Trevor sputtered. He was not a stalker fan stanning for anyone.
“Not someone too old.” Jalen continued to pull out little pieces of Trevor’s hidden preferences. “And not someone too hip . . .”
“Hey, I can be plenty hip. I’m not some country bumpkin.”
Jalen smiled, a feline grin full of smart-ass challenge. “I’ve got it. Taylor Swift. You’re a Swiftie.”
Oh man. Trevor knew his eyes were dancing up near his hairline, and he had to resist the urge to slap a protective hand over his phone.
“I might have a song or two of hers,” he said, keeping his voice almost bored.
“Ha.” Jalen snorted, then launched into more purposeful humming. He nailed the opening riff to her latest pop hit, then proved that Dawn wasn’t lying—he had perfect pitch. “Come on, sing with me.”
“This is proving what exactly?” His foot twitched, ready to tap out the rhythm to the song he’d had on repeat for the last month.
“You’ll see.” Jalen resumed singing.
Despite himself and all his reservations, he gave in. Jalen was too good. If he’d been in Trevor’s a cappella group, he easily would have won all the baritone leads and had aca groupies lined up after the shows. Something deep inside Trevor wanted to sing with Jalen. Needed to sing with Jalen.
By the refrain, he wasn’t just giving in, he was enjoying himself. Who wouldn’t enjoy singing with a velvety-voiced harmony maestro? They were building toward the bridge, and Trevor knew what was coming, what Jalen wanted, but his voice was no longer taking commands from his brain. Instead, he sang like he did when it was only him in his dorm room, desperate to fill the silence and get out of his own head.
They finished, and Trevor’s chest ached with something he couldn’t name. All he knew was that he wanted to do it again.
“That. Exactly that. Now do that on the next take. Stop obsessing about our song being a chick song or about you needing to sound a certain way. Just sing, man.” Jalen’s wide smile was enough to make Trevor want to fulfill his every future request, want to do whatever it took to earn more praise.
Their eyes met and held and Trevor needed—
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Startled, he looked up to find Arrow and the production crew all applauding.
“That is so going in this week’s candid highlights,” Arrow said. “I can’t wait to show the editors.”
“Tape was rolling?” Trevor’s stomach roiled, the energy bar threatening to reappear.
“Of course. And that was perfect. You guys are so cute.” For such a tall guy, Arrow had a rather dramatic speech pattern. But that was the thing—butch baby otters like Arrow could get away with all manner of shit Trevor would never attempt. Arrow, or even Jalen, could rock pink and no one would bat an eye.
“That’s us. Cute.” Jalen slung an arm around Trevor. He was way too comfortable with this acting business. And way too touchy-feely. Trevor hadn’t grown up in a family of huggers, and while his college friends might occasionally do the backslapping thing, Jalen offered a constant stream of little touches. Just like a real boyfriend. Trevor wouldn’t know.
“You know what would be perfect?” Arrow scratched his bristly chin. “A kiss. Let’s get a little spontaneous kiss. We’ll splice it into the footage later.”
“A kiss?” Trevor squeaked. No problem hitting the high note there.
“Who’s kissing?” Dawn walked onto the set, coming up behind Arrow and the camera guy. Great. An audience.
“You need us to kiss?” Carson stepped around Dawn, dragging a much-subdued Carter behind him. Carter had a bemused smile.
“Ten bucks says he got more than a latte at break,” Jalen whispered.
“You can kiss later—right now, we need a close-up of Jalen and Trevor smooching.” Arrow tapped his clipboard against his thigh.
“Great idea.” Dawn’s voice was too enthusiastic. “I just stopped by to see how things were going. I see you have things . . . under control.” Trevor noted that she didn’t immediately leave, instead studying Jalen and Trevor with a penetrating gaze that dared them to defy the direction.
“Tell me when the camera’s rolling,” Jalen said, with way more confidence than Trevor could have managed. All hail the big-sister factor.
Trevor’s spine locked up—a series of bolts tightening, anchoring him to the stoop.
“Hey.” Jalen lowered his voice, his eyes meeting Trevor’s. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“This isn’t your first time, is it?” Jalen’s voice was all soft compassion, and it lit something in Trevor.
