What had he thought? That Hunter was going to spend the night cuddled up in Jesse’s room?
Yes. That was pretty much what he’d thought. Well, no, what he’d hoped.
“Hang on a sec.” He turned to Jessica. “I’m sorry. Could you excuse us for a moment?”
She blinked.
Please let her have some pride. It could go either way here. He’d seen women take rejection gracefully, and he’d seen them get nasty.
“Sure,” she said, and Jesse blew a breath of relief. He looked around and caught Amber’s eye. He waved to her and pointed at Jessica. “See that woman over there?”
Jessica nodded.
“Tell her I asked her to set you up with some great seats and passes for the Boston show.”
Jessica smiled a little sadly and made her goodbyes.
When she was gone, he turned back to Hunter. “Okay, so we’re sampling all this rustbelt metropolis has to offer tomorrow, right?”
Hunter didn’t answer right away, but Colin made a strange snorting noise.
Jesse hadn’t even realized Colin was still lurking. Why hadn’t he left? Once upon a time, he would have pounced on Jessica once it became clear Jesse was taking a pass.
“You’re not coming back to Toronto with us?” Colin asked Jesse. The band was driving back first thing in the morning for a twenty-four hour hiatus. But Jesse didn’t see why Colin cared one way or the other. Why he was still staring at Jesse with a weird, uncharacteristic intensity.
Jesse turned his attention to Hunter, who still hasn’t answered about tomorrow. Jesse had sort of assumed, when Hunter had agreed to come to the show, that he’d agreed to everything Jesse had suggested in that text, including the tour of Buffalo the next day. But he hadn’t really thought it through, had he? Hadn’t even considered whether Hunter might want a hotel room of his own.
He had taken everything for granted.
Suddenly, Hunter’s answer took on huge symbolic significance.
Was he going to get up tomorrow and go home, or was he going to spend the day with Jesse?
Was he staying, or was he going?
The suspense was fucking killing him. Turning his whole body into a rubber band stretched almost to the limit.
“There’s a surrealism exhibition on at the art gallery,” Hunter finally said, and Jesse could have melted into the floor right then and there. His insides had liquefied with relief. Hunter smiled a little bit. It was a reluctant smile, though. The kind adults gave kids who had done something stupid but loveable.
“Surrealism,” said Colin flatly. “Sounds about right.”
Jesse gave Colin his full attention. What was up his butt?
But he only smirked and sauntered away. Finally.
Which left Hunter and Jesse alone. Alone-but-not. Alone in a crowd.
Don’t leave.
Take me with you.
Come to my room.
“So I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” Hunter asked, clearly trying to excuse himself.
Jesse started to protest, when Avery came bounding up, followed by her family.
“Jesse, my parents say we have to leave.” She rolled her eyes, like the two of them were in on the secret of just how oppressive parents were. Then she lowered her voice. “Can you pleeease say something to them so we can stay?”
Jesse noticed Avery’s mom looking intently at Hunter as if trying to telegraph him a message. Hunter made eye contact with Avery’s mom. He must have gotten it, because he said, “Sorry, kid, but your doctor says you should go too. It’s been a long day, and it’s really late. I’m dead on my feet myself.”
Hunter hugged Avery and said goodbye to her family. Then Jesse was pulled into the same routine, but they were more extensive farewells as everyone expressed their appreciation for having been invited and given the VIP treatment.
While Jesse was hugging Avery, Hunter said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jesse.” Then walked away, presumably back to his hotel room.
Yeah, that was not happening.
Tomorrow my ass. What room are you in?
Hunter had just gotten out of the shower and changed into his pajamas when the text came.
He’d been expecting it. He was, after all, kicking the seesaw.
If he’d been worried Jesse would put the whammy on him, that he would somehow emerge from this weekend without any more clarity than he’d had at the outset, Jessica had put that concern to rest.
He shouldn’t be so sneery. Jessica had been acting rationally. Who in their right mind wouldn’t want to get into Jesse Jamison’s pants? And she was a useful reminder that he and Jesse didn’t exist in a vacuum.
