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“Starfire”
A Rockstar M/M Gay Romance
David Horne
© 2018
David Horne
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is intended for Adults (ages 18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It may contain graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read this book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.
Please educate yourself on safe sex practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you’re not sure where to start, see here: http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com/safe-sex-resources/ (courtesy of Jerry Cole).
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images and are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.
Edition v1.00 (2018.04.16)
http://www.DavidHorneauthor.com
Special thanks to the following volunteer readers who helped with proofreading: Judy M., Jacy, C. Robinson, M. Demry, Trina B. and those who assisted but wished to be anonymous. Thank you so much for your support.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
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Chapter One
The last thing I want to see when I wake up is a text from my sister. She's always so excited to talk, and I love my sister, but I don't have nearly as much to say as she does. I suppose it’s my own fault for moving back to my hometown, but after living in LA for so long, I really wanted to go home and try to feel a little more grounded again. I didn't necessarily think that being in a calmer environment would help me start writing again. I just hoped it would. I thought that being away from the hustle and bustle of Hollywood would be inspiring. I was wrong.
For the last few months, every time I open my laptop and try to start planning a story, nothing happens. It doesn’t matter how many times I open my idea folder, every time I read one, I know that it would suck. I haven’t written anything since I arrived. Instead, I just sit there and stare at the computer for as long as I can until I decide that I’m going to work out or do something else. Sometimes I go see my parents, who live just down the road from me. I used to do it more, but lately, they’ve decided to ask me when I’m going to bring a man home. The “I’m so busy with projects” excuse only works for so long, especially when they know I’m trying to take a long break.
I’m sitting at my desk, hating my life, looking at my empty word processor, when my phone rings. I roll my eyes. I know I can’t send Elisa to voicemail again. She knows I’m not doing anything. I’ve discussed it with her whenever I’ve had a lapse of judgment.
“Hello?”
“Finally,” she says. I can tell how irritated she is, and I bite my tongue. I don’t want to launch into an apology.
“What’s up, kid?”
“I’m two minutes younger than you.”
“That makes me the older one.”
She sighs, but I can tell I’ve softened her a little. “Are you getting ready for tonight?”
I close my eyes. I can’t remember what tonight is supposed to be, but I know for a fact that I’m not up to it.
“You forgot,” she says. She’s not surprised, but I can hear how annoyed she is with me from her tone.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just, I have—”
“To stay home and sulk?”
“I mean…I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Of course you wouldn’t put it like that. Look, Rick, I spent a lot of money on these tickets and—”
“I didn’t ask you for that—”
“I know, but—”
“I’ll pay you back.”
She sighs heavily. “It’s not about that.”
“I know, but…”
“Rick.”
She doesn’t say anything else, so I have to justify myself. “I don’t want to go,” I say. “I’m not at all in the mood to go to a loud place with lots of sweaty people who are younger than me.”
“I think that’s exactly what you need,” she says with a giggle. “When’s the last time you got laid?”
“What?”
“Have you thought that maybe the reason you’re stuck is because you haven’t gotten off?”
I try not to laugh, but I can’t help myself. “I’m still getting off, Elisa.”
“And I’m sure you’re getting buff, but don’t you miss the company of a nice man?”
I swallow. I don’t want to talk about this. “I guess.”
“If you go to the gig with me, I’ll stop bothering you about it.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“I know. How will you deal with the terrible thing your awful sister is asking you?”
“Fine,” I say, closing my eyes. “But you have to promise that you’ll leave me alone about getting a boyfriend for, I don’t know, at least a month.”
“You come out tonight and I’ll leave you alone for a month,” she says. “You come out tonight and get laid and I’ll leave you alone for a year.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” she says. “I swear.”
I swallow. I really don’t want to go out, but I suppose that it’s just one night. I do want her to leave me alone. Maybe she can talk my parents into leaving me alone too, though I seriously doubt it.
I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Okay, fine,” I reply. “So how are we getting there?”
I can hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll text you the details. And Rick?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. You’re not going to regret this.”
With that, she hangs up. I stare at my phone, shake my head and go back to looking at the blank page on my word processor, trying my best to ignore the growing pit in my stomach.
***
Elisa only spends a little time judging what I'm wearing. She’s too excited for the concert to comment much on my appearance, but it’s clear from the way she’s looking at me that she doesn’t think I’m going to get laid. I don’t mind. It has already taken most of my mental energy to just pull myself together enough to want to go out in the first place. I brought almost all my clothes back with me, and while it's definitely more low-key than LA when it comes to wardrobe, people do get dressed up for events like these. They especially expect me to get dressed up, as if I didn't just throw on some jeans and a t-shirt every day of my life. This time, I’m adding a blazer. I look as good as I’m ever going to look to go to this damn thing, if I don’t manage to work myself into a frenzy before we even step out the door. I’m about to sit myself back down and park my ass in front of the computer, so I grab my sister’s arm and guide her toward the door.
