Treble Maker

by Annabeth Albert

  “No,” Lucas blurted. “I—” Oh, God, I really want to. But I can’t. I’m not afraid of the bar, don’t you see? I’m afraid of myself, of what would happen to me if I went. . . .

  “I just . . . can’t,” he whispered.

  Cody’s mouth pursed, but his eyes were softer with . . . hurt?

  “How about this?” Cody reached down, popping open Lucas’s fly. “You won’t let me take you to a club, but what if I touch you here, where it’s just us, here where it’s dark? Here where no one else would know? Want me to get you off? Right here?”

  Lucas squeezed his eyes shut. He gritted his teeth around the yes that begged to escape.

  “You do, don’t you?” He stroked over Lucas’s boxers, his fingers dipping inside the fly to dance along Lucas’s shaft.

  Lucas made a sound that wasn’t quite agreement, but it sure as heck wasn’t the stop he’d been aiming for.

  “Nope.” Cody withdrew his hand, a cruel smile glued in place. “Not gonna happen. I can live with you hating me afterward. But hell if I’m going to let you hate yourself.”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “You want me to give you a reason to be ashamed later. Want me to bully you into coming to the club or into fooling around so you can spend hours beating yourself up over it and assigning blame—”

  “Told you. I won’t blame you. It’s what I’m in to—”

  “No. Kink is a game you jerk off to later. And I get hella off on you begging me. You stretched out all open and soft. But you want a reason to hate yourself more. You want something you can assign yourself penance or whatever for so you can cope.”

  “I can’t.” Lucas zipped up his fly with clumsy hands. “I can’t cope. I had a plan for my life. An idea how things would go. And this isn’t it.”

  “Let me know when you figure it out.” Cody pushed by him, leaving him alone and clutching the scenery for balance.

  How dare Cody presume to know his reasoning? To act like Lucas was some sheltered child afraid to jump off a rope swing into the unknown below?

  Relief. He should be feeling relief. He’d stepped back from temptation. Instead, his eyes burned and the ice clogging his lungs shattered into a billion hot shards of regret.

  Cody wasn’t drunk, which was a damn shame. Couple of tequila shots had loosened his muscles but hadn’t done a thing for his pounding head. And he needed a fucking merit badge for babysitting the kids from the show who had tagged along, all wide eyes and bad decisions waiting to happen.

  He took a long sip of his beer and studied the crowd. Sanctuary attracted a very mixed, upscale crowd. It frequently made the list of best places to bring your straight friends—lots of tables and seating areas in the sprawling indoor/outdoor space that encompassed several bar areas. They hosted fun stuff like drag shows and go-go dancers, but they weren’t the meat market of some places. Lucas might have actually liked it.

  Oh, fuck this. He had to stop thinking about Lucas. Who the fuck cared whether Lucas would have enjoyed a place he’d seemed determined to prejudge? Of-fucking-course Lucas couldn’t let his friends know he was messing around with Cody. Cody really shouldn’t care. After all, he had no desire to go around advertising it, but it still made his stomach hurt.

  There was reason he usually went for the groupies and bottom boys who made no secret of who they were. He couldn’t stand being the dirty secret of closeted guys. His jaw tightened and he clenched his teeth. He wished he had a joint. He needed to chill the fuck out about Lucas, stop letting him mess with his head. He had no desire to follow Lucas’s stupid rules. It had been years since he’d tried to jump through someone else’s hoops and he wasn’t about to go back to it now.

  The warm-up band was a group of software engineers who moonlighted as a punk band. They were smart—not trying to make music their main thing. They’d done college and had real jobs, and they all probably had cozy townhouses off in the valley. If they got a show like this, they got more money for equipment, maybe the chance to take some gigs farther away. Not so fucking broke like Cody—he’d had to count on the trust fund babies from Perfect Harmony coughing up cash at the door, eager to pay Sanctuary’s hella pricey drink charges. Ashley was covering his booze on an IOU.

  But the band on stage was in it purely for fun and it showed in their performance—they were pitchy as hell on a Killers cover, but they put so much passion into it, Cody had to clap.

