Ryan Pierce’s private phone rang. He rolled over, glancing at the clock and blinking when he saw it was a little after five in the morning. He blearily snatched up the phone. If it was his agent, Ryan was going to rip him a new one.

Normally he was up already, doing Pilates or jogging, but it had been a late night in a new town. Clearly, whoever was calling hadn’t kept that in mind. They must be depending on him to be up early as usual.

“Hello?” His sleep-roughened voice rumbled low into the phone. Ryan covered the mouthpiece and tried to clear his throat.

“Hey. You still asleep?” the man on the other end asked.

“I was,” Ryan muttered. “Who is this?”

The distant voice laughed. “Jesus, I did wake you up if you don’t know who this is. Sorry, guess that party kept you up later than you expected last night. You were in rare form.”

Well, that much was true. The Red Carpet welcome event for his newest romantic comedy had been a butt-kissing extravaganza. With filming set to commence in another day, schmoozing with the local mayor and his puffed-up friends was more about securing cooperation from the city than publicity.

Selene Laramie hadn’t let go of his arm, opting to hug it tightly to her surgically enhanced bust. Ryan figured he’d have two breast-shaped bruises on his arm this morning.

The compensation had been the three Long Island iced teas he’d downed. Although it could have been the four champagne chasers. Ryan nearly groaned into the phone as he realized exactly how much he had drunk. He’d have to go on a three-day diet to drop any of the additional calories he’d picked up. The last thing he needed was Jack, his agent, after him about all the starring roles he’d lose now that he’d chunked up over a few drinks.

“Yeah, well, I’m feeling it this morning,” Ryan confessed on a small laugh. He just hoped to God that this mini city had a drug store nearby.

The man laughed too. “So did he go for it?”

Ryan couldn’t place the voice, no matter how much more he woke up. He certainly couldn’t remember any circumstance where he’d needed to convince anyone to ‘go for it’. “Who?” he asked, feeling as though he was missing part of the conversation.

“Jack, you moron. Did he go for it?”

“Jack,” Ryan repeated stupidly. The vacation? He’d been trying to convince Jack to let him take some time off, but since Ryan had made it big two years ago, Jack had seemed more tenacious than ever. He’d been trying to think about how to talk Jack into it, but he hadn’t really dedicated himself to the effort since Ryan firmly believed he needed to ride the fame-train while he was still the fresh, hot face in Hollywood. “I don’t think I’m going to talk to him, yet.”

But who the hell had he told about his eagerness for a break? He couldn’t think of a soul. Had he spilled to someone last night after a few drinks?

Ryan rubbed his eyes, now fully awake. He sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. The sheets pooled at his waist and he looked down speculatively at his early morning wood. He didn’t know who he was talking to, but the man’s voice was as smooth as warm butter and did nothing to discourage his erection.

He lay back, tentatively stroking his hand over his naked cock under the sheets as the man on the other end kept talking.

“Why not? I thought you’d decided it was now or never. Those were your words, if I remember correctly,” the man said.

It doesn’t sound like anything I’d say.

“What else do you remember?” Ryan asked. Part of him was still trying to figure the guy out. Another part of him just wanted to keep the man talking.

Ryan switched from lightly rubbing himself to wrapping his fingers around his turgid length. This has to be wrong. There has to be something wrong with me to jack off like this, but his voice is like liquid sex.

He began a teasingly slow pump, taking time to thumb the sensitive hole in his cock head. He’d stop touching himself in just a second, he promised.

The man laughed. “You had that much to drink, huh? You’ve never been a fish before. Was the prospect of talking to Jack that unnerving?”

“Not really. It was more about numbing the annoyance of my arm attachment last night,” he confessed.

The man laughed again.

Ryan’s balls tingled with appreciation, but remained untouched since he had to hold the phone with his other hand. They began a pitifully dull ache. Ryan licked his lips, trying to keep his breathing in check. He should stop now. He’d never jacked off to someone on the phone. It felt both odd and exhilarating. What if the guy on the other end knew? What if he leaked the info to the tabloids?

