by Aly Martinez
I should have walked away from her the very next day. But I’d stayed for three months. Unsure of what it all meant. And, worse, unsure of how I’d felt about it. It dug up emotions and memories of Shannon I had blocked out years ago. And, with every day that passed, I drifted further and further out of Nikki’s reach. I had no clue what I wanted anymore. After as badly as I’d been burned, gay men scared the fucking shit out of me. But, honestly, so did women.
So, as I stood frozen in middle of my hotel room, listening to her accusation across the line, I knew she was wrong. Man, woman, T. rex, or mythical god. I was not built to be in a relationship—with anyone.
“No. Not with a man, either.”
“Evan, it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I resumed my pacing, but my steps became heavy with anger. “I’m not ashamed of anything, Nikki. How the hell do you even know about Shannon?”
“I went to your place tonight to get my stuff. I was cleaning my clothes out of your closet and your shoebox of pictures fell off the top shelf.”
“It fell,” I repeated sarcastically. “Bullshit. You were going through my shit.”
Her voice rose to match my own. “Maybe I was. But damn it, Evan, you didn’t think to tell me that you spent two years in a committed relationship with a man?”
“I told you about Shannon!”
“Never with the pronoun him or he!” she shot back. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew I’d assume he was a woman.”
I had no response. That was exactly what I’d done. I’d done it to every woman I’d ever been with since him. And her next statement explained exactly why.
“You don’t think I deserved to know that the man I was falling in love with is gay?”
Labels. Labels. Labels.
The entire fucking world used them.
I fucking loathed them.
For some reason, bisexuality was the black hole of labels. It didn’t mean you got two labels—gay and straight. It meant you got zero. To gays, you weren’t gay enough. But, to straights, you weren’t straight, either. You weren’t enough for anyone. Most would assume that enjoying both genders would mean your dating pool was so vast you’d have no trouble finding a mate. They would assume wrong.
For me, bisexuality was a curse. Despite the widespread theory amongst homophobes everywhere, it didn’t go hand in hand with promiscuity. It meant that an individual was attracted to both sexes. Nothing more. And nothing less. Some had a stronger preference. And, for a while, mine was men. But Shannon had more than fixed that. For the last ten years, I’d been living a relatively straight life. (See, even I used the labels!) But that did not mean I was suddenly straight. The one with Nikki wasn’t the first threesome I’d ever had. But I emotionally couldn’t handle anything more than a casual fuck with a man.
Yet, to hear Nikki tell it, I was still gay.
“No, I didn’t think you needed to know! Because I’m not fucking gay!” I roared. “I told you on our second date that I was bisexual. Wait. You are right about one thing. I didn’t tell you Shannon was a man. But who fucking cares? You sure as shit didn’t while I was balls-deep in Neil’s ass.”
“And it ruined us!” she shouted back.
“No offense, Nik. But I’d had ass before you. It wasn’t exactly my first time.”
She scoffed. “Real classy, Evan.”
“And you calling me gay is?” I barked a laugh. “This entire conversation is ridiculous. Jesus fuck. How did we get here? I’ve been waiting for over a week to get the chance to talk to you. To tell you that I do care about you. Maybe not the way you want me to, but I do. And this is what I get? Fuck.”
“I just want you to accept who you are so you can finally be happy,” she whined.
After marching to the minibar, I retrieved a bottle of beer. My patience was gone. I didn’t even know the woman on the other end of that phone anymore.
“I think the only thing that I’ve accepted during this conversation is that we’re done. And, if you want my opinion, if this is how you view me, we never should have been together in the first place.”
“Evan!” she screeched.
“I’ve got to go. I’ll be home tomorrow night. Please have your shit out of my house.” I pressed end and tossed my phone on the bed, wishing I could have thrown it against the wall instead.
I drank beer after beer while staring at a tiny, black spot on the ceiling above my bed. I imagined I was flying. Gliding down through the clouds—only a tiny speck of the world below peeking through. It infinitely relaxed me, and slowly, my anger toward Nikki washed away. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t. Hell, I didn’t even understand myself half the time. But there was one thing I knew: I wasn’t wrong for being who I was.
I found the remote on the nightstand and set about mindlessly flipping through the channels on the TV. Nothing caught my attention, and before I’d realized it, I had looped back around to where I’d started. Pressing the On Demand button, I hoped there was a movie I hadn’t seen.
I must have hoped entirely too hard, because I got several.
Front and center on the screen was a previously purchased folder, and though the icons were small, it was impossible to mistake them as anything but porn.
I quickly clicked the folder, and then I gaped before I lost it completely. Howling with laughter, I took in the titles of the videos that had been purchased.
Transformer Trannies, G.I. Jack Off, He-man: Uncut, and last but not least, Spock It To Me.
Yeah. Henry Alexander was a lot of things, but subtle was definitely not one of them. And I was quickly realizing he was shameless too.
But he also made me laugh.
I glanced behind me and saw that the clock only read nine fifteen.
I should have ordered up some room service for dinner.