  Couldn’t remember the last time he’d had fun like that. Hungry. He was always so damn hungry for the next thing. All the kids from the show were celebrating their night off, but all he could think about was next week. Getting one week closer to the live shows. What he could do different or better to get that edge. Even with a buzz on, his mind never let go of getting an edge, getting closer to the time when he’d earn more than even Urban Engine. Being able to reliably pay rent was one thing, but he wanted even more. Wanted to be too good for a place like this. Wanted his face on the iTunes charts, YouTube hits in the millions, not thousands.

  A preppy kid from the show who looked like a J.Crew ad kept trying to chat up Cody, sucking up what little remained of his buzz. Cody couldn’t tell whether he was straight and nervous or queer and clueless, and he didn’t care enough to figure it out. He needed to direct him to the nearest guy with an appetite for virgin twink. Because it sure as fuck wasn’t Cody.

  He was off virgins for good. Give him a guy who knew the score, who knew what he wanted, and who didn’t make any excuses. Problem was, his usual type wasn’t doing it for him. He blamed the show kids. Knocking him off his game.

  The crowd roared as Urban Engine finally took the stage. A sympathetic twitch of adrenaline raced up Cody’s spine. Growing up, his grandmother had made him help clean house every Saturday. She’d always had the local oldies station on for her cleaning spree—the one day of the week when it wasn’t AM radio or one of the Christian stations. And every Saturday, Cody had polished the big, heavy maple mirror in the front entryway, singing along with the music, pretending he was being introduced to a crowd. Later, when the house had stopped being a home and he’d had his own music blasting in his ears on his iPod, he’d danced in front of the mirror, wondering what it might be like to be in a place like this—the press of the crowd, the music thrumming, the burn of cheap tequila, and guys checking him out, with subtle offers of something quick and easy.

  He’d promised himself that his would be the name blaring over loudspeakers, and that he’d never again be ashamed of the kid in the mirror. He hadn’t looked this much like himself in weeks—silver eyeliner, leather pants, heavy studded belt, and his favorite mesh shirt. But he didn’t feel like himself at all—his skin felt too tight, his shirt felt itchy. Fuck Lucas for making tonight feel all wrong.

  Or rather, don’t fuck Lucas. Across the bar, a little Goth twink gave Cody the look. Totally his usual type—fuckable, willing, and with a practiced gaze that made it clear he was looking for a quick hookup. But Cody’s stomach did a weird flip, rebelling as he headed that way. What. The. Fuck. Not like he had anything to be guilty over. He dodged around a crowd of college-aged guys jostling for space to order more shots. Goth boy smiled at him, blatant invitation in his brown eyes.

  Brown. Not blue. Dark, floppy hair. Not blond curls. Okay, maybe his usual type had . . . shifted a bit. Still, no reason why he couldn’t have a little fun. Chase Lucas from his brain. A quick and easy blow job was exactly what he needed, and Goth boy looked more than eager to provide it.

  Cody stopped several feet from him, letting the dude close the gap. Goth boy did, bounding up to him with an eager grin.

  “You wanna take a walk with me?” It was Cody’s usual line, but it felt all wrong. His stomach flipped again, tequila and beer sloshing around with guilt and regret.

  “Yeah,” the kid breathed out, his eyes wide, like Cody was even better than a backstage pass.

  The adoration should have made Cody’s pulse speed up, but all it caused was another sour stomach cramp. H
e couldn’t do this. Suddenly, the sprawling club felt as claustrophobic as the tiny hotel bathroom he shared with Lucas. Lucas. He didn’t want to be thinking of Lucas right then, but he couldn’t shake the worries ruining his good time. Time to go.

  Chapter Eleven

  “We don’t belong here.” Trevor twirled the straw of his milk Wshake.

  “Here? At the party?” Lucas kinda dug the setting for this week’s after party. The fifties-themed place featured red and black décor, giant burgers, and real milk shakes. The camera crews were grabbing “candid” footage of everyone relaxing, but luckily, they seemed content to leave Lucas and Trevor alone on the red stools at the end of a shiny Formica table. Fewer people had come to this event than last week’s—more people seemed to want to enjoy their one night off away from the cameras, or they only stayed long enough to grab food.

