Love On The Road: A Contemporary Gay Romance (Love Games Book 3)

by Peter Styles

  “You underestimate me,” Sam snorts, twirling his drum sticks in his hands.

  “Well, whatever we do, we need to stop by…‘Hot Diggity Dog’,” Jace laughs. “Sarah L is reserving us hot dogs. We can pick them up and get some other stuff to take back to the bus.”

  “Why don’t Jordan and I go ahead and get in line?” Damian asks quickly, an idea rapidly forming in his mind. “It’ll be best for us to get a spot before it gets too crowded. You can meet us and help carry things.”

  Jace’s expression clearly says he’s not buying the flimsy excuse. He smirks and exchanges a look with Sam while Damian tries not to blush. He’s glad it’s a hot day in the desert; he can explain away his sweating and flush as reactions to the heat. Even if it’s more than the sun that’s making me hot. In reality, he’s been itching for some time with Jordan. Even if Jordan has agreed that they shouldn’t be hiding, Damian knows how private he is. We may not be hiding from the band, but what about the fans?

  “Sure,” Jace says slyly. “You two go ahead. I’ll text or call you later.” He steers Sam and the road crew away, laughing already as they go. Jordan and Damian are left standing alone, both quiet and unmoving. Suddenly, the last-minute plan feels less smart than it did before.

  “Let’s…um, go,” Damian suggests, feeling the heat rise in his face. I’m so not smooth. How can he even keep a straight face, listening to me? “It seems pretty crowded.”

  “It does,” Jordan agrees. That’s all he says.

  They get five feet into the crowd of people surrounding the stage before Damian starts to regret his decision. Nothing about the street festival is romantic—it’s sweaty and crowded and he narrowly avoids being elbowed in the face several times. It’s everything he hates about big crowds. Thankfully, however, it’s not as bad once they get past the stage. The people seem to thin out as they walk down the street, space opening up and the vendors on the sidewalk becoming more visible. The multitude of stalls is incredible—there are paintings, jewelry, carved items, food, and more. Damian feels like the festival is a contained city, thriving and lively.

  “Can you imagine something like this in Tower Valley?” Damian asks, smiling.

  “Not really,” Jordan says, “but maybe now more than before. It seems like our town is growing.”

  Damian likes the way Jordan says our. It’s silly, but he feels better remembering that they share common ground. A hometown, he thinks, is one of the strongest commonalities two people can have. They probably both have similar memories; the holiday parades, the smell of the lockers at the high school, the local ice cream shop that sells hot chocolate in the winter.

  “What’s your favorite restaurant, back home?”

  “Cliff Pizza,” Jordan says automatically, smiling fondly. He looks like he’s remembering something.

  “Really?”

  “We used to order all the time. Friday nights, my family would all be at the same house—Mom, Dad, three siblings, Uncle, cousins. Eight people. Most times there would be extended family, too. It was always crazy trying to feed that many people, so Mom would get pizza.”

  “What kinds?” I love the way he talks about them, Damian thinks. He wants to keep Jordan talking. He has the same glow about him that he does when he’s performing. Maybe family is just the same to him as music. Or maybe it’s the people he loves, however much of a hard time he has talking to them.

  “Extra pepperoni for the kids. A loaded one for the adults—but I always liked it, too, as long as my cousins took the olives.”

  “I like pepperoni and pineapple,” Damian whispers, although it’s less whisper and more stage whisper in the crowd. “Don’t tell the police.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” Jordan grins.

  What else do I ask him? Damian wants to keep the conversation going; it seems like Jordan’s more at ease like this, talking about his family and his memories with them. There’s no trace of the hesitation he had at the bar, or even after Damian had kissed him. Jordan seems comfortable, which is really all that matters to Damian. They’ve been traveling for so long that he’d barely realized it was time to check in with his father the night they were at the motel; his calendar had reminded him and Damian had needed to sit down, looking at all the empty days before him. One month of travel has felt like one minute.

