by Jet Mykles
“You okay?”
“Sure.” Not convincing, but neither of them expected him to be.
“You’re way too calm about this.”
Maybe on the outside. But then, on the inside too. He was kind of calm, wasn’t he? “What choice do I have?”
Noble simmered on that for a moment. “That’s pretty fucked-up. You finally do the one thing he demanded you do; then he doesn’t even reward you for it.”
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
Noble snorted. “You came when he called.”
“Fuck you.”
“Yeah, okay. That was low. I’m sorry.” Noble glared out the window, pouting more than Lance ever would. “Y’know what? Fuck it.” He swatted Lance’s thigh with the back of his hand. “Let’s go out.”
“No.”
“Yeah. Danny and I were thinking about it anyway. C’mon, let’s find some nameless dick.”
“No.”
“Okay, you can find out his name if you want.” Noble laughed, managing to sound carefree. “You’ve been doing the celibacy thing for the last year because you were hoping Gordon would take you back, right?”
“No.”
“Bullshit.”
“No.” Lance shook his head, but he already knew Noble was incapable of understanding his situation. They’d talked far too many times, and he’d never found the words to explain it so that Noble would get it. Hell, he barely got it himself.
“It’ll make you feel better.”
“No.” He turned in to the driveway of the hotel’s parking lot and stopped at the gate.
“Jesus, Lance.”
Fumbling in his pocket for the keycard that would open the gate, he didn’t look at Noble. “No.”
“Fuck.” Noble threw himself against the back of his seat, sulking like a child. “You’re no fun.”
“Right.”
Noble was quiet until after Lance had parked and they’d met each other outside the car. He stopped Lance when he would have gone toward the elevator. The lighting in the covered parking garage was bad, so Lance couldn’t make out the gold of the colored contacts Noble had chosen to wear today. Gold to match the streaks in the green hair that had wilted about his head during the day. But Lance could see the concern in his friend’s expression. “I’m serious, you know? We should go find you some distraction.”
This time Lance shook his head for emphasis. “No.”
“You need to get laid.”
“No. I don’t.”
“It’s been months.” Although he tried, Noble couldn’t contain his horror at the truth of that statement.
“I know.” It’d been longer than Noble probably suspected.
“You need to quit punishing yourself.”
Tired of this conversation, Lance put his head down and tried to walk past Noble. He managed it, but his friend followed.
“He’s moved on. You know that now. You need to move on too.”
He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Noble wasn’t going to understand. At the elevator, he punched at the Up button.
“I really don’t think continued celibacy is going to get him back.”
“It’s not about that,” Lance grumbled as the elevator doors dinged open.
“It sure as hell is about that. What else could it be?” Noble got in beside him, staring at his profile while he swiped the keycard and pushed the button for their floor. “You screwed up. You fucked around. He left you. Okay. Now it’s time to start a new chapter in this story.”
Lance held his breath rather than say any of the angry words that built up behind his clenched teeth as the shiny elevator shot toward the sky.
Noble just couldn’t stay quiet for long. “I know you loved him, but punishing yourself isn’t heal—”
“Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” Little of his anger came through in his tightly controlled voice, but Noble knew him well enough to hear it.
“But—”
“No.” The elevator doors opened on their floor, and Lance led the way out. Right this moment, he wished they’d gotten separate rooms rather than renting a two-room suite. He could use some distance from his friend so he could process the day. Noble said nothing as he followed Lance into the suite, but he wanted to—Lance could feel it. Better to just deal with this now.
He turned at the door to the bedroom he’d claimed to find his friend a few steps behind him, watching him. “Gordon is my problem.” He stabbed a thumb at his chest for emphasis. “Not yours. He’s still the guy you were good friends with before, and you should be again.”
Noble’s eyebrows flew up in shock, and his expressive mouth opened for a rebuttal.
Lance cut him off. “I’m the one who screwed up. I’m the one who hurt him, not the other way around. If I wasn’t a total dick, we might still be together. That’s my problem to deal with. Lay off.”
