by J. P. James
“No one,” he says simply.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but it hurts to confirm my abysmal love life, on top of everything else that goes wrong.
“You’re right, Damon,” I say, feeling a weird sense of bravery as I get the words off my chest. “I’m lonely. It’s hard living this kind of lifestyle, even without the crazy fans.”
Damon sucks his lips for a moment, but nods. “I know you’re lonely. I wish I could say I want you to meet new people, but shit like tonight scares me to death too.”
“You can’t be with me non-stop either,” I remind him. “I’m glad you’re coming with me to Baltimore, but I know you have other clients. They need you too.”
He hangs his head, but I can see him nodding nonetheless. “It’s the curse of being such a good agent,” he jokes half-heartedly.
He looks up as I roll my eyes and smile. “For a guy with a really good heart, you can be so full of yourself.”
Damon chuckles as he stands. He walks to the window, and stares out at the city below us.
“You could hang out with the group more,” he says offhandedly.
He doesn’t turn when I laugh behind him, probably because he knows it’s a silly idea.
“I’m technically everyone’s boss,” I state. “I like everyone, from the back-up dancers to the sound techs, but they’re worried around me. I don’t blame them, but that doesn’t make us friends either. It’s not–,”
I hum, trying to find the word, when Damon cuts in.
“Comfortable,” he explains.
“Exactly.” My voice sounds sad, but It’s true. I’m not saying it to sound rude or haughty. It’s just facts. The music executives aren’t my friends. They’re my bosses, just like I’m boss on the tour.
“No wonder you get lonely,” Damon chimes.
“No wonder you tried to hire a companion for me,” I remind him.
He turns at that, shaking his head. Once he looks at me again, I finally see how tired he looks.
“You look like shit,” I tease.
He laughs, but there’s no spunk behind it. “You do too.”
Damon walks past the couch and makes his way towards the front door. I’m off my feet in no time, but before I reach the front door to see him out, he turns on his heel to face me.
“At the very least,” he starts as if he’s ready to go to trial, “you need more security.”
“Rams Head Live has the best security,” I tell him. I’ve performed there a handful of times, and it’s always gone smoothly.
He shakes his head to stand his ground. “That’s not going to cut it anymore. Not for me. What happened tonight, I won’t let happen again.”
My heart trips and my lips go dry, just thinking of a repeat like tonight. “Fine. What do you propose? A guard dog named Cujo?”
“Enough of the jokes, Fyre. I’m serious. This is for your safety,” he pleads.
I rub my forehead, but it only makes the splitting headache worse. “I’m trying to make light of a shitty situation. Percy found out my room, for Christ’s sake,” I groan.
“He shouldn’t have even gotten to your door,” he says, the tension returning to his voice despite his exhaustion. “I’ll look into what happened, but you need protection.”
“Protection? Like condoms?” I decide this will be my last attempt at humor for the night.
Damon’s face splits into a grin before he can stop himself, and laughs lightly into the apartment. “I have an idea.”
“I hope it’s not another overnight guest,” I say, and this time it isn’t a joke. Whatever idea he has, companion better be the last thing on his mind.
“Something like that, but first,” he says as he pulls out his own phone. “I need to make a phone call. I’ll come by around 6 to make sure you’re awake.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I tell him as I open the door.
He rolls his eyes one last time. “No opening the door for anyone. Got it?”
I shove him out but nod as he heads down the hall. I watch him slink into his room before I shut the door, triple-checking the locks before I plop myself down onto the plush bed.
It’s a dreamy bed, but I can only hope my sleep is just as dreamy. My bones haven’t felt this heavy all year. I’m still shaken up from the assault, but I hope that just means sleep will come quickly.
I don’t know how tomorrow will go. I have an early flight, and a late performance, plus hundreds of choices to make in between. There’s only one thought on my mind before sleep takes hold: I want to feel safe again.
6
Jordan
“The balcony is clear. If anyone looks suspicious, it’s me,” Jameson jokes as he meets me by stage left. “I look like the Terminator.”