  They’re at the hot dog stand before he can figure out what to say next and then they wait in line, the silence between them making Damian spiral further and further into his mind. He has so many questions: Do you miss being in Tower Heights? What’s your biggest dream as a performer? Would you ever want to change the band, or do you want to keep it the same as long as possible? Will there still be a place for me, once you make it big and get real security? They all fly through his mind and he stares at the menu as if he can read it from ten feet away, trying to come up with something to say.

  “What about you? What’s your favorite?”

  “Uh…well, I didn’t go out a lot,” Damian stumbles. It takes him a minute to figure out what Jordan is asking; all his internalized panic had shot him right past their previous conversation.

  “Why not?”

  “My, uh…my dad. I wanted him to…” I wanted him to stay alive, Damian thinks, and then he realizes that’s probably not the best thing to say. “I wanted him to be healthy,” he says instead.

  “Is—was he…?”

  “He’s fine,” Damian says quickly, laughing a little too much because he’s trying desperately not to seem like a downer. “Thanks to me. I, uh—I just knew some things ran in the family, and he was always busy at the station, so I was the one buying food anyway.”

  “You must have been a pretty responsible kid,” Jordan smiles.

  “No, I was a handful, remember?” Damian laughs. It only feels like half a lie. If he’s being honest, he really did become responsible very quickly, but he’s not about to talk about his mother’s death. It’s the wrong time and the wrong tone. And not really important, since I was so young.

  “A handful that took care of his father’s diet,” Jordan points out. “I’m sure at your age, I was being spoon-fed by my giant family.”

  “Well, that’s just because you had a giant family,” Damian points out. “It’s not like I was born responsible. And anyway, I think you have me beat, now. Managing a band and all.”

  “Some people would say being in a band isn’t a real job. That it’s running away. Irresponsible.”

  “You make money from it. You have to schedule and drive and do a million other things I probably don’t know about. That’s called work.”

  “People don’t usually see it that way,” Jordan says, looking a little stunned. Damian pauses.

  He’d been wondering why Jordan hadn’t invited him to the show, the first night they met. It had been pure coincidence that Damian had been walking by and found the concert, deciding to stop in for the music. He had known when he saw Jordan on stage that the man was different, that there was something about him worth getting to know.

  “That’s just because most people are ignorant. And jealous,” Damian adds, smirking. “I’d be jealous of you, too, but that would kind of defeat the purpose.”

  “What purpose?”

  “You know. The one where I seduce you,” Damian grins, wiggling his eyebrows. I can’t believe I just said that. He fully expects Jordan to snort or laugh or brush him off. He expects an in your dreams or an uncomfortable laugh. A request not to be too open in public. What he doesn’t expect is for Jordan to blush and look away, trying to avoid eye contact.

  “I don’t…think you need to do that,” Jordan says, almost mumbling the words. They’re so quiet that Damian can barely hear them in the noise from the crowd and the music. He does hear them, though, and they’re the best words he could have heard.

  “Really? What was it that worked? I’ve never had it this easy before,” Damian laughs.

  “It was probably the X-Files badge.”

  “Oh? Not the whole, ‘
beating a guy up’ thing? Not even the motel?” Damian teases.

  “Nope. Definitely the badge.”

  They’re smiling like fools. Damian wonders briefly, not for the first time, whether this is exactly where he’s been going his entire life. Was it just me finding a way back to him? He wants to test the theory. Maybe he’s supposed to help Jordan remember or maybe he’s supposed to be making new memories. Whatever it is, he feels bold and he can’t stop staring at the way the sun shines and makes Jordan’s eyes look as bright green as the trees.

  Damian slides an arm around Jordan’s, keeping his grip loose and using the moving line as an excuse. He tries not to make a point of doing it—he acts as if it’s natural; as if he’s always done it. They both step forward with the line, moving barely a foot, and Damian tells himself to wait. Don’t look right away. Give him time. He waits and waits until he practically wants to scream and apologize and ask is this okay? When he glances up at Jordan, though, all he gets is an eyeful of the man’s blush and the small, pleased smile he’s suddenly wearing. Those two things convince him that he’s not wrong.

