Encore (Famous Book 4) Read online

  Jordan leads me to the lot, and the lights flash on … a Prius?

  “This is your car?”

  “The environment is important, Blake,” he deadpans.

  “I figured you for a Lambo or Porsche type.”

  “If I had my way, yeah, you’re probably right. But my agent’s PR person wants it to look like I care about things.”

  I snort. “When you don’t?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Jordan Brooks is so hard to figure out. He’s flirty and charismatic, but he doesn’t give anything away about himself. Like, ever. Maybe he’s been trained to be that way. The less he gives, the less there is to take out of context.

  Ever since I’ve met him and we’ve hung out a couple of times, it’s been fun but all very surface-level stuff. He doesn’t exactly scream closed off, just not very deep. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it might be contributing to why I can’t bounce off him in scenes.

  On the other hand, it’s not really him I need to be connecting with—it’s his character. If I were a good actor, I should be able to pull all that from the script, but I’m starting to think maybe my acting skills are one-note. I had criticism from playing Coby Godspeed—of course I did because opinions are like assholes: everyone has one—but the feedback was mostly positive, along with the box office numbers, so I assumed I must be a decent actor.

  Apparently not.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” I ask.

  Jordan doesn’t answer me and drives from the studio toward Sunset. I assume he’s taking me out to some hot new bar, but we’ve done that scene. I don’t see why he’d think that would help us.

  When he drives into a sketchy part of West Hollywood and pulls into a parking garage, I’m confused.

  “Where we’re going doesn’t have valet?” I ask.

  “Hell no. It’s not that type of place at all.”

  “Are we going to get mugged?”

  “You’re so sheltered. It’s adorable. We’re not famous tonight.”

  “I don’t know how that works for you, but for me, I can’t go outside and not be recognized.”

  “Oh, you’ll be recognized, but where I’m taking you, you’ll always be treated like a human first, famous second.”

  “Where is this unicorn of a place?”

  Jordan finds a parking space. “A gay bar.”

  Oh shit. My face must speak for me because Jordan doesn’t miss a beat.

  “You’re thinking about needing to call your agent, aren’t you? Are you worried about rumors of gay being contagious and you’ve caught it?” He’s mocking me, but it’s not that.

  “I don’t care what people think of me, but I’m picturing the headlines. With Eleven getting back together, I have to think how my actions affect the other guys.”

  “Are you forgetting you’re playing a gay character in a movie? This is the epitome of research for your role. Tonight, when you walk through those doors, you’re no longer Blake Monroe. You’re Madden.”

  Right. I’m Madden.

  I can do this.

  Chapter Four

  Jordan

  I purposely chose the hole-in-the-wall bar called Hole, for a reason. It’s old, it’s run-down, but the drinks are cheap, the owners are an old married couple—the cutest old dudes in all of LA—and the clientele is the most diverse I’ve ever seen in this city.

  There are the party guys who pregame at Hole before moving on to a twink bar later for half-naked, sweaty fun. There are the low-key regulars who meet up with their friends weekly. The bartenders are muscled, the servers are old-school campy drag queens, and the whole atmosphere of it is homey. There are Daddies, bears, twinks, lipstick lesbians, trans and non-binary people, and every other letter under the rainbow. From the stereotypes to complete opposites and everything in between, with one common theme among them all: acceptance.

  Back in my modeling days, I’d come here whenever I wanted to feel like I belonged.

  It’s the only bar I can think of in the area where Blake can see the vast differences within the community. I think he’s too in his head about playing a gay man correctly that he doesn’t realize there is no incorrect way. All representation matters, and everyone’s experiences are different. He should be playing Madden as Madden. Gay isn’t all Madden is, and I’m hoping he’ll see what I mean when we enter Hole.

  As we step over the threshold, I watch for Blake’s reaction.

  He takes it all in but keeps a passive look on his attractive face. His square jaw is covered in the thinnest blond beard known to man, and it’s so fucking sexy, but that thought makes me realize how bad an idea this might be. The guys here are going to try to eat him alive.

  Eh, I’ll protect him.

  “Drink, Madden?” I ask.

  He chuckles. “Sure, Eamon.”

  We walk past the small dance floor, where bodies of all shapes and sizes fill the space, and head straight to the bar where John, one of the owners, is serving. He sees me, and his face lights up.

  “Superstar!”

  “Ha ha, old man.” I lean over the bar to give him a kiss on his cheek.

  John and his husband welcomed me to this scene years ago. I’d come here after failed auditions, crappy shoots, and whenever I was feeling particularly down. They became the people who would put a smile back on my face, tell me not to give up, and encouraged me to keep going when I felt like quitting and sticking to modeling.

  The model gigs were fine and paid well—at least I didn’t have to shlep around as a waiter like most struggling actors—but acting has always been my dream. I went to an arts college back in Boston before moving out to LA.

  “It’s been too long since you’ve come to say hi,” John says.

  “I know, I know.” Ben hates coming here, so I haven’t been in far too long.

  John’s gaze catches on Blake. “Hey, you look like that guy in those action flicks.”

