Syncopation

by Jodi Payne

  He waved Timmy off about putting the guitar away. “Nah. I might have need of it. You still renting a room, Timmy?”

  “Totally still renting, dude. Lost my roomie to a Texan. You wanna check it out?” Timmy got the last of the cables dressed.

  “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I got to make a call about supper around eight and how to get there.” And did he need to bring a toothbrush and all?

  “Kyle?” Timmy played it off, casual.

  “Yeah. I like him. A lot. We’re cooking.” Although they hadn’t shopped. Were they cooking tonight? He thought so.

  “Oh yeah? He’s a fan-tas-tic cook. He’s a good guy too. You see him dance yet?”

  “Not officially. I seen him practice and on the phone. He’s magic.” Watching Kyle move stole his breath clean away. One day he wanted to pick and let Kyle dance, jam together.

  “He’s something else.” Timmy pulled out his keys. “You want to see the room? Make your call on the way?”

  “Surely do.” He grabbed his phone and dialed. Timmy led him out of the building, locking up the studio and the big safe on the way.

  “Hey there.” Kyle sounded warm, pleased to hear from him. “You all done?”

  “I am. Been a lot of work. I’m fixin’ to go see the room to rent, and then I’ll head your way, if I can figure out how to find you again.” He’d manage, he was sure, but he felt a little like he’d been called up from the dead.

  “Wow. You sound tired, baby. Take an Uber. Timmy can call one for you.”

  “Yeah? Cool enough. I can’t wait to see your face.” He was addicted to Kyle, finding himself thinking about his new lover, again and again.

  “Mm. I can’t wait to kiss your face.” Kyle had a little growl in his voice. “Don’t dawdle, lover.”

  “No dawdling. Gon’ look at this room, say it’ll work, and come to you.” It was a plan. It was possibly even a good plan.

  “I’m waiting.” Kyle ended the call.

  Timmy was laughing. “Dude, you should see the look on your face.”

  “Is it a bad look?” He was tired but happy, so that should balance everything out, right?

  “No way, man. It’s a good look. A lot like that look you get when you’re playing and hit a sweet spot.”

  “He’s a sweet spot, all right. Let’s do this thing. You said your roommate went to Texas?” He’d played Houston, Dallas, SXSW a lot.

  “No. He went with a Texan. They’re still here, most of the year. They travel back and forth.”

  “Ah.” They went to a decent enough place with a nice room that he could settle in with his guitar. The kitchen was functional, and the front room was fine. It worked way better than some hotel room. “I want it, me. We work good together.”

  “We do. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think we could hang, dude. I work a ton, you work a ton, we get each other. You don’t mind a little smoke now and then, do you?”

  Colt snorted. Shit, he’d probably done more things in his time than Timmy had even heard of. “I got no issues with the green—smoke or fairy.”

  “You like that shit, dude? I know a bar for you next time you’re interested. And just so you know, if I light up and you’re around, you’re invited. Just assume. If I didn’t want to share, I’d wait.”

  “Fair enough. So, how you want we should do this? You want me to come after I get done with Kyle?” That could be tomorrow morning, could be Monday. He didn’t know. He didn’t really care.

  “Hang on.” Timmy disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a key ring. “The big one is for the foyer doors, and these two are for the apartment. Top lock, bottom lock. There’s only a few days left in the month, so we’ll call us square until the first. I have to walk the rent over on the last business day of the month, so I’d appreciate your piece in cash a few days early, if that’s okay.”

  “I can do that. I’ll bring it when I come back. Kyle said you could call me an Uber?”

  “Oh. Yeah. You should get the app on your phone.” He watched Timmy call up an app, tap a few things. “All set. He’ll text when he gets here. Driver’s name is Ray.”

  “Thanks. I’m still learning this new phone, but I’ll figure it. Does he know where to go, or do I need to text Kyle?”

  “He knows. I’ve been to a couple of parties at Kyle’s, so I have his address in the app. Oh, man. You should convince him to throw a party. They’re… an experience.”

  “Mmm. I like that. Not today. I’m wore.” He was running on fumes and a handful of hard candy.

