Maximum Commitment (Sin City #13) - Tricia Owens Page 0,9

He rolled his head to look over at Ethan seated beside him. “Next time an asshole shows up like that guy did, I want you to throw him out on his ass, you got that?”

Ethan shook his head. “My job isn’t to assault people.”

“Pretty sure I’m paying you a hefty chunk to make sure people like that don’t ruin what I’m doing here.”

“I can escort a heckler out of the building, but nothing more than that unless he’s aggressive.”

“You’re afraid of being sued. I get it. Did you know someone’s suing me for corrupting Loren? Is that a riot or what?”

“I understand there’s been some pushback to your relationship with him,” Ethan said diplomatically. He didn’t really want to know the details of the drama, but maybe if he lent a sympathetic ear, Theo might feel better and relax.

“That’s a term for it,” Theo scoffed. “’Pushback.’” He leaned forward and rummaged through the mini-bar again. He selected a bottle of Grey Goose this time, unscrewed the cap, but didn’t immediately drink it. He stared at the bottle. “My agent hired you because you’re queer.”

Ethan didn’t react to the confirmation of his suspicions. “I hope The Elite Poole’s reputation in the security industry contributed to that decision.”

“Sure. Whatever. We all know you’re gay and that you’re married to your boss. Lucky you.” Theo rubbed his thumb over the opening of the bottle, his gaze distant. “You’re living the modern gay man’s American Dream and a part of me hates you for it. I’m just being honest here.” He smiled wryly. “Doesn’t mean I really hate you, you know. I’m just saying. You’ve got everything a gay man could want in this world.”

“You don’t think you do?” Ethan asked. “You’re famous. You have fans. You’re being paid to take photos with those fans.”

Theo chuckled and brought the bottle to his lips, guzzling it down. “No,” he said after he’d emptied it. “I’m living the life that every queer dreads—a life of doubt and self-hate. The usual, in other words.” He glanced at Ethan. “For everyone but you.”

Ethan said nothing, unsure if the antagonism in Theo’s words carried any weight, or if the man was only ranting.

“That jerk back there at the meet and greet,” he went on, “would dance a jig if he knew what things were really like for me right now. No way am I ever gonna let him know, though. That’s why I’m an actor.” He raised the empty bottle in a toast before tossing it carelessly into the footwell, where it rolled from side to side with the limousine’s movements.

“What was it like,” Ethan asked casually, hoping to soften the mood, “being on a reality television show? Is it as fake as I’ve read?”

Theo’s face became animated, his mood lifting at the change of subject. “It’s faker than a Las Vegas girl’s tits! The other guys in the house with me—none of them cared about Tammy. No one believed they were going to find love and I’d say more than half wouldn’t have wanted it if it happened. Nearly every guy there was using the show to up their profile. They all had side gigs, or were models or actors, singers—anybody and everybody in the entertainment industry.” His smile faded. “Nearly all of us were fake and lying every second of filming...except one.”

“Loren?”

Theo gazed at Ethan for a long moment. “You sort of look like him. A little. Well, no, not that much. You look younger than you probably are. He looks his age. He’s too serious. I’ve warned him he’s going to get wrinkles and as a gay man he should care, but he just rolls his eyes at me. Loren wasn’t on the show to pick up Instagram followers or to sell a body lotion. He was there for love, the stupid moony cow. He thought he could find love on a fake show where no one cared.”

Ethan watched him with interest. “Didn’t he?”

Theo dropped his gaze and watched himself pick at the threading in the seat upholstery. “We filmed for a total of three months. Twelve weeks locked up in the same rented house with eighteen other losers, forbidden from making phone calls, from seeing anyone who wasn’t associated with the show—we were prisoners. It wasn’t glamorous or fun. It was prison. When you’re locked up with people you can’t get away from, you begin to look at them differently. They begin to encompass your whole world. You see them every day. They’re the only