It so often felt that way. Idiot that he was, he had somehow convinced himself earlier that he was alone in the audience. That there was a bubble around him and Jesse, and that everyone else—the rest of the band, the rest of the audience—existed outside it, their voices dampened and their impact muted.
But that was incorrect. There had been tens of thousands of people at that show, many of them women, many of them screaming.
And Jesse fed off it. It was part of his magic. That swaggering, flirtatious appeal.
That heterosexual appeal.
Or so everyone thought.
But Hunter had data that suggested otherwise. And that was really why he was here, wasn’t it? To force a reckoning regarding that . . . data.
There was a loud rapping on the door.
Hunter took his shirt off before moving to open it. Because, hell, if he was going to force a reckoning, he might as well use all the leverage he had.
And there Jesse was.
God. The way he leaned against the door, like he couldn’t be bothered to stand up straight. Like he expected the world to just . . . prop him up.
And he was sucking on a lollipop.
Damn, take James Dean, swap out the cigarette for a sucker, and there you had it.
“Hi,” Jesse said around the lollipop, not even trying to hide how hard he was checking out Hunter’s bare chest.
Hunter swung the door open and stepped back, wordlessly inviting Mr. Sex on a Stick inside, feeling as though he might as well be Little Red Riding Hood rolling out the welcome mat for the big bad wolf.
“What’s with the lollipop?”
“I mainline them on tour. They soothe my throat.”
Hunter was a bit annoyed he hadn’t known this. But then annoyed at himself for being annoyed. Who cared what weird stuff Jesse ate on tour?
He did, though. He cared.
“It’s the only picky thing on my rider. Classic Dum Dums suckers. Red ones only. I make those mofos pick out all the other colors, like I’m Mariah fucking Carey.” Jesse grinned.
“You’re lucky your teeth haven’t rotted,” Hunter said, because yes, playing the role of the humorless doctor was exactly what was needed right now.
Jesse pulled the sucker out again and grinned an exaggerated, toothy grin, as if to demonstrate superior oral hygiene. “Want one?” Then he reached into his pocket and produced a handful of the small suckers, which he proceeded to dump on the table.
“You are incorrigible,” Hunter said, unable to stop himself from smiling. He went over and examined the pile. They were all variations on “red”—he saw strawberry, cherry, and as he sorted through them, fruit punch. Also . . . a condom?
A spike of adrenaline shot up Hunter’s spine. He stopped sorting and looked up.
Jesse either hadn’t noticed Hunter noticing the condom or else he had and was unbothered. He gazed evenly at Hunter, then popped the sucker out again—Jesus—took a step closer—close enough that he was officially in Hunter’s space—held out the sugary orb, and said, “Or maybe just a taste of this one?”
Hunter started to shake his head. He’d been eyeing the glistening lollipop, so he didn’t notice Jesse’s lips until they were right there.
He’d thought Jesse was offering him a taste of the actual sucker, but of course he wasn’t.
He was offer
ing him a taste of his lips.
The maddening thing was that although there was a layer of sickly sweet, artificial strawberry on those lips, underneath it he could still taste Jesse. He couldn’t even put it into words, but the taste of Jesse, the flavor of his Jesse-ness, was familiar.
That startled the hell out of him.
He was letting himself grow familiar with the taste of a man he couldn’t have. Not on any terms he could live with, anyway.
No. Not again. Anger, sudden and sharp, arrived inside him.
He pushed Jesse away. Laid a hand right in the center of his chest and moved him back.
“I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Jesse said, popping the sucker back into his mouth. Damn him. He was going to dissemble now?
He knew perfectly well what Hunter meant. Fine. If he was going to be like that, Hunter would play his stupid game.
“What’s the condom for, Jesse?” When he didn’t answer, Hunter puffed up his chest and took a page from the Jesse Jamison handbook, stepping into the rock star’s personal space. “Was it for Jessica?”
“No,” Jesse shot back immediately.
