Slam. Lucas tripped, which made a short guy with a goatee stumble, which led to three other guys crashing into each other and a whole lot of 7th Heaven–style cursing.
“Man, my heart hurts every time that guy falls.” Ash tilted her head and pursed her mouth. “I kinda want to just hug him.”
“Not on your team.” Cody tried to ignore the twinge inside his own chest.
“Really?” Ash tilted her head and looked at Lucas more intently.
Oops. Lucas had said he was out, right? “Um. Yeah. But I don’t know if he’s exactly broadcasting that on all channels, you know?”
“Damn, your gaydar is off the charts. Or . . .” She raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow, her pink lips curved in a sly smile.
“Nah. It’s just that I’m that good.” Yes, yes, he was. “Treble Play’s tenor is gay, too.”
“Damn. I flirted with him all through breakfast.” Ashley inspected one zebra-patterned nail. “Speaking of the other side, shouldn’t Keith be here now?”
“Hey, he’s all about the hetero now, remember?”
They both snorted at that. Once upon a time the three of them had been fairly tight. Keith had roomed with Ashley and played a few shows with Cody. And yeah, they’d gotten off together a time or three. Calling Keith to see if he was interested in doing the show had been almost as easy as calling Ash.
“I’ve kissed more girls than him.” Ashley giggled. “But then, I think the she-witch may have a bigger dick than you.”
“Hey, now.” Cody faked offense. “We’re up in five minutes. Did you see him in the hospitality room?”
Keith’s constant disappearing act and overstated vocal abilities canceled out whatever value Cody had hoped he’d add. Keith might have done a cappella at USC, but it sure wasn’t translating into good things for Embellish.
“Nah. He’s probably on his phone again. Want me to go check the parking lot?”
“Sure.” Cody was happy to give her something to do with her nervous energy. She tended to pace and fidget, and her antsiness rubbed off on Cody. The other two members of their group, Raven and Jeff, had been parked in a spot down the hall, headphones on, pinkies linked. Veterans from college and professional a cappella groups, Raven and Jeff were a couple and a few years older than Cody, Ashley, and Keith. When their professional group dissolved, Cody’s agent had snagged them for this gig. They’d given Embellish some cred with the audition committee.
“Fu—freaking watch it!” In the practice room, the M&Ms were wrapping up, and half the group was huddled around Lucas.
“I almost had it that time.” Lucas held up his hands, clearly trying to appease the mean-faced leader, who wasn’t having it. Dude looked like the stuck-up Weasley brother.
“I’m sure the judges will reward you for making it through ninety-nine percent of the song before crashing into Trevor.” The freckle-faced ring leader got up in Lucas’s face. Cody’s neck twinged—dude rubbed him all sorts of wrong.
“He didn’t completely crash this time.” Trevor, the tiny tenor for the M&Ms, spoke up. Cody made a point of knowing all the male soloists in the show in his range. The Disney Channel-looking strawberry-blond kid carried lead on some songs for the M&Ms. He wasn’t as good as Cody, but he held his own.
“Yeah, it was just a trip.” Lucas sent Trevor a grateful look.
Something flipped in Cody’s stomach. Lucas shouldn’t have to be apologizing over and over to these guys.
“Maybe it’s time to think about making it simpler.” The African-American kid—the guy who had pulled Lucas back to practice yesterday—stepped up to clap the ringleader on the shoulder. Cody bet the white-bread powers that be made sure to put him in all the marketing materials, although what the kid wanted with the M&Ms, Cody had no idea. He had the best voice in Lucas’s group. In one of the other groups, he’d be a star.
“We can’t do that.” Mr. Mean scowled and walked away. He had a couple of decent singers, but one nasty control issue. And he could dance—in a very Grease-on-Broadway sort of way. Dude didn’t have club moves. That much was for damn sure.
“I’m getting better,” Lucas called to the departing group members. He stooped to pick up his backpack, wincing visibly.
