxing around him.
Gray smiled back, and the flash of his teeth made Jameson feel a little dizzy.
“What are the paparazzi like?” Gray asked. “This will be my first experience.”
Jameson nodded. “Relentless. Shameless. Vicious. That’s the baseline. And with how much the rags are offering for information on me, they tend to be extra motivated around here. You’ll see soon enough, I’m sure.”
Gray nodded. “Sorry you have to deal with that.”
Jameson smiled pleasantly. “It’s nothing. I just hope they don’t cause you too much trouble.”
It wasn’t nothing, of course, and Jameson appreciated Gray’s words. But no one liked to hear the ultra-rich and famous complain, no matter how bad his problems got.
“I had a guy on the roof last month,” Jameson confessed. “Right at my bedroom window. It’s what made me decide to call you.”
Gray scrunched up his face. “Fuck, that’s so rude. If it makes you feel any better, I’m happy to tackle someone off the roof, if that’s what it takes.”
Jameson laughed. “Safety first, please. But you’ll definitely outshine Pickles. She licked a photographer’s hand one time.”
Gray laughed along, then took a drink from his beer. “I’m sure you could have handled it on your own, if you really wanted to. You did your own stunts, didn’t you?”
Jameson managed not to wince as one of a million stock answers rolled across his lips, bland statements about professionals and what a great crew and blah blah blah. He always hated going into autopilot, which made it feel like his brain was switched off, but giving Gray the false script felt even more icky than usual for some reason.
“I shouldn’t ask about that—I know you quit the business,” Gray said, almost like he caught Jameson’s hesitation.
“It’s fine,” Jameson answered. “Anyway, it’s not like I was hurt or taken advantage of. I just… didn’t like being a star.”
“If you didn’t like being in the Broken Dragon movies, I’d say you definitely made the right choice.”
“Exactly!” Jameson said, his smile turning a bit closer to the real version. “I thought maybe doing something fun like an action movie would make me love it again, but once I landed my dream role and still didn’t enjoy acting, I knew it was time to quit.”
“Makes sense to me,” Gray said with a nod. “I love those movies.” He tilted his head to the side, then shrugged casually. “I never really gave a damn about your TV show, though, sorry.”
Jameson laughed again. “That’s fine,” he said. “It’s a bit of a relief, actually.”
“Because of how cheesy the show is, or because of how intense the fans are?”
Jameson bit down softly on the inside of his cheek, his smile widening. A warm feeling was bubbling up inside of him, and if he opened his mouth, he was pretty sure he would say something he regretted. It was like Gray had somehow seen the truth with those steely eyes and pointed right at the thing Jameson wasn’t able to admit.
Gray laughed. “Maybe both, then.”
“Hollywood just isn’t my culture,” Jameson said to smooth it over. “I’m much happier back on the East Coast here, anyway.”
“You don’t miss any of it?”
“I’ll tell you what I do miss,” Jameson said, leaning forward a little. “Just going to the movies. Like hitting up a cheap matinee at a small theater, chowing down on popcorn, and catching the latest blockbuster. The X-Men movies were always my favorites.”
Gray grinned. “Yeah, they’re the best, man. But why do you have to miss that? You don’t have to go to Hollywood to catch a matinee.”
Jameson nodded. “Most people can just catch a movie, but I can’t appear in public without getting mobbed.” He took another sip of his wine, and when he looked back up, Gray met his eye, and a little more of the truth slipped out. “When I want to go to the movies, they empty out a theater for me.”
“That’s kind of cool? I mean, it doesn’t sound like it would be as fun. What would you do with all that space?”
“You’re right,” Jameson agreed. “It’s definitely not the same. I’ve stuck to screeners in my home theater for a while now.”
“If you hated Hollywood that much, I guess you weren’t very happy when you were filming the TV show either, huh?”
For once, Jameson didn’t quite know what to say. There was no scripted response to deal with the awkwardness of someone forgetting his whole story, not after the world watched him mourn the death of his real parents during the first season of West Town. It was devastating. It laid Jameson bare for the public in a way he had not been prepared for, and for years after, fans would bring it up to him out of nowhere, like his tragedy was their entertainment.