I didn’t. Against my better judgment, I snatched a pair of jeans from my bag and went to the hotel phone.
“Yes. My name is Evan Roth. I believe my boss left a ticket down there for me? Right. Of course. Also, I’ll need a cab. Perfect, thanks.”
I WAS HALFWAY through my set, and Evan still hadn’t showed. It had been a long shot, but I was disappointed all the same. For as many times as I’d scanned the front row for him, Jessica and Tabitha may as well have gotten a private performance. My bassist had even noticed my overwhelming interest in that side of the stage and started blocking me in an effort to get me moving around more.
I’d slapped his straight ass. The crowd had roared.
He’d probably quit. Meh. It was still worth it.
My biggest concern at the moment was: Why was my biggest concern at the moment where the hell Evan was? Why was this guy affecting me like this?
It wasn’t even the chase anymore. I’d just really liked the idea of him watching me perform.
Apparently, I was wrong. That was my biggest concern.
Thousands of people were waving cell phones in the air and singing along to lyrics I’d written on a pad of paper while sitting on Levee’s old garage-sale couch when we’d been just two broke kids with dreams. And there I was, giving them a lackluster show because I was lost in thoughts about a man I had little to no chance with. And, even if I had a chance with him, it would be a fleeting experience.
It always was.
With a resigned sigh, I moved to the center of the stage and signaled to the guitar tech. He came rushing out with my guitar and stool.
“How’s it going so far, Los Angeles?”
The place went nuts in reply.
“That bad, huh?” I laughed, adjusting my mic stand. “Come on. Let’s try that again. I said, ‘How’s it going, Los Angeles?’”
My lids drooped as I filled my lungs with the mixture of sweat and smoke from the pyrotechnics that had long since been programmed into my olfactory nerves as the smell of home. My body soaked up the loud roars of a crowd, readily transferring them into the fuel that drove me through utter exhaustion.
That feeling of comp
lete and total adoration was why I devoted so much of my life to my work. Friends and colleagues who had been prevalent in the industry when I’d first started had all gradually slowed over the years. Most had taken a step out of the spotlight, opting to work on smaller projects in exchange for time with their family or the anonymity needed to enjoy lazy days on the beach.
Not me. That stage was the only place I belonged.
But, as the high filled me, I found myself squinting past the bright lights to that empty seat in the front row. Disappointment slashed through me all over again.
I shouldn’t have cared that much. But I did. Truly. Even if I didn’t understand it.
Shaking my head at myself, I waited for the crowd to quiet before I continued. “Now, that was much better.” I shrugged my guitar on and settled on the stool. “I have a confession to make,” I said, strumming softly across the strings. “You guys probably know this, but I’ve been on the road a lot recently. Sometimes, it can get lonely.”
Catcalls came from women and men alike, making me laugh.
“Not that kind of lonely,” I crooned suggestively. “I figured why not bring my family with me tonight?”
There was exactly one person fans knew I referred to as my family. And this was why they lost their damn minds.
Over the deafening cheers, I announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the amazingly talented love of my life, Levee Williams!”
In a flowing, red dress that barely masked her very obvious baby bulge, she strutted across the stage with a guitar hanging from her shoulder. Sam was predictably close behind her, dragging her stool. Part of me was shocked that he’d let her carry the guitar. His eyes were aimed at the ground, and a black long-sleeve shirt strategically covered his trademark tattoos. A tech could have gotten her stool, but while Sam might not have wanted to be recognized, he still wanted to be with her. I both smiled and felt my gut twist in jealousy at the sentiment.
That—what they had—wasn’t meant for me.
But that didn’t stop me from longing for it anyway.
“And who do we have here?” I stood, pulling my mic from the stand. I gave Levee a quick kiss on the forehead before walking over to Sam as he tried to make his getaway. “Whoa. Slow down there”—I paused dramatically before using the nickname Levee had publicly given him years earlier—“Spiderman.”
The audience erupted all over again.
Sam glared at me out of the corner of his eye while lifting a hand to the crowd.
“Where ya going, Sam?” I offered him the mic, but he only shook his head. “You don’t want to stay and hang out with the wonderful people of Los Angeles?”
He smirked. “I have a feeling it’s not me they want to see.”
“Oh, but I beg to differ.” I tossed an arm around his shoulders and asked the audience, “What do you guys say? Should Sam stay?”
He glowered at me, putting his hand over my mic and mumbling, “I’m texting you seven million naked women tonight.”
He’d do it too. I’d long since given up opening pictures from him. He’d scarred my retinas too many times.
Over the audience’s resounding yes, Levee called, “Henry! Stop flirting with my husband and get your ass over here and sing with me.”
“That baby has made you bossy,” I teased, releasing Sam and sauntering back over to her. “Goodnight, sexy!” I called to him, putting my hand to my ear in the universal “call me” signal.
Levee slapped it away, which caused the crowd to laugh.
She shot me a wide grin that made a warmth of contentment fill my chest.
Yeah. This is exactly where I belong.
No matter who was or wasn’t in the front row.
