Stealing Pretty Page 4

  It wasn’t something Gray had ever picked up on before. In all the movies and television shows, the guy seemed like he was straight as a goddamn arrow. Gray himself knew what it was like to be a gay man who didn’t fit the stereotypes, and he usually recognized men like him the second he saw them.

  But it wasn’t until the night before, something about the way he and Jameson had met eyes, that Gray realized it. Jameson was putting on an act, and part of that act was to keep secret his sexuality.

  At least that put all the other rumors to bed, he thought to himself in the security room, scanning his eyes over the various camera feeds. There wasn’t anything more exciting going on than a good, old-fashioned, closeted gay actor.

  Gray looked at the little map that came with the property, comparing different feeds to their locations around the mansion. If paparazzi kept breaking in, there had to be a flaw in the system somewhere. And Gray was feeling even more motivated to protect Jameson’s privacy. He felt a kind of loyalty about it, like it was his duty as a gay man to make sure this guy had the space he needed to figure himself out. And not only could he rely on Declan’s training and all the protocols in place to keep the property secure. He could also dig into his own history and locate the weak spots that he and his guys would have exploited.

  He shook his head, still confused about the location of camera seven, which seemed to just point at a bush. A round bush, with a nice, sculpted curve to it. Gray stared, thinking about another nice, sculpted curve, then slapped himself across the cheek.

  Nurturing a crush on Jameson was a sure way to screw up the security gig, yet there he was, thinking about the guy’s ass again, the way his jeans hugged his cheeks, and the taut, thick thighs.

  Gray shuddered. A second later, his phone beeped, and he pushed a couple buttons to flip it to speaker.

  “Gray?” Raiden asked, his voice staticky. “How the hell is it, man? You at the mansion?”

  “I’m in the security room,” he answered. “You ever mess around with one of these Bright Force systems?”

  “That shit’s fancy. But yeah, I can hack it. Why? You need me?”

  Gray flipped the switch that turned on the fence monitor, then flipped it back off to the default position, set to turn on automatically after the sun set. “No, just curious. I’m trying to figure out how people sneak by this thing.”

  “Maybe it’s all the sex freaks. You see any tall, muscular women around the place?”

  “No way,” Gray grumbled, almost choking out the words. “That’s all lies, Raiden. He’s just chilling and doing his thing here.”

  “Acting a little defensive, man. You getting a crush on the superstar or something? You going to hang his poster on your wall like a teenager?”

  Gray’s cheeks burned. He fucking hated it when Raiden made fun of him about guys. “Yeah, right. I’m just earning a paycheck.” He grunted. “I did accidentally bring up Lukas last night, though.”

  “Damn, really? You didn’t get drunk and tell the story of him cheating on you, did you?”

  “He didn’t cheat on me,” Gray objected.

  “Did too. He brought another guy he was hooking up with to the bar when we were celebrating your birthday.”

  “Shut up!” Gray objected again. “I told you, we weren’t exclusive.”

  “You thought you were the week before.”

  “Anyway,” Gray said loudly, then jumped up to his feet. “I didn’t get drunk and tell Jameson the story, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

  “Jameson?”

  “Justin. That’s his name.”

  There was a slight pause, and then Raiden barked another laugh. “You do have a crush on him!”

  A shadow crossed in front of the main camera, the one pointed at the front gate. “Whatever, Raiden. Don’t forget to clean the gutters. I don’t want the roof to leak again.”

  “Miss you, too.”

  Gray grabbed his jacket and then headed out toward the front of the house, eager to catch whatever had passed in front of the screen. Jameson said staff would come and go, and the dossier provided by Declan had explained that deliveries came through the front gate, but as Gray was getting used to the job, he wanted to keep a closer eye on everything.

  Raiden didn’t know what he was going on about anyway. Gray was totally ready to get over Lukas, just like he got over every other shitty boyfriend he’d picked up at the bar. None of them lasted more than a few months, and Gray did a good job moving on when the flings were done. Except for, like Raiden said, sometimes when he’d been drinking a bit too much and he ended up pouring his heart out and buying into his own sob stories.