  They talked shop for a while, waiting on the car. When the car arrived, Timmy grabbed the door for him. “Get some rest. Only a few days left next week, but they’re going to be long ones. We’ve got some work to do.”

  “And then we move on to a whole new band.” A whole new sound, a whole new style.

  “You moving to a new studio? You’re not playing with the group that’s coming in next, are you? Or are you?”

  “I got a email. It’s staying in your place, hmm? Rockabilly? Ring a bell?” He didn’t know. He went where he was sent.

  “Totally! Ohhh, duuude.” Timmy drew the words out ominously. “Those guys… they’re friendly and talented and stuff, but they’re gonna try your patience. I’m just sayin’. Show up ready to go with the flow. They never start or end on time. They drink. They take crazy breaks to, like, brainstorm over Mongolian barbecue.”

  “So long as they pay me, huh?” Goodie. Of course, he could be flexible, couldn’t he? Hell yeah.

  “They always pay me.” Timmy winked. “You better run, dude. See you whenever. Or Monday.”

  “I’ll text. Bye.” He ran down and looked for the car, so ready to get to Kyle, to somewhere quiet for a minute.

  The Uber was anything but quiet. His driver, Ray, had questions. “Where you from, brother? What brings you this far north? What do you play? You know Peyton Manning was born in New Orleans? Jared Leto? Reese Witherspoon? Great food down there…” and on, and on, and on.

  He answered and laughed, letting himself enjoy the company, the questions, because this was what it was all about, right? Learning stuff about people. Hell, by the time they pulled in front of Kyle’s, he felt better, more solid.

  Kyle answered the door in a tank top that wasn’t clothing so much as decoration, and beat-up, loose jeans that sat low. Colt got a kiss right there in the doorway. “Oh, so good to see you.”

  “Yes. Lord yes.” He was a little dizzy with relief that he was here.

  “Come in. Come in, baby.” Kyle linked arms with him and led him through the hall and into the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee? You really look exhausted.”

  “I do, please, and to rest my fingers for a bit.”

  “You worked like a dog this week.” Kyle poured him a strong cup of coffee from a carafe on the counter, then picked up the hand he wasn’t drinking with and massaged his palm with what seemed like practiced thumbs.

  He stared for a second, his mind trying to understand what he was feeling. Did it hurt? Did it feel like sex? What?

  “Hurts? Come on, sit down.” Kyle led him over to the little café table and sat him down, then pulled up a chair opposite him.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what it feels like.” He sat. Boom. Okay. “How’s you, cher?”

  “I’m good. I’m a very satisfied kind of tired.” Kyle smiled for him and just kept on working the tendons along his thumb and up the outside of his hand. “This should feel like someone working your worries away. Never had a massage before?”

  “No. I knew they were tender, but not so much.” His fingers curled as Kyle worked out a sore spot, and he jerked as the tension popped like a sprung guitar string.

  Kyle let him go with the sudden movement but went right back to it, more gently as he relaxed. “How hungry are you? You want something?”

  “Cher, my belly done forgot eating. Later, hmm?”

  “Yeah, I hear that. You want to cook tomorrow? It’s later than I expected; we cou
ld shop in the morning. I think you should let me work on your shoulders and your back some; they’ve got to be as tense as your hands.”

  “I can cook tomorrow. I…. Lord, cher, you make me dizzy.” He didn’t know if it was selfish to say yes, please, touch me.

  Kyle kissed him softly. “Tomorrow, then. Come on, let’s get you stretched out.” Kyle led him upstairs to the bedroom and started undressing him slowly, fingers moving over buttons, fabric, and skin like he was something precious.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled, filling his lungs with Kyle’s scent. Lord, that was just right.

  “Other than obviously exhausting, did recording go well today?” Kyle voice was soft and had a soothing lilt in it.

  “Jus’ fine. Lots of good music. I laid down a few solo tracks they could use if they needed them later too.”

  “You work hard, don’t you? No wonder you’re so tired.” Kyle turned down the bed and gave it a pat. “Stretch out on your tummy, and I’ll work on your back a little. You can just rest. Talk if you want, don’t if you don’t. I’m here either way.”

