The four Embellish members screamed for Lucas, the larger groups and a surprising amount of support for the girl singer drowning them out.
“Okay, okay. Y’all can simmer down.” Michelin picked up a sheet of paper. “Let’s see what we got here.”
Please, please, please. Ashley grabbed Cody’s hand.
“First, I have to give props to—” He glanced down. “Bridget. Great job playing with the big boys. Girl, you can go low.” That got a huge round of applause. “And Anthony, great job starting everyone off right. It’s not easy being the lead-off guy, but you handled it like a pro.”
The crowd roared, tossing out more suggestions for Michelin to pick.
“If he gives it to Bridget, I’m deleting him from my iPod,” Ashley said. The crowd rose to its feet, Ashley still clinging to Cody.
“But while y’all did great, I can only pick one.” Michelin held up a hand to quiet the audience. “And I have to hand it to . . .” He did the long, dramatic pause thing, while one of the production assistants counted down from five off camera. Come on. “Lucas. My man, you need to come with a warnin’ label. You’d blow the speakers in my Escalade.”
The crowd roared, with a few halfhearted boos from the losing groups, but lots of cheers for Lucas. Cody felt like his ribs might crack from the pressure in his chest.
“All right, Lucas, we’ll give you a few minutes with your group to decide which slot you want while Michelin ranks the remaining performances.” Dawn came out on stage. “Let’s hear it for all the good sports.”
Lucas beamed, but there was something else in his expression, something soft as he locked eyes with Cody—oh, I am such an idiot. Lucas had done this for him. Sure the group would benefit, but this hadn’t only been about doing his best or about helping the group. He’d done this for Cody. The band around Cody’s chest tightened. What the hell did it mean? Why? Why had Lucas subjected himself to so much potential humiliation to help Cody?
The answer scared the shit out of Cody, and he felt frozen in place as Lucas bounded down the steps toward them, but right before he got to them, he pulled up short, his eyes going wide with horror.
“Lucas!”
The last two people Lucas wanted to see stepped in front of the only person he did want right then. He was almost desperate to get to Cody. While he’d been singing, a strange confidence had come over him. Ever since he’d joined his first choir back in elementary school, he’d always been part of a group, never a soloist. He liked the background. Heck, he needed the background. But the spotlight gave a certain clarity—
“What on earth have you gotten yourself in to?”
And that clarity would have to wait as his parents swooped in front of the group. His dad made a show of removing and polishing his glasses, like willful blindness could save this situation.
“I thought you were going to the hotel?” Lucas said weakly. He didn’t want to think about how many years it had been since his folks had seen him in his underwear.
“We thought we’d surprise you.” His mother held her quilted purse in front of her like it might ward off his nakedness.
“Ah. Well.” He coughed.
“I thought you were here for music, son. Not . . .” His dad flapped his hand with the glasses around, like he was searching for the magic words to make the whole theater disappear. Voice noticeably lower than his usual lecture-hall boom, his dad leaned in. “This isn’t what we signed on for.”
We? He was twenty-one years old. He hadn’t asked permission to go to LA He had told them the group’s plans, sure, but he didn’t need their permission. He wasn’t a little kid. Anger edged out embarrassment and his hands fisted.
“Winston and Chuck were right. The show’s values aren’t in line with Mount Monticello.” His dad’s whisper carried the force of a slap, right into Lucas’s gut.
“The world isn’t in line with Mount Monticello. The show values ratings, Dad. Not moral superiority.”
Of all the ways Winston and O’Malley could have gotten revenge on Lucas contributing to their elimination, this one hurt the most. They’d gone to his dad? He’d thought the group cared about him, at least a little. O’Malley could be a power-hungry bully, but he’d counted Winston as a friend.
All the time and energy he’d put into the M&Ms seemed as worthless as Monopoly money. A hollow pit opened up in his middle, sucked all the happy out of his win, sucked all the joy out of being in the M&Ms.
