Syncopation

by Jodi Payne

Timmy nodded. “They’re here, uh… eight to five I think. A few hours on Sunday too.”

  “Damn, you’re keeping busy, man.” Ryder nodded approvingly. “Folks know what you’re worth up here, I hope.”

  “I’ve been hooking him up. They know. Colt’s not just a guitar keeping a seat warm.”

  “It’s good to be busy. Keeps me in beer and out of trouble.” Hell, he knew that he needed to keep himself working so he could stay up here with Kyle. The man was important to him.

  Ryder nodded and held up his beer. “Amen to that. Here’s to staying busy.”

  “Got that right.” Norv clinked bottles with him.

  “So glad y’all are here. I missed you like breathing.” They could drive a man buggy, but he loved them to death.

  Norv stood up. “All right, y’all. Let’s get out of Timmy’s hair, huh? I’m just gonna pack up the Gibson and take it with.”

  Ryder nodded and swallowed down the last bite of his cheesesteak. “Thanks for the grub, Timmy.”

  “Anytime, dude. Like I said, next time remind me to give you the menu folder.”

  “Will do. I like choices.”

  Norv snorted. “He’ll eat anything, Timmy. Don’t let him kid you.”

  “Y’all going back to the hotel?” He wasn’t sure whether they needed a nap or not.

  “Yeah. Ryder was antsy and wanted to get started, but we need to get showers and all. Can we meet you at your Yankee’s place? Just text me the address.”

  “His name is Kyle,” Timmy said, helpfully, with just a hint of snark.

  Norv glanced over at Timmy and then back at him. “Sorry. Text me Kyle’s address?”

  “Surely can. Y’all have a good afternoon. I’ll see you this evening.” He texted Norv the address first, then texted Kyle. Busy?

  “Thanks, Tim. We’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Right on, man.”

  Just headed home. Walking in the rain. Joy, Kyle texted back.

  Done for the day here—can I meet u?

  How fast can u get here?

  20. He was getting good at this subway thing.

  c u soon. This time Kyle followed his text with red lipstick lips.

  “I’ll text you if anything changes about Saturday with the jazz folks, dude. You enjoy your night.”

  “Will do.” He waved to Timmy, then headed to meet his lover. They could shop or make love or both.

  Chapter Twelve

  KYLE WANDERED out of the bathroom, freshly showered, robe tied loosely around his waist. Colt was stretched out on his bed, looking a little muzzy and a lot smug. He leaned over his lover and gave Colt a playful smooch. “Mmm. I should make you miss me more often.”

  “Uh-uh. You melted my brain, cher. Made me dizzy.”

  He snorted and smiled. “You’re so beautiful, baby. You better get up. Your friends will be here soon.” He dropped his robe and stepped into his walk-in closet. “These are, like, blue jean types, right? I don’t want to overdress.”

  “All the way. They’re like me, cher. Easy.”

  Jesus. Hopefully not as easy, or it was going to be an eventful night. “I should have expected that. I’m looking forward to meeting them. It’ll be nice to be with some of your people, you know?”

  He pulled out some skinny jeans and a long tank top, figuring the kitchen was going to be warm and he could show off his ink.

  “They’re looking forward to you too.” Colt tugged on his jeans and a thin T-shirt. There was something so hot about the sight of Colt’s bare feet, the worn-in jeans.

  He liked it so much, he decided to go with bare feet too. “I hope they can accept that I’m hopeless when it comes to keeping my hands off of you.” To make his point, he ran a hand up one of Colt’s arms as he walked by. “You know there’s plenty of room if they want to drink and don’t feel like Ubering it back to the hotel. Just putting that out there now so you can offer if you want to.” He had two empty bedrooms. No problem.

  “Thank you, and they’re… they’re a couple, you know? They’re very into each other.”

  “Oh yeah?” Well, that was wonderful. Kind of a double-date thing. He liked it. “That’s….” He looked at Colt. “Was that the doorbell?” He waited another second to see if he heard it again.

  “Think so, yeah. Man, I might have to order pizza. Since we… didn’t start cooking food.” Colt grinned at him, dark eyes dancing.

