Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103008 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“Okay, seriously. What kind of ‘security firm’ does Gideon’s cousin run?”
I’m met with more laughter.
Chapter Six
Brix
This job is the easiest money I’ve ever made. I may have underestimated the kind of fandom that follows Harley around, but with him about to cut a new album, his time has been spent at home either writing, doing vocal exercises with his coach, or working out with his personal trainer.
I’ve vetted each and every one of his entourage even though Gideon would have already done the same, but I know how to dig deeper than basic background checks.
Take Harley’s trainer, Cooper, for instance. The biggest crime in his life is his porn subscriptions. Every time he walks into the house, I have to bite back the urge to tell him he can do better than the cheap, amateur stuff he pays for. Especially when you can find that amateur crap for free.
Words of advice: never skimp on good porn. It’s what gets you through long and lonely months.
While snooping around on the internet, I might have discovered a very interesting fan theory out there about Harley.
Rumor has it, before he was engaged to Evah, he was involved with a guy named Jay from some band called Radioactive. I’ve never heard of them, but as we’ve already established, I’ve lived under a rock for ten years.
The song “Confusion,” a song they wrote together, is totally a breakup song if I’ve ever heard one. I also remember Harley saying the love of his life left him while on tour, and Eleven and Radioactive did two world tours together.
I’ve fallen down an internet rabbit hole of Eleven fandom, and I’ve barely come up for air in a week.
Today’s string of sites went from the Radioactive fan website where videos of the band from concerts all over the world are posted, to clicking a link a fan shared where it was a video of Harley and this Jay guy singing a duet of “Tennessee Whiskey,” to finding more links to more fan blogs where there are photos of Harley and Jay eyeing each other or being in the background during interviews. Always together. Always giving each other knowing smirks.
Apparently.
I dunno. All I see is two musicians in the same space as one another. It’s not really a coincidence or breaking news considering Radioactive was Eleven’s opening act for two years.
People see what they want to, which is probably why I’ve been scouring the internet trying to figure out what’s truth and what’s complete bullshit.
There’s only speculation in the media about Harley’s sexuality, but there is an endless supply of die-hard fans who are certain Harley’s gay. Or bi or pan.
With him and Evah not sharing a bed, I have to assume it’s the former.
Or maybe I’m reading into it because I want to believe it.
Harley’s playing with the melody of a song he’s trying to write on his piano right now. I watch him as if his face holds all the answers. As if the scrunch of his brow can tell me something.
He lets out a frustrated “Gah” and bangs his head on the keys, making an awful clanging noise. “I give up.”
“Maybe try a different song?”
He lifts his head and glares.
I keep my mouth shut and go back to my phone where there’s a photo of Harley and Jay smiling at each other onstage.
If it is true, his ex is gorgeous. Just like him.
There’s only one thing holding me back from putting it in the truth column, and that’s why it’s a secret.
It’s not like there haven’t been gay musicians before—there have been countless. Some of them legends. Granted, back when Freddie Mercury came out, times were not great for acceptance, but it’s different now.
I don’t understand why Harley wouldn’t come out or confirm the rumors that he’s bi.
My gaze flits between what I’m seeing on my screen and the Harley in front of me.
A balled-up piece of paper hits my head from Harley’s direction. It seems he’s picked up a new favorite hobby: taking out his writing frustrations on me. His aim is getting better, I’ll give him that. I’ll have to start swatting them away soon.
“You’re staring at me again,” he complains. “You know, we’re inside the house. I don’t think you have to be this close to me all the time. Take a break. Go make sure no one’s lurking in the backyard. Or I dunno … just stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you want to know all my secrets.”
“You have secrets?” I feign ignorance.
Harley grumbles.
“Maybe you should take a break,” I suggest. “You haven’t left the house in a week, unless Iris took you out and you guys didn’t tell me about it.”
“No, he basically spent his day giving me horrible suggestions for lyrics until I told him to go for a swim and leave me to … well, this.” Harley points to the mess he’s made on the floor. Countless discarded pieces of paper. Pens strewn everywhere.