Chapter 2
IAIN
Cockblocker.
Dickhead.
Asshole.
I took my time smoking, enjoying the last puff of freedom I’d have for a while.
Until I could sneak off again.
After four years of touring with security personnel, I’d become skillful at finding ways to distract them, leaving them behind in the dust.
Just like poor Lennie tonight.
Don’t get me wrong, I liked the guy. Hell, I liked everyone I worked with.
But this constant shadowing was fucking annoying.
I couldn’t take a piss without someone looking over my shoulder.
And I wasn’t one to just give in to other people’s rules, especially when they were ridiculously constrictive.
All I wanted was five fucking minutes alone.
Or, five minutes with a hot guy.
An orgasm was beneficial before a show and more enjoyable when someone else was doing all the work. Like the catering guy I’d snuck out here with. Ron? John? Whatever. He was sexy and eager, and I was happy to leave myself in his hands.
Not that I’m always a selfish lover, but hey, I’m a guitarist. I gotta rest the fingers in between shows.
And I wanted, no, I needed, one goddamned moment where no one was asking me about work or peppering me with invasive questions about every aspect of my life. I just wanted my brain to shut down and pleasure to take over.
Sex was my main vice since I wasn’t one for taking drugs, other than pot. And I needed sex on the regular. It was a wanted diversion.
And I needed distraction now more than ever.
I didn’t want to think about the disturbing messages that kept popping up on my phone over the past month.
No, I didn’t dare think about it, let alone mention it to anyone.
Also, my home had been broken into the day after New Year’s.
Add those two things together, and I just knew that if I told Dawson, he would confiscate my phone and lock me in my house.
And then I’d be climbing the walls. Trust me, you didn’t want to be around when that happened.
I was an easygoing guy, but corner me and watch out.
Look, I knew early on that signing up to be a rockstar would basically blow my private life to hell. But still, I needed some freedom—a sense of normalcy.
But not lately.
I couldn’t even enjoy a random hand job anymore, thanks to my cock cage of a bodyguard.
My protective detail was fucking gorgeous but a ginormous pain in my ass.
Not the kind I liked.
When I didn’t bicker with him, I flirted. For two reasons. One, like I said, he was hot as hell with those dark green eyes and that ripped body of his, and two, I tried anything to throw him off my scent.
But the guy was like some wall of steel or something. Immune to my quips. Immovable.
Irritating as fuck.
And I’m not gonna lie; it ticked me off that I couldn’t charm him the way I could everyone else.
I knew he was bisexual because he was open about it from day one with the band and his coworkers.
And, not to sound egotistical (but I will), with most queer guys I met, all it took from me was a stare and a smile.
The rockstar effect is not a myth; it’s my life.
But not him.
Dawson was a locked puzzle, and I’d yet to figure out just how to work his goddamned key.
The only other thing I knew about him was that he was a single dad.
There were a few times he had to leave his post due to family reasons—his eight-year-old son, Jaxon—and while I was itching to know more, I never asked.
Dawson drew a clear line between work and personal, and no one, not even the security staff who worked with him day in and out, knew that much about his private life.
Not that I should be curious about him or anything, but you know, I was a naturally curious person.
I took the last drag of my cig and dropped the butt on the ground, grinding it under my boot.
I wished it was Dawson’s foot.
Kidding. I’m not violent.
But my balls were aching, and my tension was higher than ever, thanks to his interruption. So, yeah, I was cranky as fuck.
Given Dawson’s size vs mine, it would be no contest anyway. Besides, there were more effective ways of getting my revenge. I just needed time to think on it.
My phone buzzed again, but I ignored it. A sense of panic threatened to overwhelm me, but I didn’t dare ruin my concentration right before a performance.
“Aren’t you going to check your phone?” Dawson asked as he motioned to the door.
I shook my head as we wandered down the alleyway and back inside the building.
“It’s not urgent.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do, okay! Back off!” I snapped, my body shaking.
Fuck, fuck. This was not good.
I needed to find some way to calm myself down.
“What the fuck is going on with you, Holls? And don’t try to bullshit me. I see through your act.”
Dawson moved to stand in front of me, blocking my path. He was four or five inches taller than me, so I had to look up at him, at his dark green eyes that saw much more than I was comfortable showing. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him about the texts.
But I didn’t. I just…couldn’t.
“It’s nothing. I’m just wound up. We’ve been in the studio recording for a month, and I’m itching for the road again. You know me, I can’t sit still. And sex is my outlet. Or it should have been, before you interrupted me.”
“Iain,” he sighed in that exasperated tone I knew all too well.
I readied myself for his lecture. He’d been using my first name a lot lately, usually when he was about to ream me out.
“What?”