  “How long can shrimp take?” He took Colt’s hand and hurried down the stairs. “I’m a little nervous. I know that’s stupid, but it’s true.” He just wanted them to like him. He was a little surprised by how important it was to him.

  “It’s weird, meeting good friends.” Colt leaned into his arm, squeezed his fingers. “You ain’t stupid, cher. Not at all.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” He took a deep breath. “My house, right? I better get the door.” Even if he didn’t feel completely confident, he knew he could act it. He made a living at it. He opened the door. It was still pouring rain, but the two of them fit under the little awning over the front door.

  Jesus Christ, was his first thought. They really were exactly like Colt. “Hey! Come on in. God, what awful weather.”

  “Eh, rain’s a blessing, I guess. Norv Williamson, pleased.” A square, gnarly hand was offered over. “This is Ryder James.”

  One older, one younger, one in a ball cap, one in a plastic-covered cowboy hat.

  “Kyle. Kyle Alexander.” He shook hands and closed the door behind them. “I hear you. But in New York City, rain is just a pain in the ass. Do you mind if I ask you to kick your boots off? I’ve got carpet.”

  Ryder gave Norv a wide-eyed look, but Norv nodded. “Sure, no problem.”

  Colt chuckled softly. “Y’all want some help? I know you got your good boots on.”

  Shit. Southern musicians one, New York dancer zero. And he was probably blushing too. “I’m sorry, guys. They’re really nice boots.” Jesus. Maybe he should just shut his mouth and let Colt do the talking tonight.

  “Ain’t they? I met Norv over his boots. You were wearing Luccheses, weren’t you?”

  “Lord yes. You were drooling over them outside that club on Orleans. Give me a tug, Cajun.”

  Luccheses. He’d file that away for later. He watched Colt help Norv and looked at Ryder. “You want a hand?” He could do that.

  “Oh. Uh.”

  Ryder looked embarrassed, and he heard Norv’s low laugh.

  “Oh, come on.” He was pretty sure he managed not to make a total fool of himself, and he set Ryder’s boots down alongside Norv’s.

  “Thank you.” Ryder’s cheeks were the color of cherries. God, he was adorable.

  “My pleasure.” He looped an arm through Colt’s, and they led the way into the kitchen. “Can I get you guys a beer or a glass of wine?”

  “Beer, please, for both of us.”

  Colt chuckled softly. “They ain’t all classy like me.”

  He huffed at Colt. “Seriously? Now you’re just trying to make me look like a snob.”

  Of course, he only had expensive beer, but it was still beer. He gave his lover a little shove and stuck his tongue out, pulling two bottles out of the refrigerator. He popped the tops off them and handed them to Norv and Ryder, giving Ryder a little wink just for fun. The kid hadn’t managed to get more than a stutter out since he opened the front door. Norv seemed to have that covered for both of them.

  “Thank you, sir.” Norv was pure ease, like this stereotypical cowboy, and he made Kyle want to laugh, want to watch him move and use it in a dance.

  “Wine for you, baby?” He pulled a new bottle off the rack and fished out the opener. He refrained from asking Colt’s guests to take off their hats, even though it made this small part of him itch. That was his mother all over, and he hated it.

  He poured himself a glass and hovered the mouth of the bottle over Colt’s, asking. Then he fished out some small talk. He was good at that, a more pleasant inheritance from his mother. “Colt said yo
u guys did some great work today.”

  “We did. Cajun’s a hell of a songwriter.”

  Colt beamed. “You want to give me your hat? I got a safe place for it.”

  “Please. I swear you’d think nobody’d ever seen a cover.”

  “Such a Texan. Hand it over.”

  Ryder folded his hat up and stuck it in his back pocket.

  Colt to the rescue. God, could his lover be any more perfect for him? “Thank you, love.” He filled Colt’s glass and set the bottle down. “We don’t see a lot of cowboy hats up here.” He grinned, trying out a little flirting to see if that would loosen Norv up a bit. “When we do, it’s usually on a handsome cowboy, so we stare. Take it as a compliment.”

  “Oh, I do, son. No question.” Norv smiled at him, the look honest, warm. “So, I got to tell you, the Cajun showed us a video of you dancing. You’re something else. It was beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled and preened. He couldn’t help it; he was proud of his work. And even more proud that his lover wanted to show him off. “I love it. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Which one did he show you? The outdoor one? That’s his favorite, but it’s old now. Why don’t you bring them to the show while they’re in town, Colt? I’ll comp you some tickets.”

