who understood me on a deeper level because of our shared need to remain closeted even though we were both desperate to break free.
Brix’s foot brushes against mine, and I glance at him. “You all right?”
I nod. “Tired. I might head to bed.”
“Aren’t all you Hollywood types known for partying?” Angel asks.
Brix scoffs. “Harley is the least Hollywood person I know.”
I tap my chin. “I kind of feel like there’s an insult in there somewhere.”
“Not at all,” Brix says. “I thought I was going to be chasing around a superstar diva all over LA, dragging him out of nightclubs, confiscating drugs, and hiding it from the media. You’re slightly easier to handle than that.”
“Slightly?”
“Well, you are making me do that ridiculous list of yours.”
Iris bursts into laughter. “You’re still doing that shit?” He doubles over.
“The client is insistent.”
I want to smile. I really do. I like that the list of demands has become a running joke. It would be weird walking into a room without him clearing it. But that’s just it. Why is he doing it when he knows it’s bullshit?
Brix stands. “I’ll take you to the room.”
I almost say I can manage, but I’ve forgotten where it is.
“Night, everyone,” I say on my way to follow Brix down the hallway.
We reach the room near the back of the house, but before he can enter, I pull on his forearm.
“You don’t have to.”
“Have to what?” He sounds genuinely concerned.
“Do this ridiculous room-checking thing. You don’t have to do the list anymore.”
“I don’t mind. The list is ridiculous, yes, but if it makes you feel safer …”
I pull him into the room and close the door behind us. “It’s not that. I did the list because I overheard you telling Iris to be professional. I was being a smartass. You didn’t want to be my bodyguard just as much as I didn’t want to admit I needed one. And I don’t understand you. Like, at all. You’re this big hardass on the outside, and then you tell me things like ‘Other people’s actions are never your fault.’ You’re nice. And you didn’t laugh when I told you that Evah and I weren’t real. Or gloat. Because I know you’ve suspected it for a while even though I keep trying to throw you off. Then you bring me here, and introduce me to all of”—I wave my hand toward the door—“them, and I don’t understand. I thought you brought me here so I could get out of my head and write, but now … I just … I don’t …” I can’t breathe. “I don’t get it. I don’t get you.”
“Harley …” Sympathy shines in Brix’s normally dark and calculating eyes. “I brought you here so you could see that while you might not understand me, I understand you. More than you know. All of us here do.”
He steps closer, and I have to fight the urge to do the same and close the gap between us. His hands find my shoulders, and I shiver. His touch sends a jolt through me.
I want more. I want to give in to that thing telling me I like being close to him.
He stares down at me with a type of expression that I’m not used to seeing directed at me. Why would Harley Valentine need sympathy? I have everything.
“I’ve been racking my brain wondering why a pop star like you would need to keep it a secret.” His voice is low and gravelly, and it does things to my dick that it shouldn’t.
A lot of things to do with Brix affect my cock in ways they shouldn’t. The way he looks, the way he does his job … Him.
“My target demographic is mainly women,” I choke out. “The label says—”
“I don’t need to know the reason why anymore. I was missing the point. It’s not why you’re keeping it a secret but that you feel you need to at all. You’re in an industry where you don’t feel safe enough to be who you are without risk. Like Trav said out there, we know what that’s like. Don’t Ask Don’t Tell may have been repealed. The military might be more accepting now, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe for people like us.”
I groan. “There you go with the perspective thing again. All I’m risking is money. You guys actually risked your lives.”
“And there you go again, belittling your experiences because mine are objectively worse. You have every right to feel the way you