Reverb
Author: Jet Mykles
Date: 2011-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: M M Romance; Contemporary; Romance; Music; Musicians; Gay For You; Erotica; Lgbt; Gay; Contemporary Romance
Description: Sex. Drugs. Rock ‘n Roll. Nick Gorman’s got it all. He’s on top of the world, living his dream, playing guitar on stage in front of thousands of people with non-other than Marlowe. The famous singer could have had his choice of anyone to replace his former guitarist, but he picked Nick to tour with him. Now Nick’s star is on the rise, all thanks to Marlowe, who’s not only Nick’s idol but is fast becoming a terrific friend. In the blink of an eye, it all turns upside down. A drug-hazed time in a bed alone with Marlowe forces Nick to be aware that the rock star’s interest in him is more than jus
Publisher: MLR Press

Sex. Drugs. Rock ‘n Roll. Nick Gorman’s got it all. He’s on top of the world, living his dream, playing guitar on stage in front of thousands of people with non-other than Marlowe. The famous singer could have had his choice of anyone to replace his former guitarist, but he picked Nick to tour with him. Now Nick’s star is on the rise, all thanks to Marlowe, who’s not only Nick’s idol but is fast becoming a terrific friend.

In the blink of an eye, it all turns upside down. A drug-hazed time in a bed alone with Marlowe forces Nick to be aware that the rock star’s interest in him is more than just friendly. Then, before he can even react to that, both singer and guitarist are in a near-fatal accident that could ruin both their careers. What now? Marlowe’s in jail for two years and Nick is broken. Could they ever play together again, let alone explore the sizzling reverberations that still exist between them?

MLR PRess AuthoRs

Featuring a roll call of some of the best writers of gay erotica and mysteries today!

Derek Adams

M. Jules Aedin

Maura Anderson

Victor J. Banis

Jeanne Barrack

Laura Baumbach

Alex Beecroft

Sarah Black

Ally Blue

J.P. Bowie

Barry Brennessel

Michael Breyette

P.A. Brown

Brenda Bryce

Jade Buchanan

James Buchanan

Charlie Cochrane

Karenna Colcroft

Jamie Craig

Kirby Crow

Dick D.

Ethan Day

Diana DeRicci

Jason Edding

Angela Fiddler

Dakota Flint

S.J. Frost

Kimberly Gardner

Roland Graeme

Storm Grant

Amber Green

LB Gregg

Drewey Wayne Gunn

Kaje Harper

Jan Irving

David Juhren

Samantha Kane

Kiernan Kelly

M. King

Matthew Lang

J.L. Langley

Josh Lanyon

Clare London

William Maltese

Gary Martine

Z.A. Maxfield

Timothy McGivney

Lloyd A. Meeker

Patric Michael

AKM Miles

Reiko Morgan

Jet Mykles

William Neale

Willa Okati

L. Picaro

Neil S. Plakcy

Jordan Castillo Price

Luisa Prieto

Rick R. Reed

A.M. Riley

George Seaton

Jardonn Smith

Caro Soles

JoAnne Soper-Cook

Richard Stevenson

Liz Strange

Marshall Thornton

Lex Valentine

Haley Walsh

Missy Welsh

Stevie Woods

Lance Zarimba

Check out titles, both available and forthcoming, at
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ReveRb

Jet MykLes
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011 by Jet Mykles

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Published by

MLR Press, LLC

3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.

Albion, NY 14411

Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:

www.mlrpress.com

Cover Art by Laura Carboni

Cover Design by Deana C. Jamroz

Editing by Kris Jacen

Print format

ISBN# 978-1-60820-258-4

Also available in ebook format

ISBN# 978-1-60820-259-1

Issued 2011

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher.

This one is dedicated to the love of my life. The musician in my life.

The man who made all the little details of this story ring true and who had the courage to argue with me about it.

I love you.

ChAPteR one

“Ladies and gentlemen, my band!” Marlowe’s amplified velvet voice filled the arena, but couldn’t drown the rumble of thousands of fans. Nick didn’t know how well it could be heard by those in the crowd, but he heard crystal clear through his ear monitors. “On drums, Justin Bridges!” Nick pulled his arm behind his back and stomped to the rhythm of Justin’s solo.

Marlowe waited for the applause to calm then he stepped up behind the man on the other side of the stage from Nick. “And here, keeping us in the groove. On bass—” Marlowe was taller than Hideki so he could easily see over him “—Hideki Nakata!”

Hideki and Marlowe rocked together to the rhythm of Hideki’s bass guitar. Laughing, Marlowe left Hideki’s side, lifting the cordless microphone back to his lips. “Last but absolutely not least—” Marlowe strode across the stage, arm extended toward Nick. “—my newest find—” Marlowe winked at him, “—on lead guitar—” Marlowe stopped center stage and made a flourishing bow, “Nick Gorman!”

Nick kept it cool as he lifted the neck of his Strat and pulled out a wicked solo while the crowd screamed for him. Twelve bars in, Justin and Hideki jumped back into the song, driving the energy of the crowd up a notch. They knew the end of the song marked the end of the concert and the wave of adoration for Marlowe and his band was almost physical. Standing center stage right out of reach of dozens of outstretched hands, Marlowe sang the final chorus of Take Me Back, the hit song from the first album and a crowd favorite. Twelve thousand throats screamed their love of the man with the microphone, but there was plenty of spill-over for the rest of the band. When Nick stepped up to Marlowe’s side at front center, plenty of the reaching hands were pointed in his direction. He looked up and caught the eye of two girls focused on him, hair plastered to their sweaty faces so he could barely tell whether they were blondes or brunettes.

They reached for him, their shouted pleas lost in the sea of

2 Jet Mykles
noise already drowned by the music pumped into his ears via the monitors. He smiled and one of them fell against the other, laughing her joy.

Awesome. Nick’s Stratocaster sang in his hands, the strings as much a part of him as his heart or soul. He flipped shoulder-length, sweat-drenched hair from his eyes, feeling it slap his neck and shoulders. Eyes closed, face tilted up, he picked through the final bars of the song. The song crashed to a halt and every light in the arena flared to focus on Marlowe. The singer bathed in the light, his lean body stretched and his hands in the air. With his head back, the wet tips of his long brown hair slapped the small of his bare back, just short of brushing the waist of his snug black leather pants. Dark, olive-toned skin glistened in the glare of the stage lights and muscles folded on muscles as he brought his arms down, reaching wide, crucified on the worship of his fans.

