A Kind of Home

by Lane Hayes

  Adam was a few steps ahead of me. He turned with a puzzled frown and cocked his head, waiting for me to continue. His full mouth was set in a serious line, but the light and our sunglasses made it difficult to gauge his features. “It would be for at least three months. I wasn’t planning on going back ’til January.”

  “You told me. That’s fine,” I said with a nonchalance I didn’t feel. “Roomies for three months… no pressure. I mean, if you want to go, I—”

  “I don’t. I’d rather stay. But I don’t want to get in your way or make you feel uncomfortable.”

  “We have an agreement. What’s done is done. We’re grown-ups. We won’t let it get complicated,” I said confidently.

  “You really think we can honor that deal? I’m walking off a boner right now, Ize. I’m not sure—”

  “Then get sure. Friends only. Shake on it.” I offered him my hand and wasn’t entirely surprised when he stared at it before convulsing like he’d just been electrocuted instead.

  “You’re a moron,” I deadpanned.

  “Nah. I’m your fun roomie. Come on. Let’s take the pups home and plan some wholesome roommate-bonding activities. First I’m gonna put these damp sneakers some asshole stuck in the dishwasher into the dryer; then we can play checkers in our pj’s and watch scary movies while we stuff our faces with popcorn and….”

  I groaned at his never-ending list and smacked his arm when he casually slipped his hand into mine. I knew he was kidding. It was typical Adam to do exactly the opposite of what you’d asked just to get a rise out of you. When I tugged my hand free with a scowl, he gave me a faux puzzled look before throwing back his head in laughter. I should have joined in as though I was in on the joke. However, my skittering pulse and the rush of heat to my face were sure signs I was in over my head. And quite possibly, the joke was on me.

  WE DROPPED the dogs at their respective homes, then hailed a taxi. Adam made an executive decision when he spotted a few twentysomethings pointing in our direction from across the street. I didn’t bother commenting on the change in mode of transportation, and I was grateful he didn’t either. It was a matter of quietly assessing the atmosphere and making the appropriate adjustment.

  “What are you doing today?” I asked conversationally as the elevator climbed to my floor.

  “I’m going to class in a couple hours. We’re making soufflé.”

  I chuckled at his over-the-top erudite expression. “Fondants and soufflés? I’m impres—whoa. My door is open. I didn’t leave it—”

  “Stay here,” Adam commanded, darting ahead of me into the condo.

  Not a chance. I pulled out my cell in case I needed to call for help. Then I moved behind him and slammed nose-first into his back when he stopped suddenly.

  “Oh. Hey,” he said before stepping sideways with a flourish worthy of Vanna White. “It’s the bodyguard.”

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Brian looked as surprised as I was to find him standing in the middle of my great room with his phone glued to his ear. He mumbled something to whoever was on the line before addressing me in a brusque, no-nonsense tone. “Looking for you, sir. You weren’t answering your cell or your door. I checked the gym and called the studio, but no one had seen you. I was afraid something had happened. Where did you go?”

  “I went to the park with Adam. We weren’t gone long. You must have just missed us,” I lied. “But this is breaking and entering! How do you justify—”

  “I didn’t break in, sir. I obtained your key from the head of security here. I thought it best to be sure you weren’t incapacitated in your residence before alerting the authorities,” he said calmly.

  “The auth—that’s crazy! You should have called me!”

  “He did, genius. Remember? No harm, no foul.” Adam grasped my elbow and gave me a sharp look.

  I let out an exasperated rush of air and nodded. Adam was right. I was the asshole here.

  “Sorry. I didn’t check my messages. I probably left my phone on Mute and forgot to—” My cell rang in my hand just then. Loudly. I silenced it again and stuffed it in my pocket. “Anyway… I’m here and I’m fine. Thanks for checking. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get ready to go to the studio.”

  Brian moved toward me and then stopped when we were inches apart. “I will be waiting.”

  My skin crawled with instant alarm. It seemed harmless enough, which probably meant I was being paranoid on top of generally agitated. I tried to shake the feeling as I watched Brian head for the door.

