Your Fallen Star: Under the Stars Book 1

by Raleigh Ruebins

  Leo

  What do you do when you’re a sad sack who isn’t sad anymore?

  It doesn’t really work, does it? I mean, I still had my pizza rolls and soap operas—don’t get me wrong, those bad boys just aren’t ever going to go away—but now I had them with Jamie, really with Jamie, not as a biographer and his subject, but as a boyfriend with his boyfriend.

  And from what I could tell after just 2 weeks, Jamie was a really fucking good boyfriend.

  The first week after the Late Night Show performance was, for lack of a better word, fucking insanity. The day after the show aired I began getting a barrage of phone calls and emails, and unlike usual, only about 20 percent of them were from Ella. People from my past came out of the woodwork, people who I hadn’t spoken to in years, calling to say how much they loved the performance, or ask how I’d been doing, or ask if I wanted to meet up. I heard the phrase “It’s been too long” probably at least 30 times in 24 hours.

  Usually I hated when I got bombarded with phone calls and emails, but this time, it just felt fucking great. I hadn’t even watched the show when it aired—I was far too busy making out with my incredibly sexy boyfriend in my bed while we listened to rain sounds—but my mother and a handful of friends had ensured me that they had DVR’ed the show for me.

  It turned out I didn’t need the DVR recording. I really didn’t need it.

  Because two days after the show aired, the video clip had gone viral. It was passed around Facebook and Twitter and all the other apps, with people who had been fans of 5*Star from back in the day going nuts when they realized I could play piano. And then the phone calls just kept coming—offers from record labels, from shows, from people wondering if I would do a tour.

  I couldn’t even process it. It had been so long since I’d gotten any offers to do anything musically, and even in the days of 5*Star, the offers had never been for me—they’d been for all four of us.

  I was alternately giddy with happiness and struck with nervous energy. A lot of the offers sounded good—but I didn’t know how to be sure, and I knew that one viral video wasn’t enough to guarantee success. So for the second week after the show, I laid low. My phone finally calmed down, though Ella still pestered me daily to ask which direction I wanted to go. I really had no clue, and I kept pushing it off and pushing it off, telling her I needed just one more day to think.

  I was sitting on the pink inflatable raft in my pool one afternoon when Jamie emerged from my bedroom, hair bedraggled, carrying his laptop in one hand. He was shirtless and wearing a pair of my sweatpants, and I would have dragged him straight into the pool and kissed him if he hadn’t been carrying an expensive piece of machinery.

  “Jamie,” I said, still just enjoying how it sounded to say his name.

  “Guess what?” he said, looking down at me with a huge smile on his face.

  “You found a new recipe for devil’s food cake online.”

  “Wrong. Guess again.”

  “Your computer’s become sentient?”

  “Nope, but great guess. One more try.”

  “You’ve purchased us a home in Bora Bora and we can run off together and never see other humans again? Except… like… the other ones in Bora Bora?”

  “Wrong again. Good try, Leo. But seriously. Two things. First one: I think I’m fucking done with the book. Like, ready to send to the editor done. I know it’s gonna take months before it’s actually ready to be printed and sent to stores, but… my first draft is there.”

  I clapped and floated over to the side of the pool, getting out and pulling him into a hug. “That is amazing, Jamie. Finally we can tell Ella something good.”

  He set down the laptop on one of the low tables outside.

  “Leo. That isn’t even the best news. I… kind of can’t even believe this email I just got.”

  My heart rate went up a little, not knowing what Jamie might be referring to. I went to sit on one of the lounge chairs by the pool—but I didn’t lounge, I sat straight up, leaning forward, looking intently at Jamie.

  “What is it?”

  “So. Okay. I knew this guy in college who was a senior when I was a freshman.”

  “Oh God, Jamie, is it really time yet to compare sex stories?”

  “Oh, shut up, Leo, this isn’t a sex story,” he said, smiling at me. “This guy apparently was watching The Late Night Show the night we were on, and he recognized me.”