Expansive pride and joy threatened to burst his skin as Nick stepped back, lifting his guitar from his shoulders to hand it to the waiting roadie. He glanced at Hideki and the bass player beamed back. They waited farther back on the stage while Marlowe lifted the foam tip of the microphone to his lips to shout, “Thank you, Phoenix! You’re beautiful!”

Another wave of screams. Many times in years past Nick had imagined what it was like to stand up onstage in front of a crowd like this. It seemed as though the screams and calls of the arena filled the whole world. Even if it was mostly Marlowe’s show, Nick didn’t want to leave.

There’s always tomorrow night, he told himself as the four of them clambered backstage. He grinned at that and couldn’t be sure that the soles of his boots even touched the ground. He was floating on adrenaline, the high of being onstage still the best rush he’d ever felt, even now in the middle of a North American tour. It was his first, though. Marlowe said he was allowed to be excited.

Just wait, the singer had said last night on the bus, next tour we’ll be playing your music too. Too awesome. Marlowe had already asked him to stay with the band through the next album and they’d

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even started working on some songs together. He was working with fucking Marlowe. Unheard of. Even Justin and Hideki, who’d been with Marlowe for his second album—the one they were touring for now—hadn’t had but one or two song writing credits.

But Marlowe liked the stuff Nick had played for him and had promised good things. Nick could not have asked for a bigger or better shot than to be working with him. The man’s first two albums had been chart toppers and he was on top of his game.

He accepted a towel from one of the road crew as he followed Hideki back stage, laughing when the shorter bassist took a running leap just for the fun of it. Behind them, the roar of the crowd kept going. Nick couldn’t stop grinning. This just never got old.

“Just a few minutes, gentlemen,” yelled their tour manager.

“The crowd wants you back out there.”

Nick bent double, rubbing the towel over his head and neck. He stood with a flip for his hair, enjoying the cool breeze backstage.

“This crowd rocks!” Hideki barked, yanking open a bottle of water. He held it up in toast to Marlowe. “Fucking rocks, man!”

Marlowe grinned, toweling his bare torso while another girl stood behind him brushing his hair. “Not bad,” he agreed.

Accepting an open bottle of water, he tipped it toward Nick, assorted bangles of leather and metal clacking together along his forearm. “You’re on fire tonight Nicky.”

Nick couldn’t smile any bigger. His face already hurt. Just a little over a year with Marlowe now, but it still tipped his world when the rock star praised him.

He drank down his own water then exchanged his drenched tank top for a dry one. Then it was time to rush back up for the encore.

Life didn’t get any better.

“Nick!”

4 Jet Mykles

Standing in the mini-kitchen in the tour bus, Nick shoved a fancy chicken strip in his mouth then spun to face the voice.

Ricky Delgado, reporter. Kip, the band’s manager, had told them to make nice with him earlier because his magazine was doing a multiple page spread on Marlowe and his band. Because the magazine was big time—although Nick couldn’t remember, right now, which it was—the reporter was on the tour bus with them, sharing a ride back to the hotel after the gig. The man approached Nick, winding around the chairs bolted to the floor and narrowly avoiding Justin who was making out with a girl in a blue catsuit. Ricky and Nick shared a silent laugh as Ricky caught his balance without the couple being any wiser. Ricky was average height, an inch or so taller than Nick, with graying black hair, sharp brown eyes, and a big, easy smile. He was a jacket short of a sharp suit, the sleeves of his dress shirt bunched up to reveal tanned forearms. Understandable since, for some reason, the heat had been cranked up so the air not only smelled like the pot Hideki was smoking, but felt like the inside of a toaster oven.

They shook hands then Ricky smacked Nick on the shoulder.

“Awesome show, man.”

“Thanks.” He started to reach down to open the short refrigerator next to his leg. “Beer?”

“Yeah.” Ricky propped himself against the counter, eyeing the food on the counter. “Seriously. I heard you were good, but you’re an animal onstage.” His grin seemed genuine as he accepted a bottle from Nick. “You’re like Hendrix good. Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Nick stalled by inserting his bottle into the handy opener at the top of the refrigerator and taking his first sip. He knew his pale skin showed a blush and hoped the dim lighting in the bus disguised it. Rick wasn’t the first to compare him to the guitar legend, but the compliment still made him uncomfortable. “Lots of lessons during high school. And no life because they couldn’t get me out of my room. Because I was playing. The guitar.”

Damn, he wasn’t good at this. Despite the fact that he liked Ricky and the reporter seemed like a good guy, Nick couldn’t forget

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that anything he said could be printed for millions to read. He’d seen too many articles where his music heroes had made asses of themselves not to be conscious of it now. Yet again, he wished he had Marlowe’s confidence. He hadn’t figured out how Marlowe could be so comfortable as the center of attention.

Nick glanced toward the closed door at the back of the bus.

Marlowe had disappeared beyond with five girls a little while ago.

Nick could only imagine what was happening back there.

Rick picked up a plate of his own and dished out some pasta salad. “You’re shitting me. A high school teacher taught you that?”

Nick shook himself, pulling his head back into the conversation and away from imagining Marlowe’s activities. “Nah. Private lessons. My uncle Bobby. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He used to be pretty popular.”

As Nick plucked a crustless triangle of a sandwich from a plate on the counter, Rick thought. It didn’t take long. “Wait.

Bobby? Gorman?”

Nick smiled and let Rick see it in profile. His family background wasn’t common knowledge, but neither was it a secret. Marlowe had encouraged him to let it slip.

“You’re related to Bobby Gorman?”

Nick let his grin say it all as he chewed.

Rick hooted. “No shit? Bobby Gorman’s your uncle? Why didn’t I know that?”

Nick shrugged. “Not that many people make the connection.”

Although Nick’s uncle had once been big on the scene, his star had died out by the nineties, before Nick had even been old enough to pick up a guitar.

Only recently had anyone even taken notice of Marlowe’s new guitarist. Marlowe’s split with his former ax man had been the big news when the tour had started, overshadowing Nick’s presence.

At first, most people had taken him for a temporary replacement as there’d been talk that Dean Gaynor might come back to the

6 Jet Mykles
band. Just recently, as it became obvious Marlowe wasn’t taking Dean back, more attention had been focused on Nick. Marlowe assured him that it was just the beginning.

Rick was back to studying him. “Yeah, okay. I see a little family resemblance. Around the eyes.”

Nick rolled his, having heard that time and time again. Except people normally told him he had his dad’s eyes. Same difference since he was Bobby’s older brother.

“That’s awesome though. I loved Elastixx’s Dog’s World.

