Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Did anyone call him Cassie? He would if he was close to him.
He smiled at that before his thoughts continued.
Did Cassidy ever laugh?
Xander realized he’d never once seen him smile.
I can make him smile if he let me.
He stared out of the window at the passing city lights, as another thought hit.
He didn’t even know if Cassidy was gay.
The way Cassidy stared at him sometimes, and touched him, didn’t always feel professional either. He didn’t watch him with casual indifference the way straight men did other men.
No, Cassidy gazed at him for long moments at a time.
Since coming out publicly, Xander hadn’t shown interest in anybody despite his publicist begging him to start dating—preferably another actor.
It was better for optics, she said. Increased publicity. Bigger headlines.
His no had been firm.
He refused to turn his brand new, fragile personal life into a media circus show. For now, he was happy just being out. But late at night—in his empty house—he ate alone, watched television alone, and fell asleep the same way. It would be nice to lay his head on somebody’s chest and just…relax.
Xander stared at Cassidy’s card, brushing his thumb over the matte black cardstock.
He wished Cassidy had social media or something.
He wanted to see pictures of him outside of work. Vacation photos. Outings. Hobbies.
Instead he was a complete mystery, and somehow that made him even more attractive.
He knew Cassidy was older than him…much older probably.
But Xander didn’t think of himself as immature either, or he’d hate if Cassidy saw him as some vulnerable kid. He was a superstar even though he didn’t live like one.
His house was modest size, not a mansion hanging off the side of a cliff. He drove a Ford truck. Wore simple clothes. Never cared about gaudy jewelry or throwing champagne around at parties. He hated clubs and crowds and refused to pretend he didn’t.
But quiet and loneliness were starting to feel a bit too similar.
The SUV curved onto the rounded driveway leading toward his house.
The guards assigned to his property were sitting in the Adirondack chairs across his wraparound porch scrolling on their phones.
Not patrolling, or watching, just sitting there.
“What the hell…?” he muttered.
The truck stopped, and the guards got up, but instead of approaching his door, they walked toward the driver side.
“You relieving us?” one asked.
The driver shrugged. “Weren’t supposed to, but if you wanna go, I can stay. I need the extra hours.”
Xander blinked at them.
Were they serious?
Instead of focusing on guarding, they were acting like exhausted warehouse workers trading shifts.
A hollow feeling settled in his chest. None of them wanted this assignment. The studio had forced it on them. Now, he’d become a burden nobody wanted to bear.
Xander climbed out without saying anything and walked inside the house.
The moment the door shut behind him, he locked the knob and both bolts, then stood there in silence.
Maybe he needed real bodyguards, professional ones.
Not exhausted men collecting overtime while staring at their phones.
He leaned his head against the door and closed his eyes.
The truth was simple.
If he could’ve chosen anybody to stand between him and the world, he would’ve chosen Cassidy.
But he wasn’t an option.
…in any capacity.
Xander
By the time Xander finished dinner, he was so full he could barely move.
The butter noodles sat heavy in his stomach along with the two sautéed chicken breasts.
He shouldn’t’ve eaten both, but the first piece had tasted too good to leave the second, especially after not eating all day.
Now he regretted it.
He leaned against the kitchen island with one hand over his stomach and groaned.
“Good job, Lane,” he muttered. “Real disciplined.”
He was supposed to be shedding a little weight, not for appearance, but just trying to live healthier. Nothing dramatic. He wasn’t about to become a vegetarian or take some prescription shots, but he wanted to develop better habits.
The problem was he wasn’t used to sitting around the house all day. He loved to comfort eat, so getting out and moving around helped to eliminate that.
On his rare days off, he usually went somewhere. Grocery store, flea market, bookstore or the gym. Somewhere. He liked driving himself around with music playing or a good audiobook.
Now, the idea of dragging security through a damn produce aisle while they stared over his shoulder at his selections would be as miserable as it sounded.
He didn’t trust them anyway, so the next day he’d stayed home and did a bunch of senseless crap.
He’d worked on the giant jigsaw puzzle consuming half his dining table. Caught up on a few episodes of a crime series he’d started months ago, cleaned out his refrigerator and pantry, then reorganized his cabinets.
The only highlight in his day was visiting Devyn and Luke.
Now here he was back home again, stuffed full of noodles and anxiety.
He sighed as he turned off a couple of lights—too afraid to make it completely dark—and pushed himself upstairs.