  “Well that’s cool,” I said, “It’s always nice to be seen on TV.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty cool, and he texted me about it the next day. He apparently had no idea I had moved to L.A., so I let him know that I’m in town now and have been here since graduation.”

  Jamie started to smile wide. “So I just signed into my old college email inbox for the first time all week, and guess what?”

  “Not another guessing game, Jamie—”

  “I have a request from this guy on LinkedIn. And he works for a little known company you might have heard of: fucking Netflix.”

  “Oh wow.”

  “Yeah, wow. And he noticed that on my profile I talked about having a sci-fi screenplay and I was looking to get it funded. He told me he’d be happy to look over my script and see if it’s something that Netflix might be interested in. Apparently they’re always looking for new indie creators, and if they like my stuff, I could have a shot. He’s certainly not one of the higher-ups in the company or anything, but he’s been there three years, and apparently they take employee’s recommendations really seriously. So I sent it to him.”

  “Holy shit, Jamie,” I said, genuinely shocked. This was big.

  “I know,” he said, nervously folding his hands together. “I know it’s not a surefire thing, at all, but the fact that people at Netflix are now in possession of my screenplay is good enough on its own.”

  I got up and clutched him in another hug, then pressed a kiss to his lips. “I never doubted you for a second, Jamie. And if this doesn’t work out, something will. I am fucking sure of it.”

  “God, I hope so,” he said.

  Two weeks later, I still hadn’t made any decision on the offers that had been thrown at me after the Late Night Show, and it was beginning to eat away at me.

  Viral videos burn bright and fast, and the general public had probably forgotten about my “resurgence” as a piano player as soon as the video got less popular.

  I started to feel trapped, and worried that I was sinking back into my same old habits and routines. I was paralyzed by inaction. I didn’t want to do the wrong thing, so I ended up doing nothing. The plague of perfectionism. I hardly even played piano on my own for those weeks, and although it was partly due to spending all my waking hours with Jamie, it was also because I was fucking terrified.

  I felt like I’d had another shot, and yet there I was, treading water, doing nothing to capitalize on my brief moment of cultural relevance.

  The only thing that kept me sane was exercise—going for runs cleared my head in a way that even sleep couldn’t accomplish.

  One night just before sunset I went for an extra-long run, and came back to the house sweaty and exhausted. I walked into the house and nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw that Jamie was just on the other side of the door.

  “Shit, Jamie, what the hell?” I said, smiling and kissing him. He was clutching his phone in his hand and had a wild look on his face. “What is it?” I said.

  “Netflix. Fucking Netflix. They… they want it. They want me. Made Contact.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Are you… serious?”

  Jamie nodded, and it looked like he almost had tears at the corner of his eyes. “They said it’s exactly the kind of thing they are looking for—spanning genres. But—there is one catch: they want to make it into a TV series. And Leo, I kind of think that sounds fucking amazing.”

  “Holy shit, Jamie. Oh my God—holy shit this is so awesome.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m gonna be the fucking sh
owrunner and writer,” he said, and now I was sure that I could hear him starting to cry. “Oh my God, I totally don’t even deserve this, people who’ve been writing for years don’t get this—”

  “Jamie,” I said, “Stop right there. You do deserve it. Good things happen to people at different times in their lives. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean you don’t have an incredibly good screenplay.”

  He finally released me from the hug and sort of paced around the living room in an exquisitely adorable way. And then he paused, stilling completely, and met my eyes. He looked like an idea had just dawned upon him.

  “Leo,” he said, taking a step toward me.

  “…Yes?” I asked, eyeing him.

  “…I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t want it to seem like an imposition, in any way—you can say no if you want, because… it’s kind of a crazy fucking idea.”

  I looked at him. “Jamie. You can tell me literally anything. Just spit it out.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding and looking at the floor, then back up at me. “Okay. Have you… ever considered writing atmospheric, or sort of… eerie piano pieces?”