  “That was weird,” I mumbled as I followed Adam into the kitchen.

  “Not really. He was doing his job. You got caught being naughty. You’re lucky you didn’t get spanked. But if anyone is doing the spanking, I’d want it to be me,” he replied lecherously, waggling his eyebrows.

  I sat on one of the barstools as I scrolled through my contacts. “I’m ignoring you and attempting to deal with real life.”

  He let out an amused huff. “You’re interested, though. I can tell. You’ve got that—what’s wrong now?”

  I will be waiting.

  It was in the letter! I pulled the bag I’d left on the counter into my lap and shifted through the contents. I hadn’t taken out anything but my iPad out last night. The half-empty water bottle, socks, and other miscellaneous junk were still there. But the envelope was missing.

  “It’s gone.”

  Adam cocked his head. “What is?”

  “I—there was a letter. It was from that same fan. The stalker one. I swear it was here. I read it and put it back and—”

  “Hey, relax. Tell me what it said. When did you get it? Are you sure you brought it home?”

  “Positive. It’s the reason I slept on the sofa. It freaked me out. It was attached to some roses at the show last night. I gave the roses to Benny, but I took the card and stuffed it in my bag. It fell out and—I know I put it back.”

  “What did it say?” Adam set a calming hand on my shoulder.

  “It was long. It said the usual about ‘biggest star, biggest fan.’ Then ‘I will wait for you,’ or maybe it was ‘I’ll be waiting.’ I don’t remember the exact words. I only know it was creepy. And it got personal. Something about my mother leaving me and—fuck, I was going to give it to Ed to hand over to the police but…. Jesus, do you think Brian took it?”

  “Your bodyguard? That seems farfetched. He came to check on you and he left the door open. He wasn’t trying to hide anything. I didn’t see anything in his hands but his phone, did you?”

  “No. And he wasn’t wearing a coat.” I swiped a hand over my face in frustration.

  “Maybe the housekeeper came by while we were gone and moved it,” he offered.

  I gestured toward the mugs we’d left on the coffee table and the crumbs on the rug. “I don’t think so. Maybe I left it in the bedroom.”

  I immediately stopped in my tracks and shook my head as I engaged in a silent dialogue. I hadn’t gone in my room last night, and I didn’t bring it in there this morning.

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “Huh?”

  “When you talk to Ed or whatever his name is.”

  “What’s to talk about? If I can’t show the letter, there’s no point.”

  I walked back to my bag and upended it, dumping everything onto the island in the hope the envelope had slipped between the interior pockets and just needed to be dislodged. No luck. It wasn’t there. I hurried down the hallway to the master suite and rummaged through the clothes I’d worn home last night. Nothing. I even checked the bathroom. But there was no envelope and no card with a typed message addressed to me. I sank onto a corner of my bed in defeat.

  “Did you find it?” Adam asked gently from the doorway.

  “No, it’s like I imagined it. Either I’m nuts or someone is fucking with me.”

  Adam sat next to me, so close our thighs touched. I leaned into him without thinking.

  “Write down
what you remember and report it. And then, if possible, forget it.”

  I cleared my throat and smiled weakly. “You make that sound easy, but—”

  “Trust me, I know it’s not easy to push aside some of the BS that takes up real estate in your head. What you need is a diversion.”

  “I don’t have time for diversions.”

  “Make time. I’ll skip my soufflé lesson and I’ll teach you how to make something instead.”

  “I can’t bake.”

  Adam grinned. “Sure you can, but we can do something else. We can play a game, watch a movie, or build a model airplane.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Or we could….”

  I stood and pulled my shirt over my head while he went through a slew of wacky ideas: candle making, bird-watching. I slipped on a clean shirt and smiled in spite of my plummeting mood. His joyful countenance was charming. I could listen to him all day.

  “…a thousand-piece puzzle would—”

  “Bore me to death,” I finished. “I need to get going—”

  “I’ve got it!” He sprang to his feet and waved his hand excitedly.

