The Complete Rockstar Series

  Gavin wipes his eyes. “I don’t know, Mitch. What the hell?” He points at me, waving his hand up and down my body. “What are you wearing?”

  I scoff. “We’re going to be late. Can I catch you up in the car?” Annoyed at the fact that Gavin is still giggling like a schoolgirl, I snatch my keys off the foyer table and stomp outside to wait on the front step.

  “Oh god,” he whispers in a husky voice as he follows behind me.

  “What?” I yell, whirling around until we’re nose to nose. I know I’m being unprofessional, but I can’t help myself. He’s being such a dick. “Am I too embarrassing to be seen with? Am I not good enough for the perfect Gavin Walker?”

  “No!” Gavin responds to my accusations, holding up a hand to keep me from crashing into him.

  I pull back, still furious. “I need to lock the door,” I snarl.

  “Jesus, Mitch. What the fuck?” Gavin backs away from the door, heading towards the car.

  I shouldn’t care what he thinks. This is work.

  After locking up and pulling the car out of the driveway, I feel like the world’s biggest jerk.

  “Sorry for yelling,” I say at the same time Gavin mumbles, “Sorry for laughing.”

  “Christ,” I chuckle. “Aren’t we a pair?”

  “Yeah,” he agrees. “So,” I can see Gavin check out my clothing again from the corner of my eye. “What is with the outfit?”

  “Is it that bad?” I ask, biting my bottom lip as I glance over at all six feet plus of beautiful blonde man reclining in the passenger seat.

  “No! Not at all. I’m just not used to seeing you like…this,” he says, waving his hand at my clothes again.

  “Like what?”

  Here we go again. I’m getting all offended. And why? Because he doesn’t like my clothes? Why the hell do I care?

  Gavin lets out a long, tortured breath. “All sexy, okay? Shit.” He looks out the side window, hiding his face. I see a crimson blush spread over the one visible cheek and ear.

  “Oh.” I grin. “So I’m sexy?” I tease. That explains his mixed reaction.

  Gavin barks out a laugh, still staring out the passenger window. “Yeah, like you don’t know that.”

  He thinks I’m sexy? For some reason that has me inherently pleased. More pleased than I should be but hell, it’s not everyday you get your ego stroked by a rock star. A gorgeous one at that.

  Aaaaand, I shove that right back into the nifty little space in my brain that’s storing up all the thoughts I want to deny ever having.

  It’s getting crowded in there.

  I clear my throat. “Honestly, the outfit is because I just couldn’t bear the thought of even one more day in a damn suit and tie.” I shudder. Gavin tilts his head in my direction. He’s listening, so I continue. “I felt like I was choking to death. It was too much like being back at the bureau. I just…Let’s just say I didn’t want any reminders of my time there, okay?”

  “What does that mean, then? If you aren’t my bodyguard, and you aren’t management, who are you?” Gavin asks.

  I force a grin on my face, feeling like I might just twitch right out of my skin. Gavin might not be pleased with my solution.

  “I’m your date.”

  65

  Gavin

  My jaw hangs open in disbelief.

  “Excuse me?”

  Mitch gives me his sexy, lopsided grin. “I’m your date. Your boyfriend. At least until we catch this guy.”

  I blink to clear what must be massive cobwebs out of my brain because I do not understand Mitch’s point. In fact, I’m still choking on the image of Mitch’s ass in those tight jeans, proudly displayed right in my face earlier as we walked out to the car.

  “I’m not out,” I remind him. “The studio will shit a brick.”

  “Exactly.”

  Oh. Okay. As if that explains anything.

  “What I’m saying is I can’t come out, Mitch.”

  “Does your contract specifically state that you can’t?”

  “Well, no. But—”

  “Gavin, do you want to be out?” Mitch asks sincerely, his voice quiet but supportive.

  I clench my fists. What would this guy know about coming out or staying in the closet?

  “It’s not as easy as that,” I growl.

  Mitch glances at me. “It’s exactly as easy as that. If you want to be out, you can be out. Today.”

  Do I?

  “How? Or I guess the question is, why?”

