Love Me Tenor
Page 13
“What about you, Trevor? What’s Jalen scared of?”
Trevor’s eyes darted to Jalen’s arm. Oh fuck no. He was not going to share Jalen’s fear of bunk beds. Jalen’s hands curled into fists.
“Jalen’s scared of losing his biceps definition.” The smile Trevor gave Jalen was 100 percent angelic, and Jalen laughed with relief.
“Darn right.” He flexed for the camera, trying to ignore the buzzing alarm in his head, warning him that trusting Trevor not to share his private stuff wasn’t the same as trusting him with Jalen’s heart.
“And what’s Trevor scared of?”
That one was easy. “Casseroles.”
“Hey! Disliking mystery meat and white sauce is not a phobia.” Trevor’s protest was more relief than indignation, and his nervous smile caused a sour pit to grow in Jalen’s gut.
Yeah, sparky, turns out I’m trustworthy, too. You really think I was gonna do you in? he asked Trevor with his eyes.
Trevor gave him another sheepish smile and shrugged. Subtly, his thumb rubbed against his wrist, a firm pressure right over what Jalen knew good and well was a fading bruise. I trust you, Trevor’s eyes said. Remember?
Oh, Jalen remembered. Trevor spread out under him, Trevor straining against Jalen’s hold, making needy, hungry sounds as he begged Jalen to hold him down harder, trusting that Jalen was going to make them both fly. That was trust all right, but trust was such a funny, slinky thing. It started as thin as some of Mama Ivy’s scarves and gradually forged into links of iron. Where are we? Are we silk or steel?
It was hard to trust an illusion. You. I’m scared of losing you.
How much of this is real? Trevor turned before Jalen could beam the question at him. Just as well.
Jalen tried to focus on providing good banter for the rest of Kaitlyn’s questions, but it was hard not to see each question as some sort of test: how much did he really know about Trevor? He wanted to believe he got to see the real guy, not only his camera-ready self. And it wasn’t merely sex—the camera didn’t get to see Trevor making him laugh when Jalen rehearsed his lead in their room or Trevor flinging popcorn at him because Jalen was teasing him or Trevor cuddling into Jalen in the middle of the night because he was cold. The camera might get some of his smiles, but it would never get that happy little sigh Trevor made.
“Now that you’ve shared some of your secrets, I have one for you.” Kaitlyn’s smile reminded Jalen of the popular girls at his high school and how their surprises usually meant humiliation for the unsuspecting. “Your mission for the rest of today and tomorrow is to work on a setlist, because we have a new challenge for you Saturday.”
“We’re going to be singing with an audience?” Carson asked.
“My lips are sealed.” Kaitlyn put a well-manicured finger against her lips and winked.
Carter eyed Trevor like he was about to go full-on Hunger Games to ensure a win, but even Carter knew better than to express anything other than, “Can’t wait!”
Jalen and the others nodded and voiced their own lukewarm enthusiasm. An audience. Oh shit. Suddenly, his worries over where things stood with Trevor shifted to make room for the more pressing panic of whether they could survive this next challenge without killing each other.
Chapter Twelve
@NextDirectionShow Huge day for our guys! Hope you’re ready for us, Jericho Beach!
@StandOutJalen Ready for anything!
Breakfast with the rest of the cast was like doing the walk of shame every darn morning. Trevor would never, ever get used to the winks from the Keg Stand guys when they asked how—or if—he slept, and there was one dude in Heat Loss who always looked at Jalen like he’d rather drench him in syrup than any pancakes. And that made Trevor stand closer to Jalen in the buffet line, laugh a bit louder at Jalen’s jokes. Heat Loss dude could take a seat because Jalen was not up for grabs.
He’s not really yours either. That thought was enough to take some of the shine off the unexpected bounty of having a hot breakfast. Maybe he wasn’t hungry after all.
“I think we’re ready,” Jalen said as he grabbed some eggs. He piled extra bacon on Trevor’s plate before returning the tongs to the serving plate.
“Hey! I can feed myself!” Trevor added some eggs before Jalen could complain that he was falling down on the job.
