Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Nate cracks up, then fist bumps Bryan.
Tanner clears his throat. “All right, men. What have you got?”
We lay down our cards, and the bourbon and I are sure my pair of aces will win the round but Bryan slaughters all of us with three threes.
“Payback,” Bryan says to Luke.
“I deserved it,” Luke says, then pats Bryan on the back.
Nate nuzzles my neck. He really does like hanging out with his buddies. Having fun must make him even hornier. Works for me.
The dealer asks if we want another round. Nate checks his watch. “The show doesn’t start for another hour. Where the hell is Halifax?”
As if on cue, the door to the swank private room swings open. A familiar front man strides in, all leather jacket and tattoos. The man next to him I recognize from Hollywood billboards. I’d gawk if Nate hadn’t told me that William Halifax, the lead singer for Lettuce Pray and his A-lister boyfriend, Christian Laird, were stopping by.
“Finally! The rock star and the movie star grace us with their presence!” Nate calls out, arms wide, welcoming the pair.
The rocker sports a wicked grin as he lifts his hand. “Finally indeed.” He waggles his left hand. A band of metal shines on it.
He reaches for Christian’s hand, lifts it high too. A matching platinum band glints under the fluorescent lights.
I gawk.
The guys go silent.
Nate’s jaw falls open.
The others mutter wow and holy shit.
William breaks the awestruck moment with an exuberant, “Have you met my husband?”
Then he drags the movie star against him and drops a possessive kiss onto Christian’s cheek.
15
LAST MAN STANDING
Hunter
William orders a round of sparkling cider for everyone. A recovered alcoholic, the rocker’s been sober for two years now.
With the bubbly, we toast to the newlyweds.
“Details,” Nate demands after he knocks back some cider.
William yanks his hubby in for a kiss, then says, “We came here for the show, but everything has been so bloody fucking great, that we said let’s make it official.”
“For the record, I was going to propose after William’s concert tonight,” Christian says, giving dreamy eyes to his hubs.
“But then, we passed a chapel an hour ago, and we said fuck it. We know we love each other. So we got our marriage license and did the deed,” William adds, sounding equally hearts and flowers.
Nate grins, his smile electric. He’s thrilled for his friends, and it’s endearing to see, especially given his personal history. Nate lifts his glass again. “To Mr. Laird and Mr. Halifax.”
“The dude and the dude,” Luke puts in.
Everyone gets in on the toasts, and I add my own simple, but heartfelt cheers. Then Nate introduces me officially to the newcomers. It’s a whirlwind, being part of this world. Everyone is either rich and famous, or an athlete or former athlete. Most are a little older and more sophisticated than me. Here among the glitterati of sports and film and music, one of these men doesn’t belong.
And it’s not the handsome former athlete turned home contractor—Bryan, who’s all golden California guy charm and part of the club. Oh, and he also renovates celebrities’ mansions, so there’s that.
It’s me.
I’m the mere associate TV producer.
I’m not even a creative type, like my father.
I’m just a media business guy, and a newbie at that. An interloper. When Nate retrieves the bottle of bourbon from the table, I waggle my glass his way. I need the real stuff to cover up this bout of I’m not good enough.
He fills my tumbler.
I knock some back, grateful for the burn. Nate drinks too, then he curls his arm around me and tugs me close. “Thanks again for saying yes tonight,” he says.
Ah, hell. I shouldn’t twist myself into a funk at an impromptu celebration.
Who cares if I’m not famous or wickedly talented? I’m making my date happy and that’s good enough for now.
“Easiest yes ever,” I say.
Then, when Luke steals Nate to chat about football, I catch the attention of the rock star whose music I adore. But I don’t go fanboy. No way. I’m cool Hunter tonight. “Congrats again,” I say to William. “I’m happy for you.”
He lights up. “Oh! You’re from London too?”
“Yeah, I grew up there. Spent a little time in the States for uni, but you know how it goes. Can’t get the London out of the guy.”
“And who would want to?” he asks. “Where do you live now?”
“Bloomsbury,” I tell him. We slide into a conversation about our favorite pubs in London, as well as his favorite clubs to perform at. After a few minutes, Nate asks if William can play a hand of cards before he hits the stage.
With a sigh, William shakes his head. “Sound check and all. But after the show, okay? Promise me?”
“I’ll promise your married ass,” Nate says.
After William takes off, we drink another round of the good stuff in honor of the happy couple.