I just nod and refrain from smiling. We’re personal security tonight, and on special assignment at that. We can’t let anyone see us as anything other than ruthless protectors.
“Good. It’s clear down here too,” I shout over the music.
When I stop to think about the last 24 hours, my mind starts to spin. Last night Damon made us an offer we couldn’t refuse. He begged us to be Fyre’s bodyguards for the rest of our vacation. I wanted to laugh, but an hour after we said yes, he forwarded our flight info to my email.
This morning we were on an 8 am flight to Baltimore. Jordan and I got a couple hours of sleep, and we headed straight for the venue after that. It’s going to be a long day, after a long night in the city, but that’s not a problem for us. We’re firefighters, after all. We’re often on call and have to be ready to handle anything, fire or otherwise, at the drop of a hat.
We haven’t been here before, but Rams Head Live doesn’t scare me. Jameson and I have worked security for bigger venues, with more people in New York. Better still, this place seems safe, even by concert standards. There are plenty of exits, and the crowd is rowdy, but manageable.
Still, this assignment already different. It’s important, and not because there’s a hefty check waiting for us at the end.
The crowd cheers, and it drags my train of thought to the guy standing behind me. I look back at the stage and steal what feels like my thousandth look at Fyre Connell. He takes the mic and belts out the chorus of another hit song.
Fyre Connell, well … he’s fire. This is the first time I’ve ever heard his music, let alone seen the guy perform. Before yesterday, Jameson and I didn’t even know who the guy was.
“Evening gentlemen,” a familiar voice calls behind us.
Jameson turns to greet Damon as he walks up, patting his hands dry. “The bathroom was out of paper towels. Don’t mind me.”
I nod at Damon, but I can’t pull my eyes off Fyre. The way he dances around the stage, the timber of his voice, the way he seems to sparkle under the stage lights … it’s a lot. Not to mention how good he looks in a pair of tight red pants and a sheer purple button-down.
It’s made the job … complicated, that’s for damn sure. I’ve never wanted a guy in my mouth so badly, let alone a client.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying the show,” Damon tries.
I can hear the teasing notes in his voice, and it finally pulls my eyes off the show and onto my employer. Or rather, my employer’s agent.
“He’s–,” I try, but my voice drifts off as my mind looks for the perfect word. There’s nothing, though, that can describe Fyre’s performance.
“He’s a star. Fyre is a real entertainer,” Jameson cuts in.
I look to him as he pats my shoulder hard. His tongue might be sharp, but his eyes are as glassy as mine. It looks like he’s hasn’t blinked since the show began.
“You don’t have to remind me,” Damon confirms. “I’ve been by his side for years. He just gets better and better.”
We stand there, not in silence, but letting the energy of the show flow through us. The crowd is on their feet, bouncing and swaying to the music. Jameson and I are totally captivated, that’s for sure. Fyre’s confidence shines out of him. He’s the sun in the
middle of his own solar system. The stage is his light, and I swear the audience orbits around him like planets. It’s hard to not be drawn in by his gravity, because I can already feel his pull on me.
On top of being an excellent performer, did I mention that this guy is sexy?
The song ends, and the crowd roars to life. The sounds reverberate off the walls, and Fyre drinks in the adulation like water.
“Fyreflies, how are you feeling tonight?”
The crowd roars its resounding approval.
“Fyreflies?” Jameson asks as he turns to Damon.
Damon shakes his head, but smiles.
“His fans came up with the name. Don’t look at me,” he pleads, punctuated with a shrug of his shoulders.
He starts a new song, and I whip my head away from Damon. As fate would have it, my eyes catch on Fyre’s hips. The song has a smooth beat to it, and Fyre rocks side to side in time. I can’t stop the heat that rushes to my cock. Fyre knows how to move, but I wonder if he really knows what he’s doing to the crowd … to me. I shift in place, trying to put a little awkward pressure on my crotch to keep things in check. The last place I want to get hard is in public and in front of my boss to boot.