“Make sure you eat enough. It’s probably going to be a long day.”
“Don’t coddle me,” Trevor warned, but without a lot of bite to the complaint. Jalen trying to take care of him was just what Jalen did.
“I just want to know what we’re doing. I’d feel more prepared,” Jalen said. They were still waiting for the big announcement of what the challenge would be.
“No, you were right the first time. We’re ready.” They sang in the rehearsal space at the studio. They sang in the van on the way back to the house. They sang in the yard at the house. They sang around the piano. They argued over parallel fifths to the point that even Jalen could point out the hole in the music. They sang so much that Trevor grew oblivious to when the camera was on them and when it was just their group, wrestling with the setlist and trying to work out a cohesive group of songs for their mystery performance. And choreography beyond stand there and sing. Even his toe muscles hurt from dancing and moving. Maybe especially his toe muscles.
He’d much rather be doing the fun kind of wrestling with Jalen back in their room. After Jalen convinced Dawn and Carter and Carson to add the new song, he’d celebrated by putting it on repeat in their room, where singing along to the track had quickly devolved into sleepy making out and grinding off. It was . . . Well, sweet was probably the wrong word for being held down and forcibly kissed, but their linked hands and joint humming to the song was surprisingly tender, and their bodies had been slow and lethargic, climax sneaking up instead of a battle to the finish.
Sweet. It was sweet, or as close to it as Trevor could let himself experience. And afterward, the most surprising thing of all was that Trevor fell asleep. Right when the guilt swarm would usually descend, he’d drifted off in the cocoon of Jalen’s arms. His dreams had been a bit wack, with lots of running down long corridors knowing he’d forgotten something, but it still beat the usual tidal wave of suck. And the next morning, Jalen had been all triumphant, like him sleeping instead of flipping out was a major victory. Seeing as how it got him a lot more kisses and lingering looks during a long day of rehearsals, Trevor was happy to count it that way.
“You’ve got everything you’ll need in your bag?” Jalen whispered as they grabbed seats.
“Stop worrying. We’re not going to have a repeat of last week. Promise.”
In front of the living room, Dawn clapped her hands to get their attention. Like the rest of the production crew, she was wearing a blue shirt emblazoned with the show’s logo. “We’ve got presents for you!”
Even Kaitlyn was wearing a shirt with the show’s logo—albeit with a teeny denim skirt, and she’d knotted the shirt to show a strip of tanned stomach. Trevor’s dad could base an entire month’s worth of sermons off nothing more than Kaitlyn’s wardrobe choices. Arrow had two huge bags and was handing out T-shirts to the rest of the cast—Heat Loss got black, naturally, and Keg Stand got root beer brown, while Stand Out! got their usual pastels.
All around the room, dudes peeled off their shirts for a fast swap. Muscle and ab city, but Trevor couldn’t appreciate the scenery. He made a strangled noise, fisting the pink shirt Arrow handed him.
“Ug. I can’t . . .”
“Oh.” Jalen’s eyes went bigger than the English muffin on his plate as he realized Trevor’s dilemma.
Darn right oh. Trevor could not change here. Thanks to Jalen—in the best possible way—his back and chest looked like he’d tangled with a bloodsucking alien and lost. And the mix of fading and fresh marks were fucking hot when it was just the two of them or Trevor in front of the mirror, but no way was he wanting to advertise his and Jalen’s new hobby to the rest of the cast.
Hell. Trevor pulled on the pink shirt over the other pink T-shirt he was wearing. Because he owned so many shirts now, he didn’t even have to think when he got dressed anymore.
“Seriously?” Carter motioned at Trevor’s layered look.
“I get cold.” Trevor tried to sound righteous, not defensive.
“Hickeys,” Carson coughed into his fist. “Someone’s been getting up to some extracurricular fun.”
“Ooh. I bet you’re right.” Carter had a devious smile, one that lit up his eyes, and Trevor could see a flash of what Carson found attractive in the guy. “I wanna see.”
Or not. Nope. Not cute at all, especially when he reached for the hem of Trevor’s shirt. “Hey!”
