5. Five

I was starting to believe all those muscles were for show. Church didn't lift a finger to help me as I carried all my heavy luggage inside and up the stairs to the loft room he'd assigned me. He just sat on the porch with his cookies and tea, looking all smug.

It made me want to teach him a lesson, preferably naked. If he wasn't going to look sexy carrying my shit, the least he could do was look sexy bent over for me. And damn if I didn't think he would.

I doubted he'd let me, though, even if I somehow magically convinced him to sleep with me. Guys like Church tended to have a touch of toxic masculinity going on and acted like bottoming for another guy was a crime. Or at least, an insult whenever I'd suggested it. My tastes in men had always veered more toward muscle bears than himbos, but I had to settle for what I could get. Quietly.

Thanks to my agent and my contract, I was still solidly in the closet until recently. They felt that if I came out as bisexual, people would start to see After Atom as a queer band. They worried it'd hurt sales and suggested strongly that I be seen with women, but keep my hookups with men on the down low .

I didn't think it would be a big deal when I brought it up in that interview with In Character , but they went full ham with it, photoshopping me in front of the bi flag for the cover. Even the pull quotes were about me being bisexual and not about my music, or who I was. They reduced me to nothing but my sexuality, and I was pissed about it.

Sam had been on damage control ever since the news hit about a week ago. I didn't want to deal with it, so I did what I always did when shit hit the fan. I called every escort service in the area and threw a party where I got drunk enough I didn't care what people thought of me.

Now that I was sober, I thought about it a lot, and I hated it. Maybe the corporate overlords were right and I should've stayed in the closet. Life was easier there.

Whatever. I had bigger problems to worry about than embracing my queer identity or not.

Like the big British bear making dinner for me in the kitchen.

After getting all sweaty bringing in my stuff, I took a shower. Despite pulling out all the stops in rapid detox, I was still feeling awful. Everything hurt, and carrying all that heavy shit didn't help. My hands wouldn't stop trembling either. It felt like my skeleton was vibrating every time I had to sit still. The urge to move around was driving me up the wall. How was I supposed to function like that?

There was only one bathroom, and it was painfully small. I tried to imagine Church's giant body crammed into that tiny bathtub and for some reason, it was hot as sin. I was starting to wonder if I had some kind of size kink, except it wasn't at all related to the size of his cock.

Although, come to think of it, if that thing were proportional, it had to be massive .

Nice , I thought, but not my primary interest in men. I was unabashedly an ass guy, and Church had one very nice, round ass that I'd love to bury my face in.

It was the personality that was the problem. The guy had a serious stick up his ass, one I was contemplating how to dislodge.

Easy, Dante. You don't even know if he's into men . I finished shaving and splashed cold water on my face. It didn't do a damn thing to settle down the steel rod my dick had turned into. Jacking off was going to get tricky since my bedroom didn't have a door, and Mr. Protecto-bot insisted on doing frequent visual checks for my well-being. We needed to have a talk about boundaries.

Or maybe we didn't. It might not be so bad if he caught me in the act. At least then I'd know if he was into dick or not.

God, please let him be some flavor of queer like me , I thought and finished toweling off.

There was this nagging thought in the back of my head that I should lay off and not make a move, even if it was all in good fun. What if I kept hitting on him and he turned out to be a homophobe? Then at least I'd know, right?

A knock on the door made me jump, but it was only Church with one of his stupid fifteen-minute checks. "All good, Mr. Deluca?"

"God dammit, I told you it's Dante!" I yanked open the door. "Dante, Dante, Dante!"

He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself. His eyes widened before he rapidly turned his head away, a swath of bright pink spreading over his nose and cheeks.

Oh my God. Was he blushing? Could he get any more irresistible?

Church cleared his throat. "You seem to have forgotten your pants, Dante. "

"I didn't forget them." I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist, more for him than me. I grew up with five brothers in a two bed, one bath house in west L.A. and then lived on a tour bus for part of the year. Nudity was not something I'd ever be embarrassed about, especially my own. I looked good. Why should I be embarrassed about a smoking hot body?

But Church—grumpy, proper Church—must've been raised differently.

"You don't need to check on me every fifteen minutes!" I slid past him toward the stairs. Dammit, I'd left my change of clothes upstairs.

"And you shouldn't go streaking through the house," he admonished, more seriously. "Is this how you behave elsewhere? What if some reporter sees you? Do you want your nude pictures all over the internet?"

I stopped at the bottom stair with a sigh and turned around. "You're either dense as a brick or living under a rock, dude. My nudes are all over the internet. I'm the one who leaked them a year ago. And I don't care."

He looked horrified. "How can you not care?"

"I'm a celebrity, man. Nude leaks happen to everyone." I ran my fingers through my damp hair and looked away. "But if you really want to know, some dickhead tried to blackmail me when After Atom first went big. The lawyers wanted me to write a check, but screw that. No scandal if I leaked the photos myself, and he couldn't hold it over me anymore."

"Don't you have any shame?"

I grunted. "Why? What good does shame do?" I pounded a fist against my chest. "I am who I am, baby. Take it or leave it." I turned to go .

