Page 14 of Wild Fixation
Shawn is more sympathetic to my plight.
“It’s safer this way,” he says. “He’ll be there for all of us, not just you. Sometimes the fans get a little enthusiastic, that’s all. Gotta make sure everyone’s safe.”
“Any fan in particular?” Keannen says, leaning over the conference table to leer past me at Shawn.
Shawn stiffens beside me and issues a terse “no” that only widens Keannen’s grin. Whatever that’s about, I don’t want to know. I have enough issues of my own.
Emmett returns from his phone call conference in the corner of the room.
“Seth says he can be there ahead of you all with a couple of his guys,” Emmett says. “They’ll keep an eye on things all night. No coming or going without one of them knowing about it, okay?”
Everyone agrees, leaving me no choice but to nod as well. I barely hold back from groaning. Seth did say he wasn’t letting me out of his sight anymore, but I didn’t think it meant he’d be my permanent shadow. I thought I could still go out one night without a babysitter on my heels.
Once he has our agreement, Emmett lets us go. I get out of that conference room about as quickly as I can, but I can’t escape Keannen’s knowing smirk.
“Don’t even start,” I say.
He puts up his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were thinking it. I can see it.”
We pile into an elevator, all five of us at once. Keannen leans back in a corner, and I stand in front of him so I can’t see him, crossing my arms over my chest. Shawn stands beside me. Our lead guitarist is a man of few words, which leads many to see him as cold and aloof. I know otherwise, even before he gives my shoulder a consoling squeeze.
Thankfully, that’s the end of the discussion about my birthday and any incredibly hot bodyguards who may or may not be there to watch over me the entire night. We get to leave the building without fanfare. We even get to drive our own cars home. No need for Seth to barrel through reporters this time.
Why can’t my birthday be like this?
It’s only temporary, I tell myself. Soon, the buzz will die down. It’s because of the tour and Keannen dating that Ten Hours drummer and us leaching off the larger band’s fame. The newness will fade sooner or later, and the paparazzi will move on to someone else. I’ll get to live my life again, I promise myself. Maybe I’ll even get to meet a guy I’m allowed to want, a guy who isn’t my bodyguard and therefore technically my employee.
I repeat those words to myself several times, like a mantra before a meditation, something to settle my heart and mind, but before I start driving, I take out my phone, intending to put on some music for the drive home. And there I find a simple text message.
Happy birthday.
It’s from Seth. He must have sent it after Emmett called him and explained the situation with the club. My heart does somersaults, leaping around like a grasshopper. I can’t quiet the reaction, but at least I’m alone. This time. If something as simple as a “happy birthday” has me sweating in my car, however, what the hell is it going to be like when I’m out at a club with Seth shadowing me the entire time? A little alcohol will sand down my good sense, eroding the guardrails that should keep me from making disastrous decisions that involve my bodyguard. Sure, he’s probably straight, but he’s also tall and strong and gorgeous and constantly sweeping in to literally save me, and I don’t know how to keep myself from falling for that.
The night hasn’t even begun, and I already don’t trust myself.
Chapter Eight
Seth
“THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE wearing?” my roommate says.
“What’s wrong with this?”
I hold out my arms and peer down at myself. Black jeans. Black T-shirt. It’s what I always wear, especially when I have to work.
“You can’t go out like that,” Mason says, heaving an aggrieved sigh.
Unlike me, Mason has been out for pretty much his entire life. He was surprised when I answered his ad looking for a queer roommate to share his house with. Most people are surprised when I tell them I’m gay. It’s not that I hide it. I simply act like myself, but “myself” isn’t what most people would immediately label queer. I’ve always figured that’s more their problem than mine. Mason’s been a great roommate ever since we met, and it’s never mattered that we choose to express our queerness differently.
“I’m not going out,” I remind Mason. “I’m going to work.”
“Work at a club. Work for your hot, rich, famous employer.”
I roll my eyes, but mostly to hold back a worse reaction. Mason knows who Baptism Emperor is. Most people do now. I haven’t concealed my line of work from him, though I don’t tell him anything about my clients that isn’t public information. He has no idea about Jacob or what I’m attempting not to feel about a man who lights up every room he enters, a man I want to haul to safety every time he endangers himself.
I wave away Mason’s comment. “I need to go. I can’t be late.”
