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“If I were at home, I’d just be watching History Channel reruns with a beer and an ice cream sandwich,” I said, holding up my camera and pointing it at them.
My comment seemed to amuse them. “Holy shit, that’s fucking hilarious,” the other guy said. “Hey. Make it a selfie and come do a triple kiss with us in the video.”
My heart skipped a beat. I sure as hell wasn’t ready to do whatever a “triple kiss” was, and I still didn’t have the heart to tell them that this old Nikon definitely couldn’t take videos. I held up the camera as if it was taking a selfie of us, and I leaned in toward them.
“Uh, no kiss from me, but you two feel free,” I said, and by the time I leaned back, I saw that they were deep in a make-out session again, and had basically forgotten I existed.
I gingerly dipped to pick up my wine bottle again, walking over to the other side of the fireplace, my head spinning.
I knew I had no place being here. But when Kace had texted me about the party, I hadn’t been able to stop turning it over in my mind. In fact, I’d been thinking about Kace since the morning I’d met him, and following that curiosity had led me here.
And now I was surrounded by people who were younger, hotter, and no doubt richer than me, no matter how sloppy drunk they were. It was fascinating to watch them and see that behind all of the cool Instagram posts was justthis: a bunch of people all just holding their phones in their hands, even while they were at a party.
The ultra-modern fireplace crackled next to me, tucked into its marble column, and beyond that was a sleek bar with more young, hot people gathered all around it.
From floor to ceiling all in front of me were long glass windows that looked out onto the deck by the pool. Glowing blue light illuminated tons of people, dancing and laughing and drinking—and, judging by the seemingly endless makeout sessions and general lack of clothing, clearly a lot of people were here to hook up.
I was in my usual flannel and jeans, holding this ten-dollar bottle of wine I’d picked up at a CVS along the way.
The beginning of “Hooked on a Feeling” started playing on the sound system after a loud hip-hop song I didn’t know, and finally I had some lifeline to reality again.
Nowthiswas a fucking good song.
Finally, I saw Kace. He was outside, jumping around, his sculpted arms lifted above his head.
A jolt of adrenaline hit my veins, flooding me with heat. It still felt exciting to see someone so famous, right there in person in front of me, but I’d also spent the last few days unable to stop myself from looking up every morsel of Kace Tomlin material on the entire internet.
It had started with his Instagram. I’d been lying around in bed at night, scrolling away on my phone watching countless videos of Kace. He was mostly shirtless, sometimes dancing or sometimes just showcasing random bits of his life. I’d also looked up all of his interviews on Youtube. There weren’t that many, but he always seemed to charm the interviewer so much that they all definitely wanted his ass by the end of each video.
My search had also turned up something much more embarrassing. The memory flashed through me right now as I watched him dance. My cheeks heated up.
It was a porn video.
Not of Kace himself, but some lookalike-Kace porn star jerking off on camera.
I’d watched it over and over and over again in some morbid fascination until I’d clicked away in shame, shutting my laptop lid like I was trapping a deadly spider.
I was a grown man, fifteen years older than Kace, and about to start renovation work on his house. I sure as shit felt a littlewrongimagining him shooting cum all over his own stomach, even if the guy in the video wasn’t really him.
And now I was watching the real Kace Tomlin dance his ass off, singing loud and proud on the pool deck to the song.
When he caught my gaze through the glass windows, it was like I’d been caught doing something I shouldn’t have. My only crime was watching him dance, but I felt like I could have stood there for hours like a fly on the wall, watching Kace move. Like I’d watched his Instagram videos, over and over again at night in bed.
Suddenly my flannel felt too tight. Christ, what was this man doing to me?
Kace started making his way through the crowd outside, still dancing as he pushed open two glass double doors in front of me, beelining straight toward me.
I shifted on my feet again as he walked over, trying to act normal even though I was pretty sure there was no version of “normal” for me around Kace. He held my gaze, looking me up and down as he approached me.
“Youlook like you need a drink, my friend,” he said to me, twisting around once and then humming along to the song again.
Yeah. The fake-Kace porn star hadnothingon the real guy. The sun-kissed natural highlights in his hair, his golden skin, and those damn freckles.
Apparently, my laws of straight-guy attraction had no rules when it came to him.
“You look like you’ve had quite a few drinks, yourself,” I said. I held up the wine bottle in my hand. “Uh, I brought this, because I always bring wine to dinner parties. I wasn’t sure what kind of party it was going to be.”
“You’re sweet,” Kace said, grabbing the wine. “Callie will love this. Malbec is her favorite wine.”