Bobby’s playing rocked.” Rick gave his attention back to the food. “What happened to him?”

“He’s out of the business. Been teaching music for over ten years now.”

“No shit? That’s awesome.” Ricky chuckled. “But I guess the talent with the strings makes total sense then.” He licked some vinaigrette from his thumb. “You mind if I print that?”

“Go ahead.” Nick shrugged and led the way to a clear spot on the couch that lined the side of the bus beside the kitchen area.

“It’s no secret.”

The volume level kicked up as the group of girls emerged from the back of the bus, Marlowe in their midst. At six foot two, he didn’t quite tower over them, but it was easy to make out the top of his head even over the crazy hairdos that stood two of the girls’ hair up inches from the top of their heads. All five of them did their best to plaster themselves to Marlowe’s sides, frustrated when they couldn’t touch him. He did his best to accommodate them, long arms draped over any shoulder he could find. Judging by the volume and the lack of coordination of movement, Marlowe had been entertaining with a mind-altering substance or three. The fact that any of the group still had clothing on was remarkable. Nick had been pretty sure there was sex happening behind that closed door. Then again, maybe it had. Didn’t have to take off all your clothes to get it on. Marlowe proved that time and time again. Nick had even seen it himself once, although it had been dark and making out any details was hazy because

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he’d been high himself at the time. But he remembered the girl bouncing on Marlowe’s lap, her desperate cries leaving no doubt what they were doing.

Smiling, Ricky turned toward Nick with the clear intention of asking more questions, but they were interrupted when one of the girls peeled away from Marlowe and draped herself over Nick’s lap, heedless of his beer. “Mmm, Nicky,” she cooed, wrapping her arms around his neck the better to bury her nose in the hollow under his right ear. “Nicky, you smell so good.”

Ricky grinned at him and stood. “I’ll catch you later. At the party?”

Nick nodded and waved with his beer, then gave his attention to the big blue eyes that went with the yellow hair that had been tickling his jaw. “Hey.”

She blinked, her eyes very unfocused. Her soft hand stroked his cheek, bringing his lips closer to hers. “Hey.” At first, the kiss was wet and dreamy, like she was delicately feeding from his lips.

But then she groaned, pulling herself closer so she could devour his tongue. He went with it, still amazed that girls he’d never met before could just want him like this. But when they got all revved up by Marlowe, it was like they couldn’t get enough and eventually didn’t care who the dick belonged to just so long as they got some. Nick had indulged many times, but it had started to strike him as really weird and kind of off. Even the ones who came directly for him didn’t seem all that sincere to him. Where were they before when he was no more than Bobby Gorman’s talented nephew?

When the girl let him up for air, another’s hand lay on his cheek to turn his head. A second girl, this one with red hair, knelt on the couch beside him. Her eyes were lowered to slits and the whites beneath were bloodshot. She smiled and didn’t bother to speak before she drew him into another kiss. Strange, to have one girl on his lap, nestled against his chest, while another explored his tongue with hers.

When the second girl drew away, it seemed rather sudden until Nick saw that Marlowe had an arm wrapped around her waist,

8 Jet Mykles
pulling her away. She protested for all of ten seconds before she realized who it was and melted back against him.

“Excuse me, ladies,” he drawled, meeting Nick’s eyes as he cuddled the girl to his chest. His eyes, too, were bloodshot, but Nick knew him well enough by now to see that he still had all his wits about him. Took a full-on pharmacy to put Marlowe down.

“I need to borrow Nicky.”

“Awww.” The first tightened her arms about Nick’s neck.

With a brief kiss on her neck, Marlowe put his handful aside then reached for the bundle in Nick’s lap. “C’mon, Amy. I’ll bring him back.”

Amy’s eyes focused on Marlowe and Nick didn’t miss the devotion in her gaze when she leaned toward him. He had no illusions. The girls may like him, but if they got a chance at Marlowe, they’d climb over him to take it. Not that he blamed them, he thought as she let him stand. If he was into guys, he’d absolutely be into Marlowe. The man was sex on a stick. Tall, sleek, with moves like a cat, Marlowe was aware of his appeal and knew exactly how to use it. One look from those incredible blue eyes could have any number of girls coming in their panties.

Although Nick did okay for himself, he had never been confident enough to pull that off.

Together, Nick and Marlowe managed to transfer Amy from Nick’s lap to the couch. She promptly leaned to the side to lay her head on Hideki’s shoulder. As Nick stood, the bass player lifted an arm to pull her close and offered her a hit from his bong.

Nick left them behind, following Marlowe through the narrow kitchen area into the wide back room. Despite the closed in space, it wasn’t nearly as hot back here as it was in the front of the bus.

That had to be partially due to the window cracked open to let in some of the crisp January air. Seattle-born, Nick welcomed the cooler temperature, but Marlowe was a southern California boy so it was noteworthy that he spent time in the cooler room.

Not that it was cold by any means, inside or out. If Nick had to guess, it was somewhere around sixty degrees outside, maybe a

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little less now that night had fallen. At least the open window let out the reek of pot. The room was dominated by one big rounded bed. Marlowe slept there when they weren’t staying in a hotel, with the rest of the band making use of the couch and the fold-out bunks up front. Soft blue sheets and blankets with thick matching pillows covered the mattress and cluttered the little bit of floor space between the bed and the private entrance to the bathroom.

Marlowe dropped onto the mattress beside an open travel bag. He still wore the leather pants from the show, but he’d thrown a thick burgundy button down shirt over a faded black tank top and wore thick gray socks on his long feet. He casually tossed an abundance of loose brown hair behind his shoulders as he pulled out a small plastic baggie with pills inside. He also held up a tiny glass bottle filled with white powder. Shook both.

“You interested?”

Nick grinned big, knelt on the mattress beside him and pointed at the pills. “That X?” He felt like one of those girls, seduced into quiet intimacy by Marlowe and his treats. Including something kind of sexual about it, even though he was straight.

Marlowe was plain sexy and you had to be dead not to feel it.

Marlowe chuckled and dropped the snuff vial into the pocket of his shirt. “I should have known better than to offer you powder. You’re like the only guitarist I know who doesn’t do blow.” He tugged the other bag open then pulled out one pill to hold between thumb and forefinger.

Nick hesitated. “X?”

Marlowe nodded. “Only the finest.”

