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)
“And queue the homophobic haters,” Ruxs added.
“Precisely.” Tech angled the tablet so Day could see. “There’s been some heated clap back about the graphic love scenes in the movie. Fans and artists who haven’t appreciated the film getting so much recognition are growing bolder with the threats and social media attacks. Not even including the backlash from the ABR.”
Day frowned.
“The bull riders professional association,” Tech clarified.
“Since awards season started,” Free counted off on his fingers, “he’s gotten death threats, stalkers, his house was broken into, there’s a video of him being spit on, things thrown at him. And now that the movie’s sequel has been announced with a quadrupled budget, the harassment’s gone crazy.”
“This is fuckin’ ridiculous. We have to go all the way across the country and defend against gay bashing,” Ruxs grumbled. “We’re back in the damn 80s now.”
“The straw that broke the camel’s back,” Tech said, “was someone posing as a messenger to get past Studio 8’s security and ended up attacking Xander Vale’s stunt double, Devyn Frost, and his bodyguard. Both are still hospitalized.”
Free’s expression dimmed. “Xander Vale was pretty shaken up. His manager is demanding—more like threatening—the production company to keep her client safe or she’s pulling him.”
Green, who’d grown quieter the closer they got to TSA check, muttered, “Great. Y’all are dragging me onto an aluminum death trap to keep a producer from losing his superstar.”
Free scowled. “He’s actually a pretty nice guy. He’s known as a generous philanthropist, community advocate, and everyone says how humble and easy he is to work with. He’s not a diva or just a handsome face.”
Ruxs opened his mouth to say something, until the line moved a bit faster and they’d reached the front.
“Finally,” he barked. “I’ve had a birthday since I got in line.”
The TSA agent didn’t look amused. She stared at him with the dead eyes of a woman who probably felt underpaid, unappreciated, and had already heard too much bullshit complaining before eight a.m.
“ID and boarding pass.”
Ruxs handed it over with a muttered curse and moved through without issue.
His partner wasn’t so lucky.
Green
Green was not having a good fucking time.
A power-tripping TSA agent pulled his carry-on off the belt and set it aside.
Grated nerves, sharp and hot, crawled up the back of his neck.
It wasn’t enough that he was about to get on a plane—a death trap with wings—now some airport cop with latex gloves was pawing through his shit as if she was auditioning for a role on How to Catch a Smuggler.
“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked around a clenched jaw.
The agent glared, smacking on her gum, as she kept digging.
Green stood there with his fists balled at his sides. Around him, bins clattered, agents barked orders, people shuffled and argued back, babies cried, and the PA announced a gate change every few seconds.
It was all too overstimulating, and the pressure of the upcoming flight felt like invisible hands squeezing his ribs.
The agent pulled out a black metal case and held it up between two fingers with a knowing glare, as if she was sure human remains were hidden inside it.
Green exhaled through his nose. “It’s my hair clippers. Not autopsy tools.”
Beside him, Ruxs, who was incapable of not escalating a problem until it was an absolute disaster, chimed in with a straight face.
“You’re looking in the wrong place, mam. The thirty grams of cocaine is shoved up his ass.”
Free, Tech, and Day choked and gasped so hard it drew the attention of most of the people around them.
Green snapped his head around, horror and fury hitting in the same punch. “That’s not funny, Mark.”
The TSA agent’s eyes widened before she motioned over a man—who looked like a regular customer at the airport Cinnabon—wearing a starched white shirt with a polished brass nameplate, badge on his hip, and supervisor stripes on his shoulders.
He put his hands on his hips and asked with bass in his command, “Sir, I’m gonna need you to step outta line and follow me into the private room behind me?”
Green closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling as if he was about to lose his shit…after he knocked out his partner.
He opened them again, staring straight at the agent who was now only a couple of feet away.
“I’m not stepping into any goddamn room. Because if you even think of sticking something up my ass, the next place that something’s going is in your fuckin’ mouth.”
“Jesus Christ,” Day muttered, half-laughing.
He knew how hostile that sounded, but it was too late to take it back.
His nerves were already strung tighter than piano wire. Then the thought of getting violated in a side room by some Jack Black lookalike before being loaded onto a flying coffin had pushed him off the cliff he’d been dangling over.
Before the supervisor could click on his radio and call for backup, God put his big arm up, catching his attention.