  Gray stepped around to the front of the house in time to see the source of that shadow, a gray truck that rolled down the driveway, then parked itself right by the front. A man jumped out in a gray delivery uniform, then grabbed a small package, wrapped in brown paper.

  “Hello?” Gray rubbed his hands together, the spring day chilly. “Can I help you?”

  “Just a script delivery,” the man said, waving the package in the air as he headed to the front door. “Roles to consider.”

  “He doesn’t act anymore,” Gray said, then stopped himself. He doubted it really mattered to the delivery person anyway.

  The man busied himself at the door for a minute, then left the package waiting with a slip. “Have a good day,” he said to Gray with a friendly smile on the way back down the drive.

  Which was when Gray spotted something: a flash of paper tucked in at the waist of his uniform that wasn’t there when he arrived, what looked like the flapping end of a few envelopes.

  He turned to the house and noticed the small mailbox by the door, which was flipped open. He hurried a few big steps forward, then placed himself between the truck and the delivery person. “Excuse me, what’s that?”

  The man paused. His eyes were wide to begin with, and they went wider when Gray stared at his waist. “Just one delivery or the next,” the man joked, patting his side where the papers were. “I forget what day it is sometimes,” he added with a laugh. “Let alone what house I’m supposed to be at!”

  Gray narrowed his eyes. He knew bullshit when he smelled it. And why would Jameson receive scripts anyway? He hated acting. “Let me see,” he said, extending his hand and staring expectantly at the papers.

  The man stared back, then made his move. He dived to the side, then kicked himself up. Gray spun as the man jumped toward the open truck door, then threw himself against the intruder, crashing into him midair. The tackle sent them both sprawling, but Gray managed to knock his elbow into the man’s side and force him back enough to grab the envelopes on the way.

  He stood in a half-squat, then glanced at the papers. Exactly like Gray had thought: Jameson’s mail.

  “Fuck,” the man groaned. He was grass-stained and torn and on his way to showing some serious bruises.

  “Get the hell out of here,” Gray hollered, his pulse pounding with anger. He kicked his boot against the grass, sending a clod of dirt flying. “And don’t even fucking think about coming back!”

  The man groaned and cursed a little more, then pulled himself into the truck and took off. Gray made a note of the license plate, repeating the numbers to himself a few times as fire flashed through his vision. A fierce, protective spirit had risen up inside of him, and he was ready to raise hell to keep Jameson safe from those assholes.

  “Damn it,” he grunted. He noticed the jolting of pain that radiated up his arm and realized how heavy the fall had been. He held his elbow above his head and rubbed it, aching at his side. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

  Gray paused in the driveway to flip through the mail. It wasn’t even anything interesting, just a water bill and a couple of pieces of junk mail. He was ready to throw it all aside when he spotted one of the colorful, floppy advertisements, shouting about new spring eyeshadows in bright letters.

  Gray held it in the air. It was funny, but there wasn’t a full name on that one, just
a JJ where the name would normally go. “Justin Jameson,” he muttered to himself.

  He stood there, clouds passing through the gray day. He rubbed his smarting elbow and then snorted a puff of air out his nose.

  “Whoa,” he muttered to himself. Not only was Jameson gay, but maybe the guy was into makeup, too.

  Gray’s heart jumped. Maybe he was just fooling himself, he considered. Maybe it was wishful thinking, because when he thought about the way Jameson’s lips would look if they were wet, red, and plumped up for him, he practically came in his pants. Gray imagined how much the superstar’s eyes would sparkle, how his cheeks would look if they were even pinker.

  “Fuck,” he cursed again.

  With a little makeup on, Jameson would be an incredibly pretty man.

  And absolutely nothing made Gray lose his chill like a pretty man.

  JAMESON

  Dee sat on the edge of Jameson’s gigantic circular bed. She was wearing a silver dress shirt, buttoned all the way to the collar, with a ridiculously pink tie hanging in a skinny line, a look just as bright as the colorful room. She scratched the top of her shaved head, frowning, while Jameson sat at his makeup table, watching her in the mirror.