“Oh, god, I just remembered what happened,” Gray said, his face falling. “Shit. I’m sorry, man. I just never pay attention to stuff like that. I don’t read the tabloids or anything.” He shook his head, flustered. “I can’t even remember the whole story, just that it was bad. I’m sorry about what happened, though. About losing your parents.”
Jameson carefully held his composure together, although his heart was breaking a little inside. “It’s okay. Honestly, everyone knowing my business is a big part of the problem anyway. I don’t mind if people forget sometimes.”
Gray nodded, clearly relieved. “Great. Because I don’t know shit about celebrity news. Not even what those weird sex rumors are about.” He paused, winced, and slapped his palm against his forehead. “Shit, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that either.”
Finally, Jameson’s mask slipped all the way off, and he let out a quick, light laugh. It was a laugh that came from how awkward he felt, having the sex rumors brought up by someone as hot as Gray was, but it was also like when Gray had jumped on the car.
He just looked so… cute. His face was scrunched up, and his tough act had shattered, leaving someone much more approachable behind.
“It’s fine,” he said again, holding his wine over his mouth while he composed himself. “I guess this is a good opportunity to let you know none of the rumors are true.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see a bunch of women bodybuilders show up,” Gray replied.
Jameson laughed. “That’s one of my favorites. I supposedly have a muscle madam!”
“They just make up whatever they want?”
Jameson shrugged. “There was a world championship women’s bodybuilding competition in town. We stayed at the same hotel. I don’t know where the part about bench-pressing me came from. Creative imaginations, I guess.”
They stared at each for a minute, then both laughed.
“None of my business anyway,” Gray said. “I’m not here to stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Jameson felt himself flush, thinking about Gray’s nose and all the places it didn’t belong. “Yes,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“I broke up with my boyfriend a month ago,” Gray continued, then took another drink from his beer. “So you don’t need to worry about me having anyone over. I’ll make sure your privacy is my priority while I’m working here. I understand that’s the most important part of the job.”
“Oh,” Jameson replied, then nodded. He was somehow both surprised and not surprised to hear that Gray was gay, and to have him mention it so casually. “Well, according to the contract, of course you can have visitors, and you’ll get regular time off…” He shook his head. “Sorry you and your boyfriend broke up, though.”
“It’s chill,” Gray said, although he blinked quickly a couple of times and looked awkward. “It’s not like we were engaged or anything. We just didn’t work out.” He threw back
the rest of his beer, then set the empty mug on the coffee table. “Anyway, no reason to bore you with that story. I should probably get out of here, anyway. Let you get to your evening.”
Jameson was surprised to have Gray call the conversation, but he stood with a nod. “Sure. Thank you for stopping by. I hope you enjoy your first night here.”
They stood a couple of feet apart from each other, and Jameson wished he could step through his persona and take Gray in a friendly hug. To even touch his shoulder, just for a minute, would have felt heavenly, Jameson thought. He battled the urge to share more about his life, to let something slip about the music or even the makeup, if it might lure Gray into staying a little longer.
It just felt so nice to sit there together, talking.
“My friend will stop by tomorrow,” Jameson said, and they both started to cross toward the door. “And some of the house staff will be through during the day. Just let me know if you need anything. I’ll be around.”
“Right.” Gray took his jacket from the hook by the door, then shrugged it on. “Thanks again for the beer, Justin.” He brushed his thumb across his beard, sparking one more surge of lust in Jameson.
“Jameson,” he replied quickly, before he could stop himself.
“Jameson?”
“Justin Jameson Sweet is my full name. But you can call me Jameson.”
“Jameson,” Gray repeated, then nodded his head back. “See you soon.”
Jameson slid the door closed, then leaned against the wall. He pulled in a slow breath, then let it out with a whistle.
“Thank god for Dee,” he muttered. Because right then, Jameson needed his best friend to talk to some sense into him before he spilled all his secrets to the hot stranger, walking through his backyard and looking almost like he belonged there.
Gray
The next day, one thing was obvious to Gray: Justin Sweet was gay.
Or rather, Jameson was gay.