Nick licked his lips, eyes on the pill. Despite the fact that he was now a bona fide rock star, he was still a relative novice at taking drugs. Pot and alcohol, sure, but he’d never done pills or powder until Marlowe coaxed him into it. He still didn’t like the hyper-high of cocaine, but the dreamy sensitivity of ecstasy he could get used to. He remembered the sex on X even if he couldn’t remember the girl’s name. Taking stuff with Marlowe was cool. With anyone else, anything beyond drinking just seemed

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empty and pointless. Nick hated getting fucked up with most other people because he rarely had a good time. But Marlowe was different. With Marlowe it was fun. With Marlowe he could kick back and enjoy the ride, knowing Marlowe had his back.

“Here.” The pervasive scent of Marlowe surrounded him as the singer leaned close. Sweat, musk, and weed. He grinned, lightly pressing the pill to Nick’s lips. His stormy blue eyes sparkled in the dim light. “Open up.”

Like a baby bird, Nick opened and the pill dropped on his tongue. He took an opened bottle of water from Marlowe and sipped as the taller man tipped his head back to drop two pills into his own mouth. Adam’s apple worked underneath the smooth skin of his throat as he swallowed.

“I only get one?”

That made Marlowe laugh. “That’s more than enough for you, lightweight.” Marlowe closed the baggie as Nick gulped some of the water. “You can have another one later if you need it. Don’t think you will, though.”

Marlowe lay back to tuck the baggie into the small front pocket of his jeans then sat up and reached for the water. He didn’t drink it immediately, instead leaning in to press his forehead to Nick’s. “We were on fire tonight, Nicky,” he murmured, eyes closed, velvet voice deep and rumbling. Some of his hair dripped forward to drape Nick’s thigh as his fingers dug into the back of Nick’s skull. “Fire.”

Nick closed his own eyes, enjoying the closeness. It amazed him how familiar he felt with this man, to this being that so many considered a god. He couldn’t get over the fact that Marlowe wanted to be with him. “Yeah.”

“You have arrived, my man.” Now, Marlowe tipped his head back to drink, but didn’t pull away from Nick or release his hold on Nick’s hair.

Laughing, Nick was the one who put some distance between them by scooting closer to the open window. Sometimes he had to step back out of Marlowe’s overpowering aura. If he

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didn’t, he felt like it’d burn him. Not that he was uncomfortable with Marlowe touching him. Actually, the fact that he wasn’t uncomfortable sometimes made him uneasy. Especially when the two of them were alone. But it wasn’t like either of them was gay. Marlowe slept with too many women for that to be true and Nick had never had leanings. It’s just that Marlowe liked to touch. A lot.

“What’d the reporter want?”

Startled, Nick glanced down at where Marlowe lay on the mattress, watching him. Tons of silky brown hair spread over the pillow and mattress on his far side. “What?”

“The reporter. Ricky. What’d he ask you?”

“Not much. I told him about Bobby.”

The singer grinned. “Did he know?”

“No.”

“Awesome.” Marlowe managed to sip from the water bottle without sitting up. “He gonna print it?”

“He said so, yeah.”

Marlowe chuckled and sat up. As he patted the chest pocket of his shirt, he handed the bottle back to Nick. “Here, finish this.

I need a drink.” Without waiting for obedience, he stood and stepped toward the door. “You should stick to beer ’til you know how you feel.”

Nick stood, gulping down the last of the water. Out the window, he saw their hotel come into view, a series of cabins strung together to look like a cheesy desert paradise. Excitement, happiness, pride, fucking ecstasy of both the chemical and emotional kinds filled his veins.

Life couldn’t get any better.

ChAPteR two

“How much have you had?”

Holding the neck of his beer bottle between his fore- and middle fingers, Marlowe watched Kip over it as he drank. His longtime friend and manager leaned casually against the iron bars surrounding the hotel’s pool area, eyes hooded as he watched the people within. Even well after midnight, Kip was still impeccably dressed. The jacket was gone, but the chartreuse silk button-down remained. Marlowe wondered sometimes how he kept his shirts smooth and unwrinkled and how his slacks always looked fresh, but only rarely. As long as he’d known Kip, he’d kept his clothing and hair in pristine shape, even as a kid. The lighter streaks in his blond hair stood out in the glow that spilled out of the banquet room and his hazel eyes looked black in the dim lighting, but still managed to sparkle. His only concessions to casual were the rolled up sleeves to expose tanned forearms and undone buttons to reveal an intriguing triangle of his hairless, sculpted chest.

He sucked at the lip of his bottle before lowering it and gave Kip a warm smile. “Enough.”

Immune to his charms, Kip merely raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his own beer. “So you’re done for the night?”

“Hardly.”

“Then it’s not enough, is it?”

Marlowe tipped an ironic grin at Kip. “Whatever.” Kip had given up his days of drugs. He’d occasionally take a hit of pot now and again and he still drank, but never to excess. He didn’t enjoy the indulgence like Marlowe. Probably one of the reasons they’d never become a couple. Oh, they’d had their brief affair long ago as teenagers. The fact that they both considered the intimate relationship better in their past had served as a firm basis for their friendship and working relationship. They’d made an odd pair then—the rich kid and the artist’s kid—but the combination

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had proven quite lucrative in the past few years. Marlowe couldn’t ask for a better manager and handling Marlowe let Kip avoid a life of societal indulgence at the expense of his parents.

“Dare I ask what you’re on?”

Marlowe ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d taken time to braid it after the gig. But, no, it might prove useful when he secured his overnight companion. “Never mind, mom. I’m fine.”

Better than fine. That sweet fuzzy corona surrounded his vision, obscuring his brain just enough to slow down his normally racing thoughts to make the desert night pleasant. His blood had finally cooled from performing, melting into the sweet muddle that sang through his skin and pricked at his heart. Tonight was magical.

Tonight was special. He could feel it.

Kip shrugged, glancing toward the party. The two of them were enjoying a rare quiet moment in a shadowy area, but both knew it would shatter any moment. Someone would notice them alone and want to talk. There were too many members of the press who wanted a quote from Marlowe, too many people from the business who wanted to know him, and too many groupies who wanted to fuck him. Thus, he couldn’t be alone for long.

He did love this hotel, though, for the trees and hills that provided many a secluded spot. The “hotel” was probably better called a motel since it was made up of a series of cabins stretched out along winding cement walkways lined with hearty desert trees and dangerous looking bushes. The largest cabin housed both a small banquet hall and the office. Currently, the hall was open for the party, the noise level not a concern since the place was close to the middle of nowhere. Besides, Kip had reserved the entire hotel for the band and the crew. The parking lot beyond the hall was half empty, other than the tour buses the only cars present were those of guests, both invited and crashers.

