Lazy Sundays (Lazy Days Book 1)

by K-lee Klein

  “Okay, we’re ready.” Eddie’s voice stabbed through Scott’s thoughts. “Is this okay?”

  Devon's arm was around Eddie and the kid looked about ready to pop. Had the circumstances been different, Scott might have laughed and found it endearing. As it was, Scott had to smother the urge to yell at him, “Get your hands off my nephew, you rotten liar.” Eddie was tucked tight against Devon, the top of his blond head only reaching Devon’s shoulder. He looked like he'd won some video game lottery. Scott needed to pull himself together. The faster he did, the sooner they could get the heck out of there. “It’s, um, it's fine, Eddie.”

  Fishing his cell phone out of his pocket, Scott lined up the shot. It figured that the first photo he had of Devon would be under these circumstances, instead of all the other times Devon had been with him. Of course, the superstar wouldn't have consented to Scott taking a picture in order to be sure his ruse stayed hidden. Devon wouldn't have wanted his other life to be revealed because of a silly selfie of the two of them.

  In truth, he detested the thought of having a picture of Devon saved on his phone now, even if Eddie was part of it. The temptation to have a sleeping Devon saved on his phone on those mornings when he’d been sleeping so adorably had been strong, but even Scott knew that was too far on the stalker scale.

  “S-Man, you okay? You're not having a pan—”

  “I'm fine, Eddie,” Scott snapped, seeing Devon frown worriedly out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry, I had to close some apps first.” It was the lamest excuse on the planet but thankfully no one called him on it. He held his breath momentarily then exhaled slowly, quietly. He tried to only look at Eddie while he set up the shot then pressed the button, but there was Devon smiling wide and bright and fake at him.

  Eddie quickly materialized at his side. “It’s too far away. Can’t you zoom or something?”

  “Just move in closer,” Devon suggested, cocky-assed smirk and double dimples purposely teasing Scott. His gaze didn't match the smugness. “I don’t bite.”

  That was an outright lie. And how dare he joke around about things like that in front of Eddie and especially when Scott was fuming. “Sure,” he volunteered through clenched teeth. “Get back over there, Eddie.”

  Scott moved a few steps forward, centering the pair in the little screen, his fingers quivering against the phone case. He noticed Devon had the tell-tale smudges of eyeliner still framing his eyes, something Scott had never noticed when he’d come to his place. He must have been diligent in scrubbing off all the evidence before he landed his lying ass on Scott’s doorstep. One click and the picture was done. Scott's brain yelled, “Hallelujah” when Eddie approved the shot.

  “Okay. Great to meet you, Devastation,” Scott snapped with a healthy dose of sarcasm. He clapped his hands to show how happy he was. “Why don't we let Mr. Devastation get on with his night, Eddie? Time to go.”

  But Eddie wasn't done. He'd already corralled Devon into signing an autograph on the inside of his fake leather jacket.

  “There you go, kid,” Devon said, all unicorns and rainbows. “It was nice to meet you.” He moved his gaze to the doorway. “Hey, Marshall,” he called out. The security guard appeared instantaneously. “Why don’t you take Eddie to meet the rest of the guys?”

  “Really?” Eddie gasped while Scott groaned inside. He hoped the sound had been strictly internal and not spewed out into the universe.

  “Yeah man. They hate it when I get all the attention. Your uncle can hang with me while you’re gone. Marshall will give you the full tour.” Devon grinned from ear to ear, both dimples showing but actual happiness not reaching his eyes again. Scott was taken aback by the suggestion and the look on Devon’s face. If it was a challenge, he was ready as hell to meet it.

  “You don’t wanna meet the other guys, S-Man?” Eddie asked, ever the polite child, Scott knew he would soon grow out of.

  “I’m okay. Marshall mentioned that Devastation needed some advice on his taxes. I’ll see you in a bit. Here.” He tossed Eddie his phone. “Take some more pics to show your mom and friends.”