He was done. Done with being defended. Done with being seen as the helpless nerd. Done with fake-boyfriend dribbles of kindness he had definitely not earned.
“No,” he lied. Without waiting for a reply, Trevor closed the distance between them, yanking on Jalen’s shoulders, smashing their mouths together.
All right. That was . . . different. Jalen wasn’t used to being mauled—and there really wasn’t a better word for what Trevor was doing to him. It wasn’t kissing as much as an artless mashing of skin, an exclamation point to an argument Jalen hadn’t realized they were having. Trevor broke away, fingers still digging into Jalen’s shoulder.
Watching Trevor all morning, he’d done a fair amount of fantasizing about what it might be like to kiss him. When Trevor sang, he practically vibrated with tension, his whole body doing that a cappella thing of keeping time with his movements. His neck was the sexiest thing—straining and revealing cords of muscles when he really got into a run, which was how Jalen could tell when Trevor backed off the song—all that sexy tension left his body and his shoulders sagged. In Jalen’s fantasy, he came up behind that version of Trevor—the defeated one—and kissed him back into a good mood. He’d start with Trevor’s neck, biting and nibbling and kissing right below his prominent Adam’s apple. Then he’d go for the lips . . . His fantasies had kept him warm all afternoon.
However, the reality was, frankly, like making out with an underinflated basketball. Not exactly soul stirring, which was a shame, given Trevor’s perfect pink heart-shaped mouth.
“Cut!” Arrow threw up his clipboard again. “We weren’t filming yet. And maybe next take, something a bit less . . . violent.”
Dawn glared at him like Jalen was the problem, and hello, he wasn’t the one practicing martial art make-out tactics. And couldn’t she trust he had more game than that mess? Ever since Jalen had arrived, her voice had had a fake, strained quality, and he’d caught her twisting her long red hair around a pen more than once—a sure sign she was on edge. But why was she so certain Jalen would mess up? He hadn’t killed Carter yet—a major achievement—and he’d nailed the harmony so well that even the doppelbangers couldn’t complain. And he was being so good to Trevor that Jalen wouldn‘t mind himself as a boyfriend. He had this.
“Let’s try again. In three . . .” Arrow counted off with his fingers. “Rolling!”
“This time, I lead,” Jalen growled at Trevor. He valued his skin too much to subject himself to another sneak attack. Besides, maybe Trevor just needed lessons . . .
Arrow hadn’t said how long of a kiss they needed, but Jalen wasn’t going to give them some watered-down ish. Trevor made a noise that might have been a protest, but Jalen silenced him with a slow slide of his lips across Trevor’s, absorbing all the little details he hadn’t been able to last time—like the softness of Trevor’s lips or the surprising hint of stubble on his upper lip or the way Trevor breathed through his nose in little huffs. Gradually, Trevor loosened his Vulcan death grip on Jalen’s shoulder and melted into Jalen—chests touching, kiss deepening, mouth going all soft and pliant.
The sizzle Jalen had been hoping for last time built up slowly, like his mama’s cast-iron griddle, gathering heat until Jalen was sure his fingers and toes would be blistered by the heat coursing through him. He pushed his tongue into Trevor’s mouth, seeking an outlet for the energy sparking through him. To
his surprise, Trevor met him eagerly, no trace of awkwardness in how their lips and tongues moved together.
One of Jalen’s favorite things about making out were the little moments like that, when a guy totally gave himself over to the kiss, trusted Jalen to get him to a happy place. Nothing better than having a stubborn guy go all pliant in Jalen’s arms.
He tugged on Trevor’s shoulders, his hands the needy, grasping ones now, trying to pull Trevor into his lap.
“And cut!”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jalen let go of Trevor with a curse.
“Fabulous,” Arrow gushed.
“That was pretty realistic,” Carter said, grudging approval in his voice.
And that was exactly Jalen’s problem. Too. Damn. Realistic.
Chapter Five
@NextDirectionShow Have you checked out our teaser music videos on YouTube yet? Don’t forget to share and like so our groups earn points!
