“Right.” He turned off the TV and turned around to face me.
God, it was still weird seeing him with blond hair. A few months ago his whole secret identity had come out. Ashton Parker Hyde, the pop star and actor who was the object of every teenage dream five years ago, had gone into hiding, and since I’d been his closest friend, I’d followed him. My reasons were different from his, obviously. He was escaping a painful past. I was trying to forget mine
We’d both been famous, but I was a child model, easily forgettable. He had been a god. No seriously, ask social media. They stalked him like crazy. You’d think he’d dye his hair back to black just to get a break once in a while, but nope, as far as he was concerned, Ashton was here to stay, though he went by Gabe. He rationalized that just made everything easier for his professors and new wife, Saylor, who, because of his hidden identity, had nearly castrated him.
But that’s another story. I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs, and threw him one of my waters. “You were saying?”
He grinned. I had to look away. He was too pretty, and I kind of hated how both he and Wes, another Lifetime-Channel-story-come-to-life, were both the happiest people on the planet, while I was living by myself and receiving stalker hate mail.
“She’s forgetful.” He shrugged. “So I keep seven of everything.”
“Again, why seven?”
“It’s the number of completion.” He rolled his eyes. “Duh.”
“Is there a reason you’re here and not home? With Saylor?”
He looked guilty down at the couch. “I, uh, cable was out?”
“Try again.”
He looked behind me and pointed. “The, um, fridge light needed to be changed.”
I grinned. “It’s fine.”
“And—” He shot up from the couch and ran to the door, opened and closed it. “You need grease in the, er…” He scratched his head. “…hinges.”
“Wow!” I clapped twice. “You know what a hinge is.”
He flipped me off.
I stuck my tongue out.
In two steps I was in his arms, my cheek resting against his muscled chest. Two tattooed biceps squeezed tight around me as he rested his chin on my head. It was comforting just being in his arms.
I’d missed him.
I hadn’t been without him for years. It had always been us against the world. Then he’d gone and gotten married, and I’d felt truly lonely for the first time since leaving LA.
“I’m worried about you,” Gabe whispered, pulling back and cupping my face with his hands. “You need… a… bodyguard or something.”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re too pretty.”
“I’m fine!” I laughed again and stepped out of his embrace. I didn’t want him to know how freaked out I’d been the last week. The hate mail — aka fan mail — had gotten worse. I kept changing my PO box, and people kept discovering it. I mean, it was the usual stuff, the you’re so pretty and I watch you stuff, which I could deal with — mostly. But a few of the letters had had pictures of Taylor.
And that didn’t set well with me.
If Gabe even knew, he’d flip his lid.
“I’m not above embedding a GPS unit in every article of clothing you own, including your favorite Donald Pliner sandals.” He crossed his muscled arms and leaned against the back of the couch.
Sighing, I held up my hand walked over to the table and dug through my purse, pulling out my Taser and my Mace. “Happy?”
“Bad ass.” He nodded in approval. “Your Taser’s pink.”
“I’m a girl.” I shrugged my shoulders. “It seemed… happier.”