  I gave him a weary sideways glance. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

  “No, it’s perfect. You teach me guitar and I’ll teach you how to bake something.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Not necessarily. When we can. The point is I’ll be here if you don’t feel like being alone. We can keep each other sane with wholesome diversions without having to ask ‘What do you feel like doing, roomie?’”

  “‘Wholesome diversions’? You’ve been mainlining confectioner’s sugar again, haven’t you?” I quipped.

  “Ha. Ha. Don’t overthink. I’ll keep my hands to myself. You’re safe with me. I promise. I just—we’re both adjusting to change. It might be helpful to lean on each other. That’s all.”

  “Platonically?”

  “Sure. Boston cream pie for a tip or two on how to play a couple Guns N’ Roses classics. What do you think?”

  I lowered my eyes as I worked on the row of buttons on my navy shirt. I was touched. I couldn’t remember the last time someone stopped to notice my state of mental well-being and offered to ease my mind. I knew my friends cared, but they were going through the same things I was. All they could say was “Hang on. It’ll get easier.” Adam was offering something more—himself and his time. Platonically.

  I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to keep us in the friend zone. Even now I wanted to tackle him to the bed and grind against him. He was solid, familiar, and trustworthy. Just what I needed to keep my mind off my troubles.

  “Okay. You’re on.” I chuckled when he let out a whoop before I continued. “But we each get to choose what we want to learn.”

  Adam mulled over my suggestion for a moment, then inclined his head. “As long as you know we aren’t making anything from a box.”

  “And as long as you know I can only take so many run-throughs of ‘Sweet Child o’ Mine’ before I’ll strangle you.”

  Adam gave me a megawatt grin and then held up his hand for a high five. I slapped his hand and then rolled my eyes when he broke into a decent impression of Axl Rose’s version of “Patience.”

  “Go,” I said, shooing him out of my bedroom. “I’ve got real-life bullshit to deal with. No more nonsense.”

  “A little nonsense is good for you, Isaac. It’s what keeps you afloat so the bad stuff doesn’t drag you under.” He reached for my wrist and pulled me against him so our chests collided.

  It was a slapstick maneuver that was too rough to be taken as a sensual overture. Until he backed me against the wall and lowered his head a fraction of an inch, stopping when his nose brushed mine. I held my breath, aware of my thundering heart. My world constricted to the smallest fragment of space. I occupied a place against a wall, covered by a man I’d known most of my life. Someone I cared about and, yeah, lusted after too.

  Adam lowered his head again, and this time he didn’t stop. He pressed his lips to mine and went perfectly still as though testing my response. When I didn’t protest, he melded his mouth over mine, careful to keep the connection light. I reached out and ran a tentative hand along his cheek. Adam trembled and leaned into my touch, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Then he licked my lips in a silent request for entry. I groaned when our tongues glided together and let him pull me under.

  I broke for air and pushed his chest. This was ridiculous. We were friends only, and we were destined for heartache if we tried to be something else. “We can’t do this. I told you, I—”

  Adam tugged at my belt loop and drew me against him. Then he rested his forehead against mine and went still as though he was wordlessly giving me control. I should have pushed him away, but I couldn’t. I fused my lips to his and moaned into the connection. I shivered when he moved his hands up my chest, then placed them on the wall on either side of my head. He nudged my chin with his nose until I exposed my neck. He traced my jawline with the tip of his tongue and then bit my earlobe before whispering in a raspy voice, “No repeats. I’ll behave. But I gotta admit… I really want to change your mind.”

  Chapter 6

  NO WAY was I going to change my mind. I had super-sized worries without adding another complication. I was just happy we were able to move past the awkward “we had sex and it was a big mistake” chat and mutually agree to find a new groove. In the following weeks, an easy camaraderie evolved over shared cups of coffee or invitations to try whatever he’d made for dinner. We were both insanely busy, but in between my practices and tour dates and his culinary classes, dog walking, and bar job, we gravitated toward each other.

