The Complete Rockstar Series

Sean looks shocked. “He’s an idiot.”

I pat his leg, noting the hard muscles beneath my hand. “You’re sweet.”

Marcus clears his throat. I roll my eyes. “Fine. I have to go before Marcus here has a coronary. It was nice talking to you, Sean.”

I get up and hold out a hand. Sean grasps it firmly, allowing me to pull him to his feet. Our chests bump briefly as he stumbles in the sand. Once we’re upright, I note that Sean is shorter than me. Several inches in fact. I usually like my men large, muscular, and intimidating, but I wouldn’t kick Sean out of bed.

He looks up at me with his big, hazel eyes and I nearly break down and invite him to my place. Then Marcus flexes or grunts or does something equally annoying, spurring me back to the present and sending Sean skittering back.

“So, it was nice meeting you, Sean.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice husky. “You too.”

Bitter at my situation, the high from surfing melts away leaving me raw and angry. I’m gay, I’m out, and I still can’t pick up a guy at the beach.

Fucking Mitch. Cockblocking me and he’s not even here.

Mitch

My feet pound out a steady rhythm on the treadmill while the Mark Ronson-Bruno Mars version of Uptown Funk blasts in my ears. The louder and more forceful the music, the less I’ll be able to think. Think about Gavin. About Grant. About what I’ve been denying about myself since I was sixteen.

After completing a grueling, fast-paced five miles, I move to the free-weight bench I have set up on the other side of the room. Half of my basement consists of the garage. The rest is a small but functional gym, with cardio, weights, punching bags, and other equipment. It’s my reprieve, where I go to think or in this case, not think. And, it’s the only room that wasn’t trashed by Gavin’s stalker.

Straddling the bench, I grip the barbell stacked with plates and lift. Mid-way through my last set of reps, my phone rings. By the time I power through my last press, it stops.

“Damn.”

Then it rings again.

Christ.

I s

natch it off a nearby shelf and stare at the display.

Ross Evans

“Ross.”

“Jesus, Mitch! What the fuck is going on?”

“Whoa, wait.” I wipe off the sweat that’s pouring off my body and head up the stairs on shaky legs, my knee still stiff from the fall last week. “What are you talking about?”

“Seriously?” Ross snaps. “Have you seen today’s press?”

“Huh? No. I woke up and worked out. That’s it. I haven’t seen anything.”

What the hell has Ross in such a snit?

“You know, maybe you two should have discussed your exclusivity before dragging your relationship out in front of the cameras! Now I have Talbot Putnam up my ass for that little stunt you two pulled the other night!”

“Ross, calm down.” I unlock my office and drop into the chair.

“Fuck you, Hale. Just do the job you’ve been hired to do, okay? Fuck Gavin on your free time and for fuck’s sake keep yours and Gavin’s personal shit out of sight of the paparazzi!”

The line goes dead.

Great. I didn’t even get a chance to correct Ross on his assumption that Gavin and I are an item. And why wouldn’t he think it? That was my intention after all.