“Lucas. Richard.” His mother looked around as she tried to rein him and his father in. Embellish had stepped back against the judge’s table, but they—and plenty of others—still lingered in the theater. His mom worried the hem of her vest with her manicured nails. She was looking increasingly distressed. Lucas knew how much she hated any sort of heated discussion—and especially detested public conflict. She preferred to analyze situations and come up with a rational response.
“Maybe we should talk more outside.” His dad put a hand on his mom’s back. “Why don’t we try to find you some clothes, then we can go talk?”
Lucas could pretty much see the script for the coming lecture in his dad’s eyes. There’d be a point-by-point reminder of the Mount Monticello code. Not to mention family standards, and probably a Bible verse or two. The whole time his mom would keep staring him down with her big blue eyes, practically willing him to end things with an appropriate apology.
“I really have to join my group—we’ve got afternoon rehearsals.” He gave a little wave in the direction of the group. Everyone except Cody waved back.
“It’s just singing.” His mom carefully reached out and touched his arm. “Come on. Let’s get you into something warm and we’ll talk.”
She said it so sweetly that part of him wanted to follow them. Making her sad was just the worst. And she wasn’t the one unloading on him—that was all his dad, with the heavy sighs and the weighted looks and the whispers that really weren’t.
But then Ashley and Raven waved again. Just singing. The show—being here, performing together, working out all the details of their numbers, rooting for one another—the whole experience was way more than just singing to the members of Embellish. And—he was kind of awed and kind of proud to acknowledge—it wasn’t just singing to Lucas, not anymore. That had been his big epiphany on stage. That scary/wonderful rush of the spotlight and the applause being all for him—that was the feeling Cody lived for. It wasn’t just anything for Cody, it was Cody’s life, and Perfect Harmony wasn’t just a stupid show for the rest of the group.
And he’d belittled it. Held himself apart from it. Held fast to the notions of right and wrong he’d always known. Sure he’d helped them, but hadn’t really stopped to think about what it might mean if the music was everything. And in that moment when the crowd had roared, when he had been the music, when it had flowed through him and out of him, he’d gotten it. He’d wanted that moment to last forever.
And afterward he’d finally understood exactly how badly he’d screwed up with Cody.
He looked over at the group. The rest of the auditorium had started to filter out, but the four of them still stood there, waiting on him. His group. But his parents . . . He huffed. He should really give them a minute. Send them back to their hotel gently. Maybe he could—
But then, right as he waffled, Cody beckoned. It was a subtle come-on gesture, a simple flick of his wrist, maybe not even intentional, but it went straight to Lucas’s heart, made his neck feel all hot. He couldn’t walk away. Not now.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to get back to my group.”
His mother’s face fell and his father pushed his glasses back on. He drew himself up to his full height, which meant now both of his parents were looking down at Lucas. A whole family of blond amazons and Lucas was the shortest at five foot ten.
“I’m disappointed in you, son. Shutting us out like this.” His dad slowly led his mother away. Lucas watched them go, his throat feeling like it was shut with a twist tie, emotion threatening
to bubble loose with each strangled breath.
Lucas had spent twenty-one years running away from disappointment. He’d figured he’d started out as one—the surprise that had interrupted his mom’s return to academia, and then he’d been the gay kid instead of the model citizen like John and the twins. And he’d been so . . . grateful for their support, working doubly hard not to disappoint.
And for what? For this moment, when he sang better than he ever had. When he freaking won, and he was still a disappointment. He’d tried his whole life to live up to their expectations. He wasn’t a star athlete like John or a valedictorian like Rebecca or an art prodigy like Sarah, but he’d tried to live up to their values.
And he knew it wasn’t just about the performance. It was about not answering his phone, not giving them any details about the show or Embellish. Not giving them a chance to voice their objections. That was what was really at stake—he hadn’t given his parents a chance to weigh in like they always did.
Dang it! He was too old for this. Too old to feel guilty for choosing something other than the life they’d laid out for him. If his parents knew how close Embellish was to being eliminated, they’d probably be relieved. They’d start making plans for how they could gloss this over when he got back to Austerity. And . . . he just couldn’t go there. Because he wasn’t sorry. Not for joining Embellish. Not for Cody.