  We didn’t wonder if we’d bump into each other anymore, we made plans. The noncommittal kind that wouldn’t result in misunderstandings. We kept things polite, the way I imagined normal roommates did. He’d tell me about the ganache he’d perfected that day in class or about a drunk diva he’d dealt with at the bar the night before. And I reciprocated with silly stories about backstage hijinks.

  Adam’s presence soothed me. He was funny, kind, and adept at reading my mood with nothing more than a glance. He never asked for more than I was willing to share. He seemed content to just hang out. Roomie style. Rough translation: feet on the coffee table while munching popcorn and watching a marathon of The Walking Dead. Or a cooking lesson with me chopping veggies while he explained his preparation technique for a sauce he was making. The types of activities that allowed me to go completely mindless for an hour or so.

  Unfortunately this new take on an old friendship didn’t diminish my attraction to him. At all.

  Maybe it was the element of surprise. The Adam I thought I knew was a goofball. He was a jokester with a loud laugh and a ribald sense of humor. That guy thought Will Ferrell was a genius and ranked Anchorman as a high point in cinematic achievement. There was obviously more to him now. He was still fiercely loyal, kind, and tough, but he was also smarter than I gave him credit for in the past.

  I’d catch myself studying him when his attention was on a TV show or the food he was preparing. His wavy hair, broad shoulders, and twinkling eyes were a potent combination paired with a sharp mind and a sweet familiarity I was drawn to no matter how hard I fought it. When I found myself staring too long and wishing I could brush his hair from his eyes without overstepping the imaginary line I’d drawn, I was glad music was still my ultimate escape.

  ED OPENED the studio door with a bang, waving a stack of magazines over his head. “Greetings, gentlemen! I’ve come bearing gifts.”

  We looked up from our instruments with varying degrees of interest. We’d been practicing for hours already, so the interruption was a timely one.

  “What do you have there, Ed?” Cory asked.

  “I have history here! That’s what I have. Spiral made the cover of Rolling Stone. Again!”

  Ed moved around the room and shoved a magazine at each of us with a fist-bump before coming to stand in front of me. I widened
my eyes comically at the script on his T-shirt: Save a Lollipop, Suck a Dick. He’d worn worse, I mused as I took my copy and immediately whooped with glee. This was a-fucking-mazing!

  The cover photo was pretty damn cool. Rand, Cory, and Tim were dressed in black T-shirts that offset their colorful tatted arms, and I wore a printed shirt designed by Benny. Unlike the first time we’d been on the cover, I wasn’t wearing makeup or a wig. I was me. We had our arms around each other and bigass smiles on our faces. It was a pinnacle shot of a band on the rise. Our camaraderie and affection were apparent in the way we leaned on each other. We were brothers, best friends, and according to the caption, the biggest band in the world.

  “Not bad, eh? It’s on the stands now. The article is complimentary to the extreme. Talks about how influential you are… yada, yada. The pictures are nice too. A few studio shots and some personal ones too. Your fans are gonna go fuckin’ nuts. In fact—” Ed paused to address me directly. “I delivered these myself to let you know Cammy saw another post this morning. Looks like your superfan already saw this, Isaac.”

  My smile faltered. I bit my bottom lip and strummed a funky riff I hoped would keep the atmosphere light, though there was no point. Weeks had gone by since the episode with the roses and the missing letter. I’d foolishly hoped my stalker’s fascination with me was nearing an end.

  “What did it say?” Rand asked, adjusting his guitar strap over his shoulder before moving to my side.

  “The usual. ‘Biggest star, biggest fan.’ There were flower emojis too, but it was simple. I think he or she is losing interest and threw it out there as an afterthought. Oh yeah, and something about you being the best-looking guy on the cover.” Ed bumped Rand’s shoulder playfully. “Don’t take it too hard, man.”

  “What kind of flowers? What color?”

  Ed narrowed his eyes at my tone and then shrugged. “I don’t know. Red?”

  I set my guitar on a nearby stand and pulled out my cell. Then I scrolled through the floral emojis available on most phones and handed it to him. “Which one?”