“So what was it for, then?” Hunter didn’t usually get angry like this. Belligerence wasn’t part of his repertoire. But, damn, it felt kind of good. “Was it for us?”
Jesse dropped his eyes to the floor. Quickly, just for a second before they were back on Hunter’s, looking as widely innocent as they had before. But Hunter hadn’t missed the unsettled moment.
He took another step closer, determined to goad the truth out of Jesse. “Was it for me?” Now their chests were almost touching. “Or for you?” Hunter’s nipples pebbled, and it wasn’t because he was cold. But he didn’t care. Suddenly, in this context, obvious evidence of his arousal didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like power.
So he shifted his hips, angling his lower body so his now-erect dick pressed against Jesse’s thigh. “Are you a top or a bottom, Jesse?” When his only answer was a quick, sharp inhale, he pressed on. “Were you thinking I’d fuck you or you’d fuck me?”
Because I was thinking the latter.
He forced the thought away. He needed to stand his ground here.
Jesse took the sucker out of his mouth, closed his eyes, and lowered his chin to his chest. Then, he looked back up, eyes filmed with liquid and, to Hunter’s utter astonishment, said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am. I just know that I . . . that you . . .”
A single tear escaped from the corner of Jesse’s eye.
Jesus Christ, he’d made his best friend cry. What kind of a monster was he?
“Jesse,” he said, gentling his voice and reaching out to swipe the tear with his thumb. He left the hand on Jesse’s cheek. “I’m sorry.”
This was the moment. They were perfectly balanced, a plank lying straight across the fulcrum. As easy as it would be to let that hand move downward, to let his mouth come down on Jesse’s, to give and seek comfort and pleasure, he couldn’t do it. If this was going to work in any way Hunter could live with, he needed Jesse to choose him. To choose him publicly.
He took his hand away. It was an un-claiming. An un-branding.
It hurt as much as searing iron on tender skin, though.
He said it as clearly and kindly as he could. “I can’t be the rock star’s piece on the side, Jesse.”
Jesse winced and turned away. Walked over to Hunter’s minifridge and retrieved a little bottle of whiskey. Twisted off the cap and drank it in a few swallows as he made his way to Hunter’s window.
Gazed out at the nighttime view of the river.
“I was thinking about something on my way over here.” His voice was low, so low Hunter had to keep perfectly still to hear him. He didn’t dare breathe for fear of missing something. “I’m always saying—out loud and to myself—some variation on ‘It’s my band, I can do what I want.’ For example, I had Amber move our usual meet and greets around to free me up to spend time with Avery this evening. I decide the set lists. If I want some weird piece of equipment all of a sudden, everyone jumps to get it for me.” He’d gotten a bit louder as he picked up speed. Hunter still didn’t move, though. Hardly breathed. “Or the goddamned lollipops.” He gestured at the candy on the desk even as he continued to look out the window.
Hunter smiled. “No green lollipops for the rock star.”
Jesse huffed a laugh that was tinged with self-disgust. “But it all means nothing if I can’t have what I really want. Sometimes, I almost feel like I would trade all of it—just throw it all away—if I could have what I really want.”
Hunter sucked in a sharp breath. “And what do you really want?”
“But other times, I think, no. I’m not brave enough,” Jesse said, not answering Hunter’s question. “Most of the time, actually, if I’m being honest.”
Hunter asked it again. “What do you really want?”
Jesse turned to look at Hunter. “You. I want you.”
Oh my God. A tiny splinter of hope worked its way under Hunter’s skin. But once again, he had to be crystal clear about his terms. “I want you too, Jesse, more than you know. But I can’t live in the shadows again. I can’t—”
“I know.” The interruption had been sharp, aggressive even. Jesse gave a soft smile and repeated it, this time more gently. “I know.”
Did he, though? Hunter needed to make absolutely sure. “I’ve told you casual hookups aren’t what I’m looking for. I’ve told you I’m never going to be in the closet again, not for anyone. I need to know that you’re putting those pieces together correctly, Jesse.”