  “No, not here.” Trevor looked at him ruefully across the table. “You belong anywhere grease makes up half the menu.”

  “Guilty.” Lucas grabbed another fry, dipping it in ranch dressing. The way Ashley and Cody had him pounding out the miles on the treadmill, he wasn’t going to feel one bit guilty. And not like O’Malley and the rest were here to give him heck. “You mean you’re homesick?”

  “Not exactly. We don’t belong here. In Hollywood.” Trevor made a face. Lucas knew Trevor avoided going back to his tiny town up by the South Dakota border at all costs, working most summers and breaks on campus in Austerity.

  “You sad that you weren’t eliminated?” Lucas took a bite of his burger. A plate-sized burger and a huge basket of steak-cut fries that he didn’t have to pay for—he should be way happier. But it all turned to sawdust whenever he remembered his fight with Cody. No, he didn’t belong here. But heck if he knew where he did.

  Trevor looked away and let out a long sigh. “I didn’t try to lose or anything, but . . . it feels weird. Being here without the rest of the group. And doesn’t it get to you how”—he made a weird wiggle of his hands—“casual everyone is here? Like about everything.”

  “Ah.” Lucas had a feeling they were dancing around the issue of sex, but no way was he going to lead the conversation there. He had no more desire to confess his latest failings than he did to find glass in his burger. “Your group treating you okay?”

  “It’s . . . weird.” Shoulders slumping, Trevor shredded his straw wrapper.

  “How?”

  “Like there are no rules. None. No one seems to be in charge—no one really runs rehearsal. And there are no group rules—they even drink at rehearsal. And I’m pretty sure two of the guys are sleeping with the same girl and none of them care.... I’m stupid, right? Letting it bug me?”

  “Nah. You’re not stupid. Just, you know . . . ignore that. Be yourself.” Lucas gave his shoulder an awkward thump. Trevor had always been way more into rules and expectations than him.

  “That’s just the thing . . . no one here knows us, you know? Like at home, everyone knows us. But here—” he waved his hands again—“here we can do anything. No one cares.”

  Oh, don’t I know it. A guilty prickle crept up Lucas’s neck. Now would be the perfect moment to confess how far he’d been pushing that envelope himself. But hell if he was opening up that discussion. He nodded, trying to look sympathetic, not guilty. Cody’s harsh words kept playing in his head, making his stomach clench. Here he was with a friend who was also gay, and he couldn’t find the courage to talk about all the gay things he’d been up to. I am so freaking messed up.

  “Like . . .” Trevor scrubbed his hands through his hair. “There’s this girl. In our group. Really, really nice girl. And I think she’s, you know . . . in to me. And I need to tell her . . . something. But how?”

  “You mean let her down easy? Or you mean you like her back?” Lucas totally sucked at these sorts of conversations. He’d stammered his way through a few awkward talks with his brother back in high school, but mostly he tried to avoid it. He missed Winston. Winston would know what to say to Trevor. And Winston sure as heck knew more about girls than either of them.

  “I wish I liked her back. So bad.” Trevor put his face in his hands.

  “You mean you wish you weren’t . . .” He trailed off. Jesus. He couldn’t even say the word in a diner filled with people who wouldn’t care. You’d get it up for girls if you could. He swore he could hear Cody’s bitter laugh echoing through the diner.

  “Every. Single. Minute.” Trevor’s eyes went wide. “Don’t you?”

  “I . . . don’t know.” I really don’t.

  “I need to tell her. She’s . . . sweet. But . . . I’ve never done it before. Never had to tell someone. I mean, I just showed up for the first GSA meeting and you all kinda knew, and then . . .”

  Lucas got it. It was the way things worked on a campus of eight hundred students—especially one where the gay-straight alliance was less than five years old. And where all incoming freshmen were encouraged to sign the purity pledge. Yeah. Everyone knew everyone else’s business—sometimes even before the person himself.

  “You still haven’t told your folks?”

  “No. Not until after Christmas. Pack up the last of my stuff. Let them mail the last tuition check, then tell them. I mean, I want to tell them. Lying sucks.”

  “You’re still so sure they’re going to disown you? I mean, things are changing.”

