His charger was still plugged into the socket in his bedroom, but Drew didn’t want to find out about whatever shitstorm had blown through his life in bed. He retrieved the charger and relocated to the living room.
And then he settled down with his coffee and his phone and steeled himself for the worst.
Leigh’s message popped up at the top of the list. It was as good a place to start as any, but her first message was just a URL—it didn’t tell him anything. And the next one hardly enlightened him.Is this legit?
One way to find out. Drew clicked the link.
Hollywood Hottie Off the Market?
Well, that was a pretty good hint. The accompanying picture filled in any remaining blanks Drew might’ve had—a shot of him and Steve slow-dancing by the jellyfish exhibit. Drew’s face hid most of Steve’s, but between the lighting and the dreamy expression on Drew’s face, it wasn’t hard to peg this as a date, and one that was going well.
Could Hollywood heartthrob Drew Beaumont be trading bachelorhood for domestic bliss? Though Beaumont is notorious for flying solo, sources say he and his date were rarely apart at last month’s benefit dinner. But who is the man with the charm to turn a party of one into a slow dance for two? We don’t know yet, but he must be one lucky guy. Whoever he is, the hearts of guys and girls all over the world are breaking. Looks like Drew Beaumont is officially off the market.
Okay. That could be worse. It didn’t out Steve by name, make lewd insinuations, or contain any blatant misinformation, at least. Though Drew was annoyed the shot had leaked, since the event was supposed to have been professional photography only, he could hardly make a fuss considering what one could do with a cell phone camera these days.
At least it hadn’t come out right after their date.
He closed the window before he could read any of the comments. Then he exhaled slowly and opened a new message to Leigh.You told me to take someone else!he said. And:Yes, it’s legit. New, though.
He didn’t bother texting any other details. He’d be hearing from her later, potentially at a pitch only dogs could understand.
Two of the missed calls and three of the text messages were from Alan, his publicist. The texts saidYou’re supposed to tell me these thingsandDo I need to do damage controlandCall me!Drew looked at the time stamp on the messages—last night when he and Steve were otherwise occupied—and thanked himself for getting caught up in Steve and leaving his phone in his pants.
Drew could return that call later, after more coffee and maybe breakfast or a nice lobotomy.
Hilary’s text saidAs Steve’s friend: Be good to him or I will end you.As your agent: At least this will drum up press for the movie!
“Mercenary,” Drew grumbled, not sure if he was afraid or impressed. Maybe both.
By the time he got down to the last messages, he was mostly happy with how things had gone. But all that was up in the air now because the last texts—and the three missed calls not from his publicist—were from his mother.
You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone. Is this photoshopped?
Five minutes later:I wish you had told us. Will we get to meet him?
And seventeen minutes after that:We just want you to be happy, sweetheart.
Drew set the phone on the end table and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He wasn’t going to play the poor-little-celebrity card. He’d signed up for the paparazzi being in his business more or less day in and day out. It came with the territory, and he accepted that. But Steve had never wanted to be recognizable, and it was inevitable now that his privacy would be invaded too.
Unless Steve broke up with him because he didn’t want this kind of pressure or scrutiny. Drew wouldn’t blame him. What a mess.
More than anything, the timing sucked. He should have been spending his morning coffee time debating ways to lure Steve back to bed, or the hot tub. They should get to spend the whole day shutting out the world and enjoying each other’s company, playing with the dog, making dinner.
Could Hollywood heartthrob Drew Beaumont be trading bachelorhood for domestic bliss?Drew thought wryly. Apparently he could. At least if that was still on the table when Steve got home—
The door slammed open. “Don’t look at your phone!” Steve half shouted, his own cell held in one hand, Rita’s lead in the other.
Rita, unmoved, eyed him, then trotted off toward her water dish, pulling until the leash slipped from Steve’s fingers.
“Oh,” Steve said. He sagged. “Too late, huh?” Sweat dripped down the side of his face, under his arms, down his chest. Another hot day today, Drew guessed. “Sorry I’m kind of….” He gestured. “We ran home as soon as I heard. Maybe a little faster than we should’ve.”
Rita kept slurping at her bowl.
“I’m sorry,” Drew and Steve said simultaneously.
Drew blinked. “What are you sorry for?”
Steve blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It can’t be very much fun—I’m sure you’re going to have to answer questions about me now, and we haven’t talked about how to answer them yet, and….” He shrugged.