“You’re excited,” she says and chuckles.
“To get home,” I reply. “The sooner we do this, the sooner we’ll get it out of the way.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know I have VIP passes for the after party, right?”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “Please don’t remind me.”
She opens the door and we walk out together. The last few times I've gone out, it was to go to movie-related parties. People always ask me the same questions. How do you get your ideas? Did you expect your book to be this much of a success? How is it that a man like you is still single? I have no idea what the answer to any of those questions is and I don’t like talking in front of cameras. At least when the actors are there, they're the ones who are the center of attention. Being a minor celebrity in LA is not a big deal, but I hated having to sit in front of the camera, answering questions about what my inspiration was, pulling the work apart for the public. My agent told me I can’t tell people that they have to make their own minds up about the work because it sounds condescending, but I’ve been tempted to say that every single time that an interviewer asks me what something in the book means.
Moving home, at least for a few months, was supposed to get me away from that. It was supposed to take me back to my craft and to what I love best about my work—telling stories. People have stopped asking me as many questions about that, mostly because they don’t know my book.
I don’t mind that. They’re better than the celebrity reporter questions. At least it feels like these people are genuinely interested in what I have to say. I try to stop thinking about that as we go downstairs and get into the taxi. My sister moves over to let me in and I sit down next to her, saying nothing. She’s on her phone.
I think she’s texting friends to arrange the night, but she grabs my hand and smiles a
t me when I look up at her. “It’s going to be great,” she says. “I promise.”
I roll my eyes, but I smile back at her, though it takes a lot out of me. It’s the first time I notice that I haven’t smiled in a while. She seems to notice it too, because she squeezes my hand before she lets go.
“I hate how hard things have been for you lately.”
I swallow and look away from her. “It’s fine, El. I’m okay.”
She sighs. She’s not going to call me out, but it’s clear that she doesn’t believe me. She lets go of my hand, takes a deep breath and then looks right at my face. From the corner of my eye, I can see that she’s smiling. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s party!”
Chapter Two
It's been a long time since I've been to a concert. I think my last one was when I was a teenager, going out with this guy whose face I loved but whose name I can barely remember. Maybe it was Jonah. Maybe it was Jones. It could have been John. I honestly have no idea. The concert was fun, but what I remember the most was where we went afterwards. We drove to a 24-hour diner and had milkshakes. We kissed in the car until a police officer shined a flashlight into the car while we were on top of each other.
He never called me again, or maybe I never called him. We had fun, but I think both of us knew that we were intoxicated and a bit giddy from the night, and neither one of us wanted to commit to having a boyfriend. What I didn’t remember was the long lines to get inside or the fact that we have to wait over forty minutes just to get a stamp on the back of our hands. My sister seems to be having a great time, but being around all these people is already making me nervous. Everyone smiles and looks young and amazing. I look decidedly out of place with what I’m wearing, with what I’m doing. My sister doesn’t like to think that I’m doing anything wrong, but my sister is often wrong, and I’m seriously considering making a run for the door and getting a taxi back to my apartment.
Elisa has always been able to read my mind—I’m convinced that twin powers are real—and she grabs my wrist before I can turn away and make a run for it.
“Stay,” she says. I roll my eyes, but I’m willing to admit defeat.
I drop my hand to my side and continue in the line to get into the venue. The security guard pats me down and Elisa winks at me. He’s cute, but I still want to slap her. I settle instead for winking at her and saying nothing else.
She did get good tickets. We’re ushered through until we’re in the VIP section, right in front of the stage. There are a lot of people here and I’m stuck between my sister, which I don’t mind so much, and a teenage girl who smells like she’s bathed in strawberry-scented moisturizer. We’re up near the stage, where it’s standing room only and there’s absolutely no way that I can get out of here anymore.
I’m already so tired of being here. I want to go home, but I know I wouldn’t be doing anything else at home other than just sitting in front of my computer, the same way that I normally do and hating myself for not being able to come up with any words. We’re waiting for a little while, not saying anything to each other—mostly because there’s too much noise, people are talking too much and it would be thoroughly pointless—when the supporting act comes on. It’s a guy I’ve never heard of before and it seems like many people feel the same way because he gets a lukewarm reception at best. He’s not a bad entertainer, though, and halfway into his set, I’m finally starting to forget that I hate that I’m here.