  Eddie nodded enthusiastically before bounding out the door. Devon shut it behind them and the room was instantly stony silent, the tension palpable like a thick invisible fog threatening to choke them both, or at least Scott. He waited, arms crossed over his chest, feet shoulder width apart, head held high as Devon leaned against the wall.

  “How’ve you been?” Devon asked, suave and ridiculous.

  Scott’s mouth dropped open. “That’s all you have to say to me? How’ve I been?”

  Devon scoffed. “It’s called a conversation starter. I was trying to be polite.”

  “I think you blew polite the hell up when you lied to me all these months.” Scott hated the tone of his own voice, but he was a victim to his emotions, plus he felt completely justified.

  “I didn’t lie. I omitted. They aren’t the same thing and I honestly wanted to—”

  “Omitted?” Scott sputtered. He was at a loss for words—at least nice ones—something unusual and foreign to him especially when he was so mad he could spit. “What the fuck, Devon? Oh sorry. I mean Devastation.” He prayed his pronunciation of the name showed how much contempt and disgust he was feeling.

  “Devon’s my real name.”

  “Like I care.” Scott’s flicked his head to the side. Had his hair been longer, the impact would have been much better.

  Devon pushed off the wall and Scott forced himself not to look. He literally dipped his head to examine his shoes instead of watching Devon's sexy strut approach him. He flinched when a warm hand settled on his arm and a finger lifted his chin. He looked up into tumultuous brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I should have…I was going to tell you.”

  Scott stepped back, snapping his arm away and shuffling to the other side of the room. “When? After you finished your world tour and needed a place to hide again? Do you have another sap stashed away for those times? Aren’t rockstars supposed to be like sailors? A lover in every port?”

  “I'm not seeing anyone else. I didn't lie about that,” Devon told him. Not that Scott cared.

  “Is that supposed to make some kind of difference after everything you weren't honest about? I think you're full of shit.”

  Devon dipped his head, hands balled into fists at his side. “Why did you come backstage if you didn’t wanna see me?” The look on Devon’s face was pure anguish, even his body language wilted in defeat. His whole demeanor sent tiny ripples of sadness to Scott’s heart, but he couldn’t allow that to happen. He was thinking with his head from now on, not that overworked muscle in his chest that got him into trouble, and definitely not the lusty one in his pants.

  “Eddie wanted to meet you and I wanted to see for myself how much you didn’t matter to me anymore,” Scott told him. He hated how much that statement hurt him even if he'd said it himself. He would’ve given anything to make it true too.

  Devon backed away, resuming his stance against the wall, head cocked in Scott’s direction. “I don’t believe that.”

  Scott snorted but forced back the tears gathering hot and uncomfortable behind his eyes. “Doesn’t matter what you believe, does it? I believed you love—liked me―and look how that turned out.”

  “I do like you, and the word you almost said? I did that one, too.”

  “Screw you, Devon!” Scott moved closer, words and spit smacking Devon in the face. “You can’t say that to me just because you’ve been caught with your pants down.”

  But Devon didn't relent. He held Scott's gaze, unflinching, cool as a damn cucumber. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

  “What’s true?” Scott asked shrilly. “You like me? You loooove me? You cheated on me with a whole goddamn army of fans?”

  Devon shook his head, the tiny muscle in his bristled jaw twitching ever-so-slightly. “I don’t sleep with my fans.”

  “I call bullshit to that too. I saw you on the stage. You were like a big
horny sack of dick waiting to breed.” Scott gasped, shocked at the vileness of his statement. He'd never spoken that way in his life.

  The overactive bobbing of Devon's Adam's apple gave was the only hint that he was trying to keep his cool. “It’s an act, Scott. I’m an entertainer, that’s what I do.”

  Scott scoffed and glared Devon straight in the eye. “How many did you do when you weren’t hanging out at my house? One a night? Two? Did you have one before you came to my bed, or was that even a little too much for the great rockstar to handle?”