  “Yeah?” Colt came to him, gave him an easy kiss. “That would rock. And yeah, I like that one. I like you in the wind, the way you move.”

  Colt’s kisses spoke to him like music, inspired him in the same way. It was impossible not to indulge, not to smile after. It made no difference who was in the room. “You better start dinner, or your guests are going to go hungry.”

  He gave Colt a swat. “I have some cheese, guys.” As he headed for the refrigerator, he caught Ryder writing furiously in a little notebook. A second later the kid was showing it to Norv.

  Kyle shot Colt a look, but his lover just shrugged like it was the most normal thing on earth. “We’re writers, cher. No stress.”

  He wasn’t stressing. Was he stressing? Maybe he was. He certainly was now. What was the kid writing? Did it matter?

  “Colt, come give this a look?” Ryder slid the notebook across the kitchen table.

  He let it go and got some snacks together to put on the table, and then he refilled his wineglass.

  “Mmm… sweet hook.” Colt began to sing, beating out a rhythm on the table.

  “Cool.”

  “I don’t guess you have a guitar here?”

  Colt? Colt had guitars everywhere. “Up in the studio.”

  Ryder looked at him. “You have a studio?”

  “My dance studio.”

  “Yeah? Bet the acoustics are awesome.”

  “We’re supposed to eat, y’all….” Colt grabbed the pen from Ryder’s hand and jotted a few notes, scribbled some stuff out.

  Kyle stepped up behind Colt, wrapped an arm around his middle, and kissed the back of his neck. “Thank you. But if you want to write—if that’s what’s calling you, baby, it’s okay with me. That’s why they’re up here, right?”

  They were artists. Kyle loved a nice sit-down and some good conversation, but if they were inspired, he got it. He had the feeling these two were more “shooting the breeze over late-night beer” types anyway.

  “I’ll buy pizza,” Norv offered. “I hear tell it’s better here than anywhere in the country.”

  Kyle smiled. “No food in my studio.” He poked a finger at Norv playfully. “Otherwise, it’s yours. I’ll join you guys in a few.” Maybe he’d listen and dance. Why not? He didn’t let Colt go yet, though. He wanted another one of those kisses first. He spun Colt around to face him. “It’s okay. Promise.”

  “You’re good to me, cher.” Colt gave him what he wanted, a kiss that promised him the world—deep and eager and utterly unashamed.

  Who needed dinner? He could just live on that. “Just giving as good as I get. Go on. I’ll be up in a few.”

  Ryder had already disappeared into the hall. Norv gave Colt a clap on the shoulder, and the two of them headed out of the kitchen together.

  He looked at the half-full beers left sitting on the kitchen table and Colt’s untouched glass of wine.

  Was he a little disappointed? Sure. But there was also something wonderful about this. His man, a couple of collaborators making music, creating in his house like they belonged there. Like this was just their normal. He liked it.

  He liked pizza too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  JESUS CHRIST on a purple sparkly crutch, Colt was tired. Like bone-deep tired enough that if he stopped to think about it, he could see sounds.

  Good thing he didn’t have a chance to stop and think.

  Between rehearsing with Kyle, his studio work, writing with the guys, and trying to get to all the places to do all the things, he was running on seven seconds of sleep and blistered fingers.

  Lord have mercy.

  He finished his gig and sat there as everyone packed up. Midnight. Lord have mercy.

  “Hey, nice work, guys.”

  This jazz band was a bunch of nice folks, talented, but a little less easygoing. They had a budget and needed to wrap on time, so they pushed pretty hard in the studio.

  Timmy came in and pressed a little metal tin into his palm, then started dressing cables and putting away microphones. “Caffeine mints. Two will do you for a couple of hours.”

  Timmy set three microphones on the chair next to him and went to gather the others.

  “Thanks.” He took four, breathing fire out of his nose for a second.

  The folks in the band gave him nods and handshakes on their way out.

  “Catch you tomorrow, Colt.”

  “Get some rest, man. You look like you need it.”