@CarsonNCarter Heard you guys like kisses! Here’s a sunset one of me and my sweetie!
@StandOutJalen Checking out my six pack before bed! Can’t wait to sing more tomorrow!
“I’m good, Ma. Promise.” Jalen leaned back against the couch in the smallest of the living room areas in the house. He liked this little room with the piano in it a lot—especially when there wasn’t a camera crew in sight. They’d been called to the studio to film a new cover song, but the van to take them there wasn’t ready yet. He’d taken advantage of the break in action to finally call his mom.
“You’re fitting in? Getting along with the other guys in the group?”
“Oh yeah. We’re tight,” he lied. In actuality, he’d never felt less like he fit in. Not only was he the only brown guy on the show, all the other participants seemed to come from wholesome Midwest college towns. They could all bond over dorm life and sports teams and hipster music.
With no college other than a few community college classes and an urban upbringing, he didn’t have a whole lot to contribute to the nightly game of “my school beat yours at football” or whatever the current one-upmanship topic was. Back home, Jalen had a crew—the friends he’d hung out with ever since Mama Ivy and Mama Kern adopted him and enrolled him in the neighborhood school. This being a loner shit wasn’t really him—he liked the noise of his house, filled with siblings and mothers, liked hanging in crowded gyms and restaurants, liked riding buses filled with people. The noises of the show weren’t anywhere near as familiar and comforting as his LA life, but he knew Mama Ivy would only worry if he fessed up to being homesick.
“How’s the . . . acting part going?” Mama Ivy wasn’t letting him off the hook easy. “Dawn told me they’re asking you to . . . embellish a bit?”
“You mean how they want me to be boyfriends with one of the guys in the group?” Jalen saved her the trouble of sidestepping delicately around the topic.
“Yes. That. I’m not sure—”
“It’s cool. I’ve got it handled.”
Speaking of handled, Trevor appeared in front of Jalen’s couch, coming through the curved archway that connected the living room to the rest of the first floor. Crap. Last thing he wanted was Trevor listening in as he tried to reassure his mom he wasn’t anywhere close to the miserable he felt. “Listen, Ma, I’ll call you later, okay? I’ve gotta run now.”
He let her say her usual “I love you” and “Be safe,” then pocketed his phone.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you end your call.” Trevor dropped down next to Jalen on the couch. “But this is important.”
Jalen was sure it was or Trevor wouldn’t be seeking him out without the cameras around to demand they interact.
“Oh before I forget, thanks for the soda this morning. You even remembered I take diet.” Trevor looked a bit sheepish, the same sort of pastel shade he turned whenever Jalen did something nice for him that wasn’t required by the directors.
“Just doing my job.” Jalen gave him a wide grin. Trevor’s discomfort was his catnip. Getting Trevor all flustered and off balance was the only real fun in this whole show. Strangely, the more Trevor resisted Jalen’s gestures, the harder Jalen tried. Trevor clearly had no idea how to be a boyfriend, but Jalen was bound and determined to be the best fake boyfriend Trevor—or the producers—had ever seen.
“You didn’t have to post about it, though. Or post that picture of me sleeping earlier.”
“Sure I did.” Jalen had this boyfriend business down. “We got three hundred likes and fifty reshares. People love boyfriends doing nice shit for each other and posting mushy little I-miss-him-even-when-he’s-sleeping posts.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what you posted. You asked for ideas on waking me up and got ninety-seven suggestions.”
“See. Told you I know my stuff. Gotta get them to interact, not just like.” Jalen cracked his knuckles and stretched his arms out. Trevor hadn’t figured it out yet, but Jalen had a secret weapon: sisters. He got the impression that Trevor either didn’t have many girls in his life, or if he did, they weren’t half as romance-obsessed as Jalen’s sisters and all the girls in his crew. Whenever Jalen was at a loss for what to do next, he just thought about the hundreds of conversations he’d been subjected to in the last year alone on bad boyfriend behavior and then did the opposite. And their social media audience seemed to be eating it up. He’d gained a thousand followers just in the last two days.
