Love Me Tenor

by Annabeth Albert

  Big heaping piles of garlic bread lined the edge of the table. Starving, Jalen grabbed a slice.

  “Hey. That’s for dinner!” He turned to find Carter—or maybe it was Carson—behind him. He tapped his ears, indicating that Jalen should turn his tunes off.

  The muscles in his back tightened. Fuck that noise. A rude response gathered in his mouth, ready to unload on doppelbanger boy. Then he caught sight of Dawn’s red hair as she and some other official-looking people came in through a set of French doors.

  He had promised her he’d try to get along. He lowered the damn headphones.

  “That’s for dinner,” Carter repeated, like Jalen hadn’t heard him the first time.

  “I’m hungry. No one cares.”

  “Listen, I know your attitude might fly in LA, but we need to forge a group identity. All of us on the same page.” Dude spoke like the MBA-type guys his sister Tash kept dragging home. He was all big words and tired clichés.

  “Cute guys in love. I’m clued in.” He took a bite of bread, deliberately chewing very slowly and savoring each buttery crumb.

  “How old are you anyway? When Dawn said she found two other guys for us, neither of you were what I expected.”

  “What? Too brown for you, Papi?” He stuck out an arm.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Carter’s fake-tanned face screwed up into a fake pout. “You’re just a bit . . . young.”

  That was exactly what Carter had meant and they both knew it. Too ghetto. Not queer enough. Not pretty enough. Too rude. He’d heard it all before. Dude had probably spent hours envisioning the perfect tall blond army to conquer the boy band show.

  Jalen wasn’t at all sorry to bust up those dreams. He was here and Carter was going to have to deal.

  “I’m twenty, Grandpa. And maybe the producers thought you guys needed a shot of chocolate. I’m bringing you African American, Mexican, and Hawaiian all in one hot package. You should be grateful to me.”

  “I don’t care about that.” Carter waved his hand like Jalen’s background was some annoying fly. “But is all you can do rap?”

  “No.” Yes. He hoped he’d be able to harmonize. He’d done some choir his senior year of high school, but otherwise he hadn’t sung with people very much. Somehow, though, he’d managed to nail both the audition videos the show had made him do, as well as the camera test back in LA. Trevor, Carson, and Carter all had enough camera experience to get to skip those hoops.

  “And what about the little dude? Is he really down with being your boyfriend? Or maybe that’s too tall an order.”

  “Trevor? We’re tight. It’s all good.” He couldn’t say why he felt suddenly protective of Trevor. He’d been teasing him hard core over the height thing, but letting Carter get away with it felt . . . disloyal almost. Disloyal to the pretend boyfriend who hated his guts. Yeah, he was so screwed.

  “Really?” Pissy boy was cut off by his boyfriend coming up behind him and wrapping him up like one of those stuffed clinging monkeys they’d had in the airport gift shop.

  “Carter, are you making nice with our new friend?” Carson, who was apparently the helpful, good-cop twinsie, spoke to pissy butt like he would a naughty puppy.

  Jalen sure as fuck didn’t want to be either of these two freaks’ friend, but he restrained himself from rolling his eyes and just stared Carter down instead.

  “Sure.” Carter leaned into his boyfriend’s embrace. “Just making sure we’re all ready for tomorrow.”

  “It’ll be nice to get styled. I can’t wait to see our costumes. Oh and look who I found on the stairs.” Carson motioned to the side of him. Jalen dragged his eyes away from their PDA fest to notice Trevor hovering at the edge of their circle.

  “Oh goody! The gang’s all here.” Carson’s words were muffled by Carter’s lips on his jaw.

  “Hey, turn a bit more to the camera, babe,” Carter directed, and the purpose behind all their groping suddenly became clear. One of the camera guys was circulating through the dining room and great room beyond, taking long shots of different groups.

  “Food!” Trevor ignored both the cameras and the doppelbanging happening, eyes going wide as he noticed the buffet behind Jalen.

  “By all means, go ahead.” Carson made a grand sweeping gesture. “What do we care about waiting?”

  “Oh. I guess I can wait for the official signal or whatever.” Trevor’s face fell and he studied his brown loafers.

