Page 11

DEAN

The marigolden-girls quivered in my hand, rustling nervously. My fist clung to the picture frame so tight that my knuckles had turned white. I stood on his porch and took a deep, deep breath, then slid the picture under one arm and rapped my white knuckles against the door.

There was no response.

I knocked again, a little louder.

Again, nothing.

I wondered if perhaps he was out back, or maybe he was in the shower. That thought gave me an instant hard-on. The image of Harry in the shower popped straight into my head, water cascading over his thick, muscled body, matting the hair, soap bubbles sliding down what I could only imagine was the thickest, meatiest cock I’d ever set eyes on. The vision was vivid because I had conjured it up in my mind countless times while jerking off, gasping his name while I drenched myself in cum.

I looked down. “Oh crap!”

My hard-on wasn’t just raging. It was seeping .

I was wearing a pair of tan-colored cargo shorts, and spreading from the head of my tentpole erection was a pre-cum stain that turned darker and wider by the second. That was one of the setbacks of being twenty-one years young and full of cum—keeping it in was often a difficult if not impossible task, especially when all I could picture was Harry…

In the shower…

Bubbles sliding down his…

“Fuck! Stop it, Dean!”

I was so focused on trying to push down the erection that threatened to volcanically erupt in my shorts that I didn’t even hear the truck pull up on the street behind me until—

“Dean? Hey there!”

I turned to see Harry calling to me from the open window of his pickup.

He stepped out, shut the door, and made his way toward me.

I quickly covered my cum-stained bulge with the marigolden-girls and smiled nervously.

He gave me a nervous smile back and I thought— fuck! He saw my erection before I could cover it in time. Now he thinks I’m a freak. Damn! Fuck!

I tried to distract myself and saw something wrapped in blue ribbon in one of his hands, and in the other—“Is that a toothbrush?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, stepping up to me.

He was close.

Too close.

And yet… not nearly close enough.

“I knocked your toothbrush into the toilet, remember?” He was blushing. God, he was even hotter when he blushed. “I’m so fucking embarrassed about that. I hope you managed to get by this morning.”

“Oh sure. My dad had a spare toothbrush in his bathroom.” Jesus, did he think I would dare venture to his house without brushing my teeth? Not on your fucking life.

“Oh good. Well, here’s a new one, just for you. And I got you this as well.” He held up the other item and I immediately recognized the shape of the packaging under the blue ribbon. “It’s a bottle of Dean ,” he said. “For Dean.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Oh geez, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Actually, it’s kinda from Madeline too. Sort of. It’s a long story.”

“Oh.” The mention of Madeline’s name broke whatever spell he was casting over me. “Well, I’ll have to thank her when I see her next.” I quickly changed the subject. “And these are yours.” I held up the flowers and the picture, practically shoving them in his face so he couldn’t see down to my crotch. Not that my hard-on was an issue any longer, it had started to wane as soon as Harry mentioned Madeline. But that pre-cum stain wasn’t going anywhere soon.

“Thanks,” he said as we clumsily tried to exchange gifts, the toothbrush and flowers almost falling and another bottle of cologne almost smashing on the ground.

To make matters even more clownish, the phone in my pocket buzzed with a text message… once… twice… three times.

“Sounds like someone wants you,” Harry remarked.

How I wished that “someone” was him, but obviously it wasn’t, since he was standing right in front of me.

“Here, let me take this.” He scooped all the gifts into his big muscled arms. “You get your phone.”

“You sure?”

“I’m good. Got ’em.”

“Thanks.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket, looked at the screen and whispered, “Shit. It’s Astrid.”

“Who’s Astrid?” Harry asked, his voice rough like he needed to swallow. “Sorry, that’s none of my business. Is she your girlfriend?”

“No, she’s my manager,” I replied absently, looking at the messages on my phone.

I’m about to call you. You need to answer!— was the first message.

Our little problem just got a whole lot bigger!— was the second.

The third message was a photo of an envelope sitting inside an open drawer, or more precisely, the drawer of the desk in my dressing room back in LA.

“Oh fuck,” I uttered.

“Dean? Is everything okay?”