  “I’ve thought about it a lot. About this stalker, whoever he is. I can’t build a solid profile. He doesn’t make sense, isn’t consistent. That’s not how these guys operate. The only common thread in everything is that the threats are anti-gay. If you come out, he’ll either get so angry that he’ll stumble. Make a mistake. And we can catch him. Or it will take the wind right out of his sails and he won’t have any reason to contact you anymore.”

  “You still think it’s the record label,” I mutter.

  Mitch shrugs. “Honestly, Gavin? The evidence leads me to believe it’s more than one person or entity. That’s why I can’t come up with a solid profile.”

  He glances over again. “I do believe that you have a very dangerous, mentally unstable stalker. But is it possible that the executives at the label capitalized on that fact by throwing their own threats into the mix to keep you in the closet? Yes. That’s why the letters are inconsistent. Half are from an actual psychopath, half are not.”

  I mull that over for a few minutes, the car silent while I process everything.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine? Fine what?” Mitch asks.

  “Let’s do it. Fuck them. I’ve played their game for a long time. First one record label, then another. I want to be myself. It was never my decision to hide, Utah.”

  Mitch laughs and throws me a wink. “Does that mean we’re going steady?”

  I look him up and down, taking in the sight that is Mitch Hale. He’s wearing sinfully tight jeans with black boots, and a grey T-shirt a full size too small that says “I Might Be Wrong But I Doubt It” in white lettering. The shirt clings to every muscle on the man’s body, the sleeves hugging around his biceps and begging for mercy. He even styled his hair. Whisking it up to the center in a short, teased semi-Mohawk. Keanu Reeves has nothing on this guy.

  My mouth goes dry at Mitch’s joke and I can only nod.

  He grimaces as if the thought of going steady with me disgusts him and anger floods my body. Mitch has me running so hot and cold, I’m going to have a coronary by the time tonight is over. Especially if we’re supposed to pretend to be a couple.

  Fuck me. I need a drink.

  Mitch

  “I need a drink,” I mutter to no one in particular.

  Adam Reynolds must hear me complaining because he places what I assume is a Jack and Coke in my empty hand.

  “Here you go, mate.” He grins and I can’t help but smile back. The man’s enthusiasm is infectious.

  Gavin, the sourpuss, is currently glaring at me from across the room. So much for us being an item. In the car, Gavin’s excitement and the accompanying smile he gave me had me sprouting questionable wood for most of the drive. Now he’s reverted right back to being a little shit. Hot and cold.

  “Thanks, but I’m working—”

  “I’ll take it, honey.” Gavin swoops in, steals the glass, and downs half of it before I can blink. I stand there, paralyzed, while I watch his pink lips caress the edge of the glass. “Thanks, dear,” he snaps, pulling me from my gawking. Before I can reply he turns and stomps off to pout somewhere.

  I’m annoyed at his attitude and the distance he’s kept between us tonight. What. The. Hell. No way is he going to up and disappear on me at another party. Especially after we paraded our relationship in front of the media to lure his stalker out of the shadows.

  “Sorry guys,” I apologize to Adam and his wife, Ellie. I was happy to finally meet them both after everything Gemma had told me about
the couple when I gave her Adam’s phone number last year. Now I have to cut our conversation short because of yet another Gavin Walker temper tantrum.

  Weaving through the crowd at the club, I follow Gavin to the back hallway that houses the kitchen and bathrooms. Once I’m out of sight of the other guests, I grab a shocked Gavin’s upper arm and shove him into the men’s room.

  “Hey! Quit being an asshole!” Gavin wrenches out of my grip, turning to sneer. “I’ll put you on your knees again, Hale!”

  The thought of being on my knees in front of Gavin sends a flush of heat up my body. I can feel the fire in my cheeks and by the way Gavin’s eyes widen, I’m betting he can see it too.

  “I’m not the one behaving like a brat!” I growl in a low voice. Ducking, I check to make sure no one else is in the stalls. Once I’ve made sure it’s clear, I lock the bathroom door.

  “Brat?” Gavin shouts. “I’m a brat?”

  “Yes, you’re a brat. Ever since we had our picture taken outside, you’ve been unbearable to be around!”

