Rowes

It must’ve been dizzying to be tossed about on the gentle breeze, floating on wings that were so much larger than your body, an updraft from the small pond like a hurricane that could suddenly twist and plunge you into the sea. Rowes watched the butterflies flicker around him, their powdered wings glistening in the filtered light as the humidity condensed on the glass inside the conservatory.

An echo of the floating butterfly lay on the cobbled path, its wings broken and mottled. Blue surrounded it like a halo, a shoeprint laced across its middle. He’d almost sent one just like it to its doom before Izzy had caught him, tugging him off balance to save the little insect. He’d landed against Izzy’s chest, basking in the private moment for the few seconds that he could.

They’d come here on a whim, spotting an advertisement on a passing bus that had piqued Izzy’s interest. One call to their manager and they’d had exclusive tickets where they could stay as long as they liked without the hassle of a crowd.

Perhaps ‘manager’ wasn’t enough of a word for Lorena. She took care of everything for them, including screening their contracts, arranging flights and lawyers and even having a juice box and a snack within easy reach.

“Do you like it?” asked Rowes, tilting his head back to peer through the branches of the tropical trees. There were butterflies lining the glass above them, pulsing their wings as they presumably looked for an escape. Come winter, this would be the safest place for them. He wasn’t sure if they would even live that long, trampled by another tourist just like them.

“It’s hot.” Izzy grinned, rolling up his sleeves. He must’ve expected it to be air conditioned, because he was overdressed, especially for the summer warmth outside the giant greenhouse.

The material of Izzy’s shirt looked thin, but it had to be stifling in the air that was close to one hundred percent humidity. The little pond with two turtles and a handful of koi did little to cool anything, only making the air thicker. Even the stray drops of a nearby waterfall didn’t take the edge off for Rowes, and he was in a T-shirt.

“But it’s pretty,” said Rowes, spinning around in a circle. Another of the delicate creatures floated past his face, close enough that he could feel the beat of its wings. “I never expected to find a bit of jungle here. It’s like the last time we were on a world tour.” He closed his eyes at the memory before settling back against Izzy’s side. Izzy’s arm was around him in a moment, steadying him in the dizzy spell that followed.

They’d hit so many countries in so few days that the memory of their trip had turned into a blur. Their ratings had gone through the roof, though, and the show had finally hit it big after the first season with a mediocre fan base.

“Only I’m not puking as we pass over the equator,” said Izzy, rubbing the back of Rowes’ neck where most of his sweat had gathered. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before I melt.” His brown hair was looking a tad darker than normal, almost black and clumped with sweat. That, and his shirt was sticking to him and showing off every dip and curve of his torso.

Rowes loved the heat of the place, almost warmer than the man next to him. It was so much better than the closeness of the set some days.

But the best thing about the butterfly conservatory was the quiet. There wasn’t another person in sight, except for the nervous-looking staff member who was hovering on the path close by and probably hoping for an autograph or for them to leave so she could go home. Both options had equal appeal.

“Just five more minutes,” said Rowes, stepping closer to the waterfall. There was a thin cobbled pathway that led under the narrow outcropping where a stream splashed into the pond below. The railing was speckled with water, the drops tapping a pattern against his exposed arms.

Izzy sidled up behind him, pressing against his back. He was tall enough that he could easily see over Rowe’s head to the koi swimming in the pond below them. The pounding of the water flushed everything out, and for a split second, it was just the two of them.

“Now, Rowes,” said Izzy, trailing his fingers down Rowes’ arm to his hand before tracing the bumps of his knuckles. The gentle move was the opposite of the strain in his voice. “Frosty the Snowman wouldn’t last two seconds in this place, and right now, I’m melting, too.”

“So dramatic.” Rowes let out a sigh, tilting his head to lean onto Izzy’s shoulder. “Just one more minute.” With his eyes closed and the white noise around them, he could almost imagine he was somewhere else. Izzy traced his knuckles again before settling his hand completely over his.

This is the life.

The peace lasted until the moment they stepped outside. Every relaxed muscle snapped tight, his skin prickling when a crowd appeared out of nowhere from the parking lot. One of the conservatory staff stood to the side, looking intrigued and a touch sheepish.

