Page 4 of Fame and Obsession

“So I’ve been told.”

There’s an awkward silence. We both open our mouths to speak at the same time when a familiar, inebriated voice rings out.

“Baby doll, I’ve been looking for you. You promised me a drink.”

Gage Harlow has impeccably inconvenient timing. We’ve only been living together five months, but he’s situated himself into my life and home like he owns them both.

He’s quickly become my rock, and I cling to him. However, right now, I need to get rid of him so I can return to the sex god behind me.

He taps his foot. “I’m not getting any younger, here.”

Holding up a finger behind me, I turn my focus toward my roommate. “Want to tell me why you ditched me for the last hour?”

“Because it’s not my job to interview lyrical douche bags in the social mecca of the free world. I’m allowed to have fun, Pheebs.”

I lean in close while biting my lower lip. “I’m fighting off octopus-hands because you talked me into wearing hooker heels.”

“The New York club scene isn’t sensible shoe domain.” Gage smirks as floppy chin-length blond hair escapes from behind his ear and dusts over his right eye. “Besides, you could use a few testicles in your life.”

“That would be tentacles.” Stifling a laugh, I gesture to my dress. “I look like I should be in Times Square passing out hotel keys.”

It’s not an exaggeration. The outfit he insisted I wear has a hem somewhere between flirtatious and gynecological exam.

He raises an eyebrow. “For the love of God, Pheebs, you need to loosen up. You’re so tight-assed, if you don’t chill, you’re going to crap a diamond by the end of the night.”

A wave of laughter overtakes me, and I givee him a peck on the cheek. “Fine, Club Whore Barbie stays.”

Hooking his arm through mine, he nods toward a table of men who’ve been watching our entire conversation. “There might be one for you in there somewhere, but most are for me.”

I pinch his side. “You’re such a slut.” Out of the corner of my eye, a gathering line of females catch my attention. I point them out, anxious to get rid of him and continue the conversation he’d interrupted. “You go ahead. I want to check my makeup.”

Gage squeezes my hand, oblivious to the sinfully gorgeous man standing behind us. “You okay, Phoebe?”

“Yeah.” I nod toward the table of watchful eyes. “Go get ’em, killer.” Once Gage makes his way toward his fan club, I take a steady breath and turned my attention back to my rescuer, only to be met with a vacant space.

My heart plummets, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Dejected, I wander toward the columns. The night had proven to be a smashing success. I’ve gotten manhandled by a drunk pop star, made out with a gorgeous stranger who took off the moment my back was turned, and now I’m standing a mile deep in line for a three-stalled bathroom.

Yep, the night is one big “up yours.”

While scanning the club for another bathroom, my gaze lands on a tiny iron spiral staircase. I’m usually not a rule breaker, but when in Rome…

Besides, whatever is up there has to have shorter lines.

Fluffing the back of my hair, I take the first tentative step. My lips tingle, and inexplicably, my heart speeds up.

I can feel eyes on me.

Two

Julian

I send security away from the stairs before her hand even touches the railing.

Even though she’s obviously out of her element, it’s intriguing as a hell to watch her prance around in that outfit. Hell, if she bent forward any more, I’d seriously risk embarrassing myself. Just that hair fluffing thing she did has caused a raging case of blue balls.

Jesus. Since when does a girl fixing her hair flagpole my dick?

Apparently, since I made out with a complete stranger.

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