The few parking lot lights created pools of gold on the pavement, casting sparkles on Lucas’s curls and making him seem even more angelic than usual. Growling into Lucas’s neck, Cody nipped at the skin above his collarbone.
“Car. Alarm.” Lucas gasped as he ground harder against Cody.
“Eh?” Cody pulled back, not hearing any noise except the roar inside his head demanding he fuck Lucas into the door.
“Don’t want to set off Raven’s car alarm.”
Cody laughed. “Well, aren’t you the practical one. And here I was, about to let you come . . .” He sauntered away, letting Lucas jog to catch up with him.
“Not turning that down!” Lucas grabbed Cody’s arm, but he pulled free to swipe his key card to open the hotel door.
“Really?” Cody faked indifference as the lock clicked. He held the door open for Lucas, gesturing him through with a nonchalant wave. Heading toward the elevator, he yawned. “You would have let me get you off in a parking lot?”
“Well . . .” Lucas bit his lip.
Laughing, Cody pushed him into the elevator.
“Maybe?” Lucas’s mouth did a cute little quirk that made Cody kiss him.
“Prove it.” Kissing Lucas harder, demanding access to his mouth, he tried to wipe out the last of Lucas’s reserves. Lucas rewarded him with a shaky moan. He grabbed Lucas’s hand and pressed it against the Close button. “You might not want to let go.”
“What?” Lucas’s mouth was swollen from kissing, and the hair Cody had worked so hard to get perfect was sticking up in all directions. He’d never looked hotter to Cody. Unzipping the fly of Lucas’s pants, Cody worked his hand past his briefs, palming Lucas’s plump dick. Whatever else Lucas had been about to say was lost in a long gasp.
“You do want to get off, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Lucas’s eyes fluttered shut.
“And you’re close, right?” He jerked Lucas slowly, rubbing the slick fluid at his tip all around.
“Fuck.” His whole face scrunching up, Lucas moaned. “Yes.”
“Good.” He sank to his knees. “Keep your hand on the button. Don’t let go.”
“Oh, God.” Lucas leaned back against the metal wall. His dick pulsed in Cody’s hand, getting harder with each pull. Yeah, this wasn’t going to take long at all. Cody’s own dick pushed against his zipper, but he tried to ignore it. Instead, he grinned up at Lucas, touching the tip of his tongue to the slit and raising his eyebrows.
“You shouldn’t . . .” Lucas bit his lip.
Hells yes I should. But he paused for a second, waiting to see if Lucas would offer more than a token protest. He didn’t want to do anything Lucas would regret. Cody had offered a couple of times earlier in the week, but somehow they always ended up rubbing off together instead. Which was cool, but he was damn near desperate to get his mouth on Lucas’s dick.
“Please.” Lucas’s word was little more than air, and he coupled it with a nearly imperceptible nod, but Cody didn’t hesitate, swallowing Lucas deep. Lucas’s cock wasn’t the longest, but it was plenty fat, stretching Cody’s mouth.
“Oooh.” Lucas made a strangled sound. “Need to learn that.”
Cody pulled back a little. “I’ll make you a how-to video.”
Lucas must have liked that idea because he moaned, his dick leaking with each pass of Cody’s mouth. He showed off, taking Lucas all the way to his base and swallowing hard around him.
He could tell Lucas was close by his trembling thighs and the low sounds that suddenly stopped. He glanced up, and Lucas was biting his fist, his other hand still jammed against the elevator button. Sometime, when they were alone, he was going to make Lucas fucking scream, drawing things out until Lucas was a begging mess. But right now, speed mattered more. He bobbed hard and fast, pushing Lucas over the edge in a series of thick shots. Salty and bitter and abso-fucking-ly perfect.
“Hell. Should have . . . taken notes.” Lucas’s eyes were closed and he looked as relaxed as Cody had ever seen him.
“Don’t worry. There’ll be a test later.” Cody rose up, hitting the button for their floor. He nodded at Lucas’s fly. “Might want to fix that.”
“Oh. My. God.” Lucas turned bright red. “Did we really just do that?”