  “You need a ride anywhere?”

  “I got him,” Timmy said, following them to the studio door. “I’ll be in at noon tomorrow. Studio is yours at two.”

  “Right on. Night, Timmy.”

  He sat there, trying to decide if he could just sleep here and get up and head to Kyle’s in the morning.

  “Dude, I’m taking you home. Put your guitar away. And leave it here.” Timmy started stacking the neatly rolled-up cables into a crate.

  “Are you?” He was so fucking tired. “Okay, boo.”

  He just sat there like a lump.

  “Okay, then.” Timmy didn’t say another word, but the next thing he knew, his guitar was gone and Timmy was turning the lights out. “I called an Uber. But I think I’m even skinnier than you are. I’m not carrying your ass, bro.” Timmy did at least offer him a hand up and pulled him to his feet. “Come on.”

  “I don’ need carryin’, boo. I just tired, eh?” He was still doing good work.

  “You’re not just tired, boo.” Timmy led him out to the car and pulled him inside. “You didn’t stand up to see the band out. You didn’t even stand up when I told you you should get moving. I just totally put your baby away for you, and you didn’t even tell me to be careful with it. You’re exhausted.”

  “True dat.” He knew, but he knew it had to be done. Hell, more than that, he wanted it. He wanted it all.

  He just didn’t know how to.

  “When’s your next day off?”

  He shrugged. Did he have those? He didn’t think so. Those were for people who didn’t have the music riding them hard.

  His cell phone buzzed with a text message from Kyle. It was a picture of Kyle and another dancer with Alan, the bartender at the Purple Poet. Kyle had his arm around the dancer—was it Rob?—and was kissing him on the cheek.

  Alan misses you. Aren’t you done yet? Come have a drink, baby.

  Oh….

  He sighed and leaned forward to speak to the driver. “Can you take me to the Purple Poet after you drop my friend off?”

  He needed some uppers in the worst way. Just a little chemical boost.

  “Is that Kyle? Come on, dude. Tell him you need to sleep. I’ll get you some green and you can relax. You gotta work tomorrow.”
>
  “I’ll work. I swear.” Timmy didn’t understand, not really. It was hard to be everything he needed to be. Kyle was special. He had to try harder than everyone else, just to keep up. He wasn’t as shiny as everyone else in Kyle’s life.

  Hell, what shine he had was from rubbing hard, not because he was made from gold.

  “I know, dude. You work your ass off, I know. But….” The car pulled up to the curb, and Timmy sighed. “You gotta pace yourself or you’re not going to be any good, you know? And I’m not talking about the music.” Timmy slid out of the car. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Night, boo. You’re good to me, swear to God.”

  “Night, man.” Timmy shook his head, closed the car door, and gave him a wave.

  “Thanks for doubling up, friend. I appreciate it.” He leaned his head back and watched the light trails dance in the rear window.

  “No problem.” The driver got him there fine, but it took a while. It was late, but on Saturday night the traffic was as bad as rush hour. The bar was hopping too; a small crowd was hanging out outside smoking, and light and music spilled out into the street.

  Kyle wasn’t hard to spot, which didn’t surprise him. His lover, in skinny jeans and a tight black sweater, was at the bar with a martini, sitting very close to that guy, Rob, who was in the picture Kyle texted. Rob had an arm across the back of Kyle’s chair.

  Stop it. You’re shit-tired and feeling teeth on your bones. He headed over, offering Rob a toothy smile before touching Kyle with his aching fingers. “’Lo, cher.”

  “There you are!” Kyle gave him a smile that lit up the bar and a kiss that stopped time.

  “Mmm. Hey, how you been?” You been missing me?

  “Move over, Rob, would you?” Kyle made scooty hands at Rob to make the guy slide over a stool, and then pulled him onto the warmed seat.

  See? Nothing to get twisted up about after all.

  “I had a long day. I needed to see you tonight. Are you okay? Are you sick? You don’t look good, baby.”

  “Just tired. It ain’t no thing.” He leaned his cheek against Kyle’s arm. “I need to get me a coffee IV is all.”

  “Aw. How was your session tonight?” Kyle took one of his hands and started rubbing like before, dragging warm thumbs over his tired, aching palm.