And he hadn’t missed the way both his parents had frowned a little deeper when their gazes had landed on Cody. After going most of last week without the makeup, Cody had laid the eyeliner on extrathick and paired it with a grungy gray T-shirt for a tortured Goth vibe. He looked like the embodiment of all Lucas’s dad’s cautionary tales—and like Lucas’s perfect guy.
They’d never understand. For several long moments, he watched them walk away, his skin finally registering the chilly air of the theater, his soul colder still. But then he wasn’t alone because the group surrounded him. One of the girls draped his robe over his shoulders. They both hugged him, and Jeff slapped him on the back. Cody hung back, his eyes wary. They’d all heard what his folks had said to him—it was clear from the way Jeff was too cheery and the girls were overly nice.
“You okay?” Ashley asked.
“You need to talk?” Raven added.
“I’m fine.” Oh, no, he did not need to talk. Not now, maybe not ever. No way could he unpack all the emotions racing through him. What he needed was Cody, but he still kept his distance.
His brain roared like the crowd at a Justin Bieber concert—all frantic screams, drowning out music, drowning out logic, drowning out rules and should and must. Everything tunneled down to truth—he was here. He was in Embellish. He was gay. And none of that was going away.
He moved so that he was right in front of Cody, so that Cody had to freaking notice him. Say something. Do something. Make the throb in my head go away. But Cody didn’t do anything, just kept staring at him. The freezing air seemed to crackle, the hairs on the back of Lucas’s neck and arms standing up.
“I think maybe we should see you guys back at the hotel.” Ashley led Raven and a sputtering Jeff away, but Lucas barely registered their absence.
Finally, Cody gripped Lucas’s shoulders roughly, like he didn’t quite remember how to hug. But it was more than enough. Something slid into place, like he could finally take a breath. Like Cody held the antidote to the adrenaline and anger making Lucas all jumpy. Something in him quieted, held as still as Cody’s grip on his shoulders.
“You did good,” Cody whispered in his ear. Warmth spread over Lucas’s chest—Cody’s praise made the win more real. The gravelly tone to Cody’s voice reminded Lucas of sex and went straight to his dick. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted to do.
“I don’t want to talk,” he said.
“Okay.” Cody started to move away, but Lucas grabbed his arm.
“I mean, I really don’t want to talk.” The roar in his head was back, driving him past logic and headlong into want. Taking Cody’s hand, he led him toward the backstage area. The little restroom where Cody had fixed his hair was unlocked, and he pushed Cody into the room and locked the door.
Chapter Eighteen
“I don’t want to talk,” Lucas said a third time, breathing hard, need Ibuzzing through him.
“Okay.” Cody’s tone was more teasing this time, his expression more quizzical. Like he was along for whatever craziness had taken over Lucas’s brain. Cody smiled at him for the first time in days, a slow grin, like he had Lucas all figured out.
That was ending right the heck now. Lucas was tired of predictable. Tired of people thinking they knew him, knew what he wanted and how he should act and what he should do—
And isn’t that exactly how you were treating Cody? He didn’t want to think about that. Couldn’t think about it. He was this freaking close to a cartoon scream, to shouting the whole place down around them, to unleashing all this frustration.
He pushed Cody against the door, kissing him. He wasn’t good at this like Cody—he knew his hands were too rough and he mashed their mouths together before finding an angle that worked. Pushing up onto his toes, he sucked on Cody’s lower lip. For once, Cody didn’t immediately take control, instead letting Lucas explore.
Letting Lucas discover that Cody liked it when he sucked on his tongue and really liked it when he ground against him. Discover that he tasted like soda, surprise, and a deeper reminder that there was a real person in there. Discover that he smelled like the citrusy shaving stuff he used, except by his ear, where he smelled like skin and memories. He flicked his tongue around Cody’s earring, loving how it made Cody gasp.
“What . . .” Cody started to speak, but Lucas silenced him with another kiss. He couldn’t slow down to think. His Hulk brain was running the show, powered by anger and confusion and a whole lot of must-have-nows. A decade’s worth of stuff he’d repressed all bubbled to the surface, making demands and making his dick throb in his shorts.