God, this was painful to watch. Ashley was right—Lucas made Cody’s heart hurt. It was like watching a puppy get kicked. And it wasn’t right. Cody knew all about waiting for approval that never came. He couldn’t stand watching others go through that same bullshit, putting up with bullying and teasing.
Guilty much? His next gulp of coffee tasted extra sharp. Okay. Maybe he’d given Lucas a bit of hell last night. Had a little too much fun at his expense. But figuring out what made Lucas blush and squirm was almost as much fun as shopping clearance racks—the unexpected thrill of discovery kept him going.
Then he remembered how Lucas had looked as he ended the kiss—mouth all swollen, eyes hazy, expression a little awestruck. And then Cody had spoken and all that . . . wonder had been erased. Hell. Maybe kissing a guy like Lucas had been a bad idea, and probably the last thing the kid needed with so much other shit going down.
Grabbing his stuff, Cody stood up and went into the practice room. Lucas was the last of the group to leave. He was stuffing his crap into a backpack—a packet of peanut butter cheese crackers, a half-full bottle of Diet Dr Pepper, a damp-looking bandanna, and the ubiquitous M&M necktie got shoved through the pack’s open zipper with jerky movements. The big, sturdy-looking hands that had turned-on Cody last night were pale and shaky.
The camera guys had wrapped up filming, and one of them addressed Cody. “Take your time setting up. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”
Lucas looked up as the guys left the room. He blinked when he noticed Cody in the doorway, a what-the-heck? expression in his eyes.
Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you that I’m seeking you out, Cody replied with his eyes.
“Tough morning?” he asked. “Friend issues?” Dude, why can’t you see these losers aren’t your friends? They’re already halfway to their rooms, beating feet to get the hell away from you.
“Nah. I’ll catch them at lunch.” Lucas was looking everywhere but at Cody’s face. He sidestepped Cody like he was avoiding a grenade. “I . . . uh . . . good luck.”
“Hey. Look. I’m sorry.” Cody stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Lucas flinched, recoiling from the touch. Ouch.
“Not a big deal. Don’t mention it.” Lucas tightened his backpack straps, tugging on them like he needed it to endure a climb up Mount Everest.
“I should have—”
“Can we drop it?” Lucas’s face was all stony and closed off. Baby lion was in a pissy mood, curls all flopping around his face, eyebrows all sharp and angry.
It was damn rare that Cody apologized and here he was, not getting any benefits from his effort.
“Yeah.” Cody’s hand flopped at his side, as useless as his words. “Don’t listen to them, man. You’re getting better.”
“Hah.” Lucas snorted. “Don’t lie. They have a list, you know? Of people they’ll pick to replace me if we go through—”
“Ashley has one for us, too—I think everyone does.” Cody gave him what he hoped passed for an encouraging smile.
“Yeah? Does hers only have basses on it? Who can dance?” Lucas shoved a hand through his hair. “Forget it. Not like we’re going to have much chance of going through.”
As he pushed past Cody, he looked so forlorn something hitched inside Cody’s chest. He tried to never remember how it felt to lose hope—hell, 98 percent of Cody’s waking hours were devoted to pushing through. Keep moving forward. Forget what rejection felt like.
“Wait.” Cody took a deep breath. “Eight o’clock. Meet me after dinner.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
It was, but Cody persisted. “I’m going to help you.”
“Like you helped last night?”
“No! With your dancing.” His brain supplied images of all the other
, X-rated kinds of help he could offer. He could give Lucas enough blowjob pointers to fill a For Dummies manual. Blood rushed to his groin, his dick reminding him that he hadn’t gotten off last night. Damn. “I’m going to get you spinning.”
“Yeah?” Lucas’s shoulders relaxed a little, but his eyes were still wary. “Why’d you want to do that?”
“No clue.” For once in his life, Cody told the unvarnished truth. “Maybe I need a challenge.”
“I’m not sleeping with you.” Lucas adjusted the weight of the bag, shifting his hips a bit.
“You wound me.” Cody held up his hands in peace. “I don’t expect payment.”