“Yep.” Cody licked his lips. “And you know you’d do it again.”
He would. Dear God, he really would. Virginity pledge be darned. Not even a saint could resist the sight of Cody on his knees. Electricity sizzled up Lucas’s spine, the aftershocks of the orgasm still making his muscles feel like soggy bread. In school, his writing teachers always praised his vivid imagination. However, hours of imagining what a blow job would be like hadn’t come close to the reality of Cody’s mouth, hot and eager, his throat working him. The memory alone was enough to get Lucas half-hard again.
“What if... camera? People heard?” He swallowed hard, his mind just as soggy as his limbs. Even as he said it, his spine tingled. The threat of discovery was as hot as it was terrifying. As pleasure receded, guilt started to creep in, along with the terror of someone listening in—he’d just had public sex with a guy who seemed allergic to long-term commitment. Shouldn’t he be ashamed?
“Sssh.” Cody tapped his lips with a finger as the elevator dinged. “You might want to stop worrying about . . . whatever and start worrying about how you’re going to pay me back.”
The doors swung open and Cody sauntered away, his hips rolling like he had an invisible soundtrack.
“You coming?” Cody looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, wait. You already did.”
All Lucas could do was nod. Whatever guilt he was wrestling with wasn’t nearly as powerful as his need to follow Cody—wherever this thing led.
Part Four: Country Week
Perfect Harmony
S2, Ep 4
“Down Home Sound”
The top eight groups face their biggest challenge yet, tackling an unfamiliar genre. Meanwhile, the behind-the-scenes activity has reached a boiling point, and eliminations promise to be surprise filled.
—Cable Con Viewer’s Guide
“. . . Unlike Divas Unite, Embellish seems to be at odds with the judges—and, at times, each other. Their lack of a cohesive sound are going to make them prime targets for elimination. . . .”
—Music Weekly, Episode Three Recap
Chapter Fifteen
Lucas woke up with a throbbing head and a burning throat. He’d sounded bad enough that he hadn’t wanted to call his parents. He’d made tea using the room’s crappy coffeemaker to heat water, but it hadn’t helped. Feeling guilty, he’d sent them a quick text.
Made it through. No need for you to come, though. Super, super, superbusy week ahead.
But, predictably, his mom had immediately texted back.
Knew you would. Already got our tickets! *Call* me!
Um. No. Not happening. What he should have done was talk to Cody, but then Cody’d called for him to come join him in the shower. The stupid phone had hit the carpet with a hard thud, the battery shaking loose, parental invasion forgotten.
And now they were on the bus to the show’s Sunday meeting, and his phone was showing three missed calls and he really needed to talk to Cody. He couldn’t keep making excuses—
“What the fuck?” Cody leaned over Lucas to stare out the window. “Why aren’t we at the theater? Why the hell are we out in the country?”
Country to Lucas meant hay bales and cornfields and long stretches of narrow highway. This was more like suburbia on steroids—lots of parking lots and big-box stores and only slightly more green space than the crowded urban neighborhoods of the theater and the hotel.
“Dawn said we’re getting a special surprise to reveal this week’s theme. Maybe you were a bit too . . . distracted to notice.” Lucas bit back a smile.
“Look at you, winning friends and influencing people.” Cody got him back for the innuendo with a lingering leer that made Lucas squirm.
“Hell-the-fuck n
o,” Jeff interrupted. The bus turned into the parking lot of a large red building.
“Is that a barn? In LA?” Lucas squinted. His brain felt like it was wrapped in a heavy blanket.
“That, my friends, is Rebel Army.” Ashley pointed to a gleaming sign proclaiming it offered “LA’s best BBQ and Mechanical Bull.”
“Otherwise known as us getting screwed.” Cody’s head flopped against Lucas’s shoulder.
“Is it redneck week?” Jeff asked.
Lucas made a settle-down gesture with his hands. “You guys are overreacting. You’d think you’d never listened to any country.”
“We haven’t,” the four of them said in unison.
