I tune out their chatter as the limo makes it’s way through L.A. to our destination, a club called Cargo, which in my opinion is the stupidest name I’ve ever heard.
It’s only been two days since I started spending most of my time in Gavin’s less than stellar company. The man pouts a lot. And when I say pout, I mean full-on, petulant, huffing, puckered-lip pouting. Being able to read people like I can, I know he’s holding back his anger. Gavin might look beautiful and calm on the outside, but I have no doubt he has the ability to strike out viciously when necessary.
I pull at the collar of my dress shirt, irritated that I’m back in a suit and tie after ditching them for what I thought was the rest of my life. I’m playing the role of one of the public relations people for the band. This way, the stalker will think that Gavin is unprotected. If he sees FBI types or bodyguards crawling around, he’ll be more careful. The two security guys are acting as personal assistants. With no visible security, the stalker may make a mistake that I can spot.
“All right,” Ross announces as the limo glides to a stop. “You guys know the drill. We’re performing three songs off the new album, then the signing and photograph session for fans, finally you’ll be up in the VIP section of the club for the rest of the night. Got it?”
The men murmur their understanding.
I glance over at Gavin. He’s chatting quietly with Hawke, his hand stuffed into his front pocket. Hawke is nodding along with whatever Gavin is saying.
“Let’s go!” Ross exclaims. He opens the door and sits back, letting the band exit first.
Adam no sooner has a foot on the sidewalk and the crowd goes mad. Flashbulbs pulse and girls scream—it’s unbelievable and a little scary. When it’s Gavin’s turn, I squeeze in behind him. Grabbing his arm, I pull him back into the limo.
“What is it, Utah?” he snaps, his mouth pulled into a sneer. There’s that snarling alpha I knew was hidden beneath the model-perfect façade.
My eye does a quick twitch. “All I was going to say is stay close to me. If you need to go somewhere, let me know.”
The harsh look on his face fades. “Fine.”
Okay, maybe it doesn’t completely fade. The man hates my guts. Good thing he doesn’t have to like me, he only has to tolerate me. The question is, can I tolerate him when every cell in my body is urging me to do things I thought were long buried?
63
Gavin
“Hawke, can you come with me?” I motion for my best friend to slip out of the crowded room where fans are getting autographs signed and photos taken. The stench of the groupies’ perfume combined with the loud squealing is giving me a headache.
He nods, following me to the edge of the room. When Adam cracks a joke and the entire place erupts in laughter, we slide out unnoticed.
“Count on Reynolds to pull the perfect cover,” I reveal to Hawke.
“You asked him to do that?” He looks at me with one pierced eyebrow lifted in amusement.
“What do you think?” I shove Hawke into an empty dressing room, slamming the door behind us. “It was the only way to get out of there.”
“Christ, Gav. What’s going on with you?” Hawke stares at me with a confused expression, his eyes narrowed behind the black-frame glasses he wears even though he has perfect eyesight.
I give him an incredulous look.
“Okay,” he concedes, holding his hands up. “What’
s going on besides the stalker thing? You’re acting extra weird tonight.”
I jam my hand in my pocket and pull out the stone, gripping it so tight I’ll probably have a heart-shaped indentation in my palm.
“It’s nothing specific,” I grumble. Sighing, I run my free hand through my hair. “The crowd, the tiny room, the shrieking women. Hell, I’m probably just frustrated by my new cock-blocking shadow.”
Hawke barks out a laugh. “Who cares about him? He’s the help. You want to have someone over then have someone over. That’s his problem if he has to see or hear something he doesn’t like.”
I want to laugh, but the fact that I’d rather have ‘the help’ in my bed isn’t something I want to share with Hawke. And we’ve shared a lot.
He jerks his chin towards the hand with the stone. “You still carry that thing?”
“Only when I’m freaking out,” I reply. “It…helps somehow. I don’t know. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Hawke puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’ve been there, Gav. Or have you forgotten?”