That’d be a first. He never did something for nothing. Never. Even hanging out had become a careful transaction—who would he be seen with, what could they do for him, would his name get more exposure—but here he was, for the second time in two days, offering to hang out with Lucas without knowing what the hell his own motives were. It was like he was back in school, all helpful and shit, like the last four years of street smarts had worn off as soon as he got a whiff of Lucas.
“So?” He nodded at Lucas.
The camera guys appeared at the door, and Lucas had to step aside to let a guy with an armful of extension cords pass. The move brought him close enough that Cody could smell him—sweat and that old-fashioned spicy scent—and the memory of the kiss slammed into Cody’s senses. Forget altruism or Ashley’s hunt for a new bass. His dick knew exactly why he wanted more time around Lucas. Such a bad idea.
“Yeah.” Lucas finally looked directly at him. “I don’t think it’ll work, though.”
That made two of them. Cody was pretty sure the best they could hope for would be Lucas choking with dignity as opposed to leaving his ass all over the stage.
“At least we can make you fail better.”
“You going to make that the motto of Cody’s School of Dance?” Lucas’s laugh was husky and deep and real. It was exactly the way he’d kissed. No affect. No holding back. No staging. Once Lucas decided something, it seemed he was all in, whether it was laughing or kissing or . . .
Hell. This was a terrible idea. One doomed to failure and hours of dick-twisting frustration because he’d promised Lucas it wasn’t about sex. And still . . . Cody couldn’t help picturing what it would look like if Lucas could dance the way he laughed.
Chapter Four
Cody grabbed two practice mics from a box on the floor and handed one to Lucas. Kid was looking twitchy as hell again, like they were about to be yelled at for using the wrong room. The show had made sure the rooms were ready for practice—the chairs and tables had been pushed against the walls, there were masking tape and other supplies for mapping out choreography in a plastic crate on the floor, and, most important, the halfway decent sound system. They weren’t live mics; the groups just used them for perfecting their hand and arm movements. No one wanted to get to dress rehearsal and bop themselves in the face.
Lucas’s mouth twisted as his big hand clutched the mic’s slim handle, and Cody had to wonder if Lucas had ever practiced with a mic before. The M&Ms seemed to have a steep learning curve with “modern” equipment—they were used to miking their lead singer but not the rest of the group. Old school.
“Do you need me to show you our number?” Lucas sounded uncertain.
“Nah. I’ve pretty much got all the routines and songs memorized.” Cody grinned at him, trying not to sound too much like he was bragging. Even if he totally was. His freaky music memory was a great party trick.
“Woke up yesterday . . .” Cody launched into the pop song the M&Ms were doing.
The theme for premiere week was “Pop Hit,” with each group selecting one fairly recent song. Embellish was doing a Gotye song, chosen both to show Cody’s range as well as reflect the group’s style. Cody wasn’t sure the M&Ms had a style precisely, but this overplayed song sure as hell wasn’t it. And the fake swagger they were attempting was all kinds of wrong, but Cody was pretty sure he pulled it off better than the too earnest M&Ms leads.
“Wow.” Lucas clapped, the sound echoing through the empty room. “You’re amazing.”
“That’s what he said.” Cody’s joke was rewarded with another one of Lucas’s charming-as-hell blushes. When Cody met his eyes and winked, Lucas looked away.
“Now you.” Cody motioned for Lucas to try the routine.
“Um . . . maybe without singing?” Lucas made a face.
Yeah, that was a big part of the kid’s problem. He couldn’t seem to coordinate his voice and feet. Cody fished his iPod out of his pocket and hooked it up with the room’s sound system.
“This is your group’s version of the song from earlier,” he told Lucas. “It’s a shitty copy, but it’ll do.”
“You’ve got all kinds of connections.” Lucas’s mouth took on a pissy tilt and his eyes narrowed. He seemed like he’d already decided how Cody had earned those connections.
Actually, Cody had made the copy himself using his cell phone that afternoon, when the M&Ms took their turn on the stage at the theater. He’d taken it back to the room and plugged it into his music software to get it sounding halfway decent. And he’d gotten the key to the practice room by simply asking, but that hadn’t stopped Lucas from giving him a pointed look when he’d produced it.