Wait. He’d have to have proof for that. Theoretically.

Ryan grimaced. No, proof wasn’t needed to destroy a reputation. Which kind of made jacking off on the phone a thrilling dare. But he was going to stop. Any second now, he’d quit.

“Your fag-hag. Yeah, she was all over you last night. She knows you’re gay, right?”

Ryan froze. No one knew he was gay. No one. “Excuse me?”

“Okay, what am I missing here?” the man asked. “I thought you had that deep, meaningful conversation over coffee a week ago. She cried, you rubbed her back, she begged, and finally you hugged it out. I’m not imagining that, am I?”

“Seriously, who is this?” Ryan questioned. “I don’t have a fag-hag. I had a diva on my arm all night, cutting off the circulation to my biceps.”

“What are you talking about?”

He didn’t dare give Selene’s name. The last thing he needed was some jerk-off telling the news rags that he thought America’s sweetheart, Selene Laramie, was a hag. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“Laurie.”

Laurie? Did he say Laurie or Laramie?

“Uh,” Ryan stalled.

“Laurie Prill from third grade? The same Laurie who has been trying to get into your pants for the past five years? The one you came out to last week, though truthfully, she was in denial. Everyone else knew.”

God, what was it about this man’s silken voice? Even confused and clearly in the midst of a misunderstanding, Ryan still had a persistent hard-on. He resumed stroking, almost reluctantly, rather automatically.

The masochist in him wanted to drag out the delicious torment of the conversation.

“Just out of curiosity, who do you think I am?” Ryan probed.

There was a lengthy pause on the other end. “Brett Shackley.” He didn’t sound confident about his answer.

“I’m definitely not Brett Shackley.”

“Oh, shit!” The man laughed, this time tinged with embarrassment. “Dude, I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Ryan hurried. “You woke me up. You might as well talk to me.”

Why the fuck did I say that? Oh yeah, the raging erection and the fact that my balls are so tight they’re ready to explode if this guy would just say a little more.

“Who am I talking to?” Ryan pressed gently when the silence returned to the other line.

There was a sigh. Ryan almost felt the breath on his ear and stifled the sound building at the back of his throat.

“Or I could just hang up and leave you alone. Really, I’m so sorry to have bothered you.”

“Listen. I don’t get a lot of opportunity to talk to people that aren’t involved with me at work. I was kind of enjoying the dialog, despite the randomness of it,” Ryan confessed.

“O-okay,” he hedged. “Well, my name is Dar Phillips. I was trying to reach my friend, Brett. I must’ve misdialed.”

The contrite quality of his voice only lowered the already bass tones and sent a sudden tingle to Ryan’s balls. Ryan reflexively pumped harder in response. Oh God, there was no stopping now. Ryan knew it and cringed as pleasure mocked him just out of reach.

Fuck, I’m twisted. What the hell is wrong with me?

“I’m Ryan.” He couldn’t tell him Ryan Pierce. That would be saying too much. Pierce was his middle name—something his agent had worked out. It took Ryan two seconds to decide to give his real last name. Most people didn’t know it anyway. “Ryan Fenmore.”

“Like the famous actor?”

Well, shit.

“Ryan Fenmore?” Ryan echoed, feeling brain fog curl around the edges of his will to pay attention. Lust was taking over.

“The real name for that great-looking actor who starred with Angelina in that cougar story.”

“Ryan Pierce?”

“Yeah, him. I like that guy. I’ll watch anything he puts out,” Dar said.

Oh, baby, that was hot.

“Why’s that?” Ryan gave up holding back. He jacked himself, twisting his fist around the head before sweeping low again. He only hoped Dar hadn’t noticed the far away sound to his voice as he held the mouthpiece away, his desperate attempt to keep his rapid breathing from being heard.

“Okay, well, just like my friend, Brett, I’m out of the closet. So I’ll just make that very clear and say Ryan Pierce is one sexy pile of man-meat. He’s great at the romantic role, but I really wish he’d do a Brokeback Mountain.”

