I laugh. “Probably.”
Gabriel jumps back onto the stage and finds the mic. “This won’t make sense to most of you,” he says, still smiling at me, “but I asked my husband to marry me, and he said yes.”
Laughter and applause work through the crowd. I can tell everyone is still confused, but Gabriel is so charming, he makes it work. Smoothly, he transitions into his last song, a cover of an old classic that totally brings the house down.
Alyssa grabs my arm, smiling at me. “You’re not going to kill me for okaying this? I just remembered how much it meant to you that Gabriel wrote you love songs.”
I pull her into a hug. “No. It’s perfect. It shouldn’t be, but it is.”
When he finishes the song, Gabriel accepts the long applause. The second he can, though, he pulls me to the stage with him. We kiss as another round of applause goes through the venue, and then my fiancé takes my hand and pulls me backstage.
“Thanks for being my man,” he says.
I smile as I pull him into a deeper kiss. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
The end
But for the record…
SPENCER
I walk into the poker room at the back of the casino. My agent and a couple of his close friends are already lost in the focus of a game, and I make my eyes across the rest of the small crowd of high-rollers.
One night in Vegas. I nearly regret letting my agent pressure me into attending this bachelor party, but what could go wrong? It’s been months since I did anything social, and I promised Alyssa I’d try to have a little fun.
“Spencer?”
I turn, surprised to see Everett Navarro standing before me. I’m so accustomed to avoiding the only top-ranked gay tennis player. It’s confusing to see him.
Onlyoutgay tennis player, I correct myself.
“Everett.” I offer him my hand, tensing slightly. “Good to see you.”
He nods to one of the other tables. “I’m playing poker with some friends. Care to join us?”
I gesture to my agent’s table. “Bachelor party,” I say apologetically. “But thanks for the invite.”
A long-haired man with striking features approaches. He’s wearing a confident smile and an old t-shirt, and when he hands a cocktail to Everett, I notice the chipped black polish on his fingernails.
Messy.
“Whiskey soda,” he says to Everett and turns his hazel eyes to me. “Hello.”
“This is Spencer Wilchins,” Everett says. “One of the top players on the pro circuit. And Gabriel Drako, rock star and new friend.”
It takes me a second to place the name, but then it clicks. The tattooed musician who can’t seem to go a month or two without getting his sexual exploits in the tabloids.
For someone supposedly so suave and sexy, you’d think he’d keep his hair trimmed and maybe put a little more care into his look. Who wants to be seduced by someone with chipped nails?
I shouldn’t even engage in conversation with a notoriously charming, bisexual rock star. We’re away from the prying eyes of the general public, sure, but best to make up an excuse and exit soon. “Nice to meet you,” I manage, ignoring the devilish smile on his lips. “I’m afraid I don’t really follow rock music.”
Gabriel shrugs, unfazed. “Maybe I’ll come out with something new and change your mind.”
A deep voice calls out from across the room. “Come on! Are there even aces in this deck?”
Everett smiles. “Sounds like I’m missing my game. If you’ll excuse me.”
Gabriel looks in the direction Everett walks, and probably because I’m two cocktails into this night, my usual limit, I steal a quick glance up and down his body.