  I cocked my head to the ceiling, thinking. “I think I have a few that could fall under that description, yeah.”

  He nodded at me, nervously biting his bottom lip. “How about… sort of suspenseful, or alien sounding music… that could be, y’know, the kind to score a sci-fi movie, or… show?”

  What Jamie was suggesting slowly started to click into place in my mind, and I realized all at once what he meant.

  “Jamie… you don’t have to do that, just for me,” I said, walking over and sitting on the side of the couch.

  “Just for you? Um, are you kidding?” he said, crossing the room to stand in front of me again. “I thought you were gonna say my show wasn’t a good enough place for your talents.” His eyes were wide and hopeful, and as always, so beautiful.

  I laughed softly and shook my head. “No. Made Contact is going to be incredible, and I want you to have the best soundtrack for your show possible.”

  “I want you,” he said, crossing his arms. “I’ve heard you play, and you are immensely talented. Why, do you not think you would like that kind of job?”

  I thought for a moment, reaching out a hand and trailing it across Jamie’s arm. “No, actually, that kind of job actually sounds completely ideal,” I said, thinking out loud. “I could make music, but in the comfort of my own home or studio. I’d get to be a part of something great, but not have to be in the public eye all the time. And God, I hope this doesn’t sound cheesy, but working with you has been a dream, and… I don’t want that to end,” I said.

  With every word that came out of my mouth I started to realize just how good the plan really sounded. Jamie had been offered the job of a lifetime, and I could work together with him on something that came straight from his heart.

  “Oh my God, Jamie,” I said, swallowing and meeting his eyes.

  “Do you want to?” he said, looking so hopeful it could break my heart.

  I paused for a moment, looking deep into his eyes, and then nodded.

  “Yes. Fuck yes, Jamie. Let’s do it.”

  He actually let out a squeal, and jumped into the air, before bounding at me with a hug that knocked me back onto the plush couch. He climbed on top of me on the couch, covering me in kisses.

  I laughed. “I just got back from a brutal run,” I said, “You sure you want to be kissing me all over?”

  “Yep. Sure. Totally sure,” he said, unrelenting, his lips at my neck. He got to my mouth and slowed his pace there, kissing me deep and warm, taking his time, relaxing into me. It was as good as the first time we’d kissed—better, even, like somehow every day he found a new way to make me love him more.

  And so I said it, plain and simple, when he pulled back to look me in the eyes.

  “I love you, Jamie.”

  I saw his pupils dilate as I said it, and he let out the tiniest little moan, pressing down onto me again and squeezing me incredibly tight.

  “I love you too. Oh my God, I love you, I’ve loved you for so long, Leo,” he said and then his lips were on me again, my neck, and up my jaw, then on my mouth. I tasted salt, and I drew back to see that there were tears in his eyes.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching a thumb up and wiping away a tear.

  He laughed a little, smiling and shaking his head. “I know,” he said, “It’s just… it’s so much. So much good.”

  “It really is,” I said. “But you can do anything, Jamie.”

  He kissed me again, and finally we sat upright on the couch. I leaned against him, nuzzled in his shoulder, drinking in his scent and the incredible realization of what I’d get to do as my job.

  “I’ve been so worried the past weeks, Jamie,” I said, my voice low. “I… I had no idea what I wanted to do with this… new phase of my career.”

  He laughed softly. “You know… I still would have told you I loved you even if you didn’t say you’d do my show,” he said, running a hand through my hair.

  “Glad to hear that,” I said, laughing. “But no, Jamie—there’s no other job I’d rather have. I’m so fucking excited, actually. It feels right. None of those other offers did.”

  “This feels right,” he said, wrapping an arm around me and squeezing tight.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m yours, Jamie. I kind of think I always will be.”

  He let out another sweet moan. “And I’m completely yours.”

  I rested there against him, in the house that now felt like ours rather than mine, the sun just dipping below the horizon and casting a golden glow into the room.