The mainliner is running late—(when are they not?)—so the opening act stays for a bit. His name is Quinn Terrance and he keeps saying it after he finishes a song, tapping his guitar to emphasize it. I wonder if that’s part of his stage name. If when someone talks about him, they’re supposed to tap on something once they finish saying his name. I don’t have too much time to ponder it because he leaves, this time bowing to mild applause, and the next ten minutes are spent discussing the quality of his music with my sister. The lights dim when the headliner comes on, but the thunderous applause and cheers are enough to clue me in.
I look up, waiting to see someone who is made up, looking beautiful, but obviously manufactured. Instead, I set my gaze on the most gorgeous man I've ever seen in my life. Sure, he's wearing leather pants and his eyes are framed with glittery eyeshadow and liquid eyeliner, but something about him is instantly, disarmingly authentic. His hair goes all the way down to his shoulders in waves, though it’s clearly been relaxed. His skin is dark and it looks cooler under the spotlight. I can’t see his eyes that well from where I’m standing, but I think they're dark. I can’t see the color, but I can see their shape—they’re gorgeous, huge and wide.
He looks down at the crowd and for a second. There’s something in his expression that I can’t read. He's doing his job, so he's probably just acting. But for just for a split second, as he’s looking down at the crowd, I think I see some hesitation in his expression. Then a smile spreads across his face and the light gets brighter.
“Hello, Terryville! I’m Jake Starfire,” he says, his voice deep and confident. He looks around and lifts his arms up. “Are you ready to party?”
People scream and whoop. I just watch him. Someone hands him a guitar, he picks it up, puts the strap over his shoulder and starts playing. I’m enjoying the music, but mostly, I’m just watching his face. He looks like he has transformed. He seemed nervous before, but now he’s having fun. I can tell that he’s doing his job, but he’s also greatly enjoying this, which makes it a joy to watch him. He’s an incredible performer and I love staring at his face as he edges closer to the mic. I watch him for the entire show, not even looking at the other musicians on the stage. By the time the lights go off and he walks offstage before the encore, I’m completely enamored. I’d heard his music before, of course, because I wouldn’t have come out to see an artist I had never heard before and put myself through this torture, but I hadn’t expected him to be as good as he was. It was transformative. This gorgeous man in front of me is clearly hard-working and loves what he’s doing, but for a split second, I could tell that he was afraid. I wonder if I’m afraid too. I don’t have a huge audience to perform for—not like this, anyway—so I don’t think I have nearly as good a reason to be afraid as he does. Still, I didn’t choose to make my career something where I had to stand in front of hundreds, maybe thousands of people. I’m thinking about that when Elisa grabs my hand and tells me that we’re going backstage. I hadn’t even realized that the show was truly over until I feel her tugging on my arm.
“Come on,” she says. “We have backstage passes.”
I roll my eyes. I let her guide me to the back, through the crowd of people, but I make sure that I’m audibly grumbling so that she can hear my discontent. I’m not excited to go back there and meet this guy, partly because I’m sure that there’s going to be a ton of people there and I want to go home and recharge my batteries and partly because, well, I’m sure he’s going to spoil it for me.
Right now, he’s just a gorgeous, perfect entertainer. If I sit down to talk to him, he's surely going to reveal himself as being human. I don't like the idea of that, because if he’s too human, I’m not going to be able to use him as my muse. After what happened with Phillippe, it’s clear that I need a muse. I only need to find one who isn’t so close to me, one who won’t reveal himself to be full of feelings, goals and desires. I need a fictitious one, not a human being.
Jake Starfire is the perfect one. I figure I'll greet him, and then I'll make my escape. I won't have to be there for long, and my sister will be happy that I just showed up at all and that I didn’t decide to leave at the last minute before she could meet him. I do feel better, and I want to thank her later. I could thank her right now, if I wanted to, I suppose, but she ushers me into this small, narrow space, which is as tiny as it is overcrowded and soon we’re walking down a hallway. There are a lot of people standing around with clipboards and microphones on their head. A half-open door takes us out into a small room. It looks like it might be a trailer, which is connected to the hallway. It seems like they've done something similar to the way a person might board a plane in an airport, hiding the workers from the crowd and connecting attendees with the VIP room through the use of a camouflaged tunnel. It's clever, though I think it might be a fire hazard when it’s out in the open like this. I'm not going to talk to anyone about that, because what could I possibly say? I'm just a writer and they’re event planners. No one's going to listen to me and I like to believe they have some idea of what they are doing.