Fuck.

A camera flashed in his face, temporarily blinding him as summer air coated his heated skin. A shiver ran along his spine as he stumbled, trying to blink away the tears. A few minutes to themselves, and this was how he paid for it.

Rowes tucked his head against Izzy’s shoulder, inhaling sweat and cologne, as the cameras continued their assault. It was Dior, and the same one that Rowes had bought him for his birthday, with a touch of flowers from the artificial habitat. Each breath was like being back in the jungle with only the trees and the air between them.

How do they always seem to know where we are? Even with a tip from the employee, they hadn’t been here that long. At the same time, there were some pretty devoted fans out there, which meant that their private moments had turned into anything but. It wasn’t quite what he’d expected when he’d auditioned for season one.

“Rowes! Mr. Laurie!”

Rowes flinched at the shout before forcing a smile onto his face and straightening. Professionalism was key, despite what names people called him. He was only twenty-eight, but the way they shouted his last name sounded like he should have been forty with a house of his own and two cats that he fed pieces of his dinner. The American dream.

Izzy chuckled, wrapping his arm around Rowes’ shoulders and pulling him close. Rowes sank into the touch before grinning at the crowd of gathered reporters. He recognized a few who had stuck with them for a long time, but there was always a fresh face or two.

The crowd blocked the walkway, leaving them nowhere to go, let alone run. Getting to their ride would be next to impossible, and retreating into the conservatory would probably do no good. The most patient hunter was one with a camera.

Izzy went tense at his side, probably coming to the same conclusion. If only he could melt into Izzy, letting the other grab him in a ruthless hug so they could plow through the crowd together.

But that would probably land them in the wrong part of the news. Reporters loved labeling actors as assholes if they were pushed too far and finally snapped.

It was much preferred to meet reporters at a press conference. That way it was on Rowes’ terms, and their manager Lorena would be there to kick some ass and shut certain conversations down.

“Isthmus!”

Izzy nodded at the sound of his own name as he reached for his phone, and Rowes could almost feel the mask slipping into place over his best friend’s features. He hated the false façade that Izzy wore in public. Acting was one thing, but this was something else—something cold where nothing could reach Izzy.

“Good evening, folks,” said Izzy, the grin on his lips looking so genuine that even Rowes almost believed it. The crowd went quiet, probably ready to write down the next uttered quote.

“I want to go home,” Rowes whispered through his teeth, hoping only Izzy could hear him. It had been a long day and an even longer week. He’d hoped for a few hours of reprieve with their trip to the conservatory, but that didn’t look like it was happening.

Biting his tongue, Rowes tried to draw back from Izzy, clasping his hands as he fought his frown. The water bottle in his grip crackled. He’d gotten it at the last-minute from the vending machine, his mouth dry despite the humidity of the jungle.

Izzy didn’t seem to care that he was trying to escape, his grip going tight on Rowes’ shoulder as he refused to let him go. The cameras were there to catch it all.

Are we too close? If I move now, is it obvious? Either way, there were sure to be new rumors in the morning. With social media, every clip went viral, distorting the truth before anyone even learned it.

With every eye looking his way, Rowes let out a breath, risking a glance at Izzy. He was staring back, his blue eyes pinched with concern and one eyebrow raised, probably wanting the answer to the only question that Rowes couldn’t give a response to.

Are you okay? The answer was decidedly no. He’d wanted to spend the day with his best friend and not be harassed about it or asked if he was gay. He wanted one moment when horny housewives weren’t imagining them kissing behind the scenes.

He gave Izzy a smile that hopefully reached his eyes. Izzy seemed convinced, moving to grab his hand and squeezing once. Looking out into the crowd, Izzy slipped back into his professional mode in the blink of an eye.

Gone was the fluffy sweetheart that pulled Rowes’ chair out for him or sent him a picture of a cat to cheer him up. No, the man he saw before him was the one who half the planet had fallen in love with, a sensual smirk on his face that always made him an instant favorite.

He glanced to the side where the sun was trapped behind layers of dark clouds. There was a garden beyond the grass where a butterfly fluttered. Maybe it was one that had escaped the conservatory, only to find that the jungle was the only place it would survive. It was one of the lucky ones.