  Jalen wouldn’t mind kicking Carson for stealing Trevor’s happy like that, but instead he broke off a big piece of his bread and held it out to Trevor. “Here.”

  “Thank you.” Trevor accepted and took a big bite. Jalen didn’t know why he’d been expecting Trevor to put up a fuss or refuse, but this quiet gratitude was almost seductive. Not to mention how Trevor’s heart-shaped mouth looked all buttery and shiny.

  “So who’s ready to play some get-to-know-you games before dinner?” Kaitlyn strode into the room, clapping her hands and raising her voice.

  Jalen grabbed another breadstick, split it in half and handed more to Trevor. If they were going to play stupid games, they both needed some fortifying. He didn’t want to think too deeply about why he was taking care of a dude he didn’t particularly like.

  Carter and Carson made crowing noises in unison. Ah, yeah. That was why. Jalen rolled his shoulders. Lesser evil and all that.

  “You guys should stand a little closer,” Carter directed. “Might as well get comfortable—remember, you guys are sleeping together tonight!”

  Right. And there went Jalen’s appetite.

  Chapter Three

  @NextDirectionShow Wishing all our groups a great night’s sleep! Our premiere Web episode will be up by the end of the week, but check out the groups’ first music videos and pictures!

  @CarsonNCarter A good-night kiss to all of you! Can’t wait to make music for you!

  @StandOutJalen Got my first workout in here. Pretty sweet home gym. Gotta keep my definition up!

  Trevor was used to roommates. Up until senior year of college, he’d always had to share a room—first with his brothers, then with a freshman football player who’d made Trevor’s life hell, then with members of his a cappella group. Even so, he still went across the hall to the big bathroom to change into his pajamas. He needed to check his monitor, too—dinner had been super carby, and the last thing he needed was to screw up his meds. Thank God Jalen had slipped him that bread, though. Trevor had been starting to feel shaky, and the bread had gotten him through the silly ice-breaker games.

  In his meds kit was a copy of the medical release he’d signed for the show. The one where he’d promised to be in good health, with no known conditions that could preclude “strenuous physical and mental challenges.” It was a bunch of legalese that went on for three pages. All sorts of CYA that boiled down to Trevor promising he was healthy. Which he was. His diabetes diagnosis last year didn’t change that. And he needed this show.

  So yeah, he’d lied. More like omitted. That felt better. He wasn’t lying. The show didn’t need to know every last thing about him. All they needed was the reassurance that Trevor wouldn’t sue them. And he’d given them that, so no worries. He snapped the kit closed, shoved it deep in his backpack, and darted back across the hall, double-checking there wasn’t a camera guy in the hall.

  “Dude. I swear I’m not going to jump you.” Jalen was stretched out on his bed when Trevor got back to the room. He wore baggy flannel pants—and nothing else. Well, he might have had socks on, but Trevor couldn’t get his eyes to move from Jalen’s bare chest. Endless square inches of warm caramel skin. His skin almost gleamed—like he was ready for a muscle-magazine photo shoot. He was smooth like those muscle guys, too, only a little hair around his belly button heading south.... Trevor dragged his eyes back north and to safer sights, like flat dark brown nipples. And a tat on Jalen’s left pec. His very defined pec. The tat was some sort of bird holding a banner with a date on it.

  “You don
e, or you want to see the picture I just posted?” Jalen stretched like Trevor’s perusal was a minor irritation, one of the many burdens of being so hot.

  “You posted a picture?”

  “Didn’t you hear Kaitlyn say we should log on to our social media accounts before bed? I just grabbed a neat app that let me post a picture of me in my flannels three different places at once.”

  “Neat,” Trevor echoed. At dinner, Kaitlyn and the crew had explained the rules of the show—instead of one group getting voted off each week, the show was an all-out battle to obtain the most buzz, as evidenced by social media likes and shares, crowd-funding donations, and YouTube visibility. Trevor had been anticipating having to sing and make videos, but this PR war was far outside his scope. The studio wanted a social media juggernaut, ready to support a record deal and tour. Trevor wasn’t even a social media cog, let alone a superuser—he barely even logged on to Facebook and Instagram and didn’t know what all the fuss was over the other sites Kaitlyn had mentioned.