  “You had a good couple days, cher?” He rolled over and found himself a comfortable spot.

  “I did. We’ve got a show opening in a couple of weeks, and it’s getting serious around the theater now. This is my favorite part of the process—pulling it together, focusing in on the details—but it’s real work. We have some amazing dancers, though. Sometime you’ll have to come see.”

  “I would love that.” He loved to see people living out their passions.

  Kyle’s fingers were slippery when they touched his back, and they roamed over his skin for a bit, warming it with just light pressure at first. “Me too. You’ll have to let me know if you get some time away from the studio in the next couple of weeks.”

  “I got time after Tuesday. You let me know.” He blinked slowly, mesmerized by the caresses. “Feels good.”

  “I will. Depending on how rehearsals go, maybe Thursday or Friday.” Kyle started in with long strokes with flat hands and heavy pressure. “So, it’s great that you’re taking a room with Timmy. Does that mean you’re in town for a few more weeks?”

  “Uh-huh. I like the work, the place. I want to stay about.” He liked Kyle. A lot. Enough to stay a bit.

  “I probably don’t need to tell you I like that you’re ‘staying about.’ But in case there’s any question, I’m glad to hear it.” Kyle’s thumbs dug into the muscle across his shoulders.

  He had intended to answer, but all he could do was groan. Damn, that was better than sex.

  Kyle chuckled softly, the sound warm. “Good right there, huh?” Kyle kept it up, across his shoulders and slowly up the sides of his neck, working every little knot and every bit of tension those fingers stumbled over.

  He might have spoken; he might have just moaned. Hell, he didn’t know. He might have told Kyle every one of his secrets.

  He was aware of Kyle’s hands on him for a while. Working muscles in his arms, his lower back a little later, even his thighs. And then some amount of time must have passed, because the next thing he was really aware of was a dark, quiet room and Kyle lying next to him, hair damp and smelling freshly showered.

  “Mmm. Magic man.” He had to smile. Had to.

  “Mmm. Hi. You don’t have to be awake, baby.” Kyle moved closer, like gravity had just pulled him in.

  “Love how you smell.” He let himself snuggle in and enjoy, feeling like a king—happy and melted and comfortable.

  “You crashed a long while ago, and I popped in the shower. How do you feel?”

  “Like I been taken care of. Thank you. You didn’t have to, but you did.” He took a long, lazy kiss, pouring his thanks right into it.

  “Mmm,” Kyle hummed, sounding happy, willingly accepting his kiss. “I wanted to. You didn’t seem like yourself. You looked like you needed some love.”

  “You know how it is—you pour yourself out, and then you pour more and more, and then you’re bleeding music.”

  “I know exactly. You need to think about something else, right? Feed your heart and your mind, and let your soul recover. We’ll do something fun tomorrow. Something totally different. Maybe get up high and see the view. You want to? Or go shopping. Or walk in Central Park.”

  “Yes. Yes, we can explore. Together.” He loved that. He loved to hear the beat of somewhere new.

  “See? You sound better already.” Kyle kissed him, smiling against his lips.

  “All you, hmm?” They were basking like gators on the bank.

  “I’ll take the compliment.” Kyle hummed at him again and tightened an arm over his chest. “Sleep, Colt. We both need it, and we don’t want to lose the day tomorrow.”

  “No. No, we don’t. I want to be with you.” He wanted to go play and know all the new things there were.

  “You are with me, baby. We’ll get up to some fun tomorrow.” Kyle rubbed his chest, soothing him to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  THE NEXT morning was brilliantly sunny, and Kyle pulled open every curtain in his home studio, letting the sunbeams warm the floor. A sunny day called for Santana, yes? He started up his music and let it inspire him, feeling that perfect burn as he stretched his hamstrings and his glutes on the barre.

  It took that whole first song and two more before he was warmed up enough to dance, and he marked out the steps to a piece he was performing with two other men in the new program. He obviously didn’t need to rehearse the steps, because his mind kept wandering away from what he was working on to the fascination of the man he’d left sleeping in his bed.

