Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98823 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Ezra, look this way!”
“Ezra! Over here! Smile!”
The questions came from all sides as Ezra paused in front of the biggest of the spotlights next to the entertainment TV reporter who’d been tasked with getting celebrity reactions on their way into the awards show.
“You’ve got a record number of nominations! Are you excited?” the reporter asked. She wore a silver dress that evoked a disco ball, glittering every time she moved. The dress matched her bright hair, and her red lips stretched into a wide grin as she landed a moment with Ezra.
“Yup.” Ezra looked amazing in a cranberry tux with a gold shirt that featured ruffles instead of a tie. Only he could pull the look off, managing to look old-school sexy rather than ridiculous. I might be miserable in my black suit, but watching him was a pleasure I’d never get tired of. And when he turned his smile in my direction, I could almost pretend we were alone at home, especially when his expression turned downright naughty. “If we win, I’ve been promised pie.”
“So don’t look for you at the after-parties?” The reporter winked at the camera, pausing for a titter from those nearby.
“Probably not for long.” Ezra gave a knowing laugh before glancing over at me. He continued to hold my hand, which was sweet, but probably stemmed from worry I might escape as well as any romantic feelings. “I want that pie.”
And that. He’d been asking for hints ever since I said he’d get victory pie for all the nominations the band and he had racked up, and I’d steadfastly refused to give any clues, which only drove Ezra’s impatient and curious nature even more up a wall.
“How about you?” The reporter turned my way, following Ezra’s look. Crap. He’d reminded her I existed. “Are you proud of Ezra?”
“Of course.” It spoke to months of experience that I didn’t squirm or fret over what people might be thinking as the spotlight turned in my direction. So what if I was forever the bodyguard Ezra Moon was banging? A few jokes were more than worth the price for a future with him. “I’m always proud of Ezra. He doesn’t need to win for me to be proud, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t rooting for We Wear Crowns to win.”
“Good answer.” The reporter nodded like I was a kindergartener who’d had the right answer to a flashcard. “Are you going to tell us what flavor the victory pie is?”
“And ruin the surprise?” I smiled. A real smile meant for Ezra, but I didn’t try to dim it for the camera. It was okay to enjoy this moment of banter. Didn’t mean I was turning into my father or a publicity hound. I was simply a guy out with his boyfriend, unable to hold back how in awe I was of him and how lucky I felt.
“Aww.” Unlike my smile, the reporter’s pout was exaggerated for maximum audience appeal before she turned back to Ezra. “Are you pleased with the reception for your surprise solo single drop?”
“I’m absolutely blown away. Tonight is about We Wear Crowns, but the new song is super close to my heart.” Ezra said it like he was genuinely shocked people liked the song he’d written for me all those months ago, when I knew perfectly well it was his best work, and we’d be back here next year with a host of nominations for that single as well. It was also my favorite of his videos, simply him with an old piano on an empty stage, surrounded by huge screens showing pictures of various real service people and veterans. The music video was profound in its simplicity and deeply moving.
Ezra squeezed my hand as one of the production assistants finally signaled us to move along toward the theater entrance. “You did great, baby.”
“Thanks.” I tugged him closer so he could see how much I meant it. “I really am proud of you. I’d walk a hundred red carpets for you.”
“A hundred?” Ezra tilted his head speculatively as we joined the line inside the theater lobby, waiting to be escorted to our seats. “Wow. If I’m careful, that might get me ten years’ worth of appearances.”
“Ten?” I pretended to think hard like I was doing actual addition. “Make it a thousand red carpets. Ten years might be selling us short.”
Funny how I’d gone from thinking two weeks was optimistic to hoping he stuck around as a guest in my condo to thinking ten years was unbearably short.
“Oh? You gonna keep me around? Messy towels and all?” Ezra teased, but I’d finally given in and let him pay for a housekeeping service at the new place. I’d take an imperfect split of our finances in exchange for fewer silly arguments.
“I think I’ll keep you as long as you’ll have me,” I said, baldly honest. Ten years was nothing. I wanted forever and then some.