“Yup,” he agreed, cuing up the song. People like Lucas were always quick to hand out judgments; the trick was simply not caring. “Show me your moves.”
Lucas was okay in the opening section of the song, lost his place in the middle, and was a mess in the end. Lucas closed his eyes as he spun, squishing them shut like a kid riding his first roller coaster before lurching through each turn. The disconnect between Lucas’s naturally staid demeanor and the funky dance steps was bizarre—kind of like what might happen if Josh Groban took acid and tried on some boy band moves.
“Dude.” Cody waited until Lucas had finished flopping to speak. “You’re not playing pin the tail here! Open your eyes.”
“Sorry.” Lucas blushed. His bulky muscles tightened along his broad back as he prepared for another attempt. Lucas opened his eyes wide—like invisible pieces of tape held them open. He hissed in a breath and nodded for Cody to start the music again. This time when Lucas spun out, his arms flailed, his feet snagged, his body whirled like an out-of-control yo-yo and . . . his eyes slammed shut. He bashed into one of the stacks of chairs against the wall, saving himself from falling on his ass with a last split-second arm flail. The chairs were old-fashioned, heavy-duty metal ones that had to hurt like heck. Cody’s own arm ached in sympathy.
“Why do you keep closing your eyes?”
“So I won’t get dizzy?” Lucas looked sheepish, his foot kicking at the mud brown carpeting.
“And that’s working so well for you.” Cody moved closer to him. “Watch me.” He executed a series of quick turns.
“Oh.” Lucas’s quick intake of breath did all sorts of things for Cody’s ego. He spun back around in time to find Lucas eyeing him like he was a cupcake on the hospitality table.
“Okay.” Cody winked at him. “This time watch my eyes. Not my ass.”
“I wasn’t . . .” Lucas sputtered.
Cody did another series of turns, this time working it a bit more. “Now you. Pick a spot on the wall and keep looking at it. Use it as a focal point.”
Not surprisingly, that trick also failed. Maybe the bland black-and-white seascapes on the wall weren’t sufficient reference points. Cody wasn’t exactly sure how he made his own body move. Trying to put the process into words was trickier than he’d thought. He couldn’t remember ever not dancing. When he was a kid he’d danced constantly, driving his grandma and everyone else around him nuts. But even when he was getting yelled at, he hadn’t been able to keep still when music came on.
Time for a different approach. He came up behind Lucas, putting his hands on Lucas’s shoulders.
“Hey!” Lucas’s muscles stiffened under Cody’s hands.
&
nbsp; “Relax. I’m not going to grope you.” Yet. Maybe if you beg nicely. “I’m going to spin you. Lemme show you.”
He used the push-and-shove technique elementary school kids liked to use to make each other dizzy, keeping his hands on Lucas’s shoulders as he spun him around and around.
“Ooof.” He exhaled sharply as Lucas squashed his foot and nearly knocked him over.
“Oh man,” Lucas gasped, smoothing Cody’s arms with his hands like he was trying to iron him out. It was cute. Sweet enough to make him forgive the foot stomp. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Face-to-face like this, their bodies were almost perfectly lined up. Lucas was a couple of inches shorter, but not so much that Cody had to crane his neck. If they were at a club, he wouldn’t have to bend his knees much . . . Bingo. “Time to try something new.”
“Eh?” Lucas looked dazed and ran a meaty hand through his already messed-up hair.
“We’re going to work on turning. Just that one move and nothing else.” Cody walked back to the stereo and searched through his playlist until he found a club mix. He returned to Lucas and plucked the microphone from his hand. “Pretend we’re at a club.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Lucas worried his lip with his teeth. His lower lip was full and almost too pink for his fair skin. Cody wouldn’t have minded nibbling on it himself.
“You got a better one? Look, if we were at a club, you’d be checking out the hot guys, right? You wouldn’t be keeping your eyes shut or looking at the floor.”
Treble Maker Page 5