  That was it. Colt was fascinating. So strange and wonderful, and Kyle was drawn to him in every way. Physically? They could just burn each other down when they wanted to, or Colt could carefully shatter him with one touch and then put him back together piece by piece. He was drawn to the musician, the artist, Colt’s creative mind.

  A week ago he and Colt had been drinking and singing in a bar. Colt was young and looked it; he was full of energy and wonder at the city he’d landed in. But last night Colt just looked exhausted. Burned out. Granted, they’d kept each other up nearly all night at least twice. But even so, Colt had just allowed himself to be spent, played until his fingers were sore and beyond.

  If he ever tried to dance like that, he’d… well, he’d be useless. He’d never allow himself to dance to exhaustion. Colt either didn’t know his limits, ignored them, or simply had no perspective when he was working.

  He heard Colt’s lilting words, spoken even in his mind in that smooth, sexy accent—Robert Johnson went to the crossroads… and sold his soul for the blues.

  Huh.

  Even exhausted, Colt was magical. One might call it intuition or empathy, but there was more to it than that. There were things about art, about creativity, about being human that he just seemed to understand, deeply, as truth. And on top of that, Colt’s faith, his spirituality wasn’t only surface deep, or habit; it was in his skin. It was a part of his soul.

  Kyle didn’t understand faith, not like that. He felt as though he could study the man forever and Colt’s own truth could still slip right through his fingers if he didn’t pay very close attention.

  Work, Kyle.

  He changed the music and ran through the piece again in his mind, then took up his starting position and cleared his thoughts to focus on telling the story. The story of what is left when a man’s true love chooses another.

  The dance was everything, emotion running down his spine and out to his extended fingertips and pointed toes. That, combined with the exertion as every muscle fired at once, lifting him off the floor and powering him through turns, was as exhilarating as it was exhausting.

  The music was appropriately powerful in parts, soft and subtle in others, and he was easily swept into the drama. He hadn’t choreographed this piece, and he was glad about that, because the steps were not his own, but something he’d had to make his own. Still, that didn’t stop his heart from breaking
every single time.

  When it was over and he was panting, his chest aching with emotion, he looked over, finding Colt sitting in the other room where he could see, cross-legged on the floor, guitar in his lap, one tear sliding down his cheek.

  “Ain’t you something, cher? It’d kill a man, to see you dance to the blues.”

  “That piece is painful but beautiful, right?” He found he could breathe easier with his own lover, at least of the moment, close by. He walked over, knelt in front of Colt, and kissed him. “You should see it with the other two dancers. One dancing the lover that left me and one his new love interest.”

  “Mmm. One day. Good morning, cher. How you be?”

  “I’m—” How was he? The sun was out; he was dancing, Colt was sitting here with his guitar…. “I’m perfect. Wonderful. You? Did you sleep well?”

  “Like a log.” Colt began to play, a more sultry version of the song he’d just danced to, the whole vibe less heart-wrenching and more… wicked.

  “Mmm. I like that.” He stood up and stretched a little, just keeping his muscles warm. The twist on the very familiar piece made him grin, though. It had a groove to it that made him want to move. “I like that a lot. Come in. Come into the studio.”

  “Yeah?” Colt rolled up to his feet, adorable with his bare chest, bare feet, jeans loose on his hips.

  He took Colt by the hand and led him right into the center of the large room. The sun had shifted so it wasn’t as bright, but the sky was a brilliant blue. “Can I get you a chair, or are you more comfortable on the floor?” He had a couple of folding chairs against the far wall.

  “However you want me, you got me. You want I should play for you?”

  “I would; will you? You don’t mind the floor?” He waited while Colt got settled. “Just play anything you want for now. I’m….” He waved his hand near his head. “I’m just—I’ve got something.”

  “Surely.” Colt strummed idly for a few seconds, then found it—Kyle wasn’t sure what it was, but suddenly there was a hunger in the air, the melody like a stalking tiger that was teasing its prey, taunting it, pushing forward, then easing back.