Now those eyebrows dropped, crowding in growing anger over narrowed eyes.
Again Lance cut him off. “If you want to go out and get laid, go for it. In fact, please go. Get the fuck out, and go have fun for the both of us. Me? I finished a drive across country, quite possibly joined a pretty awesome band, and got my heart rebroken”—he made himself say the last with effort—“all in one day. I’m tired. I’m going to bed alone, and I’m going to enjoy it.”
Noble’s glare had smoothed at the mention of the drive and the band, and he’d flinched at the heart part. When Lance was done talking, Noble sighed and nodded. “Okay. I’m going to bed too.”
Lance summoned an expression of mocking shock. “What? Alone? Are you sure you’re okay?”
With a grimace, Noble turned toward the door of his bedroom. “Bite me.”
“No, thanks.”
As the tension diffused between them, Lance really began to feel the weariness he’d just professed. The bed behind him beckoned, and he hoped it was as good as the expensive hotel promised. “G’night, Noble.”
“Night, Lance.”
Chapter Two
Past, three years ago, January
“Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty.”
Lance grunted. He knew that voice. It was annoying. It had to go away.
The voice laughed, and the mattress to his right sank. “Sorry, my friend, but you’ve got to get up. Daylight has come, and our master approaches.”
Lance groaned and hugged a pillow to his face. “’M asleep.”
“Understood. But given the state of you, I think you might want to get up anyway.” A finger poked his back. “Seriously, dude. It’s almost ten. Shelby’s on his way down here.”
Tired as he was, Lance heard that. Sighing, he sagged into the covers as best he could. “Can’t you hold him off?”
“What?”
Realizing his words had been muffled by the pillow, Lance turned his head and peered blearily at Noble through a curtain of his own hair. The blond strands were lank and oily, testament to the night he’d had. “Can you hold him off?”
Noble grinned at him from where he sat on the side of the bed, fully clothed and way too bright and shiny. His blond hair was buzzed short on the right side and left long to flop over his face. “No can do. You said the master wanted us to meet someone at ten.”
At the moment, Lance couldn’t figure out why he’d say something so ridiculous. Then he remembered Shelby’s phone call the previous night. Shelby did want them to meet someone—although he hadn’t given Lance a clue who—and since Shelby didn’t typically care for people, it was probably a big deal.
“Shit.” Heaving another sigh, Lance pushed up on his arms. Blinked a few times. Cursed the muffled state of his head. He hated that Noble could sound so awake in the morning. It was obscene. Rolling away from Noble’s chipper voice, he stopped when he hit a barrier. He blinked at Noble, who just grinned. Slowly he managed to adjust himself onto his back so he could see what was behind him. Or, rather, who.
His maneuvering had woken his bed partner, who raised a head covered in a gorgeous array of brown curls to
narrowly open dark eyes. “What time is it?”
“Nine thirty,” Noble answered cheerfully.
Lance stared at the guy he’d fucked last night. Fucked repeatedly. Freddy had kept him busy with sex and tequila all night. Tequila, yes. Body shots. That was why his head was fuzzy. Tequila wasn’t a great drink for him.
He sat up in the sheets. He was naked. Freddy was naked. Noble was not. Lance rubbed his face with one hand. “Where are the twins?”
Noble chuckled. “They’re not twins, and they’re already gone.”
Lance glanced down again at Freddy, who was listening and watching with one eye peering over the bunched-up hump of a pillow. He wasn’t bothered by Noble’s presence. Then again, he was one of Noble’s friends, so he was probably used to this. Lance looked back at Noble, fully dressed in a faded Van Halen T-shirt and a threadbare pair of jeans. God, his hair was even clean, the light blond mop still a little damp from a shower. “What the hell are you doing here again?”
“Shelby,” Noble reminded him.
“Right.” Lance took another look at the mound of Freddy’s ass under the white sheets. The idea was tempting, but his dick was worn-out from the night. “Right.” He rubbed his face again, then leaned forward to get on his knees to crawl off the foot of the bed. “You sure I said ten?”