The weird thing, though, was how much he liked this acting. It wasn’t that different from how he treated his sisters and friends—doing little things for them, like remembering who liked which flavor of soda, noticing if someone was cold or uncomfortable, and being free with the hugs Mama Ivy always said were essential for human happiness. But having a guy to hang on and do those things for was kind of . . . nice. Weird, but nice. Especially on the rare occasions when Trevor would loosen up and touch him back or smile gratefully at him. Turned out that gratitude was kind of a drug for Jalen—made him want to do more, be an even better boyfriend to earn more of those looks.
“Oh heck. I almost forgot why I came after you.” Trevor thrust some sheets at Jalen. “Carson just told me that they’re giving us this old Timberlake song to cover. I tried to find a good a cappella version online for you to learn your part, but I’m not having a ton of luck. I can help you pick out your part with the piano, but we gotta hurry before the van comes.”
We. Jalen liked the sound of that a lot more than he should. “Why you being so nice to me today?”
“Hey, you’re not the only one who can be a good boyfriend. Come with me to the piano,” Trevor demanded. “You can flip pages for me. And pay attention, because I’m not sure how much time we have.”
“Bossy.” Jalen settled himself next to Trevor on the bench. It was technically too small for both of them, necessitating that their thighs touch and that Trevor was far too close for comfort, breaking a lot of their no-touching-if-the-cameras-aren’t-around personal-space rules.
“Hey, bossy would be them actually letting me handle the arrangement. As it is, we’re stuck with this one, which has more holes than I’d like. But I think if you and I work together on some tweaks, we can use your part to fill in better.”
Trevor played the opening to the pop hit with practiced ease, fingers gliding across the piano.
“You’re good,” Jalen said, letting out a low whistle. He hadn’t seen this confident side of Trevor yet and it was ridiculously sexy. He loved how Trevor’s mouth pursed as he concentrated on playing.
“I should be. Ten years of piano lessons and then a music minor in college. Now listen for your part.”
Jalen tried to concentrate on the song and when to flip pages for Trevor, not how good Trevor felt pressed against his side with no director urging the contact. By the second verse, he was humming along.
“You’re getting it.” Trevor’s praise felt like warm maple syrup to Jalen, like a hot breakfast after all these doughnut-and-coffee offerings the show kept giving them. It had been too many days since someone pointed
out what Jalen was getting right.
“Sing with me. Let’s see if we can get the harmony before the others try to take it apart,” Trevor said. He leaned in, and Jalen caught a good whiff of the old-fashioned soap he favored, along with the little hint of sweetness that always seemed to cling to his skin, like someone had dusted him with powdered sugar. What would his skin taste like? Would it be sweet like the beignets he’d had on a trip to New Orleans with his mothers?
Trevor made a frustrated noise, interrupting Jalen’s little fantasy. “Uh. Jalen? That was where you come in.”
Trevor reached out to reshuffle the pages back to the beginning, only accentuating his nearness. God, even the brush of his arm made Jalen’s pants feel a little snug.
“Sorry.” Jalen resolved to focus on Trevor’s voice, not his own growing arousal, and managed to join in on time this round. Trevor seemed much more confident with this song, voice stronger, shoulders up and back, toe tapping out the beat instead of lagging behind like with the Christina song. As they finished the song, their eyes met. And held, all that nearness and desire flashing between them. Jalen wasn’t alone in how the song had affected him, and that knowledge made his pulse speed up.
I’m not pretending. Not right now, he tried to tell Trevor.
Me either, he could swear Trevor’s eyes flashed back, and it was enough to make Jalen put a hand on Trevor’s thigh, turn more fully into him.
No cameras. No directors ordering the contact. He wanted to capture this one moment when Trevor’s porcupine quills were tucked away, when he was simply a sweet guy who was fun to sing with. A sweet guy who wanted to help keep Jalen’s secret about how bad he was with sheet music. Jalen wanted to kiss Trevor and he wanted it to be real. He leaned in—
“There you guys are. Van’s here.” Carter’s nasal voice made Trevor leap away from Jalen, skittering across the bench like they’d been caught smoking weed, not hanging out.
Love Me Tenor Page 5