  I’m quickly learning Blake is recognized one of two ways—as Blake Monroe, ex-boy band member, or Coby Godspeed, movie badass. And it’s usually always the same demographic: women under thirty recognize him as Blake, and everyone else recognizes him as Coby.

  Blake opens his mouth, but I cut him off.

  “He gets that all the time. This is Madden.”

  Blake side-eyes me.

  “What can I get you?” John asks.

  “I’ll grab a Coke. I’m driving.” I look at Blake, who seems confused by the question. “What does Madden want?”

  “I’ll take a Macallan neat.”

  John gets to work preparing our drinks, and I nudge Blake.

  “Liquid courage?”

  “I was trying to think of what Madden would want, but I don’t have a huge feel for him yet. So I went with what I wanted. Maybe we have the same tastes.”

  “I was half thinking you’d order a frou-frou cocktail.”

  “I’ve decided Madden shies away from stereotypes.”

  “Okay.” I nod. “Fair enough. Though, you do know he can be stereotypical, right? There are gay men who are flamboyant, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “But when you think about representation in mainstream media, gay guys are always the flamboyant sidekick. Or the ones who aren’t flamboyant, they have the tragic backstory. I read an article in Variety about there being a gap in the market for more diverse queer rep, so I’m trying to incorporate that.”

  I think we’re getting to the root of his problem. “I know you’re worried about not doing this role justice, but the fact you care so much means you’re doing something right.”

  John returns with our drinks, while Blake looks contemplative.

  “Do you think Madden is a dancing in a bar type?” I ask.

  Blake lifts his whiskey. “After this, maybe.”

  I lead him to a back area with booths that are falling apart and where the music is quieter. This is where the regulars hang out.

  There’s a rowdy crowd of g
uys in their fifties and sixties in the far corner, and I push Blake down into an open booth at the front where we can still see the rest of the club. I take the same side as him and sit close. I figure we need to get used to being in each other’s orbit for a while. If he can get used to casual touches and outward forms of affection from me, it will help.

  He seems tense and throws his drink back, swallowing it all.

  I wave over one of the drag queens to get a refill and then turn to him. “What made you want to get into acting after being in a successful boy band?”

  “I thought I was supposed to be Madden?”

  “Time-out on that. You’ve got this nervous energy pouring out of you like you do on set. So I’m trying to distract you. You said Eleven is getting back together, right?”

  “We are. The others are busy writing for us while I do this movie.”

  “Okay, so again, why did you go into acting?”

  He thinks about it longer than I thought he’d need, but I give him the time. It means he’s not going to give me his rehearsed, approved PR answer.

  When his new drink arrives, he sips it this time instead of guzzling it down. “When Eleven broke up, the other guys all had big plans. I had … nothing. I’m not as strong a singer as them. I started a solo album, and then one day this movie agent called me out of the blue, saying he wanted to sign me and get me some acting roles. I thought I’d do small roles here and there and see if I liked it when the studio for Coby Godspeed jumped at the chance at hiring me. And I was fucking good at it. A natural. It’s why I thought this role, while challenging, would still come easy. I was wrong.”

  “Because you can’t fathom what it’s like to be queer?”

  “No. Not at all. I can’t relate to chasing bad guys down with guns, but there’s less chance of offending people doing that than there is this.”

  “The pressure is getting to you. So drink up, relax, and who knows, you might even enjoy yourself. Who do you think would be Madden’s type?”

  He licks his sexy lips, and not for the first time since we started working together, I think about a time when those lips will be on mine. Sure, it’ll be impersonal, and I’ll be professional and won’t slip him the tongue, but I can’t wait to kiss Blake Monroe.

  “According to the script, you’re Madden’s type.”

  “Does that mean you’ll dance with me?”

  Blake glances out at the dance floor and then back at me. “Not before I finish this.” He throws back the rest of his second drink.

  When Blake and I hit the dance floor, I pull him close. Our bodies meld together, a necessity in such a small space, but that tenseness about him is still there.

  I lean in and say in his ear, “Come on, Madden. You’re supposed to be attracted to me.”

  Blake’s hands go to my waist, and when I’m a smartass and reach for them to move them down to my ass, he laughs.

  We grind against each other to the beat, and he can probably feel my cock thicken in my jeans, but in my defense, I’ve been attracted to him ever since the first Coby movie came out. Teen heartthrob turned action movie star? I think he’s every woman and gay man’s wet dream.

  Blake’s confidence grows as the music goes on and the heat turns up. He relaxes in my arms, and this is the first time I’ve seen him embrace his role fully without overthinking. I pull back slightly to look at his face for any hint of hesitation but can’t see any.

  His cheeks are slightly flushed, his lips are parted, and his eyes are hooded. He’s either really getting into this, or acting mode has kicked in.

  I’d make a joke about my dick being that talented, but I don’t want to scare him away.

  Blake’s gaze roams my face and then drops to my lips. Then he gets a wicked gleam in his blue eyes, and he turns, putting his ass to my front, and rubs all up on my cock.

  I have to take a deep breath to calm myself, but when he crooks a finger to a random guy near us and sandwiches himself in between us, I’m taken by surprise.

  He’s really getting into this.

  Mission accomplished?

  Chapter Five

  Blake

  This is actually fun.

