“I want your bass, not your ass,” Cody drawled. “Though if it would help . . .” He touched Lucas’s sleeve.
“No.” Blushing hard enough his scalp heated, Lucas shook off the touch and with it the last of his hope that there had been something genuine tonight. It was all part of Cody’s plan to win. Cut his friend. Pick up Lucas, if that’s what it took. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait.” Cody’s mouth twisted with confusion. “Dude. I was kidding.”
“Yeah.” Lucas wished he believed him.
Leaving Cody and his stupid games behind, he made his way through the courtyard, pushing through the double doors of the lobby, not slowing down until his thumb punched the elevator button. When the doors swished open, he stepped inside, feeling like he’d escaped something big and scary and unknown. He clutched the car’s back rail, breathing hard. He had no idea whether he was relieved or disappointed that Cody hadn’t followed.
Part Two: Sixties Week
Perfect Harmony
S2, Ep2
“Change, Change, Change.”
The top ten groups struggle to adjust to new members and new challenges all while trying to bring some classic hits to life.
—Cable Con Viewer’s Guide
“. . . While this reviewer was happy to see Embellish go forward, their challenge is going to be proving that they’re more than simply backup singers for lead powerhouse Cody Rivers . . .”
—Music Weekly, Episode One Recap
Chapter Seven
The show’s producers were playing up the differences between the winners and losers in every way possible. Cool kids versus wannabes, Hollywood style. Contestants from the losing groups sat together in the front rows of the theater, physically and emotionally beneath the winners on the big, brightly lit stage. They’d corralled the winning groups beneath a series of signs imprinted with glittering numerals.
Lucas had finally figured out that the numbers weren’t rankings as to which group was the biggest judge suck-up. They were supposed to show the studio audience the order in which the winner groups would take turns stepping forward into a gold circle and making the much-hyped announcement about who was in and who was out.
Cameras were trained on both the losing groups and the ones on stage. The sound system guys tested a drumroll sound effect before a PA gave a thumbs-up while the assistant director prepared to cue the groups.
Lucas’s stomach flopped like he was back in PE, waiting to be called for dodge ball. Only this time he had an audience and a fervent desire not to be picked. Lucas didn’t pay much attention to the host and his inane banter, instead keeping his eyes glued to Cody and the rest of Embellish, who were standing on the far corner of the stage under number ten. Their surly VP, Keith, looked like he hadn’t slept, his eyes all red and his hair sticking up at strange angles. He stood apart from the rest of the group, shoulders slumped. He wasn’t the only dejected-looking singer—for each group on the stage, one member seemed to know they were about to be sent packing, and unlike the members of the losing groups, they didn’t have a shot at being picked up by another group.
The Divas were called out first, and not surprisingly, they picked up another girl—an alto beatboxer. Then the Refrains’ bass, Derek, went to the Whistlers, an all-guy group from Canada. All five Embellish members reacted with tense faces and huddled conversation before the next group took center stage. Heck. Derek must have been on Embellish’s list.
A number of groups picked up leads, with Trevor going to a mixed group from Chicago, and the lead from the Refrains getting picked up by a girl-heavy group. Two other low-end guys found new homes as the selections wound down. With each bass picked, little knots of dread formed in Lucas’s shoulders until his whole back ached.
“And we’ll be back with our final pick.” The host set up what would be a commercial break when the show aired, but in reality the time allowed Embellish to confer. There was an abundance of dirty looks and waving hands as Cody and Ashley squared off on their corner of the stage. Lucas didn’t need to be able to read lips to know what they were arguing over. He had no idea if Cody was still sold on picking him after the way they’d left things last night. However, there weren’t that many basses left. Please pick someone else.
“All right . . .” The host addressed the camera with the same fake high-drama tone he’d had all evening. “Embellish, do you have a decision?”
“We do.” To Lucas’s surprise, it was the vocal percussionist guy, Jeff, who spoke for the group. Ashley sent both Jeff and Cody death glares. Cody’s mouth was a thin line. Good. Lucas’s shoulders relaxed a bit. If Cody wasn’t happy, that might mean... “We pick Lucas from the M&Ms.”
