The Limelight
A Travel Boys Novel
Louisa Keller
Copyright © 2018 by Louisa Keller
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Kay Simone Creative.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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www.louisakeller.com
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I will be forever grateful to the incredible people who have patiently served me gallons of herbal tea while I was writing this book. I’m pretty sure lavender and chamomile are running through my veins at this point. Thanks for the positive vibes, and for letting me bring burgers into your establishment!
Contents
Serotonin Sindrome Summer 2018 Tour Schedule
Prologue
1. Porter
2. Levi
3. Porter
4. Levi
5. Porter
6. Levi
7. Porter
8. Levi
9. Porter
10. Levi
11. Porter
12. Levi
13. Porter
14. Levi
Serotonin Sindrome Fall 2018 Tour Schedule
15. Porter
Epilogue
Fragile Ground
Blank Slate
Want More?
About the Author
Serotonin Sindrome Summer 2018 Tour Schedule
June 2nd, 2018 – Portland, ME
June 5th, 2018 – Concord, NH
June 8th, 2018 – Boston, MA
June 11th, 2018 – Providence, RI
June 13th, 2018 – New York, NY
June 17th, 2018 – Pittsburgh, PA
June 20th, 2018 – Philadelphia, PA
June 22nd, 2018 – Washington, DC
June 26th, 2018 – Richmond, VA
June 29th, 2018 – Raleigh, NC
July 2nd, 2018 – Atlanta, GA
July 6th, 2018 – Orlando, FL
July 9th, 2018 – Miami, FL
July 12th, 2018 – New Orleans, LA
July 23rd, 2018 – Houston, TX
July 26th, 2018 – Austin, TX
July 29th, 2018 – Santa Fe, NM
August 1st, 2018 – Denver, CO
August 4th, 2018 – Phoenix, AZ
August 7th, 2018 – San Diego, CA
August 10th, 2018 – Los Angeles, CA
August 14th, 2018 – San Francisco, CA
August 17th, 2018 – Portland, OR
August 20th, 2018 – Seattle, WA
Prologue
Levi - New York, NY
Okay. I’m gonna get sappy for a minute, so buckle in.
I can remember the first time I held a guitar. I was something like six years old at the time—I can’t remember for sure—and the instrument was all bulky and unfamiliar in my lap. But I knew from the moment that I first strummed a clumsy chord that I was going to be a musician. I can remember playing my first show with the band I pulled together in high school (Crisis! at the Pharmacy) covering Blink-182 songs in the local grange hall as a few dozen of my classmates cheered and chimed in for the choruses. I can remember the day I signed that contract with Cooper’s management group, Pigeon Kiss Media, effectively launching my career; the moment my first album went live on every major streaming app; the afternoon I was informed that the band would be going on tour.
I’ll never forget any of those moments. They’re practically sewn into the core of me.
But none of those memories can come close to rivaling the first time I woke up next to Porter goddamn Hansen.
It took me a moment, after I ascended from a murky dream to consciousness, before I realized where I was. There had been too many hotels in too short a time for me to keep track, and my dozy mind wasn’t particularly in the mood to figure out which city lay beyond the closed curtains.
Let me tell you, the rock’n’roll lifestyle isn’t for the faint of heart.
A sharp ray of sunlight snuck between the blinds, illuminating a small strip of the room from the midpoint of the floor-to-ceiling windows to the comfy king-sized bed. Sighing, I turned over with the intention of slipping back off to sleep. And there he was, in all his naked glory.
Porter.
He was facing me, eyes closed, his breathing shallow. His features were softened by sleep, the worry lines smoothed out and the tension simply gone. His stubble had grown out over the past few weeks, crossing the border into beard territory, and it was in need of a trim. Which, I mean, was super hot. But more than that, there was something intensely intimate about waking up with Porter, seeing him all vulnerable and disheveled in sleep. He was never like that when he was awake…or at least, he never let me see if he was like that.
I sighed contentedly, letting my eyes roam across his body. I am nothing if not a connoisseur of beautiful moments. Then I slipped silently out of bed, pulling on my boxers and beginning to search for a coffee maker. There was a half-concocted idea in my head of waking Porter up with a steaming cup of coffee and—once he was fully conscious—a blowjob. I had just located the Keurig pods when I heard a sleepy voice.
“What’re you doing?”
I turned back to the bed, smiling. “Getting you your caffeine fix. How are you feeling?”
Porter propped himself up on his elbows and surveyed me seriously. “I’m good. Really good.”
Because I’m kind of an asshole, I smiled and said, “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Sorry,” mumbled Porter, a gorgeous flush alighting on his cheeks. Residual sleep was slurring his words, one syrupy syllable leading straight to the next. It reminded me of how Cooper’s accent increased tenfold first thing in the morning.
“Well…I’m glad. That you’re feeling good,” I clarified.