  “I don’t know,” Dee said. “Even if someone saw that you got a makeup advertisement, is it really that big of a deal?”

  “But it could have been anyone! Gray hasn’t been here long enough to know which paparazzi is which,” Jameson complained. “Some of them would have a field day just from that ad alone.” He didn’t even mention the other horrifying thought: that Gray himself had possibly seen the mailer.

  “I think you’re overreacting,” Dee said gently. “Everyone gets junk mail. It’s not like ordering makeup online is such a scandal anyway.”

  Jameson rolled his eyes, glancing at his best friend over his shoulder.

  “Okay,” Dee laughed. “I know. When it’s you, people think everything is a big deal.”

  “Except for my best friend from before I was famous,” he replied, fluttering his eyelashes.

  “The only two gays in small town Kansas. That’s how I knew you were going to be a famous actor. You convinced the whole town you were straight.”

  Jameson laughed, his honest laugh pouring out of him with Dee there. It was light and silly, and it bounced all over the place, and honestly, Jameson loved the way it sounded.

  “I know, I know,” he agreed. “I’ll try not to worry myself over it.”

  “Back to the makeup,” Dee said, gesturing to the mirror. “It’s your depression cure, and I insist on it.”

  Jameson picked a blush, then dusted a soft, poofy brush along his cheeks. He loved trying out different looks, poring through hours of YouTube videos and learning about new techniques. And with every second he spent in front of the mirror, every dab of foundation and swipe of eyeliner, he watched a little more of Justin Sweet and the Broken Dragon and Sam from West Town disappear and a little more of Jameson shine through.

  It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his sexuality or of the fact that he liked makeup and pretty things. If he had been a normal person, Jameson would have come out of the closet years ago. But things weren’t so easy for him. For one, coming out would shake the franchise and cause some serious hiccups in the West Town world especially.

  More than that, though, Jameson was absolutely sick of the media eating up every little morsel of his life. No one had asked if he wanted the pictures from his funeral shared. When he did interview after interview as a teen star, no one had asked if he wanted to see pictures of his mom and dad, who he missed so much it hurt. They just flashed the images in front of his face, and he was forced to sit there and try to smile.

  His sexuality and his style were like his friendship with Dee. They were parts of his life that the tabloids had never touched, and Jameson was convinced he needed to do whatever it took to protect them, to keep them safe.

  He tilted his head to the side and smiled as he studied his profile, somehow soft and angular at the same time. He held up the white eyeliner he wanted to try with his new plum shadow, then glanced back to Dee. “I’m glad you came by today.”

  “You’re close to New York. It’s much better than when you were in Hollywood.”

  Jameson wrinkled his nose. “I hated that.”

  “Me, too.”

  Dee played with her phone, sending some pop music through the Bluetooth. Jameson loved Dee because of who she was, but the fact that she came from his life before fame meant a lot, too. Sure, his parent’s estate and his career had equipped him with financial advisors and private tutors and every other form of guidance a teenager navigating Hollywood could ask for. But without any other surviving family, the most important thing Jameson had learned over those years was that, in show business, he couldn’t trust a single person. He might as well have been a walking paycheck, the way people looked at him, and it was up to him to take care of his own interests.

  But with Dee?

  “Oh my god,” she laughed, then jumped up from the bed. “Should we get you this? You’d totally pull it off.”

  She shoved the phone into his hand, and when Jameson took it, he blurted out a laugh at the image. “Dee, this is literally a cartoon of an alien.”

  Dee straightened her shoulders, then grabbed the phone back. “So what? You could totally make your eyes look like that.”

  “You’re so weird,” Jameson laughed, then returned to his eyeshadow.

  “Speaking of Gray,” Dee said, jumping back into the conversation as she tossed her phone aside. “Are you going to have the handsome devil up for another beer? I can’t believe I didn’t get to spot him on the way in.”