The roaring in his head all crystallized into one overriding want. Hands shaking, he got Cody’s belt undone. Cody’s dick pulsed hard in his hand. He pushed Cody harder against the door, holding his hips as he sank to his knees in front of him.
“Whoa—” Cody groaned as Lucas took him in hand again. Lucas circled the head of Cody’s dick with his thumb. Air hissed out from Cody’s pursed lips. “Whoa. You don’t have to . . .”
“I want to.” That was it. Choice. The idea hit him like a defibrillator burst—spreading out from his chest in hot, sure waves that tore past the indecision and stagnation of the last week. The roar in his head crackled, then calmed, sanity returning like oxygen to his starved Hulk brain. He didn’t have to, but he was choosing to. And maybe that was what was missing from his life—choice. He hadn’t chosen to be gay. Hadn’t chosen to come out to the world. Hadn’t chosen where he’d go to college—free tuition from two professor parents made that a nondiscussion. Hadn’t chosen to come here. Hadn’t chosen to stay. But this? He was choosing this, and the freedom made his nerves jangle.
He leaned in, circling the plump head of Cody’s cock with his tongue. It tasted like skin, but earthier, salty around the slit, which pumped out a pearly bead of pre-cum when he swiped over it again.
“Don’t. Want. You. Guilty. Gawwwd.” Whatever nobility Cody had been going for faded on a long groan. Lucas loved the concern almost as much as he loved that he could break it. Opening his mouth wider, he tried taking the head in. He’d sucked on his own finger before while jerking off, trying to imagine what it would be like. Fingers didn’t hold a candle to the heavy weight sliding past his tongue, pumping out more salty slick. He slid back, then went too far down on his second try and had to pull back, gagging.
“Just use your hand.” Cody’s head was tipped back, his eyes closed, the muscles in his neck stretched tight. Nothing in any porn had ever looked so hot—like he had a pirate king at his mercy.
Lucas gave it another try, this time taking a bit more. He wanted this. W
anted every fantasy he’d ever had about begging to do this—hell. Even his fantasies were all twisted up around anger and shame and lack of choices. For once, he was going to take all that anger and shove aside shame and just. Choose. Even if it meant dealing with an uncooperative gag reflex and burning eyes, he was going to do this.
He might be doing this to Cody, but it was also the single most selfish moment in his life. He didn’t care if Cody would be happy with a hand job. Didn’t care if Lucas’s lack of coordination frustrated him. Cody could wait while he figured this out. Lucas took a breath, backing off enough to play around the head with his tongue. That was nice. Probably wasn’t going to get Cody off anytime soon, but he liked the feel of the thick vein on the underside of Cody’s cock, the way he could feel it pulse against his tongue. Liked the tight, slightly rough spot under the head, and how it made Cody gasp and clench his hair.
Oh yeah. He moaned his approval. Cody’s grip tightened, tugging at Lucas’s hair.
“More.”
Oh. My. Fuck. Why hadn’t he ever thought about being on this end of sexy pleading? Cody asking him for more, pulling him forward by the hair, making little needy noises when Lucas swept his tongue up and down the length of his shaft. Electricity gathered at the base of his spine, lighting him up like the main drag at the Iowa State Fair, temptation and possibility beckoning in equal measure.
His own dick strained against his fly. Jesus. It was entirely possible he could come like this—licking Cody’s dick, catching more drips of pre-cum with each pass, feeling the crackly brush of Cody’s clipped hair when he licked around the base. Yeah. It was all good.
Feeling more confident, he took the tip in his mouth again—not so far this time. He sucked on it like he had Cody’s tongue. That worked. Cody cursed and grabbed his hair tighter. Wrapping his hand around the shaft, he started a shallow bob. He tried to use his free hand to undo the button fly on his boxers but ended up eliciting the wrong kind of moan from Cody as his teeth grazed Cody’s shaft.
Treble Maker Page 24