Allen had felt warm and safe, and Rick didn’t know what to do with that.
He’d wanted control for so long he didn’t know how to want anything else. He’d wanted the charts and the crowds and the feeling of being seen and the adoration that came with it. Whenit had ended, it had left an empty space inside he couldn’t tolerate. Graham had tried to shove him into a different life of being behind the scenes, doing writing and producing.
Rick’s jaw tightened. No, that wasn’t who he was. Allen was different, though. He wasn’t a stage or a number. He was real and it made Rick want him more.
Rick picked up his phone again, stared at Allen’s last message, then locked the screen and put it down. He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
He could keep the police believing the story, and he could also keep Allen. He didn’t know if he wanted Allen for Allen, or if he wanted what Allen made him feel. Either way, he knew he wanted him.
Closing his eyes, Rick pictured Allen at the table, his hands wrapped around his chai, looking at Rick like he wasn’t the washed-up pop star Graham had made him feel like.
Rick opened his eyes again. He wasn’t used to wanting something that could look back at him, but he did, and now he had to decide what to do about it.
Chapter Six
“The meeting was a fluke,” Allen told himself. A busy café and no tables. A random conversation that had only felt intense because Allen had been alone and tired. He’d gone home that night with Rick’s number in his phone and a strange feeling in his body that he couldn’t explain.
The week dragged on with calls and complaints and customers who acted as if Allen had personally ruined their lives. He did what he always did. He kept his tone calm, repeated the same sentences, took the abuse, and moved on.
At lunch, he sat in the break room with the meal he’d prepped over the weekend, and scrolled through his phone, not really looking at anything. His phone buzzed, and Allen’s heart jumped when he saw the message from Rick.
You working today?
Allen stared at the message, thumb hovering. He didn’t want to reply too fast, so he waited a minute before responding.Yeah. You?
Gym, then writing. You drinking chai?
Allen snorted quietly and typed back. It’s not a personality trait. It’s a drink I like.
I think it is.
Allen rolled his eyes, but didn’t stop himself from smiling.
He met Jamie, Mark, and Connor at the same café after work. This time they were actually there, already seated at the back table. Allen walked over with his chai and slid into his chair, trying to act normal.
Jamie took one look at him and narrowed his eyes. “Alright. What’s up with you?”
Allen blinked. “Nothing.”
Connor snorted. “That’s not true.”
“You’re smiling.” Mark leaned forward slightly.
Allen’s cheeks heated up. He tried to straighten his face and failed. “I’m not.”
Jamie pointed at him. “You are and you’ve been on your phone all week.”
Allen stared. “How would you know that?”
“Because you’ve messaged me back in thirty seconds every time for the last ten years,” Jamie said. “This week you’ve been taking five minutes like you’re busy.”
Allen opened his mouth, then shut it again. He hated that they knew him that well. “I don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled as he took a sip of his drink.
Connor watched him, expression sharpening as he grinned. “Someone.”
Allen exhaled and rubbed his thumb along the edge of his cup. “It’s not… serious.”
Mark smiled slightly. “But it’s someone.”