  He was being rude and crude, more than he'd ever even contemplated in his life, but Scott was helpless to stop himself. He was hurt and sad and frustrated and teetering on the edge of a panic attack, and the cause of all his current trouble was only a few feet away from him. If he'd known how irate he'd become, he certainly would've stayed in the hall like originally planned. Because his behavior was getting him nowhere but more upset.

  Devon stepped forward, his jaw twitching and the corner of his mouth quirked maniacally. He nodded once then shook his head in contrast. “You know what? This was what I was worried about. This right here. You’re just like all the others. You find out what I am and suddenly the who doesn’t matter anymore. That really fucking hurts.”

  Scott wasn’t done. How dare he? Turning it around on him? No way. He straightened his spine, lips pursed until they were almost non-existent on his face. He took two calming breaths then stalked across the room to Devon. “What hurts? That I crashed your little party of debauchery or that I’m not falling at your feet begging to sleep with you like all the rest of your harem?”

  Devon clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t slept with anyone else in over four months. I already told you that,” he growled. “This is ridiculous. Why don't you—”

  Scott stopped when they were nose-to-nose. “You told me I was like all the others. That means there are others.”

  Devon gazed into Scott’s eyes, top lip curled, and hands fisted at his sides. “In the past, yeah. Men who found out what I did for a living and either judged me for it or expected more from me because of it.”

  “Well you never gave me the chance to do either.”

  “I know, and I regret that.”

  “Do you really?” Scott asked, not waiting for an answer despite Devon's starting to do so. “Because the only thing I wanted was you. The real you.”

  “Then why can’t you believe the real me is the one you had? The one you still can have? I was ready to introduce you to my friends—”

  Scott snorted before he could stop himself. Devon was smooth, so smooth Scott almost believed what he was saying. But that wasn’t the point of the conversation. Devon had lied about his life, about everything outside of his world with Scott. Believing anything that came out of his mouth would only bite Scott in the ass later, would only shatter his heart more, or again. That couldn’t happen. Scott couldn’t let it happen.

  He shook his head, more to clear his rambling thoughts than to disagree with anything. His heart thumped so loudly in his ears he wanted to scream for it to shut the hell up. “The only thing we had in common was sex and Sundays, Devon. I’m over it and you should be too. I cannot even imagine living the life of a rockstar or more precisely, being the one waiting at home.”

  Devon replied whip quick. “Because it’s only logical to believe all musicians whore around?” He scowled, and Scott had to look away from the intensity in his gaze.

  “If the shoe fits,” he muttered, softer than intended.

  Devon slammed his fist into the wall. “Then fuck you, Scott!”

  “Keep your voice down. Eddie might hear.”

  A smirk accompanied Devon's words. “You think I’m rude, crude and lewd anyhow so why would you expect me to give a crap about what some kid hears or thinks? Here’s the truth Scott. You might want to make a list or something so you don’t forget.” Dirty pool, Devon. “I’m a thirty-one-year-old, gay and out singer in a band that I love. I’m in the spotlight, I’ve sold a few records and I stomp around the stage screaming my fucking heart out, but that does not make me a slut. I have…had real feelings for you but this is exactly what I was afraid would happen.”

  “Feelings? You’re going to talk to me about feelings?” Scott didn't want to talk about emotions with Devon. Not now, not ever. Have to close the door to my heart. It’s all too much.

  “You’re right. Whores don’t have feelings for other people, only hard-ons and orgasms,” Devon spat at him. He was aggressive but there were real tears shining in his eyes.

  Scott shored up all the courage he had left, holding the panic sizzling under his skin at bay. He couldn't, wouldn’t, be sucked back in though. Just no. “Now you’re being crass. You know that’s not what I meant.”

  “You know what? I’m starting to think you didn’t mean a lot of things you said to me, Scott. Maybe you should take a look at yourself for a minute, use some of that judgment on yourself because you're obviously not as squeaky clean and accepting as you pretend to be.” He paused, possibly expecting a reply but Scott froze. Devon scoffed again. “I apologized and told you I cared about you but that’s not enough is it? It's more important for you to be right.”