For the next fifteen minutes, Levee and I sat side by side and played an acoustic mashup of our most popular songs. And, for those fifteen minutes, the world disappeared.
There was no Evan.
No unrequited longing.
No fears.
No Robin.
No hurt.
No pain.
There was nothing but me, a guitar, a woman I’d give my life for, and the music that was my refuge.
When our dueling guitars fell silent, the rush of everything I had been hiding from found me in an instant. My eyes flashed to that seat in the front row. Only, this time, it was filled by the silhouette of a tall, dark, and sexy man I feared my imagination had conjured.
I blinked, waiting for it to disappear.
It didn’t.
My heart skipped a beat as my already-wide smile stretched across my face.
I couldn’t make his face out amongst the lights, but my gaze remained locked on him. I imagined his strong jaw ticking as he held my stare, powerless to look away. The confusion of why he was there would likely be torturing his mind, but his body would recognize the visceral urge that had forced him to come. He couldn’t resist it. He didn’t know what it meant. But the weight in his balls and the thickening of his cock would override his mind, making him needy for me.
Any way he could get me.
And every way I could take him.
A victorious growl rumbled in my chest.
But that wasn’t the only draw I felt to him.
And, almost as much as it confused me, it made me needy for him.
Any way I could get him.
And every way he could take me.
Levee snapped me out of my trance by wrapping her arms around my neck. “What are you doing? I’ve said goodnight three times now. Say something so I can get out of here.”
“Evan’s here,” I replied.
Her body shifted in my arms.
“Don’t look!” I hissed, but it was too late. She was already offering him a finger wave.
The shadow of his head turned from side to side before he slowly lifted his large hand in an awkward return.
I licked my lips, and a blast of heat flushed my body.
Levee stepped into my line of sight, blocking him. Tugging me into another hug, she warned, “Please be careful. You’ve got that look in your eye.”
Oh. I’d be careful, all right. But I had a feeling that condoms and lube weren’t what she was talking about.
I also had a feeling that I wouldn’t be heeding her advice.
Nodding, I stepped away. “Give it up for, Levee Williams!” I called to the crowd as she took a final bow, waving with both hands as she walked off stage.
I needed to see him—get a read on his face and figure out exactly why he had changed his mind about coming. My imagination often got the best of me, and the last thing I wanted was false hope if he was clearly only there for one of the girls.
While my band resumed their positions at their instruments, I made my way to the edge of the stage, stopping directly in front of him.
Nerves I had never felt in front of a crowd churned in my stomach.
It didn’t matter why he was there. It only mattered that he’d come.
And—no matter what I had to do to make it happen—tonight, we’d both come.
Staggering confidence and overwhelming nerves battled inside me as I stepped around the lights and caught my first real look at him.
Dark jeans hugged his muscular thighs as he lounged casually in his seat. The front row rushed toward me, but Evan didn’t budge. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, and those intense, blue eyes swept over me from toe to head before finally meeting my gaze. His expression was impassive, but it gave me hope, because even as Tabitha and Jessica jumped and cheered, his attention never left mine.
Never.
Not once.
In the middle of the sold-out arena, as cameras projected me onto the huge screens on either side of the stage, the world fell away. With his gaze anchored to mine, the six feet that separated us was inconsequential and the air between us became charged, prickling the hair on the back of my neck.
We were two of nearly twenty thousand people.
But we were alone.
His lips twitched
in the way I was learning they always did when he thought he was topping me. Maybe not sexually, yet. But that slight tip of his lips appeared in the rare moments when I would drop my guard enough for him to truly see me.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. But, for reasons lost on me, Evan could strip whatever disguise I attempted to hide behind. Fame, fortune, fear. He saw through them all.
I’d made no secret that I was pursuing him. But, right then, as I was held hostage by nothing more than his gaze, he was no longer in my crosshairs.
I was in his.
The band began playing my intro for the next song, but my mouth had dried and I was already out of breath from simple eye contact. Evan, though, appeared utterly unfazed.
The hand on my mic instinctively lifted to my mouth, but I’d already missed my cue. The band flawlessly looped, repeating the intro.
For the first time ever, I couldn’t sing a single note.
Squirming under his gaze while standing in front of a sold-out crowd just became the most arousing experience of my life.
And I knew he felt it too when a lazy smile played at the corner of his lips before his eyes swept back over me.
Dear God. I didn’t have to fuck him to get the high.
Evan Roth had just become my favorite drug of all and I hadn’t even tasted him yet.
FROM WHAT I saw of the show, it was good.
But all I’d really seen was Henry. And he was incredible.
I hated to admit the places my mind went as I watched him performing. Part of that was because he was gorgeous up there in the spotlight. His white T-shirt drenched with sweat, clinging to the curve of his pecs, and those black pants that hugged his ass in ways that spoke directly to my cock. His lips against the microphone made my skin heat, but the odd and alluring combination of smooth grit that came from his mouth had me fighting an inferno.
I enjoyed every painful moment, even as I willed time to speed so the show could end and put me out of my misery.
Whatever excuse my head had used for why I’d decided to come tonight was no longer the reason I was still there.