“I am.” The answer came quickly, and then he swallowed and added, “I get it.”
Hunter had to stifle a gasp. He had imagined this going a lot of different ways. A fight. An outright rejection. He had been concerned about the fate of their friendship. But underneath all that there had been hope. Irrational, tender, fragile hope that was now, suddenly, exposed to the sun after so long underground.
Jesse extended his hand, and Hunter walked over and took it.
“It doesn’t mean I’m not scared as hell about the consequences,” Jesse said quietly. “About Matty.”
“I know.” Hunter squeezed Jesse’s hand. “You’re also brave as hell. Smart as hell.” There was no one more capable than Jesse. When Jesse put his mind to something, he made it happen. Hunter had seen it dozens of times.
And now, it seemed what Jesse had put his mind to was Hunter.
“Ha!” He barked a laugh, unable to keep the astonished joy contained.
Jesse blinked rapidly and started to pull his hand away, uncertainty creeping into his face. Shit, Jesse probably didn’t know how to interpret Hunter’s laughter. Hunter held on to him, prevented him from taking his hand back.
“I need you to understand, though,” Jesse said, “that I’m not going to go on Ellen tomorrow and burst out of a rainbow cake.”
Hunter laughed again. He couldn’t help it. The image was so not Jesse.
“I would never do to you what that fucker Julian did. But if we’re . . .” He looked at the floor, and was he blushing? “If we’re going to do this, I’m going to have to have a plan. It’s going to have to come out—no pun intended—in a way I can live with, in a way that makes me feel like I’m doing everything I can to protect all the hard work that’s gotten me to this point.”
“I get it.” He did. Jesse was taking a big step here. “What do you always say? Control the narrative?”
“Exactly. I thought that when we got back to Toronto, I’d hire a PR person. But I don’t want you to think that it’s because of you, that being with you requires spin. That’s not it.”
“I would never think that. I think it’s smart to have a strategy in place. If you can find someone to advise who—”
“Who isn’t Matty.” Jesse ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair, agitated. “I need to find someone not in Matty’s circle.”
“Is Matty really going to
care that much?” Hunter had never met Matty. The guy seemed to have a lot of sway over Jesse, but still, he was just a man, capable of making mistakes, of harboring unreasonable prejudices.
Jesse shuddered. He actually shuddered. Wow. He was really shaken—which was fair. Coming out was hard enough for a private citizen. “Do you think, maybe . . .”
“What?” Anything, Hunter wanted to say. You name it, I’ll make it happen.
“Do you think maybe we can talk about the rest of this later?”
Hunter smiled. That was an easy request to fulfill.
He already had one of Jesse’s hands. He took the other, took both of his best friend’s hands between his, and tugged. Pulled him away from the window like he was leading a spooked horse away from a cliff. As they passed the desk, he let go with one hand to snag the condom from the pile of suckers.
Jesse’s eyes widened.
Hunter led him to the bed. He scooted back onto it and sat cross-legged, nodding at the space in front of him to indicate he wanted Jesse to go there. Jesse smiled self-consciously as he settled himself, mirroring Hunter’s pose. It was like now that he’d declared himself, all his signature swagger had drained out of him. It was oddly touching to see the usually confident rock star so vulnerable. To know Hunter was the only person who had ever seen this particular version of Jesse.
To know he knew how to fix it. How to get the swagger back. All it would take was a combination of humor and dirty talk.
He threw the condom down on the bed between them.
“The way it was playing out in my head—and, Jesse, it played out in my head a lot—you were fucking me.”
Jesse’s eyes widened, and he was definitely blushing this time. Damn. Hunter was a little drunk on this power.
“But I’m flexible,” he went on, smiling. “I’ll take you however I can get you.” As long as it’s not in the shadows. He placed his hands on Jesse’s knees. Leaned his weight into them. Thought back to Jesse pressing him against the door and working his mouth possessively. “But I kind of have a feeling you might be imagining things the way I’m imagining them.”
“You’re not wrong,” Jesse whispered. “I just . . . I’ve never done that.”
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