  “You’re not the one whose entire life was just turned upside down out there!” he yells.

  I step closer, more furious than I’ve ever been. “Are you kidding me? You are so unbelievably self-centered!” Those damn hypnotizing full lips fall open in shock. “I was just outed too, and I’m not even fucking gay!”

  Without thinking, I grab either side of his head, digging my fingers into that thick, blonde hair, and crush my mouth over his.

  And it’s the hottest kiss of my life.

  Just, damn.

  Gavin

  When Mitch presses his mouth over mine, my body explodes with sensation. Raw, urgent need spills over, flooding my system. His huge hands frame my face and he crowds me back against the nearest wall. He’s large, dominating, and hot as hell.

  I have no idea what’s gotten into Mitch, but I’m not going to tell him to stop. The length of his body presses into mine, searing and hot and…hard?

  Fuck. He’s into this.

  It doesn’t matter why he’s doing it. Just the fact that his velvety tongue is in my mouth is good enough for me. I snake my arms around his waist and grip his tight ass, forcing our hard cocks to rub against each other. The resulting moan Mitch makes into my mouth almost has me coming in my pants.

  He tastes unbelievable and being so close gives me a concentrated dose of his scent, masculine and strong.

  Much too sudden, it ends. Mitch rips his delicious mouth away, stepping back. His chest is heaving, expanding and contracting under that damn too-tight shirt that shows every single ridge of muscle.

  Mitch wipes his swollen mouth with the back of his hand, staring at it as if he’s in shock. His eyes flick back to mine as I remain unmoving against the wall. Mitch’s hormone flushed face blooms into a dark red and… yep, there goes that eye twitch.

  “I-I…” He turns away and I see his hands clench at his sides.

  “Mitch—”

  Inhaling deeply, Mitch spins around and my words die in my throat. His eyes appear dark and conflicted—and they won’t meet mine.

  “I have to get back out there, to ummmm, look around and… just… I’ll be in the club.”

  Before I can say another word, he’s gone.

  Holy shit.

  After a few minutes of stunned immobility, I move in front of the sinks to wash my hands. It’s near impossible to ignore the fact that they’re trembling. As I dry them off, I look up at the mirror. My cheeks are flushed and my lips are red from Mitch’s vicious, forceful kiss.

  Unable to help myself, I smile and run a finger over my abused mouth.

  Straight, sexy, FBI man isn’t so straight after all.

  Things just got interesting.

  * * *

  “Gavin, a word please?”

  Oh shit. Talbot Putnam, president of our label, is waiting for me as I return from the bathroom. Rachel Whatley, head of public relations, and Ross are both trailing along. None of them appear to be happy.

  “Sure, Talbot. Let me get a drink first.” I need a drink, yes, but my intention is to grab Hawke for back up. I have a feeling I’m about to be ambushed.

  “No need.” Talbot holds up a hand and a server appears out of thin air. “What is it you want?” he asks.

  “Ummmm, Jack and Coke, I guess.”

  The server vanishes to fetch my drink.

  “Lets sit, shall we? I have a table over there.” Talbot turns and leaves without waiting for confirmation that we’ll follow. It’s assumed, rightly so, that we will.

  Rachel shoots me a concerned look, which I ignore. I know what this is about. She doesn’t have to say a word.

  We arrive at the table at the same time as my drink. Talbot unbuttons the jacket of his five thousand dollar custom Tom Ford suit and slides gracefully into a chair.

  The three of us take our own seats. Uncomfortable, I gulp my drink, glancing around the room to catch a glimpse of Mitch. He’s nowhere to be found.

  He wouldn’t leave, would he? He can’t. He’s been hired to catch my stalker. But after the incident in the bathroom—

  “Gavin, you mind telling us what the hell happened today?”

  Talbot’s deep voice snaps me from my thoughts. “Happened?” I repeat, feigning ignorance.

  Talbot’s perfect Roman features crumple up in distaste. “Don’t play stupid, Gavin. It doesn’t become you. I know you’re smarter than that.” I shift in my seat and throw back another big slug of my drink as I take a quick look around the club. Still no sign of Mitch.