  They would be expected to make and share a couple of music videos each week, while the show would be putting out mini Web episodes on the show’s Web site to drum up interest for the three main episodes, which would each air as two-hour specials on the network the last three weeks of filming, with part of the final episode being live. Music superstar Michelin Moses was one of the executive producers of the show and was finishing up a tour before joining them for the final few weeks. Trevor had met him briefly on the Perfect Harmony set and was more than a little glad the guy wouldn’t be around all the time. He radiated cool and was more than a little intimidating. His attempt at reinventing his career by going country had been a wild success, catapulting him back to superstardom, and so far above peons like Trevor that it wasn’t funny.

  Jalen had no such star-struck issues, though, as evidenced by the casual way he flicked his thumb across his smartphone—way newer than Trevor’s old clunker.

  “Here—what do you think?” He held up the phone to a picture of himself posing in front of the mirror over the dressers, muscles flexed, shit-eating grin on his face.

  “We’ll get a lot of likes of that,” Trevor said weakly. The picture highlighted Jalen’s tat, made him look both older and more badass. If hot pictures were the key to winning this thing, they were screwed. No one would want a picture of Trevor shirtless.

  “Yup. I got way more likes than Carter and Carson’s picture of them brushing their teeth together.”

  “Ew.” Shirtless pics were out, as were cute-couple pics. Trevor had no idea what his status should be. Was there an emoticon for in way over my head and quite possibly drowning?

  “What’s your tat for?” Trevor asked, desperate to change the subject away from his own social media shortcomings.

  “I need a reason?” Jalen laced his hands behind his head, showing off fuzzy pits that did something funny to Trevor’s insides. Jalen’s expression was all bored, but the tat’s date and writing made it clear it was a bit more than some random impulse.

  Whatever. Trevor got the message and shelved his curiosity.

  “’Night.” He flipped off the overhead light, then felt his way to the bed ladder. He still had his glasses on, but he had piss-poor night vision that always took too long to adjust.

  “Hey! That’s my foot!” Jalen yelped like he was trying not to giggle.

  Warmth spread over Trevor’s neck, not entirely from embarrassment. Jalen the jock had ticklish feet. It was kind of cute.

  Trevor stubbed his toe on the bottom rung of the ladder. “Ff—fudge.”

  “Maybe next time try asking me to turn out the light, okay, hot stuff?” Jalen sounded back in control of himself now, all superior swagger.

  “Whatever.” Trevor hefted himself onto the bunk, only to discover nothing more than a bottom sheet. “Oh heck. There’s no bedding up here.”

  “Is this your witty way of asking if you can cuddle with me? Plenty of room down here.” Jalen’s voice held the right balance of annoyance and heat to send an unwelcome lick of want snaking down Trevor’s spine.

  “Shut up.” Trevor knew he sounded juvenile and didn’t care. He managed to make it off the bed without killing himself and flipped on the light.

  “How many blankets do you have?” He narrowed his eyes at Jalen, who remained sprawled on top of the striped comforter on his bed.

  Jalen made an elaborate show of not being allowed to talk, then held up a single finger.

  “Crap.”

  “If I was allowed to talk, I’d tell you to check the closet.” Jalen motioned at two slim doors by the chair in the corner.

  “Thank you,” Trevor ground out, the words tasting like a chunk of gravel from the driveway. He threw open the door only to find the world’s smallest bathroom—like seriously, his Uncle Melvin’s RV had a bigger toilet/sink/shower combo. “What the flip? We have a bathroom?”

  “Yep.” Jalen didn’t sound surprised. “I bet this room is where they shelved the nanny or some grandma they didn’t like.”

  “You knew and you let me go across the hall?”

  “You didn’t ask before you rushed out of here with your bag like I might jump you or steal your bag or both,” Jalen shot back, something close to hurt in his eyes.

  What the heck? Had he offended Jalen by leaving the room to change?

  “Sorry.” Trevor had no idea what he was apologizing for, but it felt right. He took a breath. This tension between them couldn’t continue if they were going to play boyfriends in the morning. “I mean it. I’m sorry for being . . . difficult today.”