Of course they called his name.
God hadn’t been handing out favors to him recently. Why start now?
“Congrats, Lucas!” The host gestured to him. Lucas’s legs felt rubbery as he took the wooden stairs up to the stage. His hands clenched in an effort to keep from shaking as he walked over to Embellish.
“Do you accept?” the host inquired breathily, laying on the fake drama extrathick.
This was a formality for the cameras—no one had turned down a pick yet. Lucas had heard a rumor that a few eliminated groups had negotiated saves for their key singers, making them ineligible for a pick, but all that was behind-the-scenes stuff. Everyone called so far had been happy—or darn good at pretending.
Even so, Lucas was sorely tempted to say no. Why not test the system? Did he really want to stay without Winston? Without his group? What is my dad going to think? Didn’t matter that it wasn’t entirely Lucas’s choice—joining up with Embellish wasn’t going to go over well with either the group or his folks. His parents had called that morning, wanting to know how things went. His dad hadn’t been able to disguise his disappointment, while his mom had offered to make him pot pie as a consolation dinner when he got back.
Down in the audience, a couple of M&Ms were shaking their heads. O’Malley made a throat-slicing gesture. All I wanted was to help. Lucas’s stomach twisted. He’d spent three years always putting the group first. Earlier in the day at breakfast, half the group hadn’t spoken to him, and the other half barely looked at him. So. Darn. Unfair. He hadn’t come for himself, yet here he was alone.
The host nodded encouragingly at him, but Lucas couldn’t make his mouth work. He glanced at Cody. The grim expression on his mouth had spread to his eyes, and he stared straight ahead. The other three looked nervous. They might not want him, but they needed him. He’d failed the M&Ms, but maybe, just maybe, he could help someone else. Feel useful. And delaying heading home to deal with the fallout from losing was looking more appealing with each judgmental look from the M&Ms.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Do you want me to go draw our song for next week?” Raven gestured to where a production assistant was holding a coffee can filled with scraps of papers with song possibilities for next week’s “Sixties hits” theme.
“Sure.” Cody waved her away.
After the sudden-death selections, taping had wrapped and planning had begun for next week’s filming. They’d moved to the lobby and PAs were handing out schedules. The show kept to a tight schedule—a week of rehearsals for each episode, with actual taping and elimination on Saturdays. The Broadway-style group numbers could easily require three times as much practice, but the show had both a budget and a filming and editing schedule to meet.
The PAs had claimed the lone folding table. Outside the double glass doors, buses lined up, ready to take groups back to the hotel. Most of the losing groups were slowly filtering out. Keith had split the second they finished filming without a backward glance at Cody and the rest of the group.
The hum of the bus engines only added to the din of dozens of hyped voices from the remaining groups. Cody couldn’t match their enthusiasm—every muscle hurt. No matter how cool he had to play it publicly, losing Keith stung. He didn’t want to have to be so callous, but that was life in this
industry. He deliberately shook out his arms; he needed to remember why he was here. No point in getting sentimental. Around the room, groups hung out in clumps, waiting to find out their song selection for Sixties week. Others stood in line for a buffet of sodas and cookies from craft service.
Cody wasn’t interested in fighting the crowd for caffeine, but an argument over in the corner snagged his attention. Lucas was involved in a heated discussion with a young female assistant. Judging by his frown and pacing, things weren’t going well. Please don’t let him be backing out. Lucas hadn’t followed Embellish after the selection, returning instead to his pucker-faced friends. He hadn’t said anything to Cody or any other member of Embellish about being chosen for the best damn group on the show. Not even a thanks or a high five, like some of the saved contestants had done.
They didn’t have a plan B if Lucas bailed. Keith had packed last night. Lucas was more like plan D—the other options on Ashley’s list had already been picked by groups who went before them. After last night, Cody hadn’t been sure if Lucas would accept, and he’d been even less sure that Lucas was worth the hassle—or the temptation. He had a way of making Cody forget he was supposed to be focused on winning.
Lucas and the production assistant headed their way, Lucas still frowning.
The assistant stopped in front of Cody. “Your roommate is gone now, right?”