Closing his eyes, Marlowe took another drink and savored it while letting the music spilling into the cool dry air fill him. A velvet breeze tugged at the loose hair tumbling down his back.

His nipples perked and his cock rubbed pleasantly inside of his jeans. X. Such a gorgeous drug. Nothing like it for living in the

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now.

“Incoming,” Kip murmured.

Marlowe blinked his eyes open, gazing at the pinpoints of stars above for a brief moment before lowering his face and turning toward the newcomer. He smiled when he saw who it was, reaching out a hand. “Arjun. You made it.”

The slight man with dark brown skin and shiny black hair grinned as he slapped his palm to Marlowe’s. His teeth shone bright white, brighter than the chunky silver chain about his neck.

“Marlowe, you tricky son of a bitch. Where did you find him?”

Marlowe laughed, pulling the man into a hug for a single backslap. “That’s for me to know.”

Arjun stepped back. Still grinning, he turned to greet Kip.

“Don’t suppose you’d tell me where you found him?”

Kip chuckled, plunging a hand into the deep pocket of his slacks as he leaned against the iron bars of the fence. “Marlowe would have my hide and you know it.”

Arjun laughed, turning back to Marlowe. His dark eyes studied the singer with not a little envy. “He’s every bit as good as you said. Is he really Bobby Gorman’s kid?”

Bottle at his lips, Marlowe shook his head once. “Nephew.”

“Close enough.” Arjun shook his head. “What a find. He’s every bit as good as Bobby.”

Marlowe was amused by his instinct to puff up with pride.

He’d been feeling that a lot since he’d brought Nick into his band. “Better.”

Arjun didn’t argue the point. “Can he write?”

“He’s got talent. Still raw.” Marlowe let his grin turn sly. “Don’t get any ideas. I’ve already got him signed for my next album.”

“You would.” Arjun nodded, thinking as he stared up into the night sky. He tossed thick black hair from his eyes. “You have plans for that?”

“The album?”

16 Jet Mykles

“Yeah.”

Marlowe smiled, taking another sip of his drink. “Starting to get there.”

“We’re only a little more than halfway through the American leg of a tour,” Kip reminded them gently.

Marlowe nodded, watching Arjun like a viper waiting to strike.

Take the bait, you bastard. “With Japan and the UK after that. But no harm in kicking around ideas.”

“So you won’t be back in the studio until well into next year,”

Arjun confirmed.

“At the earliest.”

Arjun considered, not giving anything away. Marlowe didn’t know him well, but he knew enough to see the excitement Arjun tried to hide. Finally, he lifted his gaze to meet Marlowe’s. “If you’re looking for a producer, give me a call.”

Yes. A deep, seductive voice in his head purred. He’d wanted to work with Arjun before and had been turned down. The acts Arjun produced had a sound Marlowe couldn’t seem to manage on his own or with the producers he’d worked with. But now, thanks to Nick and his raw talent, Arjun was finally interested.

Taking his cue from the other man, Marlowe took care to hide his excitement, only letting a little sparkle in his eye as he watched Arjun. “We’ll be in touch.” They shook hands.

“How’s Dave?” Kip asked casually.

Marlowe could have kissed his friend for taking advantage of the opening.

Arjun let them see the wince, smiling. “Album’s doing okay.”

Arjun had chosen to work with David Arbucle instead of Marlowe. While Arbucle’s new album had respectable sales, his tour was not nearly as successful as Marlowe’s turned out to be.

Marlowe upended the rest of his beer down his throat, choosing not to comment about Dave. The man had a fabulous voice, but he had no presence or sense of style. Marlowe had told Arjun he’d made the wrong choice. Now it looked like Arjun agreed

ReveRb 17
with him.

“Right. I need another drink.” He set the empty bottle on the brick wall that butted up against the pool fence then reached for Arjun’s hand. “You coming to the show tomorrow?”

They shared another backslap.

“You giving me tickets? The damn thing’s sold out.”

Marlowe grinned. “I’m sure Kip can find something.”

With that, he left Arjun in Kip’s more than capable company and headed into the pool area to come at the banquet hall from the back. Three separate groups of people surrounded the pool, including three girls sitting on the edge dangling their feet in the water. He smiled at them on his way to the doors and almost felt them rush to their feet to follow, bare feet slapping on the paving stones.

“Marlowe!” cooed one, coming up behind him and ducking under his arm to press against his side. Amy, the one who’d been all over Nick earlier. Marlowe forgave her since he couldn’t blame her for wanting him. “Where have you been?”

Ridiculous question. Amy had to have seen him standing with Kip. But a good look at her eyes suggested she may be on more than she was used to. He wondered if it had been the X he’d given her or if she’d hooked up with one of the road crew. Laughing, Marlowe threaded his hand through Amy’s loose blonde hair and kissed the top of her head. “Miss me, darling?”

She wrapped her warm body around his, burrowing into the open front of his shirt to plaster herself to his side. The crisp lace that framed the top curves of her bodice scratched him through the thin veil of his tank. “Always.”

Heather, another groupie who’d been with them on and off since San Francisco, circled around in front of him and walked backwards toward the entrance. She towed along the third girl who Marlowe didn’t know. “Marlowe, this is Gayle.”

“Hey, baby.” The bar was just inside the doors. Marlowe caught the attention of one of the two bartenders who jumped

18 Jet Mykles
to get him another beer.

Heather thrust Gayle at him, despite the redhead’s misgivings.

“He won’t bite.”

He caught the girl before she fell into him, giving her a smile.

Unable to help himself, he cupped Gayle’s chin, holding her so he could gaze deep into wide hazel eyes. “Not unless that’s what turns you on.”

His words took her breath away and, apparently, chased any thoughts from her head. He held her gaze and knew she was his for the taking. Just like that. She would do anything for a night in his bed. It happened to him all the time, but it never got old. Gayle’s skin was soft, her spattering of freckles like flecks of cinnamon in milk. Her lips were the glossy cherries that she smelled like. If he was in the mood for a girl, she’d fit the bill just fine. Add Heather and Amy to the mix and the party could be terrific.

But… He drew his fingers down her chin until he could flick the tip of his index finger against the rounded point. He had other plans for tonight.

Without another word, he stood straight and accepted his beer from the bartender. With practiced ease, he unwound Amy from his torso and put her back a step.

Amy kept hold of his hand, her gaze imploring. The pink bow in her hair wilted, but the firm swell of her cleavage didn’t, framed nicely by a black bustier. “Marlowe, come dance with me.” Take me back to your room and fuck me, was what her eyes said.