  Jameson felt himself blush. “And you won’t spot him on the way out, either, I hope. I think hanging out with him is too frustrating, anyway. I have to stay in full Justin mode, and that means everything feels fake and forced.” He sighed. “He’s so hot, though, Dee. I’m sure some other guy will sweep him up in no time, and then maybe I’ll be able to stop fixating on him.”

  “Hello, what? Did you just drop that he’s gay?”

  “He mentioned something about it last night, yeah.”

  “Then what are you scared of?” Dee blurted. “If he’s gay, you can totally let him in a little bit.”

  “Why? How does that make him more trustworthy? Hollywood is filled with gay men who would be more than willing to sell me out, you know.”

  Dee smoothed down the front of her pants. She had large hands, and she covered them with a lot of cheap rings. “Sure, but this isn’t Hollywood. And if there’s a gay man waiting literally at your doorstep, you might as well, I don’t know, have a conversation. Pass some time together.” She cleared her throat dramatically. “Dare to flirt, dare I say.”

  Jameson frowned at his reflection. He’d been enjoying playing around with these really blocky, rectangular styles, but with the plum eyeshadow, he decided on something more classic and subdued. He fluttered his eyelids, watching the dark smudge of the shadow disappear and reappear, and the satisfaction of it brought a smile back to his face. “Dare to flirt,” he repeated.

  It was terrifying. The idea practically made him panic. But deep inside, Jameson really, really wanted to believe that Dee was right.

  She crossed over to the bright purple nightstand, then fumbled around until she pulled out a joint. “You ready to make some music?” she asked.

  Jameson laughed. “Where did that joint come from?”

  “I left it here last time,” Dee said with a grin. “Now come on. Can we jam?”

  When Jameson and Dee had grown up together, they’d both gotten obsessed with this electronic keyboard Dee’s older brother had left behind when he went to college. For years, they’d messed around together in Jameson’s bedroom, pounding on the keyboard and making up endless horrible songs. Back then, he’d dreamed of being discovered and taking his music all over the world.

  Life was funny like that. But even if the reality of fame had been horribl
y disappointing, Jameson still loved making music with Dee. Over the years, they’d upgraded the keyboard, learned to play around with synths, and charted out a sound that was uniquely their own.

  “Can we do a Queen cover?” Jameson asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  Dee grinned. “If it makes you smile like that, Jameson, how could I say no?”

  For the rest of the afternoon, Jameson was able to slip away from his worries. He and Dee exchanged songs back and forth, and right before she left, he did her makeup for her date that evening. They took a million photos that no one else would ever see, and once Dee took off for New York, he picked his favorites, adding them to a special folder on his computer.

  Jameson plopped back down at the makeup counter. He grabbed two wipes from the dispenser, then smoothed them across his face, pulling color from his eyes, cheeks, and lips. He stared at himself, then slapped his hand against his forehead with a whimper.

  Dee wasn’t out the door for more than two minutes, and already, he was back to thinking about Gray.

  Gray

  One week later…

  Gray passed between two small trees as he wandered the property. The branches all had little green nubs on them, but the trees were still bare enough that he could see across the property a bit, and he did his best to memorize the landscape.

  Considering the jobs Gray had pulled with Raiden and Horatio, he was pretty damn confident about his skills. He could sneak, fight, and keep watch better than just about anyone. But a week of watching Jameson from afar had definitely perked Gray’s interest, from the glimpses he caught of the beautiful man on the porch many mornings to the brief moments of conversation they shared together, just a few words enough to lift Gray’s mood for the rest of the day. And the more he’d started to crush on Jameson, the more he started to fantasize about playing the hero. If he could show up and do the job right, he wouldn’t do just do good by his uncle—he’d be doing good by Jameson, too.

  And to do all that, to keep Jameson safe, Gray needed to know every inch of that property, even better than he knew it when Declan had made him memorize the map. He rounded a slant in the hillside, sliding a little on the dirt as he committed the landscaping to memory, then headed back toward the house.