“Yeah,” Cody said slowly, his neck tightening.
“As I’ve been explaining to Luke here—”
“Lucas,” Cody and Lucas said in unison. That got a tiny smile from Lucas.
“Whatever.” She pushed her long hair off her face. “The show has a policy of no single rooms. We’re putting Lucas with you.” Her tone didn’t leave room for argument. Despite her tiny stature, this was one tough chick.
“Uh-huh.” Cody nodded.
Lucas didn’t speak up, only exhaled heavily and shook his head. His shoulders slumped, and disappointment oozed off him. Clearly, he’d been hoping Cody would make a stink. Sorry, buddy, I save my fits for things that matter. He’d learned the hard way to choose his battles wisely in this industry. Rooming with Lucas? Bound to be a pain, but not worth expending social capital he could use later.
“Great. I’ll leave you two to work out the details.” She hurried away before Lucas could protest.
“Not my idea,” Lucas said as soon as she was gone.
“No shit.”
“I’d offer,” Jeff spoke up, “but I’m already rooming with a guy from the Whistlers. I’d let you have him—he’s kind of a doof—but”—he waved his hand awkwardly—“he’s a bit narrow-minded.”
“I’ll deal,” Lucas said, obviously still bummed. Great. Cody was only marginally preferable than some antigay jerk.
“Okay, I’ve got our choices.” Raven returned and ushered them to one of the long velvet-padded benches along the sides of the room.
“Spill.” Ashley perked up. She’d been silent ever since they’d voted to pick Lucas. He supposed she was dealing about as well as Lucas.
Raven held up the paper, reading aloud. “We can do Surfer Girl—”
“Please no.” Jeff ’s frown got a laugh from the group.
“Or Stay.”
“I can see that working.” Lucas smiled for the first time all day.
“Really?” Cody raised his eyebrows, more at Lucas’s positive reaction than at the song choice.
“It needs a bigger group,” Ashley said.
“And fewer girls,” Raven added.
“No,” Lucas said. “You guys will add something. The judges want to see more of you. We can play with it a bit. Maybe let Ashley do lead on a verse.”
Cody coughed. No way was he giving up more of the lead than he had to.
“Or we could go the other way.” Lucas rolled his eyes at Cody. Cody squirmed, feeling like Lucas could see right through him. “Really push the bass line, go full and rich and let Cody’s tenor carry the lead with the soprano from the girls adding some depth.”
Cody whistled. “You’re good.”
Ashley let out an awkward giggle.
“What?” Blushing, Lucas frowned at her.
“Nothing. I just didn’t expect you to be so . . .” She waved her hand, zebra-striped nails catching the light.
“Helpful,” Cody supplied.
“Really?” Lucas’s eyes went wide. “You guys thought I’d be throwing a princess fit?”
Yes. Cody hadn’t seen this side of Lucas yet—professional. Responsible. Fair. Most of the musicians Cody knew thrived on drama and entitlement. Lucas’s body language was tense—judging from his hesitation earlier and the argument with the PA, he wasn’t happy about being chosen—but Lucas seemed determined to push past that, and Cody had to admit he was impressed. This Lucas wasn’t the bumbling guy in need of rescue, and it wasn’t the moralizing virgin. And damn if this new, confident version of Lucas didn’t make Cody’s chest go warm.
“You’re okay, man.” Jeff slapped him on the shoulder.
Lucas looked at the hand and frowned. “Why did you guys pick me if you didn’t think . . . Never mind. Look, I know I’m probably not your first choice.” He looked straight at Cody, his eyes harsh enough to make him squirm. “But I’m not going to be a baby about things. I’ll work hard.”
Cody’s dick had more than a few suggestions about how hard he could make Lucas work. But he only nodded. His dick needed to take a chill pill and go offline for the remainder of the competition. Not gonna be easy.
“I can get on board with that. And your ideas are decent.” Ashley sounded more resigned than enthusiastic. “I’d still like some lines.”
“Yeah.” Cody sighed. Sometimes compromise was inevitable.
Lucas paused at the door to Cody’s room. Knocking felt silly because Dawn, the PA, had made a big deal of getting him his own key. But using the key felt a bit . . . presumptuous. What if he’s in the shower again? That decided it. He knocked.