“Not cool, man.” Jalen batted Carter’s hand away. “If he says he’s cold, he’s cold.” He gave Trevor an indecipherable look. What? Was he supposed to own up to the hickeys? Own up to being more than pretend boyfriends?
“Okay! Settle down!” Dawn called their attention back before he could figure out what was up with Jalen. “Are you ready to find out your next challenge?”
A chorus of yeses greeted her.
“Yay! So there’s a big festival today over at Jericho Beach. And . . . you guys are all performing at one of the music stages! And you’ll each have a booth with swag to hand out when you’re not singing. You’ll want to work on your promo skills—take selfies with people, autograph merchandise, make people excited to see your videos and your set.”
“How do we know who won?” one of the Keg Stand guys asked.
“You’ll each have big jars. You’re collecting funds for different charities. The group that raises the most money will win an advantage next week—a special-effects guru for your next video.”
“Do we get to pick the charity?” Carson asked. Undoubtedly he had ideas and suggestions about what would be the most marketable.
“Nope. The production team already did that. It’s on your itinerary for the day. Your job is to interact, interact, interact and do a killer set so that people want to donate.”
“Who decides what order we perform in?” the surliest member of Heat Loss asked as he stretched his long skinny legs out in front of him.
“We’re finding that out right now. Arrow?”
“The group with the social media post that got the most shares this week gets to pick first,” Arrow said, laying the drama on thick as he handed Dawn an envelope like they were the freaking Oscars or something.
“Intern Julie compiled all your various posts and tweets this week, and the one that got the most reshares and likes is . . .” She ripped the envelope open, then frowned. “Carson?”
“Yes?” Carson’s expression was not unlike a dog with a sausage hovering overhead.
“Carson’s picture of Jalen and Trevor on the couch in the breakroom at the studio went viral. Apparently.” She still sounded like she couldn’t believe it. She held up a computer printout of the post—nothing that special about the picture that Trevor could see.
“Not one of us?” Carter sounded more than a little put out.
“Hey, people love us, man.” Jalen stretched, putting an arm around Trevor.
Yes, but which us did the people love? Were they falling in love with the fake couple who turned it on when the cameras were near? Or with the two guys chilling oblivious to the rest of the world? What did others see in that picture?
Wish I knew. Wish I could see the real us. Trevor’s chest tightened. Around him, Dawn gave more instructions for the day, Carter and Carson bickered over which spot to choose, and still Trevor’s eyes stayed locked on the picture fluttering from Dawn’s fingers as she talked.
The day was crisp and clear with retina-busting bright sunshine. Jericho Beach looked out on the bay, with a view of West Vancouver across the water and ferries making the trek, as well as views to the northeast of tall buildings and condos in downtown Vancouver. Jalen had never been on a ferry. Maybe on their next day with free time he and Trevor could take one, go explore West Vancouver together.
Right now, though, what he really cared about was food. Little white tents dotted the park, with lots of great smells coming from the food court area. Back home, they went for pho once a week, and Mama Kern had this thing for Ecuadoran food, so they went out for pupusas a fair bit, too. The bland, very American food craft service provided the show had him craving taste and spice.
And with them on their own for lunch, he was excited to grab some chicken satay skewers and a fried noodle dish to bring back to share with Trevor. Trevor had turned pale when the show had said they could get whatever they wanted for lunch—and Jalen knew it was about money, not dietary restrictions. So he’d volunteered to go on the pretense of someone needing to stay behind with the booth. Mama Kern had made sure Jalen had plenty of spending money to last until the show paid them—which wasn’t very much anyway. Jalen had been surprised when Dawn told him the amount. Room and board and exposure were the big draws.
The breeze from the ocean tempered the sun, and Jalen wished he had time to go for a run, really enjoy the perfect weather. Instead, he’d spent the morning working their booth, handing out merchandise, listening to music filtering in from the music stage, and taking a surprising number of selfies with people at the festival. Carter and Carson had chosen the last spot for their group to perform. K-Stand got the midday slot, Heat Loss got a slot closer to dinner, and they got a spot in the evening.
