Another thrill shot up Jameson’s spine as he thought about all the ways he would actually love for Gray to get him.
Instead of indulging those thoughts, he settled back against the bench. “What do your friends do?” he asked in an attempt to change the subject. “Back in Albany?”
Gray plopped down on the bench beside him. “They run a mechanic shop and pull some odd jobs.”
“Odd jobs?”
Gray seemed to think a minute, rubbing his hand over his chin. “You know…” he said vaguely. “We used to get up to trouble and mess around a lot. Now my uncle’s got me working for his agency, and I’m thinking security might be my future.”
Jameson noticed the way he glossed over the question but didn’t ask. Considering the circumstances, it was only fair Gray have some privacy of his own. “You’re good at your job,” Jameson said. “I do feel safer, just having you here.”
Which was true, even though his heartrate kept spiking, like he was taking some risk just by talking to Gray.
“Thanks,” Gray grunted.
Jameson wasn’t sure what Gray meant, that he used to get up to a lot of trouble. It didn’t really bother him, though. He’d always wanted to act out more and to enjoy the kinds of fun that a lot of the other young actors enjoyed, but the weight of responsibility had stopped him. He didn’t have parents to come and clean up his mess. He just had himself, for better or worse, and things like wild Hollywood parties or exciting affairs or even simply dating had never seemed to be risks worth taking.
“Wait a second,” Gray said, holding his hand straight out. There were a few feet between them on either side of the bench, but when he leaned forward, Jameson still felt the pull of Gray’s body, the space closing with the gesture. “Do you hear that?”
Jameson turned his attention to the song. It was instantly recognizable, and he found the lyrics swirling through his memory, even though he didn’t recognize the musician. “Who is this?” he asked.
“Who is this?” Gray repeated the question like he was shocked. “It’s The Pretenders! This is, like, perfect campfire singing music.” He leaned forward on the bench again, inching a little closer, then dropped his voice, more like he was talking the lyrics than singing along. “So if you’re mad, get mad. Don’t hold it all inside…”
Jameson laughed, then turned his eyes back to the fire. “I recognize it,” he said, resisting the urge to sing, although he knew it would feel so good. His eyes locked on the flames, he let himself tap his foot, not wanting to leave Gray totally stranded. “I think we used it on theWest Townsoundtrack, during the second season.”
“It’s a fucking classic,” Gray said, then burst into song for just a minute. “Let me come along… ‘cause even if you’re wrong…” His singing voice had a low rumble to it, but still enough sway and bounce that it carried Gray’s energy. He was right that it wasn’t exactly a good singing voice, but somehow, it was perfect, too.
Jameson turned, a smile still tugging his cheeks up. At what was either the exact wrong moment or the exact right moment, he caught Gray’s eye, and the chorus to the song returned.
“I’ll stand by you,” Jameson sang softly, his voice dancing under his breath.
“I’ll stand by you!” Gray hooted at the fire, and they both burst into laughter.
“Won’t let nobody hurt you…” Jameson hummed, and finally, his last defenses fell, and he started to sing. He and Gray joined together, the song spilling out as the chorus repeated, and the radio crackled with static. Jameson had never bothered to figure out a singing voice for his Justin Sweet persona, neither of his signature roles having called for it. Instead, when he sang along with Gray, it was his natural voice that rang out, bouncing along with the music and then dissolving into laughter when the song reached its triumphant end.
“See?” Gray laughed. “You’ve got the perfect firepit for singing back here.”
“I guess so,” Jameson said, a blush pinking his cheeks. He was warm and tingling all over. Even more tingles than he usually felt after he sang a duet with Dee, Jameson realized.
Gray’s smile widened, and Jameson felt the thud of his heart behind his ribs. He wanted desperately to be in another universe, one where he could reach out right then and touch his security guard, to feel the dark hairs that curled on the back of his arms or taste his sweat.
“You have a beautiful voice,” Gray said. “Just like I thought. Do you have anyone special to sing to up there in the mansion?”
The fire snapped, and Pickles whined. The warm feeling faded, and Jameson remembered how chilly it was outside. He pulled his jacket a little tighter, the question sitting painfully in the bare night.
And that, he realized, was the reason he couldn’t let Gray in just a little. Dee was just being naïve when she suggested that. Because the second they started to connect, Gray would turn, and he would ask a question that Jameson couldn’t answer.
Not honestly, anyway. And by the fire, he knew that lying wasn’t an option.
Jameson fixed a steady smile on his face. It felt painful to give a scripted response, but he didn’t know what else to say. “I’m taking time to myself right now,” he said, “and not seeing anyone special. After seven busy years in Hollywood, I’m enjoying the quiet and seeing some old friends.”
Gray smiled back, but from the sting in his dark eyes, Jameson knew something had changed. It wasn’t surprising. A canned answer like that was appropriate for a reporter at the gate, but Gray suddenly felt like much more than that.
Anyway, Gray was too clever, too alert for a lie to sneak past him, and his wince only proved that he knew Jameson was withholding the truth.
“Right,” Gray said. “The compliment stands, either way. You really got a voice there, you know?”
Jameson nodded softly. “Thanks.” He lifted his glass, then finished the last of the wine. Having to shield himself from Gray had spoiled his mood, like the fantasies had turned to smoke right in front of them. “I should probably turn in for the night.”
