Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
But sex with Jordan? Nights of hanging out with that one person who understands more than any other person you’ve ever met? The guy who’s supportive of you to the point of self-destruction?
That person is worth risking a career for.
“It would be a mistake,” I say. “To end us.”
“Not if it saved your franchise.”
“It’s too late for that, and even if it wasn’t, if I had to choose between you and Coby Godspeed, I’d choose you. Did I want to do the next Coby movie? Of course I did. They’re fun to work on. But is it my entire life? No. I still have this Eleven tour coming up, and that’s going to take a lot of my time, and then after that, I have a choice of anything I want to do. That’s actually exciting. Roles come and go. What we have … it could be so much more.”
Jordan still doesn’t look convinced. “What if Ben comes after me next?”
Okay, I suddenly see where he’s coming from. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t want Jordan to risk his future for me, but not because I don’t think we won’t work out. I wouldn’t want him to miss out on opportunities simply because he chose me as his partner.
“Then, I guess that’s something you need to weigh up. It’s easy to walk away from a hypothetical. Is it as easy to walk away now you know the threat is real?”
Jordan blinks at me with his lips slightly parted.
He doesn’t have an answer, and neither do I.
“How did you want to play this?” I ask, even though I’m terrified of the answer.
Jordan refuses to look at me. “I don’t know yet.”
I can’t deny the little pang in my heart that he has to think about this longer than I do, but it’s unfair of me to feel that way. Jordan’s not in the same position that I am. He’s worked hard to get where he is. He hasn’t been handed everything on a silver platter because he was a teenage pop star.
“Okay, you need some time,” I say. “That’s totally doable. Until you come to a conclusion on how this is going to unfold, we should probably go back to either keeping our distance or trying to hide it better.”
“I … uh, yeah. You’re right. I think I’ll stay at my place tonight.”
“We’ll go separately to the set?”
“I think that’s best.”
Just because I agree with him doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
I keep the hotel room for a couple more nights out of pure optimism, but after days on set where Jordan is the most professional he’s ever been since I met him, I check out of the place that has so many hot memories as well as emotional ones.
I didn’t think it would hurt this much, but the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. I think back to when Eleven got their first big break. If someone had asked me to pick between the group and them back then, it would’ve been an easy decision. Bye-bye, love, hello, fame. And that was after landing my first ever audition. I can’t imagine what it would be like for Jordan, who’s been out here for over a decade trying to make it.
After another god-awful day on set where Ben’s surly, Jordan’s distant, and my mood bounces off both of them, I head for Harley’s studio in West Hollywood, where we’re laying down our first track for the album. The next few weeks are going to be packed because after long-ass days on the set, I’ll be in the studio from 10:00 p.m. until 2:00 a.m., longer if we can’t get it right. Sleep? Who needs that.
Not that I’m sleeping well anyway.
I woke up spooning a pillow this morning—that’s how desperately I miss Jordan’s touch.
The guys are already in the recording booth when I get there. I storm past the audio engineer and producer, past Brix on the couch behind them, and don’t even greet the guys when I reach them.
I throw on my headphones, scowl, and say, “Let’s get this over with.”
Everyone stares at me for a beat before Harley signals for the engineer to hit playback. I don’t even know what I’m singing.
My brain is frazzled, I’m tired already, and this is only our first recording session. They really should’ve done this without me. They don’t need me.
“Blake, you missed your cue,” Harley says.
“Shit,” I hiss. “Okay, go again.”
“Are you okay?” Mason asks.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.”
All four of them hang up their headphones.
It’s the middle of the goddamn night, and we don’t have time for this big-brother, concerned-friend thing.
“What’s wrong?” Denver asks.
“This being queer thing isn’t easy, is it?”
Harley turns to the glass window. “Brix? We’re gonna need some coffee. For all of us.”
“We don’t need to talk about it,” I say. “I mean, still get me coffee because I’m running on fumes, but we don’t have to talk about how Jordan’s ex-boyfriend got me kicked off the new Coby movie or how he’s threatening Jordan with never working in Hollywood again if we’re seeing each other.” Fucking titsforbrains, cockwombling twatface.