“Not willingly,” Cody added. Lucas wasn’t about to ’fess up to how much country music he owned—the faces the others were giving made it seem like country music was worse than boiled cabbage. But sometimes country was exactly what he needed—soft and slow, with lingering imagery. Not unlike the best moments of being around Cody, like last night, after they’d gotten back to the room and had rubbed off together for what felt like hours, Cody holding him down until he was incoherently begging for release. All the hip hop in the world couldn’t match the sultry rhythm of a love song.
The complaints continued as they exited the buses and entered the restaurant. Instead of crowds of diners and waitstaff, they found an empty dining room and a camera crew set up by the mechanical bull pit. The bar area looked like a sporting goods store had exploded, with fishing gear and fake rifles dangling over the massive rough wood bar. The rest of the room looked like someone’s fantasy of what small-town bars looked like, with wooden tables, scarred seats and long benches, hardwood floors, and lots of animal horns and more rifles lining the walls.
“Welcome to country week!” Dawn said from her perch atop the nonmoving fake bull. “The folks at Rebel Army have been kind enough to sponsor this week’s episode.”
“Translation—they spent a fortune in ads and now we pay the price,” Cody hissed in Lucas’s ear.
“Come Saturday night, you’ll get to see the place doing what it does best: dishing up heaping helpings of good times.” Dawn sounded like she was reading off a script—or ad copy. “We’ll have a private room for the after party. But there will be three fewer groups celebrating.” Her shrewd expression made Lucas’s stomach sink.
The room erupted with sounds of surprise and grumbling, the most common exclamations being variations of “What the fuck?”
Dawn raised a placating hand. “We’re getting closer to the live shows, and only five lucky groups will get a chance to earn America’s vote.”
“More like the part of America that watches cable, likes a cappella, and doesn’t mind handing over their e-mail address to vote,” Jeff whispered.
“Hush,” Raven said.
“And that’s not all,” Dawn continued. “We’re bringing in two guest judges to help narrow the field.”
“Oh, crap.” Ashley’s protest was joined by others near them.
“Superstar Michelin Moses is releasing his first cross-over album,” Dawn announced.
“Michelin from Speed Kills is releasing a country record?” Cody made it sound like the star of the late nineties rock band had defected to North Korea. The singer hadn’t been heard from in recent years, but his shaved head and distinctive timbre still made him instantly recognizable.
“Maybe this isn’t going to be so bad,” Lucas whispered back. The others needed to lighten up. He and Jeff could fix whatever song they got so that it would showcase Cody’s range. If the show had a pop-to-country crossover guest, there was no reason why they couldn’t add a little rock to whatever they got handed.
“He’ll be joined this week by two-time CMA vocalist of the year Tammy Rose.”
For the first time, Lucas joined the other protests. The week was beginning to stink like a cow patty. He knew Tammy Rose—well, more like knew of her. She’d visited Mount Monticello two years ago, promising to restore “traditional American values, one heartfelt song at a time.” High on her list of targets were alternative lifestyles. She was bound to join the British judge, who seemed to have something against them.
“Emma has your song choices, and we’ve got a breakfast buffet on the way, too.” Dawn held up a hand to keep the crowd noise down. “And don’t forget to take a turn riding the bull! We need some great promo shots!”
No way in heck was Lucas riding the bull. He’d happily forgo breakfast and the next three meals if it meant escaping public humiliation.
Ashley left to get their song while Raven headed toward the crowd at the mechanical bull, Jeff trailing behind her.
Lucas glanced over at Cody, wishing he knew how to break his funk. Scratch that—he did know how, but the crowded restaurant wasn’t exactly the place. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that all he’d had was tea. Maybe food and coffee would help both him and Cody. He was about to go search out some when Trevor walked up.
“Hey, man! Was looking for you earlier.” Like most of the cast, Trevor looked wrung out, wearing a faded Mount Monticello sweatshirt and sporting rumpled hair.
“Sorry. We caught the last shuttle.”
“We lost track of time.” Cody looked anything but apologetic.
Trevor blushed, then turned so he only faced Lucas. Like that would deter Cody.