Church's hand closed around mine. I turned around, staring down at my regular sized hand engulfed in his giant fingers. The sight made me want to melt.

"This blackmailer," Church started, "is he still an issue?"

I shrugged. "I'm not even allowed to read my own fan mail anymore, so how would I know?"

His frown deepened. "That must be difficult."

Was that empathy? From Church? Maybe there was a human under all those gorgeous muscles after all. "You have guarded celebrities before, right?"

He stood up straighter. "I've guarded everyone from diplomats to housewives. You're not the first famous person under my care."

Under my care . I liked that phrase, maybe a little too much. I cleared my throat. "Well, were you this dedicated to their safety, or is this just something special you're doing for me? Because as often as you're checking in, it's getting a little overwhelming. And I bet it's exhausting for you. I get you want to be vigilant, but dude… We're in the middle of fucking nowhere. Where am I gonna go?"

"The woods?"

"I was yanking your chain earlier, man. You were right. I wouldn't last an hour out there, okay? I'm not going to run. Dealing with my shit is hard enough without you up my ass every fifteen minutes. So back off a little, huh?"

"I can go to hourly checks if that'd make you more comfortable," he offered.

I would've preferred he hung around just out of sight like Orlando used to, but Church wasn't Orlando. It was less than ideal, but I'd live with it. "Yeah, okay. I guess. Just…don't bother me while I'm in my room, okay? Give me that much space, would you?"

"Of course, Mr. De…I mean, Dante."

"That's more like it." I shot a set of finger guns at him and trotted up the stairs to get dressed.

It smelled heavenly up there. It'd smelled good downstairs, but whatever he was cooking had wafted up the stairs and settled in the loft to make my mouth water.

"What are you making for dinner?" I shouted as I buckled my jeans.

"It's already made and cooling on the counter whenever you're hungry." There was a slight pause. "Dante?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you be all right if I step out to check the perimeter?"

I chuckled to myself. He was so damn overprotective. It'd be cute if it wasn't so smothering. "As long as the bear skin rug doesn't get me, yeah."

"I'll be back in an hour," he promised.

I waited for the door to shut behind him before going back downstairs. It turned out he'd made shepherd's pie. I hadn't had one of those since I was little.

Growing up, mom made a lot of casseroles. It wasn't until I was older that I realized she was always throwing pasta or rice in every meal to make it stretch further. I never could've fathomed I'd wind up as one of the most successful musical artists of all time, rich enough that I'd bought my mom and each of my siblings a nice house to live in. Mom had worked three jobs to take care of me. I was going to make damn sure she never had to work another day in her life.

My chest ached as I sat in front of that shepherd's pie thinking about my family. When was the last time I'd called my mom or my brothers? I was always sending them money, but I couldn't remember the last holiday we'd all been together, or the last time I'd just spent a day chilling with them. I missed that .

But then I remembered the way the paparazzi hounded me everywhere I went. I didn't want to subject the rest of my family to that. They shouldn't have to put up with cameras and microphones in their faces just because I wanted to have Sunday dinner with them.

I could call or text, but it wasn't the same. They were better off forgetting all about me and going about their lives like I'd died and left them a fortune. That was easier for all of us.

They only know me through the news headlines now . I cringed at the thought of what the papers said about me. God, they must've thought I was a total screw up.

And they were right. I really need to focus on getting my head on straight instead of some unattainable fantasy of a man.

I scooped up a forkful of shepherd's pie and blew the steam off before shoving it in my mouth and immediately letting out a delighted moan. The man can cook, and he's got a perfect ass? I leaned on my arm and scooped up another bite. Not daydreaming about him is asking for the impossible.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out, smiling when I saw the text from Jake.

Jake

Settling in?

Yeah. I guess Ohio's not that bad.

Jake

It totally is.

Okay, so it is. But…

I left the three dots dancing on the screen as I decided how to explain my obsession with my new bodyguard to my best friend.

At least the view of my new bodyguard is nice.

Jake

Is he hot?

Big, beefy, and British

Jake

LMAO. You're so fucked.

Let's hope so. I saw him blush earlier and almost died.

Jake

Pics?

Fuck no. He's mine. Get your own fantasy man.

Or sorry… woman. I forgot you were boring and straight.

Jake

Just ‘cause I'm straight doesn't make me boring. I like spice.

The Spice Girls don't count as spice.

Jake

Ok, but they're all still hot.

Only if you've got mommy issues.

Jake

Seriously though. How are you doing?

I chewed on my bottom lip and stared at the screen, not sure how to answer. The truth was…complicated. I wasn't exactly jonesing for a drink or a pill twenty-four seven, but I still wasn't convinced I was better off without all that. Being drunk and high was like living life on easy mode. Who wouldn't want that?

But I couldn't tell my best friend the truth. He didn't want to hear that. He wanted to hear that I was okay, that I was getting better, and that I'd be back soon.

All good, man. Counting down the days.

Jake

Me too. It's not the same here without you.

I lowered the phone and cast a longing glance out the window. I could just barely see Church pacing in the trees. I couldn't lose sight of why I was there, even if he was a nice distraction.

I texted Jake back:

Same bro. See you in a month.