He brushed a kiss on her cheek then drew back and shook his head. “Not now, love.”

He watched her shudder, having found that the precise use of endearments were perfect charms to help a woman to melt.

Men weren’t like that. It took a different kind of magic to seduce a dick into your bed. It was almost always worth it. Then again, Marlowe selected his male partners with excruciating care.

“Marlowe.” Gayle found her voice, stepping back into his personal space. He looked down at her, catching sight of the

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tour program and pen she held in her trembling hands. “Could I have your autograph?”

That he could give her with pleasure. “Absolutely.” He took the program and opened it to the glossy centerfold. The photo was a favorite of his, just him and Nick center stage bathed in red and purple light. His arm was across Nick’s shoulders, the shorter man’s back against his side. Nick’s face was the picture of bliss, eyes closed, head back, sweat shining on the exposed skin of his arms as his fingers worked their magic on his guitar. Marlowe’s own face shone with glory, tipped toward the heavens while he held the microphone over his lips. It had been a precious moment that Marlowe actually remembered from one of their early, pre-tour performances and he was tickled that a photographer had captured it so well. So tickled, in fact, that he’d spent a butt-load to get the programs redone so the image could be included. “Do you spell Gayle with a ‘y’ or an ‘i’?”

He ignored all of her shy signs of availability as he signed his name for her, then he put his arm around her for Heather to snap a few pictures. Past Heather’s shoulder, he scanned the gyrating crowd on the dance floor and caught sight of a vision of male beauty. There was his real quarry of the night. Jet black hair shone in the double strobes and pale skin glistened from the waist up as Nick danced. Whomever had taken possession of Nick’s shirt was a lucky person and should be commended for exposing all that lovely pale skin to the elements. Jeans hugged his trim ass and smoothly powerful legs. Head down, eyes closed, he put his all into his moves just like he did everything else, nearly oblivious to the crowd that swirled around him. Graceful he was not, but there was a beauty to the raw intensity of his movements. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Pure and passionate, vital and natural, Nick was every prime emotion bundled into a hard body with sinfully talented fingers. Yes, that was what he wanted in his bed tonight.

Nick was an obsession that Marlowe no longer wished to deny himself. But he had to do it carefully. Nick didn’t even know Marlowe was bisexual.

He found women preferable for casual encounters and that

20 Jet Mykles
was all he’d had in the past few years. Yes, girls did often try to lure him into a monogamous relationship, but he’d become adept at skirting the issue. Even more adept at finding girls who understood that sex was simply sex. He had a harder time divorcing his heart from the act with men. The permissive art scene in which his mother had raised him had been conducive, and his first sexual encounters had been with men. He’d lost his cherry at the tender age of fourteen to a rake who’d stolen his heart then carelessly trampled on it. Ever since then, Marlowe had been very careful in choosing his few male bed partners. Kip was the only former lover with whom he maintained a relationship.

But Nick… Nick would be different. He had to be. Nick was fire and light, his heart huge and golden. Nick embodied everything Marlowe wanted in a man and sleeping with someone else just to ease the urge didn’t appeal. He’d danced around the subject long enough and refused to consider that Nick wouldn’t want him back. Whether he knew it or not, Nick had sent plenty of signals to show he was attracted.

As Marlowe watched, two girls sandwiched Nick between them, flowing with him. Seducing him. That was all right.

Marlowe didn’t mind if they set the stage. He would make sure that Nick finished the night with him.

The night. It waned. He should settle the next part of his plan.

With a kiss on the cheek each for Gayle, Heather, and a pouting Amy, he left them at the bar to search out Anton. He maneuvered back through the pool area to the back gate, letting himself get waylaid by a discussion here and there, but he kept things brief. Past the back gate was a path that wound through half the residence cabins. Most of the cabins close to the pool were open, housing various mini parties. He found the tour bus driver in the first room playing poker, five men seated at a round hotel table amidst a cloud of cigarette and pot smoke. Anton had just folded when Marlowe came into the room and sat to watch the remaining play at the table.

Marlowe squatted down next to him. He wiggled his hands at

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Anton. “I need your keys.”

Anton blinked red eyes at him, his breath reeking of whiskey.

“What for?”

“Left something on the bus.”

“Get it tomorrow.”

Marlowe glared. “I need it now.”

Anton frowned, then looked around the cabin, noting more than a dozen people around, including two passed out on the bed. “Man, you know it’s against the rules.”

“Who’s paying you?” Before Anton could answer, Marlowe reached into his pocket, rummaged past the bag of pills and pulled out the little vial of cocaine. “Make it worth your while.”

Anton’s reserve turned to capitulation immediately. Everyone knew Marlowe only had the best stuff, supplied by dealers anxious to be in good with the rock star. Anton dug into his pocket and pulled out a thick set of keys. He held Marlowe’s hand as they made the exchange and met his eyes. “You’ll bring ’em right back, right?”

Marlowe grinned. “Don’t worry.” He stood and slapped Anton’s shoulder as he turned to go. “It’s all good.”

ChAPteR thRee

Dance music filled Nick’s head, guiding the throb of his heart. His skin was alive, the merest brush of a breeze was like someone licking his dick. Nick didn’t usually dance, but the drugs in his system had him gyrating and twisting with dozens of other bodies underneath the streaks of two portable strobe lights. Maybe he wasn’t so much dancing as just moving to the beat. That he could do. The very ground was pushing at the soles of his feet, making him move. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands but a few willing girls were happy to give him nice handholds. In turn, they ran soft hands and curious fingers over his bare back and arms, some taking a bit more advantage to cup his ass or slide around front to brush the bulge of his half hard cock through his jeans. Gloriously free, Nick closed his eyes, twisted, turned then buried his face in a fragrant neck as his senses expanded beyond any scope of reality.

Gradually, he grew thirsty. Marlowe’s warnings purred at the back of his skull, warning him to keep hydrated. When did he finish that last bottle of water? Probably a long time ago.

Anyway, he had to pee. Huh, thirsty but have to pee. Did that even make sense? Time to stop dancing. In the middle of a song he barely recognized—his brain was idly revising the horrible dance arrangement—he pulled away from the clutching hands of his dance partners and stumbled toward the edge of the gyrating crowd and beyond. One girl tried to stay with him, but he told her he had to go to the john. Told her he’d see her later. Maybe he would. She was cute. And her bright orange hair smelled like exotic flowers and kind of looked it too. But now that he’d acknowledged it, his bladder was going to explode. Drunkenly, he reoriented, weaving around the crowd that filled the banquet hall.