“Your dad e-mailed me this morning. He mentioned how he and your mom are coming in this week—”
“Are they now?” Voice sharp, Cody gave a good imitation of the British judge’s accent, the set of his mouth so sharp he looked ready to eat sheet metal for breakfast. In response, Trevor stared Cody down in some sort of challenge that Lucas wanted nothing to do with.
“He wanted to know if I could join you guys for dinner.” Trevor’s eyes still threatened to roast Cody, but his voice was slightly wistful.
Still, Lucas was ready to vaporize him. Just shut up. Stop talking. He tried to catch Trevor’s gaze, but he was too busy having a Jack Russell terrier versus Rottweiler pissing contest with Cody. Like that was going to end well.
“Sure. Whatever. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.” You can go away now. Any time. Trevor had some sort of hero-worship thing for Lucas’s dad, who was one of his advisers. Lucas knew his home life was pretty grim and Lucas’s folks filled a void for him, but the timing here seriously couldn’t have sucked more.
“I’m sure they will,” Cody echoed. Watching Cody’s face was like watching the summer sky for the first signs of a tornado—the air was crackling in anticipation, but everything else was eerily quiet and still.
“They want to meet the group, too.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.
“I bet they do.” Cody’s face was a mask of coolness, with no trace of worry or care. Lucas couldn’t figure out whether the storm had moved on. “I better go find some coffee.”
He sauntered away, his hips rolling easily, no clue as to whether he was pissed.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t tell him?” Trevor asked, his eyes following Cody as well.
“Haven’t had the chance yet.” The words rang hollow, even to his own ears.
“Probably just as well.” Trevor shrugged, like Cody’s unhappiness was a temporary inconvenience on par with the wait for breakfast food. “Not like you’re planning to tell your folks everything, right?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Lucas mumbled to the sawdust-and-peanut-shell–covered floor.
“Look, Lucas, I get it.” Trevor squeezed Lucas’s arm. “I’ve had weak moments, too. I’ve even . . . never mind. I’ve slipped, too. But you really weren’t thinking that this would be . . . permanent, right?”
“I . . .” Guilt pinched Lucas’s insides. And shame swept over him, a debris-filled river of stupid choices and limited options. And behind that came something else, a regret that his friend had struggled and he hadn’t even noticed. “What happened with you?”
“Me?” Trevor turned pink, looking everywhere
but at Lucas. When Ashley came jogging over, his breath whistled out, his relief palpable.
“I’ve got the song choices,” Ashley said.
“I better go find my group.” Cheeks still pink, Trevor gave them all a little wave.
“We are so freaking screwed.” Ashley levered herself up onto one of the wooden tables, her legs dangling over the edge. “Like really, seriously, this sucks.”
Raven grabbed the paper from her. “Oh man. This blows.”
“Do they want us to go home?” Jeff rested his chin on Raven’s shoulder.
“Okay, drama queens, give it here.” Expression still coolly distant, Cody returned, coffee in hand. He snatched the paper away, his eyes going wide. “The fuck?”
Lucas leaned in to look at the paper, careful not to touch Cody, not sure if he could bear it if Cody flinched away. Their choices were “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy),” “Jesus, Take the Wheel,” or “Red Solo Cup.” Yeah. It bit.
“I’ve never even heard the first one.” Cody groaned, rubbing at his head.
“And even Carrie Underwood couldn’t save the other one.” Ashley blew out a long breath, ruffling her hair. “I’ve only heard ‘Red Solo Cup’ once, but I’m pretty sure there was no actual singing involved.”
“Maybe the others aren’t that bad?” Raven asked.
“Here.” Lucas grabbed his iPad from his bag. His hands shook, but it had little to do with the song choice and everything to do with the too calm expression on Cody’s face and the distant look in his eyes.
The Wi-Fi was shitty and the sound was for crap, but he managed to cue up the Big & Rich song. The group gathered around to listen.
“Oh. My. God. Train wreck.” Raven rested her head in her hands.
“We could make it work. Go all satire.” Lucas swallowed, trying to find something to like. Wearing glitter and futuristic costumes was a walk in the park compared to the prospect of having to perform the ultimate cowboy swagger song with a slightly Goth, openly gay lead. More like a 747 plane wreck.
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