  When I’m not so in my head about how the public will perceive me, what it will do to my career, and worrying about offending every single one of my bandmates by misrepresenting them, I’m able to just feel and get into the head of my character.

  It’s freeing, almost, letting down my guard. The rumors can start about me, but like Jordan says, if I say it’s for a movie role, people will believe me. That blanket of security helps me let go.

  The guy in front of me works his hands all over my body, and I’m not self-conscious about it. Jordan’s still behind me, his hands on my hips. I like the feel of hands on my body, but who wouldn’t? I’m getting more out of this by not being Blake Monroe for five minutes.

  On the outside, I might look like I have the perfect life, but like with every other member of Eleven, the media has skewed everything to the point where the real me isn’t me anymore.

  And when I scale everything back to “the real me,” I’m … plain. Which is hard to comprehend with my lifestyle, but it’s true.

  I grew up with a stable mom and dad who supported me through everything. Fame was addictive, and I wanted it, but I never hit the same level of stardom as my bandmates. Even when Eleven’s original label gave me the “quiet” persona, it was a little too close to home for comfort. I was always the one people forgot was in the band. “The other guy,” as I got used to seeing in comments on social media—one of the reasons why I stopped looking and let a team of PR people pretend to be me.

  Then I became Coby Godspeed. I’m more recognized for my acting now than Eleven, and I’m okay with that.

  Jordan lowers his mouth to my ear. “You’re really getting into this.”

  I lean back against his chest, moving my hips against the random guy in front of me. Turning my head, I say to Jordan, “Madden is getting into this.”

  The three of us dance and grind until my skin warms. I assume because of all the body heat radiating off both of them.

  The rando in front of me moves his hands up to my shoulders. I widen my legs, and he moves his knee in between them. Apparently, my cock likes the feeling of warm bodies and intertwined limbs.

  Jordan presses in behind me, the same hardness digging into my back.

  My heart rate kicks up. I lick my lips because my mouth is dry, the movement catching the eye of the guy in front of me.

  He watches as my tongue darts out, and he mirrors the movement before flicking his gaze up to meet mine. I can’t tell if he has recognized me for who I am or not because his expression is filled with so much tension and lust it makes the room stifling.

  He’s a good-looking guy, shorter than my five-ten frame by a good few inches, but he’s muscular, and between him and Jordan, I’m boxed in but in a secure way.

  With Jordan’s hot breath on my neck and this guy’s intense stare, I can’t help the arousal stirring in my gut. It’s interesting and new, and as this guy moves his mouth closer to mine, my lips tingle in anticipation.

  There’s a clear moment where he pauses, just an inch away, as if he’s asking permission or waiting for me to take this opportunity.

  I can’t think of a single reason not to. I press forward and touch my mouth to his. He weaves his hand into my hair while his tongue pushes past my lips. It’s … different, but at the same time, it’s not.

  It doesn’t last long, only enough to whet my appetite for more when he pulls away. His bright teeth blind me as he smiles, but his gaze focuses off to the side, and then his face falls.

  “Damn,” he says, or at least I think he does. He leans in to talk louder. “My friends are leaving. We’re going to Cheap Trick a few blocks away. Come find me.” He kisses me on the cheek and runs off to join his friends.

  When I turn to Jordan, he’s trying to contain his laughter.

  He still has his arms around me
. “Wow, when you go all in, you really go all in.”

  I suck on my lips, still tasting the other guy. “It was … interesting.”

  “It was hot.”

  I grind my hip against his erection. “Evidently.”

  Jordan pushes my hips away from him. “I’m definitely going to have to go home to Ben now to take care of that.”

  “Blake Monroe, giving people a reason to go have sex for over a decade.” I mock salute him.

  “You get enough research done? I’ll drop you home on my way.”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  Making out with a random guy kind of works, but I can’t say it was some life-defining moment for me. It helped me find my groove, made me overthink less, and anytime I was unsure, I thought of that guy’s mouth on mine.

  For a solid two weeks of shooting, I’m not yelled at, Ben hasn’t sighed the word “Cut” in a condescending manner, and coming to work has actually been fun.

  But in between takes, I can tell something’s up with Jordan. I admire his professionalism and envy how he can switch in and out of character in the blink of an eye.

  Ever since our visit to the nightclub, though, he’s been kind of distant. Hell, maybe I’m not doing better and he’s just doing worse. Ben has snapped at him a couple of times, earning a scowl from Jordan, but they both get on with the job right after.

  When a break is called to set up the next shot, one I haven’t let myself think about until now, I corner Jordan near the craft services table.

  “Hey.”

  He acknowledges me with a small nod.

  “Are you okay?”

  He smiles, but I can tell it’s forced. “Are you? Ready to pucker up? Ooh, they have garlic-stuffed cheese balls. That’ll make my breath nice and ripe for our next scene.”

  “You wouldn’t …”

  “No, I wouldn’t. Though I have heard of actors who do that. Like, what the fuck, man? Show your co-stars some respect.”

  Yep. We’re at the first kissing and blowjob scene. And I’m terrified I’m going to screw it all up like I did the first few days on set. But right now, I think we have bigger problems.