Nick found the nearest john, but the line was way too long for him to wait. Instead, he veered out the open double doors that led to the pool area then through to the nearest cabin with an

24 Jet Mykles
open door. This one was almost empty, just one couple necking on the bed and another pair on the big chair. By the way she was straddling him and moving on his lap, they were probably having sex. He needed to try that position sometime. Nick breezed past them to the bathroom. He had to laugh when peeing felt way too good. He’d done X with Marlowe once before, but this must be a stronger batch of pills because everything felt way too good. He was thinking it was time to find something else to do with his dick. Something involving a willing woman with a tight pussy.

Yeah.

He left and found the cool open air around the pool. Only a dozen or so party-ers sat in the lounge chairs in the swaying blue lights. One trio had a foot and a half tall blue glass bong and were filling the air with a cloud of skunk weed. Tempting, but his head was messed up enough as it was. A cigarette would be good.

There was another group at a second lounger, one guy straddling it and two other guys and a girl kneeling on the pavement. They were doing lines, but Nick headed for them anyway because he knew Jim would have a light he could bum. Although Nick had given up smoking a year ago, he found himself falling back on old habits on nights like this. At least he wasn’t drinking too, right? Well, okay, a few beers didn’t count. Jim happily gave him a smoke and asked him to join them. Nick declined, but, after letting Jim light him, he lingered to listen to them talk. They mostly made no sense right after the drug hit their brain, talking way too fucking fast, but in his current state of mind he actually understood most of it. Inhaling, fighting the cough that came from the burn, he propped his shoulder on the iron rail pool fence to listen to Jim blather about biking. After a few minutes, Nick’s attention wandered as he watched the way the pool light made dancing blue circles over their skin and brightened their hair. The girl with them was part of the crew, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt like the guys, not in lace and colors like most of the groupies. Her brown hair was cut short about her heart-shaped face and piercings shined at her lip, eyebrow, and nose as well as all along the cartilage of her ears. What was her name? Yolanda.

Yeah, that was it. She was pretty and looked like the kind of girl

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who’d take charge and ride hard. Maybe…

Someone came up behind him and plucked the cigarette from his fingers.

He blinked at his empty fingers, briefly confused. “Hey.”

A chest bumped the back of his shoulder, warm skin under a thin layer of fabric. He twisted his neck to the side and up to see Marlowe just as he lifted the cigarette from his lips and expelled a cloud of smoke into the night sky. The singer’s blue eyes smoldered in the hazy light as he flicked the ash Nick had neglected. “I thought you were dancing.”

“I was.” Nick watched the orange of the flaming end burn bright as Marlowe took another drag. The lips curled around the filter were as lush as a girl’s. Nick fought not to sway back to lean against his friend’s chest. “I’m here now.”

“Didn’t know you smoked.”

“I don’t.” He blinked slowly. “I mean, I don’t anymore.”

“Uh-huh.” A half grin curled Marlowe’s lips, smoke oozing from between them and out his nostrils. He looked like a dragon: big, seductive, dangerous. “Feeling good?”

Nick felt his own goofy grin as he banished the dragon image by wiping a hand over his face. He wasn’t normally prey to flights of fancy, but tonight... “Yeah.”

Marlowe stepped around Nick’s side to stand in front him then bent so they were almost nose-to-nose. Light shone on the smooth fall of the loose hair that draped his shoulder. “How good?”

Nick had to pull his head back, his eyes crossing unintentionally.

He laughed. “Real good.”

“Excellent.” Marlowe stuck the cigarette between Nick’s lips and stepped back. “Come with me,” he murmured, grabbing Nick’s arm.

Surprised, Nick barely managed to clamp down on the cigarette with his teeth as he lost his balance. It took a few stumbling steps to catch up to Marlowe, although he couldn’t have fallen thanks

26 Jet Mykles
to the bigger man’s grip. He yanked the cigarette from his mouth.

“Where’re we going?”

Marlowe didn’t answer, just dragged him away from the pool and down the path that took them toward the darkened parking lot. Plenty of people watched, but no one stopped them. Only a few people loitered around the edge of the parking lot, the cars all quiet and the desert road beyond sporting only the occasional passing car. The two tour buses sat like huge mountains at the far left of the circular lot, almost out of the sphere of light from the ugly bright fluorescents sizzling and cracking over the OFFICE
sign hanging over the door of the front of the largest cabin.

Nick had his feet, but his confusion remained, as did Marlowe’s firm grip on his forearm. “Where’re we goin’?”

Marlowe laughed and kept tugging Nick across the asphalt toward the buses. “Come on.”

Nick gave up. He took one last drag of the cigarette then tossed it to the ground ahead of him so he could stomp out the butt on their way.

They reached the door of the band’s bus and finally Marlowe released his arm to pull a set of keys from his pocket. He pointed a fob, pressed a button, and a click sounded. The door released with a sibilant whisper.

“Whoa. Where’d you get Anton’s keys?”

Marlowe gave him a mysterious smile but said nothing before he pushed the door fully open and stepped up.

Nick stared.

“Are you coming?”

He frowned, but followed. “What are we doing here?”

“We need some quiet time.” Marlowe stopped at a console just behind the driver’s seat and turned on the air conditioning and the ambient lighting in the front room. The purr of the generator drowned out the faint pound of music from outside.

He pulled out the bag of pills and waved them under Nick’s nose.

“Come on.”

ReveRb 27

“I don’t know, man. I’m flying pretty high.” Nick hedged as he followed Marlowe down the walkway past the couches and the swivel chairs surrounding a small round table.

The back room was as Marlowe had left it, the big bed taking up most of the area, covered with pillows and a few rumpled blankets. Marlowe dropped onto the center of the mattress and spread out on his side, propped on one elbow. He opened the bag and patted the mattress in front of him. “Come on. Have I ever steered you wrong?”

No. In fact, he hadn’t. Nick’s life since Marlowe swooped into it had been a dream. Everyone had told him he was going places, told him he was a sure thing because he had talent like his uncle, but where everyone else just talked, Marlowe actually took him places. Marlowe hadn’t known him from Adam, but had signed him on after hearing him play once. Well, that was also after he found out that Bobby was Nick’s uncle. But even with that—or because of it, whatever—Marlowe’s faith in him was vast and unwavering. A little intimidating, to be honest, but Nick was up for the challenge. Marlowe had introduced some much needed fun and mayhem into his life. As far as he was concerned, Marlowe pointed and Nick just had to go, using his God-given talents to fit the pattern Marlowe shaped.