“It’s going to be a busy two weeks for you guys,” Damon shouts between us, and effectively dragging my thoughts out of the gutter.
I grunt to gain control of my voice. “We need to go over the schedule.”
Damon takes two steps backwards, throwing his head towards the door behind us. “Follow me.”
Damon leads us down a winding hall that snakes behind the stage.
A burly-looking man comes our way. He’s hooked up to at least three walkie-talkies, and he looks like a crazy Santa Claus.
“Hey, Rusty,” Damon calls.
“Hey boss,” Rusty says with a gruff smoker’s voice.
“Jordan, Jameson, this is Rusty, our tour manager.”
We shake hands and Rusty chuckles as he takes each of ours in turn. Rusty is a character, I’ll give him that. It’s funny to see a guy like this working for Fyre Connell. Fyre is a young, queer ball of light, and Rusty, well … looks hard around the edges.
“I look like a misfit, don’t I?” Rusty says, placing his hands on his hips.
Jameson sputters next to me. He’s usually so good with words, but not right now.
“I’m not offended. I get it all the time. I don’t really listen to Fyre’s music, but he’s a good kid. You guys better keep an eye on him,” he says in his best fatherly impression.
“Absolutely,” we say in unison. At least this time we don’t sputter nonsense.
“Soldiers?” Rusty asks Damon.
“Firefighters,” he says back.
As if Damon’s given him all the answers to the universe, Rusty nods and excuses himself. He’s an enigma, indeed.
We continue our way down the corridor as Damon regales us with the schedule.
“We have six performances in five cities after tonight,” Damon recalls, as we twist and turn. “Boston on Tuesday, Atlanta on Thursday, NOLA through the weekend, and then Houston, and finally Los Angeles to wrap up the tour.”
“Would you send us the breakdown?” I hear myself ask, knowing I won’t be able to keep everything straight once we’re in the thick of the week.
“My assistant just did, it should hit your inbox–,”
“Got it,” Jameson says a second before my phone pings in my pocket. “That was fast.”
Damon chuckles, and I definitely catch the slight condescending tone. “Just you wait. Everything we do is fast-paced. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to eat breakfast.”
I hum, understanding the concept, even if this isn’t the life Jameson and I are used to. I don’t think I could willingly give up breakfast, even for stardom. Call me crazy, but nothing beats a slow morning with hot coffee and pancakes.
“There are a handful of interviews as well, but those should be easy. Each one is on site, and I trust their security, but you’ll still go as a precaution.”
Damon slows his pace, and quiets down at that.
“Mr. McAllister?” I ask carefully. Damon’s tense now, and I doubt it has to do with the winding hallway.
He stops, then faces us.
“You don’t seem like you take your jobs lightly. All the same,” he says firmly, even though there’s a hint of shake in his voice. “Watch over Fyre. I can’t be here for him all the time. Hell, I screwed up when I was around.”
Damon doesn’t hang his head, doesn’t show us any physical sign of weakness, but it’s plain as day in his voice and his eyes. The guilt is real for him.
I grip his shoulder. “The assault wasn’t your fault.”
“We’re here now,” Jameson adds just as firmly. “What happened at the Kimpton won’t happen again.”
Damon doesn’t so much smile as grimace at us. He wants to believe us, even if he’s worried.
Something strange tugs at my heart suddenly. The pain in Damon’s voice and eyes paint a completely different image in my head.
“Are you and Fyre–,” Jameson chokes out, but his throat fails him.
Leave it to my twin to pull the very thought from my brain, even if I couldn’t put the intrusive question into words. It’s none of our business, and yet … Damon cares about Fyre. I need to know how he feels about his star client. How he really feels.
Damon’s eyes settle on me. “You’re the older one, aren’t you?”
My mouth drops, but I collect it quickly. “How’d you know?”
“You guys are always looking out for each other, searching each other out in the crowd,” Damon starts, “but the way you watch Jameson is different. You look at him like a big brother watches his younger brother.”