Porter nodded. He opened his mouth as if to say something else and then closed it again. Anxiety was visibly seeping back into his body as he shook off the last residue of sleep. I tried to wait patiently—a serious feat where I was concerned—silently willing Porter to relax.
Finally, he asked me, “Will you come back to bed?”
Warmth bloomed in my chest and I nodded, scrambling onto the bed and crawling up Porter’s body until I was straddling him, our faces inches apart.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” I murmured, my gaze dragging across each exquisite feature of Porter’s face. The tan skin, the cerulean eyes, the barely-visible freckles dappling his nose…each second revealed another detail that I had never noticed before. I never wanted to look away from him. There were so many aspects of Porter that he kept to himself, never letting anyone close enough to discover them.
It’s a privilege, I realized, to be allowed in like this. Not something to be taken lightly, and certainly not to be cast aside.
I wanted to spend the rest of eternity discovering the minute intricacies of Porter Hansen.
Jesus H. Christ.
“You’re staring,” Porter told me, the blush rising high on his cheekbones.
“You’re letting me,” I replied, flushing at how awestruck my voice sounded.
Porter’s gaze drifted downward, landing on my lips. “I guess I am.”
We stayed there for a beat, frozen in our admiration of one another, and then Porter leaned forward to catch me in a kiss. It started out sweet, almost chaste, but then I tumbled forward, one hand reaching to cup Porter’s jaw, the other supporting my own weight. Our bodies slid together deliciously, and we shuddered in unison.
“Fuck,” muttered
Porter.
“Fuck indeed,” I agreed.
I ground down, deliberately sliding my own hardening cock against his. Fuck, I wanted him.
Porter groaned, his eyes slipping closed, and thrust upward. The blankets had, by this time, fallen away, and he was completely naked. His cock was plumping up, thick and flushed against his stomach. My mouth began to water at the sight.
“How do you want me?” I rasped, reaching to stroke Porter’s cock. Jesus, I was categorically unable to keep my cool around him.
“God,” said Porter, shuddering.
I circled my thumb around the head, smiling when Porter’s breath hitched. “Maybe…on my back?” I suggested., running my fingers along the thick vein on the underside of Porter’s cock and smirking. “Or…on all fours?” I slid my index finger down to the base and then further back to tease at the spot just behind Porter’s balls.
“Jesus Levi—”
We were interrupted by a loud buzzing sound from the bedside table. Annoyed, I turned to glare at my cockblocking phone.
“Ignore it,” I told Porter. “Where was I?”
“On…on all fours?” Porter said uncertainly.
“Right. Or I could—oh for christsake.”
I rolled off of Porter and grabbed at my vibrating phone, keying in the passcode impatiently. Then I froze. There were several texts from Cooper, all terse and lacking his usual garnish of emojis.
>>COOPER: Call me when you get this.
>>COOPER: As soon as you’re up please.
>>COOPER: I don’t want you to worry, just need to give you a heads up about something.
>>COOPER: I’m heading into a meeting in 10, would like to talk to you if you’re awake.
It was unusual for Cooper to call or text before noon the day after a show, and almost unheard of for him to send curt, evasive messages. That was more Dalton’s forte, truth be told.
“Everything okay?” Porter asked. He was reaching out to press his palm against the small of my back. The gesture was comforting, causing warmth to spread through me.
My dear, sweet Porter, I thought.
“I’m not sure. Cooper asked me to call him, is it okay if we pause for a sec?” The words were almost physically painful, and my cock gave a miserable throb. I reached down to adjust it, trying—and failing—to be subtle.
“Of course,” said Porter, looking away politely. “Should I leave, or…”
“Nah,” I said. “I’m sure it’s fine.” I hit the call button and listened to the phone ring twice before Cooper picked up.
“Levi, thanks for calling,” Cooper said, all business. That was never a good sign.
“No problem. What’s going on?” I asked.
“We have a bit of a situation.” Oh fuck. “You haven’t left your room yet have you?” There was a brief pause—another bad sign—and then Cooper said, “Is Porter with you?”
Jesus Christ, I thought, what the hell is going on?
“Yeah, he’s here.”
“Put me on speaker,” said Cooper. His tone made it very clear that this wasn’t optional.
“What? Why?”
“Just do it, Levi, I have like ninety seconds before I have to go.”
I rolled my eyes and did as I was told for once. “Okay, you’re broadcasting loud and clear, what’s the big emergency?”
“Somebody got pictures of you guys making out at some club last night.”
I snorted, relief flooding through my limbs. “That’s it? You’re freaking out because someone saw us kissing?” I looked over to Porter and was greeted with a look of dread. Uh oh…
“Levi,” said Cooper, sounding impatient. “I thought you should have a heads up before you leave the hotel room. This isn’t a small thing, it’s all over the internet. The band is on the brink of being huge right now, you’re trending all over social media. You know the talent scout last night was singing your praise on Twitter? You should check out the stats on Spotify, they’re skyrocketing. So yeah, people care that our front man was groping another guy in public last night.”
