by Peter Styles
“You didn’t. Not really.” Jordan winces, taking a moment to eat more. He tries to chew through his thoughts at the same time, considering how to respond. “I guess I just thought he would be good for you. I mean, he’s not bad-looking and he’s also in the band. Plus, he’s social.”
“Okay, we’re talking about this…,” Damian mutters to himself, both eyebrows raised as if he can’t believe they’re having the conversation. “Listen, you may not be the king of congeniality, but that doesn’t bother me. The band doesn’t make a difference—you could have been a carpenter, for all I care. And you’re not bad to look at. Believe me, I’ve spent my fair share of time looking at you.”
Jordan feels heat rise to his face. Okay, then. He’s not sure what he expected. Damian has been pretty open so far, even if he’s been careful about pressing Jordan for a relationship. Maybe he’s followed Jordan’s lead when it comes to pacing, but he’s not afraid to speak his mind.
“I…know, now. It was brief. I just wasn’t sure…at the time, I didn’t know if you were interested in me. Or if the bar was just…casual flirting, or something.”
“Okay. I mean—that’s fair.”
“I don’t doubt now,” Jordan says quickly, trying to clarify. God. Why did I have to open my mouth?
“I figured as much.” Damian smirks, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You didn’t seem unsure when you were fucking me five minutes ago.”
Jordan nearly chokes on his food but Damian laughs anyway, the sound bright and lively. Nothing about the way Damian teases him is vicious. Even when he grins, his eyes seem to be saying I understand. Maybe that’s what Jordan has loved the most—the way Damian understands, not pushing Jordan to do too much or go too far. Even their first night together at the motel, when Jordan had wondered what to do and ended up doing nothing, Damian had been respectful. He hadn’t pushed anything on Jordan, seeming to sense the shifting dynamic between strangers flirting at a bar to the sudden employment that had happened.
Damian is careful, if nothing else, and Jordan feels like he’s been needing that care for a while, now. He’s spent so much of his time looking after others—looking after the band—that it feels good to have someone looking after him, now. It feels nice to know that Damian is thinking of him, even in little ways like scheduling driving shifts.
“You know, you weren’t the only one that was nervous,” Damian says, absorbed in watching the condensation on his glass of water.
“Really?”
“I stopped myself a lot, in the beginning. I didn’t realize myself who you were—not until you laughed, maybe, or glared at Jace…it just came flooding back, in bits and pieces. I liked you and then I thought it was you and then I knew. I just knew, and I thought maybe it was the universe’s way of bringing me back to you.”
“That’s romantic.” Jordan smiles, trying to be soft. Understanding.
“Maybe. I was excited at first, but you didn’t mention anything, so I started to worry. I thought maybe I wasn’t as important to you as you were to me, and then I kept second-guessing myself.”
“You are important to me,” Jordan stresses, leaning closer over the table. “I need you to know that.”
“I know,” Damian smiles, a hand slipping across the table to take Jordan’s empty one, “but I guess we’re both self-doubting by habit. Anyway, Jace talked me out of it during that show when you were being a dick. He reminded me your memory is shit and I shouldn’t be so concerned about what happened when you were, like, twelve.”
“Yeah, I can barely remember who my friends were when I was twenty,” Jordan says, snorting. He can see Damian shake his head, relaxing a little. “Maybe we were both kind of being fools, huh?”
“Maybe,” Damian agrees, eyes sparkling. “But I’m glad. If I’d never become a useless biker, I never would have run into you again.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The universe had it in for us, right?”
He relishes Damian’s smile for the rest of his dinner, which really only lasts ten minutes. Soon enough, they’re bundling into the truck again, Damian shivering and shouting at the cold night air. The night has finally descended, the darkness dotted with twinkling stars. It’s a clear night. A concert night.
“Now that I think of it, Jace still has your jacket,” Jordan muses. “You know, he said it was gross when we first saw you? Softie.”
“You’re both softies,” Damian smiles, reaching blindly to hold Jordan’s hand. Jordan takes it carefully and puts it back on the steering wheel, resting his hand on Damian’s knee. “You know, I never did figure out why you put up with me as a kid. I was so much younger. Even then, I think I was a handful.”
“I have a younger sister,” Jordan muses. “You’re about her age. I was looking for a friend, I think, and I was so used to having a younger sibling and cousins that it didn’t bother me. I do remember being excited to meet you because I felt like I had a sidekick.”
“Oh, a sidekick,” Damian echoes, laughing as Jordan blushes.
“I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, no,” Damian snorts, “I’m not letting that go. Should I start calling you Batman?”
“Don’t,” Jordan says, but he’s grinning.
Traffic is picking up. Most of it, surprisingly, seems to be going to the same place they are. Damian parks the truck by the tour bus in the back, slipping out of the car with determination. They both enter the back of the bar, the din inside already at a low roar. Jace catches them on their way in, waving at Jordan, and then they’re separated. Damian goes on his way to help the road crew and Jordan talks to the bar manager, exchanging the needed pleasantries and asking a few questions as the crowd grows louder.
As soon as they’re done talking, Jace is tugging Jordan back to the stage, warning him about time and being ready to play. There are actually curtains shielding them, which makes Jordan feel like a child performing at a talent show, but it also makes him feel obscured. There is a heavy aura of anticipation, even among the band. They know this is their last show.