No answer.
He knocked harder, then dug out the key card and slid it in the slot. Right as the light turned green, the door flew open.
“Hey.” Cody blinked. The room was dim behind him, and Cody’s hair was flattened on one side. Lucas barely registered the hair, though, his attention riveted to Cody’s bare chest. His pants were slung low on his hips, his belt discarded. He stretched, and the pants dipped low enough to reveal the top of his underwear. His very red underwear.
They’d gotten back from the theater an hour or so ago, and while Lucas had been busy packing and saying good-bye to his friends, Cody had obviously been napping.
“I, uh . . . got my stuff.” Way to be lame. “And a key.”
“I see.” Cody swiveled, an elegant ripple of back muscles and tight butt. Flipping a light switch, he led the way into the room. “Couldn’t get out of the room swap?”
What the heck? Why did Cody care? Lucas was the one who’d had to endure sideways glances from his friends, a warning from Winston to sleep with an eye open, and some outright crude jokes from O’Malley and his buddies. Lucas’s stomach ached from hours of worry over the room switch. Not to mention a series of awkward good-byes, watching the M&Ms wheel their luggage down to the waiting buses. Not one of them looked back at him or Trevor standing in the lobby. And then Trevor’s new group came to claim him, his new roommate helping him carry his bags, leaving Lucas to fumble his way to Cody’s room.
“No.” Lucas lugged his rolling suitcase behind him and adjusted his backpack on this shoulder. “That a problem?”
“Nah.” Cody’s shrug didn’t reveal more than bland disinterest. He gestured at the beds, both of which were a mess of rumpled covers. “Sorry about that. I told housekeeping to come back later.”
“That’s okay,” Lucas said, even though it wasn’t. The hotel housekeeping visits were sporadic at best—he wasn’t sure what arrangement the show had made with the hotel, but the maid service wasn’t daily. Guess they figured so many of them were used to dorms that an
ything was an upgrade.
Lucas didn’t need any reminders of Keith and his departure. Lucas still wasn’t sure how happy he was to be staying, and knowing how sad Keith was to leave made everything ten times worse—he’d seen Keith’s crushed face even as the rest of Embellish had celebrated.
“You can put your stuff over there.” Cody indicated the bed closest to the door. “There’s room in the closet, too—just shove my stuff aside.”
“Thanks.” Lucas set his backpack and laptop bag down and started unpacking his suitcase.
Twisting his torso, Cody did a series of stretches, as if he were trying to shake off his nap. No way could Lucas concentrate on putting stuff on hangers. Instead, he started a visual inventory of Cody’s tattoos. In addition to the colorful bird on his chest, Cody had a swirly band around his biceps and the outline of a star poking out of his waistband.
Cody coughed loudly, and Lucas looked up from trying to figure out whether Cody’s nipple piercing was a bar or a flat ring.
“I said do you wanna watch a movie?” Cody winked at him as he grabbed a shirt from the chair. “You’re good for my ego, you know?”
“Like it needs help.”
“A little stroking is always appreciated.”
Lucas choked on his own spit.
“So, movie?” Cody grinned and flopped on his bed. Grabbing the remote, he flipped on the TV. “It’s too early for dinner.”
“Yeah.” Lucas surveyed the room, trying to decide where to sit. The square footage was probably the same as his old room, but Cody’s presence made it feel more cramped than his closet back home. Even with Cody on his own bed, Lucas’s muscles were tight and his arms stuck to his sides, like he might bump into Cody at any moment.
Lucas had no idea how he’d survive the next week. It wasn’t in his character to try to throw the competition, but his stomach churned at the idea of this dragging on for weeks.
I have control over my actions. He could be smart about this. Avoid obvious mistakes, like going to sit next to Cody on the bed. But if he didn’t sit on Keith’s rumpled sheets—which, for some weird reason, and one he’d never admit to Cody, seemed disrespectful to a guy who had taken leaving so hard—his only option appeared to be the floor. The lone desk chair held a laptop, a pair of headphones, and about a dozen shirts draped over the back.
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