  Jordan’s phone rings and they both jerk a little. Damian almost jumps out of his shoes, nervously avoiding eye contact as Jordan uses his left hand to fish his phone out of his jacket. He didn’t let go, Damian thinks, the warmth in his chest spreading. He’s not sure if he’s going to make it back to the bus without trying to kiss Jordan again, but at this point, he feels like he has a good chance of doing it and getting a good response.

  “Hello?” Jordan answers the phone and Damian tries to seem courteously disinterested, people-watching as he waits. He can hear the faint voice of someone on the other end of the line—Jace, he thinks. Jordan gives short answers, yes and no and by the red truck. Damian feels a little bit smug, knowing he can coax complete sentences out of Jordan. When he asks the right questions, that is.

  The others appear a few minutes later, laughing and trailing a few strangers with them. Fans, Damian guesses, based on the way that Jace is entertaining them.

  “You’re barely getting to the front,” Jace notices, eyebrows raised. There are two young women and three men with him, all of whom are attached to their phones. No doubt taking pictures or livestreaming their encounter, Damian thinks.

  “See anything good while you were coming this way?” Jordan asks.

  “Yes, but no one can agree on anything,” Jace says, rolling his eyes. “I think we should probably just split up and meet back at the bus in two hours or something.”

  One of the men is staring. Staring at him—or more precisely, staring at the way Damian’s arm is curved around Jordan’s. Crap. He remembers too late his initial plan to talk to Jordan about how public their relationship should be. Whoever the man is, his phone is sliding up and Damian is panicking, so he removes his arm quickly, pretending to bend down and re-tie his shoelaces.

  “That’ll work,” he hears Jordan say. “We all need a break. Is everyone okay with two hours?”

  There’s a chorus of agreements and Damian straightens, heart hammering. The man is still holding his phone in front of his chest. Jordan glances at Damian, frowning a little, probably noticing the lack of touch. Damian tries to communicate where to look with a persistent stare, not wanting to make it obvious. That person has a phone, Jordan.

  Jordan glances at the fans, realization lighting his features. He looks back at Damian, some determination entering his eyes, and then Damian almost shouts in alarm when Jordan’s arm slings over his shoulders, pulling him in. He can see the precise moment when the fans’ eyes widen, five phones swiveling, and then Jordan reaches into his pocket for his own device.

  “Say cheese,” Jordan says, smirking, and Damian feels his heart throb in his chest.

  “And so, Jordan rises from the social media dead,” Jace laughs, taking it in stride just as he does seemingly everything else in life. Damian feels like his entire world has shuddered and shifted. Apparently, the fans do, too. They seem to be scrambling on their phones to find the picture.

  “You’ve been in a few of Jace’s pictures recently,” one of the girls notes, nervously addressing Damian. “Are…I mean, when did you join up?”

  “Derry,” Damian says quickly. He fights a laugh. “It was—um, an interesting introduction.”

  Jace raises his eyebrows as he scrolls on his phone, everything about his expression seeming to say, that’s an understatement. The girl murmurs in surprise, nodding. Damian feels like he’s sitting under a particularly hot lamp. How does the band handle this? Being asked questions and constantly under scrutiny? Damian’s used to being monitored—after all, the entire Sheriff’s department knew him, growing up—but he’s not sure how to handle being…admired.

  “So are you part of the road crew?” the girl asks.

  “I’m security. Kind of,” Damian amends. Not that I’ve done any work, since technically before I was even hired.

  “You certainly give me a sense of security,” Jordan says, his smile easy, and Damian almost loses his mind and the strength in his legs. He would never have imagined Jordan could be suave, but apparently, he’s wrong. It’s a pleasant surprise.

  “That was a hundred times more disgusting than anything dirty you could have said,” Damian jokes, watching Jordan snicker at his growing blush. I really want to kiss him. He’s considering going for it, too, and then the line moves suddenly and they’re at the front, Jace chatting with the girl at the counter as the hot dogs are lined up at the window.

  “Want to eat in the van? We’ll have plenty of time,” Jordan murmurs, leaning closer as the others concentrate on their food. Damian’s heart skips.