Noble smacked his naked ass. “Ten was the magic number last night.”
“Right.” Like he never missed a beat, Noble’s memory was as faithful as his rhythm, so ten it must be. “’M taking a shower.”
“Good idea.”
Lance didn’t look back at the two on his bed. Ten to one, he would come out of the bathroom to find them making out.
Padding across the rugs that covered the hardwood floor helped to clear his head a bit. By the time he reached the bathroom door, his vision was no longer blurry. Gray sandstone and smooth bronze fixtures were soothing to the eye, especially with the muted sunlight leaking in through the frosted windows over the shower, but not as soothing as the warm water that sluiced over his head. Hot water did the trick to clear his head enough to wonder what Shelby wanted with him the day after a gig. Shelby’s “me” time was usually sacrosanct. He must have thought it pretty important to deign to speak to his minions on the band’s day off.
Once Lance was clean, he dried himself with one of the plush towels hanging by the shower and ran a comb through his long, straight blond hair. As he never cared much what he looked like, he just pulled it all into a ponytail and let it drip down his back. After deciding he didn’t have time to shave—Shelby could deal with the scruff—he returned to the bedroom, only slightly disappointed to find it deserted.
The bedroom decor was deep browns and gray. He hadn’t decorated it, but on mornings like this he appreciated that whoever had had thought to make the curtains extra thick to block out the sun and the carpet extra deep to cushion his tired feet. At present, the only light came from the door Noble had left open and the one lamp he had turned on over the dresser opposite the bed.
Lance pulled open one of only three drawers he used in the fancy dresser and chose a threadbare green sweater. The jeans went on commando. He plucked a rolled pair of socks from another drawer, then headed into the attached sitting room. He sat briefly to put on the socks that would protect him from the cold hardwood and tile in the rest of the house, but left off his work boots.
In the upstairs hallway, the stretch of needless columns that lined the walls looked like one of those showpieces you see in fancy magazines. Pretentious murals of pastoral landscapes filled the spaces between the doors, covering what they could of the truly awful rose hue of the walls themselves. At one end of the hall was a seating area that Lance had never seen used but always had a fresh bouquet of flowers on a delicate glass table. At the other end was an L-shaped staircase lit by a bright skylight at the top of the stairwell. Lance passed Yaz’s suite as he headed for the stairs, but the door was closed, so he couldn’t tell if The Might’s guitarist was in house or not. Probably not.
The first floor was a kitchen area behind a free island and one big, sprawling room that combined a living and dining area. Double glass doors led out to an enclosed patio with a gorgeous manicured garden. Another set of double doors, these thick and reinforced for sound, opened on another staircase that led down to the studio. It wasn’t a normal band’s pad by any stretch.
Noble’s laugh greeted him as he left the staircase. Noble and Freddy sat at the table, drinking coffee and enjoying the pastries that were put out by the staff every morning. Freddy was shirtless and barefoot, wearing a pair of Noble’s drawstring pants.
“Freddy doesn’t get how all this isn’t ours,” Noble said over the rim of his cup, eyes dancing.
Lance shrugged as he sat. “Nope. It’s all Shelby’s.”
“But you’re in the band together.” Freddy frowned as he delicately picked apart a danish. Even rumpled from sleep and sex, he was perfect. If he wasn’t a model, he damn sure should have been one.
Lance piled a tiny plate with a bear claw and two fruit danishes. “The band’s Shelby’s. He pays for it all.”
“Well, Daddy pays for it all.”
Lance shrugged. “Same difference. The house is Shelby’s. So’s the studio and the equipment. We just work here.”
“And live here,” Noble added.
Freddy nodded appreciatively. “That’s a nice gig.”
Lance shrugged. “It’s got its perks.” Few people ever understood the drawbacks.
“Is it just the two of you?” Freddy asked as Noble got up and circled the free island into the kitchen. “Or does the guitar guy live here too?”
Lance grinned at guitar guy. “Yaz has a room here, but he’s not here that often. He usually just shows up for rehearsal.”