The life of a television star was less glamorous than Rowes had predicted. When he’d gotten the part, he hadn’t expected much to come of his role—and neither had anyone else. The series had promised to be like so many that were canceled on a yearly basis, and the first episode had aired with little fanfare. It was only much later that the network realized what a gem they had put their investment in.

“What’s your bet?” asked Izzy, a smile on his face as he ducked to Rowes’ ear. “I’m thinking five this time— Wait—make that six.” He glanced at one member of the crowd who had a Bristol board sign with Izzy’s and Rowes’ names on it surrounded by a giant red heart. Is that really necessary?

Rowes rolled his eyes, squeezing Izzy’s hand once before he remembered himself and dropped his arm to his side. His fingers tingled—cold and empty as the last of the heat fizzled away. His skin prickled, longing for touch just as much as he did. It wasn’t the touch itself, but the support it gave him—the calm.

After all this time, he still couldn’t understand why people were so obsessed with them and what their status was. Four seasons in and the speculations had only gotten fiercer. Sometimes he read the online articles, just for a chuckle. They popped up on his feed often enough that they were hard to ignore.

Five reasons why Rowes and Isthmus are perfect for each other…

Isthmus getting possessive…

Jealous Rowes moments…

Are they already married? Five true facts that prove they are…

People couldn’t comprehend that he and Izzy were friends, and that was all. Maybe they were closer than most traditional friends, but Izzy certainly didn’t star in any of his sexy dreams. Rowes liked to cuddle and hold hands with pretty much anything that moved, Izzy included. Izzy just happened to indulge him more than most.

Their fellow actor Connley could hardly stand to be touched and frequently shrugged Rowes off him. Even with that, there were still a few rumors that the two of them were dating, or that Rowes was cheating on Izzy with Connley.

With Ainslie, an actress on their crew, he could cuddle and snuggle with her all day and not a single rumor erupted. It was as if people thought they were siblings—or that he was gay.

And as for getting possessive? It was hard not to get a little pissy when he seemed to be the brunt of a lot of jokes. He didn’t have Izzy’s allure, Connley’s skill or even Ainslie’s wicked sense of humor, but he was still a great actor… Okay, a decent one.

Sometimes he wondered how he had landed the part. Up against the others, most days he struggled not to fall back on his high-school drama days when his voice still cracked, and he sweat every time he spoke in front of two or more people. Izzy’s encouragement was the only thing that kept him from quitting.

“I’ll say four,” said Rowes with a shrug. Izzy had moved his hand to Rowes’ lower back, the warmth of his palm spreading across the space in a way that was almost distracting. The shouts had resumed so Rowes leaned close. Fuck they’re loud. He was going to have to take some medication later.

“I already texted Lorena, so hopefully she gets us out of here before the fifth,” said Izzy, dangling his phone in front of Rowes’ face. Lorena’s contact info glowed in front of him. Thank God. Izzy was always the thinker. He’d probably texted Lorena while Rowes had been stuck in his own personal pity party.

Izzy chuckled, slipping his phone into his own back pocket before reaching for the water bottle in Rowes’ hand. “Can I have some? I think I lost ten pounds of sweat in there.”

Rowes nodded, rubbing his hands together. After twisting off the cap, Izzy took a deep drag, emptying all but a swallow from the bottle in no time flat. Sweat dripped down his neck and into the collar of his shirt as the sun shifted in the sky. It was probably a great picture. There was no breeze to speak of and the summer heat was just as unforgiving as the conservatory’s.

Before he could finish it, Izzy polished the rim of the bottle with the edge of his shirt, handing it back to Rowes. “You should drink some. It’s only going to get hotter once the questions start.”

“Don’t I know it.” Rowes took a small sip, ducking his gaze when he noticed the reporter with the sign watching them with a look of glee on her face. She was probably going into overload. I drank Izzy’s water. Oh gosh! It must be an indirect kiss! The flash of the cameras certainly seemed to think so as they sped up. If it had been dark out, he would have been completely blinded.

People needed day jobs—preferably ones that involved sitting on the couch to watch their show and not stalking them to the middle of nowhere at a goddamn butterfly conservatory. Is nothing sacred anymore?