“Oh, God, hang on a sec.” Ryan put down the handset, mouthpiece to the mattress, and his eyes rolled back on each pleasurable jerk. Knowing this man wanted him turned him on. It only made the secret masturbation all the hotter that Ryan’s true identity was completely unknown.

He bit his bottom lip, while he guiltily fucked his hand using the faceless voice as his counterpart in a scene like one from the movie Dar had mentioned. Cum raced up his cock and splashed on his chest. He held back the impassioned grunts, barely.

“Hello? Hello?”

Dar’s muffled voice yanked back Ryan’s attention. A blush heated his cheeks. He raised the sheet, using it to wipe cum off his chest, as he lifted the phone.

“Sorry. Something came up and I-I had to take care of it,” Ryan mumbled.

“I thought you just woke up?”

“Some things are automatic.”

“Oh.” Dar fell quiet. Then Ryan heard him take a breath. “So what do you do? You said something about not talking to a lot of people that aren’t at work with you…”

“It’s kind of like public relations,” Ryan answered. Then changing the subject, “So, you know a Jack too?”

“He’s kind of a macho prick.”

“I know a few of those. What about your friend, Brett?”

“I’ve known him since forever. He’s the reason I came out of the closet. We’ve always been friends, but we were messing around one day, trying stuff, and my mom walked in. She couldn’t see Brett, just his jeans and shoes from her vantage.”

Dar laughed at the memory. Ryan liked the way he laughed. He sounded so carefree. Ryan didn’t remember a time like that since he’d gone into show business.

He also had no fond memories of being gay that he could trot out, either. He didn’t talk about it. He had been with exactly one man in his life, before Ryan had been discovered. Now there was no chance of hooking up with another man. It would ruin him.

Women had never done it for him. Ryan loved men. He loved the way they looked, the way they moved, smelled, talked. He loved the way men thought. Men were sexy. But looking into the unclear future of Hollywood, Ryan couldn’t see a point where coming out would be acceptable.

Jack had buried Ryan’s one relationship with misdirection and pay-offs. Stuff like that hemmed him in completely. There was no going back now.

“Does all this gay talk make you uncomfortable?” Dar asked suddenly. “You went really quiet there for a minute.”

Ryan smiled at the way Dar had been able to read his silence over the phone. A total stranger and yet surprisingly on target. “No.”

“Are you gay?”

“No!” Ryan shot back, too quickly.

“Uh-huh. Not out yet, are ya?” Dar’s voice exuded understanding and sympathy.

Ryan didn’t answer. He would have barked a protest, but he didn’t feel like lying to this man he’d never met. His job was a series of lies he was paid for at the box office. That moment when he’d—used, he confessed to himself—Dar to get off, he felt like he owed him something. Namely, the truth. Yet he couldn’t make himself confess to being gay when his career would end if Ryan’s identity was discovered.

“I gotta go,” Ryan said. Without allowing himself to think about it too long, he hung up.

He looked at the handset, feeling a moment of transparency he’d never felt before. The whole conversation had been surreal. How was it a man could go through life, working, living, eating, sleeping, seeing thousands of nameless faces of people doing the same thing? People in crowds, in streams along sidewalks, in photographs? People who saw things and had emotions that were completely real to them, yet were no more real to another person than walking cardboard?

Today, life had breathed into one of those two-dimensional lives all because of a misdialed number. The invisible wall of fame had been breached and it wasn’t until that moment Ryan realized just how much he missed being normal.

What he would give to walk a day in Dar’s shoes. To be out and open in a relationship of his choosing and not one designed to attract publicity for a movie.

God, it must be nice.

Ryan reached past the phone to the notepad and pen on the table. He checked the caller ID his agent had installed on the line, and scribbled down the Unknown Caller’s number. Then carefully, making sure the block letters were clear, he wrote out Dar Phillips’ name. He was definitely someone Ryan wanted to remember, if only to hang onto that slim thread to the outside world.