“Food!” Trevor came out from behind the booth to greet him. “I told Carter and Carson they could have the booth for a bit. We can sit over on the grass.”
Thank fuck. Jalen could use a longer break from the two of them, and Trevor seemed to have picked up on that. It had been a long two days of practice. He let Trevor lead them to a grassy spot overlooking all the tents and miles of people.
“ZO my God.” Trevor pointed back at their booth. “All three of those dudes are holding hands.”
Three guys in probably their late twenties had stopped to chat with Carter and Carson. All three held hands, and the guy in the middle had a braided rainbow bracelet on one arm.
“Yeah? And?”
“Do you think they’re . . . together?”
“Probably.” Geez. Trevor could be so sheltered sometimes. To Jalen, the crowd felt like home—like the festivals back in LA, with a diverse crowd. Here there were lots of women in saris and men in turbans rubbing shoulders with small Asian women, and so many mixed families that Jalen had lost count. All the same-gendered couples made Jalen miss Mama Ivy and Mama Kern’s large friendship circle.
And yeah, Jalen had noticed a few probably poly groups, but unlike Trevor, this didn’t shock him any. “Two dudes were making out in line for noodles.” Jalen opened the box and handed Trevor a pair of chopsticks.
“You don’t see that where I’m from.” Trevor fiddled with the chopsticks like he wasn’t sure how to hold them.
“You don’t say.” Jalen reached over and corrected Trevor’s grip. “You never use chopsticks before?”
“Um. Not exactly.” Trevor tried and failed to grab some noodles.
“First time for everything.” Jalen scooped up a bite and held it out for him. Trevor opened his mouth and let Jalen pop the food inside. It made Jalen’s chest expand to feed him like this.
“Oh man, that’s tasty.”
“Good.” Jalen laughed at him. “You don’t like Vietnamese food, we’re gonna have to talk about throwing you back, getting me a new boyfriend. You gotta like noodles.”
“It’s a requirement, huh?”
“Yup.” Jalen bumped shoulders with him.
“As long as you don’t make me eat ranch or tuna casseroles, I’m cool with trying new things.” Heat that had nothing to do with the pepper in the noodles zoomed between them.
Jalen was still on a miss
ion to figure out how to stop Trevor from feeling bad after sex, but they’d certainly gotten pretty creative with all the ways Jalen could hold Trevor down and rub off. And now with that look in Trevor’s eyes, Jalen was full of good ideas for things they could do tonight. Damn. They had probably another six hours of festival ahead of them. Jalen really wanted to drag Trevor somewhere private and kiss him until they were both limp and spent.
“You hot?” He motioned at Trevor’s layered shirts. He’d been torn between feeling bad for Trevor’s dilemma earlier and really wanting people to see what Trevor let him do. Which was probably a bit fucked up, but he couldn’t help the surge of pride he felt whenever he saw the hickeys on Trevor’s chest.
“Nah. I’m always cold.” Trevor had given up on the chopsticks and moved on to the chicken skewers. “Except . . . lately.” He blushed and looked away.
“Hey, I’m always happy to keep you warm.” He put an arm around Trevor, who for once didn’t tense up or look around before relaxing into Jalen.
“You nervous about performing?” Trevor asked.
“Nope,” Jalen lied. The crowd was way bigger than he’d imagined, with the area in front of the stage packed with lawn chairs and people standing in big clumps. And the crowd was predicted to only swell by nightfall.
“You’ll do fine.” Trevor saw right through him, patting Jalen’s knee like he’d fessed up to the nerves ricocheting through him like Nerf darts. “Your number is my favorite in our whole set.”
You’re my favorite, Jalen thought but didn’t say it, only grinned at Trevor.
A few hot and sweaty hours later, though, it was Trevor who looked like he had a major case of the butterflies. They were waiting in the grassy area behind the main stage for their turn to perform. A local band was up currently and they were killing it with lots of whoops and hollers from the crowd. Heat Loss had gotten a similarly warm reception and their tip jars had been overflowing. Jalen didn’t need to beat them, but he did want a respectable showing for Stand Out!