A second later, my phone rang. It was Astrid.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I really have to take this.” I turned and walked to the end of his porch, inhaling deeply before answering. “Astrid? What’s going on?”

Before I heard her voice I heard the sound of a cigarette lighter igniting. Astrid only ever smoked when she was stressed. “Dean, darling, I’m sorry to break it to you but your bloody stalker is back. I’ve just found another letter in your dressing room. Whoever this nutter is, they’ve broken into your home to leave their latest crazy-as-fuck calling card.”

“Oh shit. Really? How did they get in?”

“I have no idea, there’s literally no sign of a break-in anywhere inside the house. Bogdan is still searching the grounds to see if he can find any clues outside.”

“What are you doing at my house anyway?”

“I was looking for some of the rings you wore onstage during your last concert. The record label wants to auction them off for some charity event. I opened the top drawer on your desk and there was the letter, just sitting there. I’ve got to admit, this one scares me.”

I felt my stomach turn. “What does it say?”

I could hear Astrid take a puff on her cigarette then the rustle of paper. “It says, ‘Sing one more note and die. Release one more record and die. Leave LA… or die.’”

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Dean, darling, I know there’s a chance that this crazy fuck is just messing with you, but there’s also a chance things could get serious. The gossip rags already know you’ve left town, they know you’re in Wisconsin, apparently someone took a snap of you signing autographs at the airport. If this secret psycho admirer of yours is on your trail, I’m worried they’re going to come looking for you in Clodhopper County.”

“Mulligan’s Mill,” I corrected automatically.

“You know what I mean. The way I see it, we have two choices.”

“Which are?”

“Number one, we get the police involved. That’ll mean an investigation here in LA as well as getting the state police in Wisconsin involved to make sure this lunatic—”

“No! No cops. This town is my home. It’s the one safe haven I have left. I don’t need the police scaring the hell out of everyone in Mulligan’s Mill.”

“Dean, this stalker could be from anywhere. Did you ever consider the person writing these letters could already live in Mulligan’s Mill? It could be anybody. A school bully, a jealous girlfriend… anybody you’ve ever met could be responsible for trying to end your career.”

“Then maybe I should.”

Astrid paused. “Should what? What are you talking about?”

“Maybe I should end my career.”

“Oh Dean, darling. Don’t let some crazy fuck destroy your dreams. Your journey to fame has only just begun. You have the potential to be the most successful artist of your generation. Don’t let anyone take that away from you, especially not some crackpot who likes to cut and paste letters out of a magazine to try and frighten you.”

I took a breath. “All right then, what’s option two?”

“Option two is I fly over there to at least try and monitor your safety. I’ll bring Bogdan with me. I know he may not be discreet, but if you need a bodyguard, he’ll get the job done.”

“No, you can’t—”

“Dean, darling, this is my final offer. Believe me when I tell you that today’s to-do list did not include buying a ticket to Hayseed Hollow—”

I rolled my eyes. “Mulligan’s Mill.”

“But I’m willing to pack my bags and several cans of mosquito repellent to ensure your safety.” She paused a moment. “Dean, you’re my star. You’re the light I’ve always wanted shining on my career. Every day you burn brighter and brighter. I’m not going to let anyone dim that now. I won’t let anyone hurt you or your career. Do you hear me?”

I sighed heavily, nervously, a shudder of a breath. “All right then. Thank you.”

“Darling boy, you never have to thank me. Although you could show your undying appreciation by booking me and Bogdan into the Mulligan’s Mill Hilton, or Marriott, or any five-star hotel will do just fine.”

I was silent.

Astrid groaned over the phone. “Oh my God, there’s no fucking Hilton, is there?”

“No. But there’s a very nice BnB run by Benji and Bastian.”

“How quaint,” she said flatly, clearly unimpressed. “I’ll book us on the first flight out tomorrow. See you then.”

I hung up the phone, turned around, and saw Harry still standing by his doorway.

All I wanted to do was cry.

All I wanted to do was throw myself into his arms.

All he did was say, “That sounded… bad. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but… that sounded bad. You need someone to talk to?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He smiled gently. “Come on in.”