  “Stole the words right out of my mouth,” Damian says slyly. “Two hours, huh? Plenty of time for food and fun.”

  They say goodbye to the others before parting ways and then Jordan is laughing, pulling Damian along by his shoulders as they make their way through the crowd and back to the bus. It’s like they’re teenagers home alone, sneaking around the house and watching the clock as they use every minute they have together. Damian barely sets his food on the table inside before he has an armful of Jordan, a burning kiss pressed against his mouth and hands slipping under the hem of his shirt.

  “Food’s gonna get cold,” Damian laughs breathlessly. He bumps into the bathroom door as he walks backwards, Jordan shuffling to lead him as much as possible. It doesn’t quite work, since they’re both distracted.

  “That’s why we have a microwave,” Jordan points out, laughing. “Come on. Two hours.”

  Damian forgets to tease and argue when Jordan pulls his shirt up and over his head. He can feel the bed hit the back of his legs but he resists falling, instead tugging at Jordan’s jeans. They both undress in a flurry of activity, always returning to each other’s mouth like divers coming up for air. When Jordan finally presses against him, Damian moans, too weak to stay upright any longer. His skin feels electrified, every centimeter sparking when they touch. He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, the noise a pounding reminder of what he’s feeling.

  “You are…beautiful,” Jordan says, the words coming out almost in a sigh, ghosting against Damian’s skin. Jordan is leaning over him, mouth gently moving over some invisible markers on Damian’s chest, stopping to taste every so often.

  What? Even in the midst of everything, Damian still feels a surge of emotions overcome him—shock, pleasure, love. I’ve never been called beautiful. He’s heard words before—hot, sexy, even cute. He’s had friends tell him things before; you’re so nice, though, and you’re a sweet guy. He’s never been told you are beautiful.

  “What—what are you doing?” Damian asks, wanting to laugh and cry at the same time. Jordan is moving further down his body, following some invisible trail.

  “I love your freckles,” Jordan says, pausing. “and moles. You know, I wondered if you had them everywhere.” He grins and Damian sputters, unable to come up with a quick response.

  “You’re a huge sap. A soft
ie,” Damian exclaims, laughter changing tone quickly when Jordan picks up where he left off. He can barely get his words out. “You…you’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t think I’m hopeless. You’re still here,” Jordan replies, fingers tracing some sort of pattern on Damian’s thigh.

  I am, Damian thinks to himself. He’s not sure he could leave if he wanted to. They’re just pulled to each other, a moon to a planet, although he’s not sure who is which. Whatever the case, he can’t help but feel triumphant. I knew this was worth waiting for. Jordan is careful but playful, attentive but human and clumsy. Nothing about them is perfect; Damian still has a small bruise on his back from hitting a wall in the motel. They aren’t perfect and somehow, that’s exactly what he wants. He knows, without a doubt, that anything he has with Jordan will be genuine; there’s no practice leading up to it. No calculated words or smiles to ensure sex. It’s ironic they met in a bar, he thinks. Damian’s bar encounters have all been the most dissatisfying and manufactured. And this is nothing like those.

  “Do you—” Jordan starts to ask, moving away from Damian for a brief moment. The missing heat makes Damian squirm, wanting to get closer. “I mean…if you—”

  “Oh,” Damian says, realizing. It’s kind of cute that he can’t figure out how to ask, he thinks. And funny, considering he used a silly pick up line in front of five strangers and the band. “Do I want you inside of me? Yes, absolutely, green light go, collect whatever the amount is that I can never remember.”

  All of his jokes are pushed aside when Jordan growls, teeth at Damian’s neck, and things become a lot less sweet and fluffy. Which is fine by me, Damian thinks, fumbling for the backpack he knows is at the head of the bed above him. Jordan has wandering hands, which makes it incredibly difficult to focus, but somehow, Damian manages to shove a hand into his backpack pocket to retrieve what he needs. It’s always better when you don’t have to leave bed, he thinks, grinning to himself as he opens the packet in his hand. For a moment, he’s not sure whether he wants to keep it or pass it to Jordan, but he decides to hand it off. I want to use my hands for something else…