Resist (Sphere of Irony 3)
His expression softens, revealing something more than the irritation he’s revealing. Regret? Longing? I’m not sure. Before I can figure it out, Gavin disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door and effectively ending the most awkward conversation to ever take place.
Gavin
“Gavin!”
“Over here!”
“Mitch! Are you two getting married?”
“How does it feel to be out?”
“Can we get a shot of you two kissing?”
The hairs on the back of my neck rise as the paparazzi shout out their questions. My palm is slick where it’s woven with Mitch’s. I can only hope his is just as sweaty as mine so he won’t notice.
“Come on, guys! Kiss for us!”
The crowd in the pressroom at the record label is getting rowdy, clamoring for a physical display of affection between my ‘boyfriend’ and me. A glance over at Ross shows him urging me on with his eyes, begging me to continue the ridiculous charade.
Putting on the most convincing smile I can manage, I lean in and growl in Mitch’s ear. “We have to kiss for the cameras, Mitch. Is that a problem?”
Mitch’s hand grips mine tighter and his body tenses up. “No, not at all.”
I desperately want to roll my eyes but the whirring of cameras reminds me that I’m on display. I let go of Mitch’s hand and cup both sides of his face. His day-old stubble rasps against my palm as I tilt his head to one side. When I lean in, I get a full-on hit of his familiar scent. Lust rears its inappropriately timed head, sending a rush of blood to my cock.
Thank god we’re sitting behind a long table, the entire band, Ross, and our PR manager, Rachel Whatley, all in a row with us.
Mitch allows me to lead the kiss, parting his lips for me at my urging. As much as I want to dive in and devour him, I keep the kiss quick and G-Rated considering we’re not alone. Also because I hate him right now even if he is a sexy son of a bitch.
When I pull away, the crowd claps and cheers, but all I hear is the beat of my heart thundering in my chest. My eyes lock onto Mitch’s, the grey nearly eclipsed by large pupils. Longing like I’ve never felt before slams into me, threatening to drag me under and steal my breath.
The spell is only broken when Mitch blinks a few times, a shocked look on his face. Those rough cheeks turn red and he pulls away, clearing his throat nervously. Finally, I can suck in a lungful of much needed air to clear my head.
“There,” I announce, hoping no one saw the quick exchange of emotions. I grin at the audience. “Satisfied?”
The journalists toss more questions at us, including some very explicit and frankly, quite rude ones about our supposed sex life. I can see Hawke shaking with laughter out of the corner of my eye.
Ass!
Of course they’re not satisfied. They never are.
***
I’m so antsy I want to crawl out of my own skin. The stress of being on lockdown for the duration of the tour is going to kill me. If it doesn’t, then being close to Mitch on a daily basis—touching and kissing for the cameras and, pretty much living together—most certainly will.
We just arrived at the hotel in Miami and have a few hours to kill before tonight’s scheduled appearance at a local radio station. Then there are two concerts in the city starting tomorrow. That means a whole lot of downtime until then with Mitch. I check the time on my phone, three hours to kill.
Wound up and agitated, I leave my bedroom and head into the common area of the suite, hoping to find some sports on T.V. Mitch is already sitting on one of the sofas, typing on his laptop with a pen in his mouth. My eyes zero in on that pen. Drawn by the way his lips move around it, alternately sucking then chewing on the end. I’m fully hard in less than two seconds.
He must feel my eyes on him, because Mitch stops typing and looks up.
It’s the third day of the tour and we’ve hardly said two words to each other outside of scheduled appearances. It’s awkward, and to be honest, lonely as fuck.
I may as well be the one to break the tension because the big, gun-toting, ex-FBI guy is too nervous to do it himself. “Hey.”
Way to make conversation, Gavin.
Mitch’s eyes widen. He pulls the pen out of his mouth and I mourn the loss of the erotic display.