“I know it’s not easy to have someone always hovering over your life, but we’re here to help you. And I can’t do that if you’re not honest with me. Like I said before, you can fuck around with whoever you want, but you have to let your detail know, and we have to be nearby.”
“I thought it was just rockstars who were into the voyeurism thing,” I teased.
“Can you be serious for one moment?”
“Can you lighten up?” I countered.
Dawson ran an agitated hand over his spiky red hair, his massive biceps bulging under that black T-shirt he always wore. Black jeans, T-shirt, motorcycle boots. That was his uniform. Except for our high-profile events, where he added a blazer.
In black, of course.
Imagine a bodyguard version of Chris Hemsworth but with redder hair. And fuller lips. And stunning green eyes.
Too bad Dawson was wound so tight.
He let out a loud groan that meant total frustration. On that one item, we agreed.
My phone buzzed again. Shit.
“Who’s calling you?”
“How the fuck should I know? I’ll check it after the show.”
I walked around him and started down the hallway to the VIP room. There was still time to check out the scene and find someone to hook up with. This time, however, I’d be a good little rockstar and let Dawson watch.
I sauntered into the room, with Dawson at my back, and spotted my bandmates downing shots. They were surrounded by a group of VIPs, several of whom were sexy as hell.
My luck was changing already.
“Hey, what’s happening here? The party can’t go on without me,” I declared as I reached my friends.
Faise rolled his eyes, and Ronin mimed jerking off.
“Are you under some delusion that we’re your placeholders?” Brodie snarked, and I gave him a playful swat on the shoulder.
Then Brodie motioned to the bar staff for another round. “We assumed you were getting your pre-show ritual on.”
Another tray of shots appeared, and I grabbed two of them, downing them in quick succession.
Top-shelf tequila, my favorite. I reached for a third.
“The hand job got interrupted by my jailer.” I pointed over my shoulder to Dawson. I could feel his angry glare on me like a spotlight. “But I’m ready now. Introduce me to our new friends.”
It turned out the guys didn’t have to say anything.
A handsome man in a fancy suit, maybe late twenties, stepped forward. He had a confident air, a perfect smile, and held my gaze for a long time.
He’d do.
Pretty Boy reached out his hand. “I’m Frankie Salich, a friend of Zoe’s. It’s very nice to meet you, Iain. I’ve heard good things.”
Zoe Nord was our PR rep and dealt with our shenanigans for the past three years. ‘Good things’ was probably her PR code for horror stories about our antics.
“Holloway,” I corrected him when I shook his hand.
I didn’t like strangers calling me by my first name. Too personal and tied to my past. Only my closest friends were allowed to use it.
And a certain bodyguard who shall remain nameless.
“Sorry, Holloway,” Frankie repeated and gave me a thorough once over.
He had a firm grip. I could work with that. “Nice to meet you, too.”
For some strange reason, though, my dick was not with the program. I wasn’t getting turned on at all.
What the fuck? Maybe I needed another cigarette.
“You want to have a drink in private?” he asked with a flirty grin.
Still nothing. Fuck.
“I’d love to, but we go on in thirty. And I have to talk to my boys beforehand.”
“Cool. Afterwards?”
“Meet me back here.” I turned around and waved Dawson over. “Daws, see that this man gets a pass to come on back to my dressing room after the show.”
“ID,” Dawson barked at him.
“He’s a friend of Zoe’s. And he already made it in here, so he must have passed a security checkpoint. Chill.”
Dawson shook his head. “I don’t care. ID.”
Frankie pulled out his wallet and showed him his driver’s license. Dawson took it and nodded. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as Dawson stepped away, the air lightened. The vortex of rules was gone. Temporarily.
“He’s intense,” Frankie commented.
“He’s something all right. Sorry about that.”
“No worries. I work in this business, so I get it.”
Frankie’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Sorry, I have to respond to this. I’ll see you later?”
“Looking forward to it,” I replied before he turned and walked away.
Hopefully, my cock would cooperate by then.
I grabbed another shot and let the alcohol burn away my nerves. Until my phone buzzed, and my anxiety kicked up again.
“You okay, bud?” Brodie whispered as he leaned into me, eyeing me with concern.
That was the one problem with working with someone who knew you all your life. Brodie realized something was up without me saying a fucking word.
For a second, I felt guilty as hell for not telling him about the messages. We’d been best friends since we were kids and shared everything.
Well, everything except Brodie’s husband, Van.
“I’m good. You know me, once I get out on stage, everything will be all right.”
It would be. And my mojo would be amped up by the time the show was over. It always was.
A quick release prior to showtime and a longer one after made for a relaxed rockstar.
And for tonight?
I’d take one out of two.