The Complete Rockstar Series

Mitch picks up a mug, turning his back to me to prepare his coffee. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his perfect, round ass showcased by the tight grey fabric that clings to every curve.

“Gavin?”

I can’t do this here with him. Alone. With that ass, those eyes, and the scent of whatever cologne he’s wearing. My brain won’t function properly while bombarded from all sides by filthy sexual fantasies starring Mitch.

“I-I forgot. I have somewhere to be.”

Jumping up, I catch a surprised expression on Mitch’s face right before I bolt out the door.

Mitch

The door slams shut and I stomp up the stairs from the garage to the first floor of my townhouse. I head straight for the kitchen, grab a beer, and down half of it in a few long gulps. Flipping the cap in my hand over and over, I contemplate Gavin’s odd behavior.

The last twenty-four hours are among the strangest I’ve ever experienced. Seeing as I used to sit in the same room as some of the worst human beings on earth, I’d say that’s pretty remarkable.

I finish off the beer and toss it into the bin where it rattles against the other recyclables.

Last night with Hailey was a fucking fiasco. Then today’s meeting with Gavin Walker somehow turned disastrous, ending abruptly when the musician tore out of the place like his ass was on fire.

The collar of my shirt feels choking and restrictive. I yank at it in vain and decide to change. Six years of wearing a suit every day as a Fed and it only took a week in regular clothes for it to feel stifling to put one back on.

A week and one very disturbing incident that spurred me to quit the bureau.

After pulling on sweats and my favorite T-shirt that says, “I’m Undercover” in bright yellow script, I boot up the computers to get some work done.

While the systems kick on, I pick up a pen and chew on the end, my mind wandering to last night’s humiliating failure with Hailey.

“What’s wrong, Mitch? You haven’t been, you know, functional lately.”

I roll over and face the wall, tired of listening to her bitch at me.

“Jesus, Hailey. I’m just exhausted, all right?”

I hear her huff and feel Hailey’s weight shift as she gets out of the bed.

“I’m going, Mitch.” The sound of clothes rustling fills the room. “You’ve never been really into this, have you?” She pauses, waiting for a response that isn’t coming. “Mitch! Can you at least look at me?”

Sighing, I flip onto my back and tuck my arms behind my head. At least the sheet is covering what tiny scrap of dignity I have left.

Hailey, now dressed, has her hands on her hips and is staring at me. She has her long, blonde hair piled up on her head and her mouth pulled into a pouty frown. She’s gorgeous, yet when I look at her I feel nothing.

“Jesus, Mitch. Forget it. I’m not wasting my breath.”

I move to get up but she throws up a hand.

“I’ll see myself out. Don’t bother.”

Yeah, not being able to get it up for her, again, wasn’t mortifying enough. She dumped me while I was still in bed, naked. Not that I care. Hell, I know I was just a piece of ass for her. She practically licked her lips whenever I took my pants off. As little as I cared about Hailey that episode was still humiliating. Now that damn twitch in my eye is back, reminding me how screwed up I am.

The home screen pops up on my computer. I log in and sift through a dozen emails, responding to the urgent ones. Then I pull out the file given to me by Ross Evans before the meeting went to hell. I can do basic research—cross check with different agencies to see if the few letters they kept have any matches to other similar crimes. But until I can interview Gavin Walker, most of what I’ll need to do will be more hands on investigating.

The image of my hands literally investigating Gavin Walker flashes through my brain. Blood rushes south, startling my sleeping cock. I remember the light scent of coconut I detected when shaking Gavin’s hand and my dick gets even harder. Gritting my teeth in anger at the unwelcome thoughts, I resist giving in, clenching my fists and willing the images away.

It takes a good ten minutes of picturing some of the worst crime scene photos I can recall to get myself under control. Why would I think about Gavin that way?

I can’t even go there right now. Not a chance.

After staring at the closed file for another fifteen frustrating, cock-swelling minutes, I decide to give up and go for a run.