  Finally, I had found my way forward. Not just as a former member of 5*Star or a quasi-celebrity, but as me, defined not by where I’d been, but instead who I really was. And I would go there with Jamie right by my side—pushing me, supporting me, challenging me, and loving me.

  Epilogue

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” Leo whispered back.

  “Those flowers are a centerpiece. You can’t just pick them up and smell them.”

  “They’re flowers, Jamie. What the hell else are you supposed to do with them?”

  I watched as Leo took the gigantic vase from the center of the table and smelled the flowers.

  “Oh, Jamie. You’re missing out. Big time. These—wow, these are probably the best smelling flowers I’ve ever experienced. I’m on Cloud Nine, here. But I guess you’ll never get to smell them because you’re so above smelling the precious centerpiece flowers.” He smirked at me.

  “Gimmie that,” I said, yanking the vase from his hands. I looked around at the rest of our table—some of the others were giving us a dirty look for whispering during the show.

  I sniffed the flowers, and they smelled like… absolutely nothing, other than plastic. “They’re fake,” I whispered to Leo. “These fuckers are fake!”

  “Shhhhh,” someone at the next table shushed us, and I had to bite back a laugh. I put the huge vase back in the center of the table.

  “Come on,” I said to Leo, grabbing his hand.

  He looked at me strangely, but got up out of his chair. He looked incredible in his suit—we’d both finally found an occasion to completely dress up for, and I couldn’t have been more happy. We were at the Golden Globes, sitting at one round table in the midst of a million different celebrities, and the awards show was currently going on. I had cried like a baby when I’d heard Made Contact was nominated for Best Television Series. It had felt like such a long process developing the show, and now that it had been out for a while, it was absolutely the thing I was most proud of.

  I led Leo into the back hallway, where they’d set up plenty of booths of free water bottles and little goodie bags for the celebrities to take home. Finally, we were outside of the main auditorium, and could talk at full volume again.

  “You were being so loud in there,”
I said, smiling at him. The awards show had given us free alcohol, and I knew it was making us warm and fuzzy inside.

  “Me? Loud? Never,” Leo said with a smile. He looked around and led me down a hallway that seemed to lead to nothing but facilities. He started trying to push open random doors until one actually worked, and seemed to just be a closet full of extra tablecloths and extra lightbulbs. Leo dragged me in and shut the door behind us.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he said, putting his hands around my face and drawing me in, kissing me on my lips.

  “Mmm,” I moaned into him, opening for him and allowing the kiss to deepen. “Me too,” I said as I pulled away for a moment, and then pressed my lips back to his.

  “We can’t stay in here long,” he said, pulling back and meeting my eyes. “They’re gonna announce it in like, fifteen minutes.”

  “Is that a challenge?” I said, looking into his eyes and giving him a devilish grin.

  He laughed, giving me a look up and down. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  I wasn’t gonna say no to a challenge. Make Jamie come in less than fifteen minutes right before going to see if Made Contact was gonna win a Golden fucking Globe?

  Yeah. I could do that. And I’d fucking relish it.

  I dropped to my knees, feeling the cold polished concrete of the floor through my suit. Immediately I unzipped his pants and pulled everything down at once, Jamie’s cock bouncing free right in front of my eyes. Bless him, he was already hard—he always was, at the slightest suggestion, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t one of my favorite things about him.

  “So,” I said, tracing one finger gently up his shaft. “You want to come? And quick?”

  He let out a quick breath. “Yes.”

  “And how exactly do you want it?” I said, looking up to meet his eyes.

  “I want you to make me come with your mouth,” he said. That was another thing I loved—he was so direct, especially now.

  I smiled. “Good thing I’m already on my knees for you,” I said, then slowly wrapped my mouth around the head of his cock. He let out a sighing moan, pushing slightly forward into my mouth. I took him all the way in, fast and methodical, knowing that we didn’t have much time. And honestly, it was already becoming a problem—I wanted to take my time with him, every time I was with him, but I knew that we couldn’t right now.