“He doesn’t like us all that much,” Noble said as he poured coffee.
“He’s hot,” Freddy proclaimed with a thoughtful look. “But he’s…I don’t know. Kind of creepy.”
Lance covered his mouth to keep from spewing crumbs as he laughed.
Noble chuckled as he set a mug in front of Lance. “He is kind of creepy.”
Freddy watched Lance compose himself. “So, what, you just get to live here? Rent free?”
“Part of the job is that Shelby wants us handy at all times,” Noble answered. He brought his knees up to wedge them between himself and the table, managing to curl up in what looked like a comfortable position in the very confined space. It made him look about fourteen years old instead of twenty-three. He balanced his cup on his knees. “He puts us up so he can bother us at any time, night or day.”
Lance snorted, still feeling a trace of his hangover. “Drunk or sober.”
“Preferably sober,” Noble agreed, pointing at Lance’s coffee mug.
With a little grumble, Lance picked up the mug and sipped. Thick, black heat barreled down his throat, burning away a lot of the remaining haze in his brain.
“So you must be rich.”
Lance exchanged a wry glance with Noble.
Who shrugged. “No.”
“Really?” Freddy asked.
“Really.”
“Don’t you get paid?”
“Sure. But not all that much.”
“Even with room and board?”
“Yep.”
“That sucks.”
Lance and Noble mirrored shrugs.
“It could be a lot worse,” Lance replied, indicating their surroundings.
Freddy looked to Noble. “What about the apartments you talked about at the club?” Shelby maintained two furnished apartments above the club where the band played—also owned by Shelby—and both Lance and Noble had keys. That was where Lance had intended to spend the night last night rather than schlepping all the way back to the Fletcher family estate.
“That’s so we can be handy there too,” Noble explained.
“It’s the only place we ever play for an audience,” Lance said.
“Ever?” Freddy’s eye
brows shot up.
“Ever.” Lance sucked gooey apple gunk from his thumb and forefinger.
“But…shouldn’t you be playing, like, clubs and stuff? Touring?”
“Real bands do,” Noble said with a false smile. “But we don’t have to.”
“Huh?”
“Shelby’s rich enough to do what he wants without caring about little things like, oh, publicity or marketing.”
“The music’s the only thing that matters to him,” Lance added, his tone far less sharp than Noble’s.
“Isn’t that…weird?”
Noble chuckled. “There isn’t much that’s normal about this band.”
The front door opened, and their lord and master breezed in wearing a cable-knit sweater and pristine dark jeans under a cashmere overcoat. With him was perhaps the most gorgeous man Lance had ever seen. Eyes that were either hazel or light brown sparked with wicked intelligence under thick black brows. Glossy raven hair was cut short around his ears and neck but was long enough on top to show a gentle curl. The shape of his eyes, cheekbones, and mouth suggested he often smiled, which he did as he closed the door Shelby had carelessly left open. Broad shoulders filled out a charcoal woolen coat open over a patterned blue sweater. He topped Shelby’s height by at least a foot. Lance’s eyes opened wide, and he forgot to chew for a few seconds as he watched the man tug off his gloves.
“Ah, good. You’re here.” Shelby led the way into the room, tossing his coat toward the coatrack, heedless of the luck that made the coat snag on one of the hooks. He headed for the table, gaze landing on Freddy. “Who’s this?”
“This is Freddy,” Noble said.
Good thing because Lance found it difficult to concentrate on Shelby and still watch the other man casually remove and then hang up his coat. When he turned away, it gave Lance an excellent view of a trim, tight ass in snug designer jeans. His mind conjured any number of wonderful things he could do with that ass.
“I see.” The cool tone made Lance drag his focus from the other man’s ass to see a gaze that matched the tone. Shelby eyed the young man at the table with disinterest. “Freddy is leaving.”
Freddy blinked. Unaccustomed to Shelby’s manner, he didn’t hear the overt command. Lance briefly considered a protest but was distracted by the other man approaching the table. Hazel eyes met his, and that awesome grin kicked up a notch as the stranger nodded at Lance.