  “Changing? In my town?” Trevor shook his head. “When they repealed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, my dad said it was better to have a soldier die honorably than die gay. I had to leave the room. So, yeah, I’m pretty sure. Not everyone gets a cake like you.”

  “It was pie. But yeah, my mom is pretty awesome.” Day after he’d finally gotten the courage to tell his folks, his mom had made him all his favorites for dinner—chicken pot pie, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and a big apple pie.

  “Too bad she can’t adopt me.” Trevor picked at his sandwich.

  “You could call her,” Lucas offered. “Or e-mail. Ask her what to do about the girl thing. She’d get a kick out of hearing from you.”

  “I know what I should do.” Trevor’s face fell, his muscles drooping as if he couldn’t hold up the weight of expectations. “And it’s like . . . it shouldn’t even be a big deal, right? None of my new group will care. And half of them have probably already guessed. But it’s just . . . three words I can’t get out.”

  “Too bad you don’t have a boyfriend.” Lucas built a tower out of his remaining fries, wishing he had something practical to offer. But instead, all he had was his own worries of the last week pushing up against his throat.

  “What?” Trevor gave him a look, like Lucas had suggested he go to rehearsal in his boxer shorts.

  “You know. Let her see you text someone or hold hands and she’d guess.” Crap. Was he seriously giving Trevor advice on how to be more visibly gay? Really?

  “A boyfriend . . .” Trevor tilted his head, eyeing Lucas intently. Lucas had to flick a fry at him to break the strange vibe.

  “I don’t mean getting a real one. Stick to the same rules as back home. Just something to tip her off without you needing a big confessional. We should have gone with the group to the gay bar. Then maybe she’d guess.” Lucas smiled, trying to cover the thumping in his chest. Like you’re sticking to the rules? Like you’d have the courage to do what you’re telling Trevor to do? Chicken shit. You can’t go to the bar when Cody asks, but you’d send your best friend?

  “No bars.” Trevor looked around, then lowered his voice. “I’ve been to one. In Des Moines. Don’t judge.”

  “Of course. No judging.” Lucas held up his hands.

  “It was . . .” Trevor looked away again. “Let’s just say, I don’t do well with temptation. It’s like they tell all the freshmen at orientation every year—surround yourself with others who share your values or else it’s too easy. . . . Promise not to laugh?”

  Lucas nodded. He and temptation were pretty much BFFs right now.

  “I put Net Nan
ny on my laptop. Had Alex set the password. Stopped any . . . bad habits.”

  “Oh.” Lucas gulped. He’d tried that back in freshman year, setting all his browsers to safe search, and only lasted a week before he was back browsing tumblr. for guys who liked to show off on camera.

  “But, the longer I stay here, the sillier doing stuff like that seems.”

  “You know, I kinda made my peace with porn. In moderation. I figure if it keeps me from a bigger sin . . .” Keeping his voice low, he drifted off as he shrugged. “You gotta find the temptation you can live with, you know?”

  “Yeah.” Trevor’s eyes went wide. His straw wrapper a pile of shards, Trevor had started in on the napkin now. “’Course you’d know about living with temptation. You’re living with the poster boy for gay LA. His Grindr profile probably has even more hits than his YouTube videos.”

  Lucas raised both eyebrows. He’d viewed the videos himself of course. No way had he been able to resist. And Trevor wasn’t kidding—watching Cody sing shirtless had darn near killed Lucas. Cody had a series of videos set in a small, dimly lit room, with him crouched in front of a Webcam. It felt slightly dirty—like spying on him as he got ready for bed.

  Of course, now that Lucas had seen Cody get ready for bed, his mind added in missing details, giving the whole experience a soundtrack and providing fuel for new fantasies. But unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. There were plenty of comments from guys and girls, some offering pretty creative favors. He’d read the comment pages, forcing himself to remember that whatever intimacy he felt with Cody was fake, as much an illusion as the videos.

  “Is he really on Grindr?” The question burst out before Lucas could swallow it back.

  “What? I don’t use Grindr. I mean, I know what it is . . . I mean . . .” Trevor held up his hands. “I might need to cancel my phone data plan if I stay in LA any longer.”