  Was that true? Was Scott being too harsh and assuming, too judgmental when that was usually the thing he hated most from other people. “That's not true—”

  But Devon waved him off, his eyes wild, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. If Scott didn’t know better, he might have been afraid. But I don’t know him. Not really. “I have a fan meet and greet to go to. Tell Eddie it was cool to meet him, and since you’re such a logical guy, I’m sure you can find your way out. Goodbye, Scott.”

  * * * *

  The next week dragged for Scott; most of his time taken up by work. He didn't think he'd ever been so thankful for tax season in his life. But even grueling ten-hour work days didn't keep his thoughts from constantly tumbling back to Devon.

  Being left alone in the dressing room had been a revelation for Scott, one that came too late and one that would never see fruition. Devon’s goodbye sounded more like an honest to goodness goodbye than a see you around or catch ya later. The Devon behind the words had been colder than Scott had ever experienced before, even more so than during their massive argument. Scott was horrified that he'd brought that out in him.

  But wasn't that what Scott had wanted? To be by himself again, free of Devon's lies and untruths, and him in general. His heart told him no.

  Many a sleepless night had been spent worrying about their original disagreement, and since the concert, Scott had barely slept three hours a night. He was angry with himself, so disgusted at his judgmental behavior that was straight out of his own mother's book of adults behaving badly.

  He'd fucked up—bad. He’d treated Devon shamefully and was mortified that he hadn't really listened to what he'd had to say. Devon had stayed calm and reasonable, at least until the end when Scott had done no less than call him horrific names. He'd been so focused on his own wallowing and heartbreak, he'd totally forgotten why he'd been there in the first place.

  When he did sleep, he woke with a tension headache that stuck around all day and the very thought of food made him nauseous. His insides ached like something had been physically removed, something critical that enabled him to function like a real person. To put it bluntly, and more than a little needily—he missed Devon with every cell in his body.

  It seemed impossible, but Scott swore Devon's scent still lingered in his house—in the kitchen where he cooked for Scott, in the bathroom where they showered together, and in the bedroom where Scott had spent so much time watching him in appreciative disbelief. There was a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that Devon had left behind, and Scott had folded and refolded them, inhaling the motor oil and sunshine goodness that was strictly Devon's fragrance. He hadn't washed them because losing that last thread of Devon's essence was not even a consideration.

  And there were
ghosts; Devon's ghosts. Ghosts peeking at him from behind the refrigerator, ghosts hovering beside Scott's desk as he made his weekly list, but the most prevalent spirit was the one who remained huddled lazily on the settee on Scott's sun porch. And despite how crazy it sounded, how crazy Scott knew he was acting, he'd often sit in his old spot, pretending the ghost beside him was a real living Devon and not a figment of his over-compensating imagination.

  It was as if his porch had chosen sides and Scott was not the winner of the competition. It represented something important in his and Devon's relationship, a ton of soft and sweet memories of spending Sundays together. If he closed his eyes and touched the spot, he could picture a relaxed, quick-to-cuddle Devon settled there, guaranteeing a good start to Scott's week. The loss felt like a gunshot to the gut. And had Scott not already been tested a bazillion times for every mental illness under the sun, he would have thought there was something seriously wrong with him.

  Scott had self-debated his part in the whole deceptive situation to death, and every single discussion concluded with him being as much in the wrong as Devon. He hadn't been the one to lie, but he also hadn't left any room for explanations or considerations. He'd never been in a relationship before, but he was pretty sure that wasn't how couples were supposed to handle things, even when one of them wasn't sure they were a couple at all. It didn't even matter that Scott had already resigned himself to Devon having broken up with him before. That was ancient history, and again, Scott had been at more fault than Devon.

  The sad part was that Scott had been content in not really knowing what Devon did in his everyday life. He'd suspected Devon was more than a simple bike mechanic, but he'd never mentioned it, never asked outright if that's how he spent all his time. There had even been opportunities for him to push Devon’s reluctance with going out, but having Devon all to himself, sequestered away in Scott's house had always been a treat.