  “I’m not playing stupid, Talbot. I guess I don’t think I did anything to warrant the third degree. Why don’t you just say what you want to say?”

  I glance over at Ross. He’s pleading with his eyes for me to stay calm. He and I have had this same discussion dozens of times over the last ten years—whether or not I should come out. Ross has told me he will stand firmly behind any decision I make. Rachel as well, although she has mentioned it could cost us some fans.

  Talbot? Well, I have no idea what his opinion is on the matter. I’ve never cared enough about his feelings to ask.

  “Gavin, what the hell were you thinking? Bringing a male date to a launch party for the band’s album.” Talbot scowls and folds his hands, resting them on the table.

  His cufflinks are tiny vinyl records, which I would find humorous under any other circumstances. Not today. Not if he’s going to give me shit about my personal life. Not after what happened in the bathroom with Mitch. My very first public date was not only a lie, but it exploded in my face about five minutes ago.

  “I’m sorry, Talbot. I was under the impression that dates were allowed. Dax brought Kate, Adam brought Ellie, and Hawke brought his flavor of the month. I didn’t realize the courtesy didn’t extend to me.” I narrow my eyes and glare at the executive.

  He sits back, assessing my words.

  “He’s right, Talbot. He can bring a date of his choosing,” Rachel pipes in.

  Thank god for Rachel Whatley. She gives me a ghost of a smile, letting me know she’s on my side.

  “That’s not the point and you know it. You should have given us a heads up. The media is now laser-focused on your personal life, not on the album, which is the entire point of this party—to sell music. This isn’t the Gavin Walker show,” he growls.

  “Yes, I agree. It’s not the Gavin Walker show. It’s my personal life,” I snap. “I have no comment for any of them in regards to my date tonight or any other date I may or may not have in the future.”

  Ross gives me a pained look and I feel like shit. I probably should have told him about the fake date with Mitch. Most likely, Ross now believes I’m fucking my employee.

  Talbot huffs in exasperation. “You know damn well they aren’t going to take ‘no comment’ for an answer, Walker. This little stunt of yours might cost us.”

  I stand up and lean on the table, crowding into my boss’ space. “We make more money for you than any other artist on your la
bel, Talbot. Take your greed and shove it. I’m not hiding anymore. Fuck them if they don’t buy our album because I’m gay. Fuck anyone who doesn’t like it. I’ve hidden for ten years and I’m not doing it for one more minute!”

  With more confidence than I feel, I shove off the table and walk away. If I stay, I’ll do something I’ll regret. Like punch Talbot Putnam in his soon to be imperfect Roman nose.

  I’m halfway to the front door, ready to call a cab so I can escape everything and everyone—Mitch, a stalker, the crowd, Talbot Putnam—when I hear a familiar voice.

  “Gavin?”

  I whirl around to see Adam’s wife who also happens to be one of my best friends. “Hi, Ellie.” She leans in and wraps her comforting arms around my neck. I return the embrace, confused. “What’s this for?”

  Ellie releases me and steps back. “You looked like you could use a hug, that’s all.” She offers me one of her brilliant smiles.

  I give her a quick peck on the cheek. “Love you, El.”

  “Love you too, Gav. Smile. You’re too gorgeous to mope around,” she chastises, pinching my cheek. Her lilting British accent always makes me feel better.

  Despite my shitty mood, I can’t help but grin at her teasing.

  “Now,” she chuckles, “where’s that hunky fake date of yours? I want to have a chat with him.” Ellie stands on her toes, trying to find Mitch in the thick crowd.

  My skin heats up in humiliation from his disappearance, and possibly from the memory of Mitch manhandling me in the bathroom.

  “I-I’m not sure,” I stammer. “Listen, El. I’m taking off. Tell the guys I’ll see them later.”

  Her beautiful face crumples. Feeling like a jerk, I duck out before she can ask any more questions about me or Mitch or my miserable attitude.

  The dark sidewalk outside the club is quiet. Only a few people are walking around, none of them on my side of the street. Perfect. Now to find a cab.

  “Hey!”

  My mind cringes at the sound of Mitch’s voice, but my body? Yeah, it has something else in mind. My heart pounds inside my chest as blood races south.