I thought my brother and I had hawk eyes, but we’ve got nothing on Damon.
“Fyre is the little brother I never had,” Damon confirms.
My chest loosens, and I start to breathe better. The emotion that had been building the last minute or so suddenly disappears. It felt ugly and unwelcome, but I couldn’t stop it either.
It was jealousy building in my chest.
I know it when I feel it, even if I don’t understand it. I don’t know Fyre at all, but if Damon had said that he and Fyre were a couple, it would have made this job impossible.
“I’m not into Fyre, if that’s what you mean,” Damon says. His voice recovers, and now I can clearly hear the teasing in it. “But I’m glad I was right to ask you two.”
I hear Jameson choke on air.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing, if you don’t want to talk about it,” Damon remarks, and then, “we’re here.”
We walk until we reach a door, next to a staircase that leads to the stage. The hallway muffled the show, but now I can hear the familiar beats and Fyre’s rich voice carrying down the stairs. Damon disappears into the room, and we follow suit.
I find myself taking in every item scattered around the Green Room. This is where the venue would set up Fyre’s requests. I figure we should know what he likes, since we’re going to be working closely with him. He’s been through a lot in a single day. Sometimes, something as simple as a favorite snack can make a difference. There’s a variety of sour candy and chili-infused dark chocolate, still wrapped, on the table.
He’s interesting, that’s for sure. I don’t know many people who’d want these things at the ready, but clearly, Fyre has eclectic taste. I haven’t met the guy, and yet, I can’t say I’ve ever met anyone like him.
“I want to say this before the show’s over,” Damon’s words rattle me from my thoughts.
Damon takes a seat on the couch and pops a sour candy into his mouth. Jameson doesn’t make a move to sit, and I don’t either. We’re still on the job. I relax my shoulders though, and Damon takes it as a sign to continue.
“I hope it goes without saying but, about the whole companion thing? Would you keep our first conversation between us?” Damon looks be
tween us, his eyes searching ours for understanding.
Jameson hasn’t relaxed his shoulders. “How does Fyre think we met?”
“Just that you were recommended by Julian,” answers Damon.
Pride swells in me. I can’t stop myself before I blurt out, “We tipped the Kimpton off to Percy in the first place.”
“What?” Damon chokes, rising at once to his feet.
We explain our run-in with Percy, his erratic behavior, everything. Damon rubs at his temples and paces across the room.
“Damon,” I try. His face is strained as he turns to face me. “You asked us to protect Fyre, and we will. You have our word.”
His hand on my shoulder is firm, his fingers sure. “I have no doubts about that. I’m more certain now that this was a good idea. I just–.” He pauses to regain control of his wavering voice. “I didn’t realize how much I already owed you both.”
“You don’t owe us anything,” Jameson tells him. “We were doing our job.”
I catch Jameson’s eyes, and we share a knowing look. Damon doesn’t know my brother like I do, and he definitely can’t hear the subtleties in his voice like I’ve come to know them. My brother says this is our job, but I can hear the strain in his voice.
I already feel, already know, that this is more than just a job for me. I can’t explain it, but I feel it. It worries me, only a little, because I can’t deny Fyre is hot. Seeing him in his element is a rare treat, and I only want to know more about the man behind the showman.
Jameson struggled to say this is a job, and I know why. He feels the same way I do. Even though I can’t tell what this pull towards Fyre Connell means, I think we’re about to find out.
“Fyre is vulnerable,” Damon reminds us as we hear Fyre finish an encore song. The crowd wails, and we see far up the stairs as the stage lights dim.
“Understood,” Jameson breaths.
“I’ll do the introductions,” Damon explains, and with that, he walks towards the stairs.
He motions for us to follow, and we start our slow ascent towards the dark. It probably isn’t slow, only a minute until we’re waiting backstage, but every step feels like we’re moving through molasses. My mind isn’t running on overdrive, like it usually is.