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” I argued. “What, you’re mad because an openly gay guy was doing gay things?”
“I’m not mad,” said Cooper. “You’re right, you didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not in trouble, I’m not lecturing you, I’m warning you that there’s a lot of attention coming your way. So, I thought you should know before someone shoves a camera in your face and starts asking about your sex life.”
“Oh, come on,” I said. “Nobody cares about my sex life…well, except for Porter.” I looked over at him—my sweet, quiet prince charming in a stretched-out t-shirt—who was being conspicuously quiet. “You okay?”
Porter blinked slowly, then met my eyes. “I’m…not sure.”
Cooper made a sympathetic noise. “Hang in there, Porter. I’ll be there in a few hours and we can come up with a contingency plan for keeping you out of the limelight. I’d suggest you both hang tight and stay clear of the internet. But I know you’re probably going to ignore my advice, Levi, so for the love of God use common sense if you venture out.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Coop,” I snarked. “Enjoy your meeting.”
“Have a good morning guys.”
The line went dead, and I tossed my phone back onto the nightstand.
“Goddamn. What a way to start the day.” I looked up and caught Porter’s panicked gaze. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. You’re upset…uh…this is going to be okay. You’re…it’ll be fine.” I reached out and pulled Porter into a hug. “I’m so sorry about all of this, Porter.” I maneuvered the two of us so that we were lying on the bed together, Porter’s head on my chest, our arms wrapped around one another.
After a while Porter muttered, “Can we just stay like this? Away from everyone else?”
I squeezed Porter tightly. “Of course,” I said quietly. “It’s just you and me.”
1
Porter
Seattle, WA
It was a Saturday night and the bar was dead. I had been on my shift for nearly six hours and had served a grand total of sixteen patrons. Things had picked up around ten when a group of four had traipsed in for open mic night, the twang of their banjo luring in a couple of college students who had been walking by. But by one o’clock the bar was empty save for a regular named Bill who was nursing his third scotch of the night.
The door swung open, causing a small bell to clang feebly, announcing the arrival of…someone.
“Welcome in,” I called, not even bothering to look up from the glasses that I was putting away.
Bill downed the last of his drink and set a handful of bills onto the bar. “I think I’m gonna call it a night,” he said.
“Get home safely,” I replied.
“You too,” said Bill, shrugging on his jacket and heading for the door.
No sooner had the door shut behind him than the newcomer took his seat. I turned and found myself facing a man with piercing green eyes. His hair was a dark auburn, picking up hints of red from the dim bar lighting, and his body was slim and lithe. He was wearing a tight black t-shirt emblazoned with the name of some band I had never heard of, and the tightest pair of skinny jeans I had ever seen. When our eyes met, the man’s face lit up with an alarmingly straight, white smile. I was mesmerized.
I fumbled the glass I was holding, nearly dropping it before I managed to steady it in my grip. Blushing fiercely, I put on my best customer service smile and asked, “What can I get you?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “Dealer’s choice. Just make it something strong.”
That was unexpected. Imaginative types didn’t tend to frequent this bar, and the most interesting drink I had made all night was a Manhattan. I set down the glass and set about preparing an elaborate cocktail that I had invented in my early days as a bartender. It was a favorite of the sorority girls who lived around the block and stopped by every week for Thirsty Thursday. There were about sixteen ingredients, and it t
ook a couple of minutes to assemble. The entire time I was preparing the drink, I could feel the man’s eyes on me…not an entirely unpleasant experience, but it did make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. His attention was exciting and frightening and confusing all at once. When I finally set the electric blue drink in front of him, the guy let out a bark of laughter.
“What?” I asked, trying desperately not to sound disappointed by the response. I didn’t allow myself to drift off into an internal monologue about why I wanted so badly to impress the stranger.
“I just didn’t expect something so creative from a dive bar. Bartenders usually toss some whiskey in a glass and slide it over.” He took an enthusiastic sip and groaned. It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. “Goddamn, this is good. I must say, Seattle hasn’t failed to impress.”
“You just visiting?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Normally I would have excused myself to wipe down tables or prep garnishes for the next day, but there was something about this guy that drew me in and didn’t let me go. I wanted…well, I wanted him if I was being completely honest. Instant attraction was not normally my style, and I was taken aback by the effect he was having on me before we had even introduced ourselves.
“Yeah, just a quick trip. It was going to be quicker, but I stumbled across some bad luck.”
“Oh?” I resolutely did not believe in luck, so I was annoyed to find myself desperate to know what had happened.
“I came into Seattle to meet up with a friend of a friend. I’m a musician and I’m supposed to be launching my first headlining tour on Monday. So this guy, Gerald, agreed to drive the bus for us.”
The Limelight Page 1