  “Eh. No biggie.” Jalen stretched on the bed. “It was a long day for everyone.”

  “I’m sure this boyfriend thing will get easier right?” It has to. Please.

  “I’m not worried.” Jalen yawned, not seeming interested in having a state-of-the-nonrelationship talk.

  Trevor shrugged and went to the other door in the room. Whatever. They could sort out the fake relationship stuff tomorrow. He found a narrow closet with a high shelf. The shelf held a pillow and a waffle-weave cotton blanket, both of which hovered maddeningly out of reach. He hopped—no dice.

  Damn this ancient house and its freakishly high ceilings. He turned, intending to drag his suitcase over to stand on, when Jalen came up behind him. He was enough taller than Trevor to reach the bedding easily, but not so tall that Trevor felt like a dwarf in front of him. Actually, embarrassment faded in the heat of the warm body behind him, the intriguing mingled scents of mint and coconut and something earthier, the brush of Jalen’s arm as he handed over the bedding. Trevor’s senses hummed like his nerve endings were coming online after a long hibernation.

  “Thanks,” Trevor said, but the only thing he was truly grateful for was that Jalen was keeping the short jokes to himself. Well, that and he seemed to be oblivious to the effect his nearness had on Trevor.

  Trevor threw the bedding up to his bunk, then fished his sweatshirt out of his bag. The thin blanket wasn’t going to be enough for him, but heck if he was asking Jalen to trade. Jalen seemed like one of those perpetually hot-blooded guys who could break a sweat walking across campus in December, while Trevor was always cold, piling on the covers even in the summer.

  Jalen’s joke about cuddling wormed its way through Trevor’s head. He tried not to think about how nice it would be to cuddle a warm body all night, be wrapped up tight against a hard chest . . .

  Stop that. He scampered up to his bunk before his body embarrassed him. Trevor didn’t do cuddling. Never had. Not even in the depths of his crush on his best friend last summer had he let himself entertain such thoughts. Apart from that brief blip in his psyche, Trevor had a . . . Well, system was the wrong word. Routine. Habit. That was it. A find-a-straight-jock-and-let-him-use-Trevor’s-mouth habit. No names, no repeats, and most certainly no cuddling. And if he felt like shit afterward, well, that was what he deserved.

  Didn’t matter how hot—both literally and metaphorically—Jalen was, Trevor c
ouldn’t afford twee little daydreams.

  Jalen was many things but a morning person was not one of them. The knock at the door came way too fucking early, but no surprise, sparky was fully dressed and serenely munching on a power bar in the corner.

  “Can you get that?” Jalen mumbled, burrowing back into his pillow. He didn’t look up at the sound of someone coming in. As long as whoever it was gave him ten more minutes of sleep, he could care less who it was. Let the camera crew film him.

  “Rise and shine, cupcake,” Dawn chirped. She was a morning person, not even requiring coffee to be annoyingly perky.

  Something heavy hit Jalen’s feet. “What the—?” He sat up. A bulging suit lay across his bunk.

  “A prezzie from wardrobe. We need you guys properly branded before the breakfast filming.”

  “Branded before breakfast . . . that sounds like one of those books you love so much,” he said to Dawn as he rubbed his face.

  “Jalen. I could have had a PA bring you your clothes. But I wanted to see you.” Her voice had a hint of warning to it. Translation: She wanted to make sure Jalen wasn’t about to ruin her new professional image, and that he and Trevor hadn’t killed each other in the night.

  Not likely, although Jalen had been excruciatingly aware of every time Trevor rolled over. The top bunk would creak and Trevor would make this soft little sigh in his sleep that went straight to Jalen’s dick.

  “So the powers that be talked, and we decided on the look for your brand. You’re going to love it.” Dawn’s shifting eyes and clenched hands said otherwise.

  “Yeah?” Jalen didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.

  “Scoops of rainbow sherbet. We’ll have you guys all in pastels, but with a twist—you’ll each have a signature color. Every time you’re on camera or could be on camera, you need to have some part of your clothing be your color.”