Jace is about to start them off when Damian slips up to the stairs, one arm on Jordan’s shoulder, and before he can say anything Damian is kissing him. Oh, Jordan realizes, the thought burning in his mind, that’s what it is. He feels like home. Everything about Damian is home—the way he smells, the way he tastes, the warmth of his body; even his tattoos. Jordan opens his mouth to say something but Damian winks, backing away quickly, and then Jordan is starting the first few notes as Louis announces them and the curtains open.
It’s different from the very start. Maybe it’s because they’re in Tower Heights, maybe it’s because Damian is back, and maybe it’s because Jordan has realized he wants more from Damian than just a casual relationship. He knows now how much he relies on Damian and how much he wants him near; he’s never felt as uneasy and unhappy as he did when Damian was gone. I want him with me, he thinks. I need to show him.
They’re reaching the middle of the set, and the usual open-request song, and Jordan stops Jace before he can start.
“Hey. Can we move it to the end? I want to do something.”
Jace watches him, curiosity lingering for the briefest moment before realization sets in. Jace pauses, fingers curled around his microphone. Some of his stage persona slips away, seriousness peeking through.
“Are you sure?” It’ll be everywhere, he seems to say. No doubt there will be video, along with thousands of people talking about it on social media. He already knows there’s a chance that some people will react badly—but as much as he performs for the people, he knows he also performs for himself. And maybe it’s not so bad to be a little selfish, sometimes.
“I’m sure.”
They continue with the show and Jordan can tell some people are confused by the skip, but no one seems to linger on it. They roll through the next songs, stopping after every few so that Jace can rest his voice while Sam talks about the openers they’ve had on tour. Time flexes and stretches strangely, so
metimes passing like lighting and other times stagnating. Soon enough, though, Jace is announcing their request slot, making a joke about it no longer being a surprise anymore, and Jordan feels his heart thunder in his throat. He steps up to his microphone, aware of the lights and the eyes of hundreds of people on him, and then he sees Damian by the front door.
There’s a nostalgia to seeing Damian there, leaning against the wall, a small smile on his lips and his head tilted in the signature move he makes when he’s curious and interested. Jordan feels almost transported, taken back to the moment he wasn’t sure whether anything would come of them. Whether Damian would accept him. Now, standing on stage in their hometown, he feels as if he’s come full circle.
“Today, on the last day of our tour, I’d like to dedicate Happy Hour,” Jordan says. He can’t hear the way his voice is amplified; it feels like he’s in a small room with Damian. “We’ve travelled a lot as a band, and I’ve always looked for something I thought I couldn’t find. Even a thousand miles away, though, home came to me. This song, this time, is for Damian. He’s given me a hundred happy hours, and I hope we have a hundred more.”
Jace starts the song amidst the cheers of the crowd and everything bleeds away. Jordan forgets the crowd and the tour and everything else—the only person he sees is Damian, standing by the door. He sings like he’s alone with him, pouring everything into his words, and when he finishes, the cheering is almost as loud as Jace’s thanks.
He can’t remember what happens next—if he steps away from the microphone or if he puts his bass guitar on its stand. All he knows is that before he can register what’s happening, he’s standing at the bottom of the steps to the stage and Damian is walking up to him. They don’t say anything—there’s nothing to say, not now. All that’s left is for Damian to rise up on his toes, just a little shorter than Jordan, and when they kiss it’s the same rightness that Jordan always feels.
Like coming home.
“You sap,” Damian laughs, pulling away, his arms tight around Jordan. “I love you.”
He’d hoped for the words. Hearing them now, Jordan laughs, feeling tears sting his eyes. He doesn’t know how something—or someone—can feel so right. All he knows is that Damian does. They do.
“I love you, too,” Jordan says.
Jordan thinks he wouldn’t let go for the world, but Damian’s father is walking up to them. Jordan moves away from Damian carefully, giving him space, but Damian’s hand catches him and pins him in place.
“That was a great show,” Noah says, nodding at the stage. “Not that I know much about this sort of thing. But it was good. Very good.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Your cousin tells me you usually have a cookout the day after you come home?”
Jordan glances at Damian, surprised. Damian shrugs, raising his eyebrows. Huh.
“We do. I—I’m sure my parents would love to have you, sir—the both of you.”
“I think we’d like that,” Noah says, a small smile on his mouth. It reminds Jordan of Damian and he wonders if it runs in the family—that little indication of something more. “I’ll let you kids clean up. I’ll be waiting at the bar, Damian.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Damian says faintly, watching as his father walks away. He’s silent for a moment after the man leaves, staring after him as if trying to decode something. “I think he likes you.”
“Does he?”
“Yeah. Good for you,” Damian grins.
“Very good,” Jordan agrees, tugging Damian’s hand. “and I know my family will love you. Are you okay coming over tomorrow?”
“I’m okay coming over anytime,” Damian laughs, pulling him down again, “and anywhere.”
I guess we fit, then, Jordan thinks, sighing as he kisses Damian again. Two wandering hearts. Now we can wander together.
End of Book 3 – Please Read This
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Acknowledgments
Without these amazing people the book would not be the book it is today, Thank you so much!
Jammie Bebout
Lisa M. Yurco
Earleen Gregg
Zoe Mogensen
Robin Allen
Love On The Road
(Love Games: Book 3)
Peter Styles
© 2018
Disclaimer
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are all fictitious for the reader’s pleasure. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living or dead are all coincidental.
This book contains sexually explicit content that is intended for ADULTS ONLY (+18).