What the hell. He was here now. He paused only long enough to flip on the stereo and set it to shuffle. “Good idea,” Marlowe commented as Nick slid forward on his belly, stretching out over the plush softness of a fleece blanket as he reached for one of the pillows to stuff it under his head.

Beside him, he felt Marlowe shift, something clanked, then heard the distinct crack of a water bottle twisting open. Eyes closed, Nick imagined he could hear Marlowe drink.

“Want some?”

Nick startled when cold wet dripped onto his bare skin.

“Hey!” Still clutching his pillow, he twisted onto his back and used the pillow as defense against the bottle of water Marlowe held over him, dripping from having been in the ice box.

28 Jet Mykles

Marlowe laughed. “Oh come on, it’s got to feel good. You’re burning up.”

Nick sighed, pulling the pillow up and punching it under his neck. “Yeah, I am hot.” He reached for the bottle.

“You are that,” Marlowe murmured, raking a gaze up Nick’s chest.

Nick ignored what he said. Marlowe was always saying stuff like that. Nothing came of it if Nick ignored it. “You find a girl for the night?” he asked before putting the bottle to his lips.

Marlowe shook his head, spilling loose hair all over his shoulder, arm, and the mattress beneath him. “Not yet. You?”

“Not yet.” Nick sighed, propping the butt of the bottle on his sternum. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the cool in contrast to the soft warmth of the air. Dry air. Desert air. Even this relatively cool January night was hotter than Seattle where he’d lived until high school. Warmth of the body lying beside his. Close. Too close. He should probably move. He didn’t want to move. This was nice.

A touch on his lips startled his eyes open. Marlowe lifted his fingers to show Nick the pill. “Open up.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

Marlowe’s smile warmed. “You sure?”

The smile made his blood simmer, promising so much of what he knew nothing about. Despite his time going to school in Hollywood, despite his time in and around the same city trying to break into the scene, he still felt terribly naive, especially when he was around this man. Other people he mainly ignored if they didn’t have something he wanted. There was no way he could ignore Marlowe. “Okay.” He parted his lips and Marlowe dropped the pill onto his tongue. As Marlowe took one as well, Nick sat up just enough to take a swallow of water. When he lay back down, he let Marlowe lift the bottle from his hand. He squirmed a little to settle the pillow below his head then settled in with fingers laced over his belly, just breathing. He loved the crystal clarity of his senses on X, the focus of the muted breeze on his

ReveRb 29
skin, the throb of the drum and bass in the music overhead, the earthy, sweaty scent of his friend lying beside him.

Marlowe’s hand, hot and heavy, spreading over his chest opened his eyes again. Marlowe hovered over him, still leaning on one elbow, some of that abundant walnut and mahogany hair curtaining his jaw. Storm blue eyes were tinted toward midnight in the shadows as Marlowe searched Nick’s face. He smiled. “I love you, man.”

Nick didn’t move. A part of his brain told him this should be weird. He should object. Move away. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

It wasn’t weird. But he didn’t know what to say back.

Gauging his reaction, Marlowe tilted his head to the side.

“You’re awesome. Truly awesome.”

Nick stared into fathomless blue and felt his reserve melting away. “I love you too, man.”

Marlowe nodded, his hand sliding down Nick’s chest to find then gently squeeze Nick’s loosely woven fingers. His warmth left a trail of goose flesh on Nick’s skin. Eyes locked on Nick’s, he lowered his face until his breath wafted over Nick’s chin.

A twinge of reserve shot to the surface. “Marlowe?”

Nick could just see the grin, more see the swell of Marlowe’s cheek as his smile widened. “Trust me.” His hand squeezed Nick’s fingers tighter, holding them as his lips brushed them.

Trouble was, with Nick’s heightened senses, the gentle kiss was heaven. Soft as a kitten’s fur with even a little purr to Marlowe’s breath. Trust me. Nick heard the echo of Marlowe’s words as the man’s lips pressed in to deepen the kiss, rubbing the swell of his lower lip along the seam of Nick’s. It was quite natural for Nick to open his mouth, his eyes closing so he could concentrate on the taste of Marlowe’s breath and the wet scrape of Marlowe’s tongue tracing his lips. Weird, he tried to tell himself. Wrong. But his body wouldn’t listen. Truthfully, only a small part of his brain protested. When Marlowe slanted his head for a better seal on Nick’s mouth, Nick yielded with a sigh. Marlowe inched closer, the heated satin of his chest pressing Nick’s arm. He untangled

30 Jet Mykles

Nick’s fingers and lifted one hand, weaving his own fingers with Nick’s as a soft fall of hair fell forward to drape Nick’s chest.

Nick breathed into the kiss, past and future melting away into an overwhelming now.

Marlowe shook his hand free of Nick’s and Nick quite naturally lifted his fingers to slide them into the hair behind Marlowe’s ear. Heavy silk snared him and he gripped it, holding Marlowe’s head as he pushed his tongue into the other man’s mouth for a little exploring of his own. Marlowe gave with a tiny, hungry moan, opened and Nick rolled partway onto his side to try to get closer. Marlowe’s grip dug into Nick’s waist. Nick bent a knee to balance his position and groaned when Marlowe’s leg slid between his. The delicious, gorgeous pressure of Marlowe’s firm thigh against Nick’s trapped cock, pressing his balls. Marlowe caught Nick’s knee, holding it so groin pressed to groin and Nick could feel Marlowe’s answering excitement.

He wormed his other arm up under Marlowe and spread his palm over Marlowe’s back, fingers digging into firm muscle as Marlowe twisted so his weight pinned Nick to the mattress.

Their breath mingled, heated and heavy as lips drew back to teasing, distracted kissing. Nick kept his eyes shut, his fingers in Marlowe’s hair, trapping the man’s face close to his as their hips rocked together. Marlowe released Nick’s thigh and pushed a hand between them. Nick felt fingers at his button fly. Stop, he thought, unsure whether he spoke to himself or tried to send the thought to Marlowe. It didn’t work in either case as Marlowe worked open Nick’s fly and cupped his cock with only the flimsy barrier of Nick’s briefs separating skin to skin.

“Fuck.” Nick heard his own breathy voice. Was the word a command or a curse? He didn’t know. He only knew the delicious squeeze of Marlowe’s fingers and the hot taste of the tongue that pushed back into his mouth. He held on for dear life as Marlowe worked his cock free of the briefs and a bare palm wrapped around his shaft. “Fuck!” Spit spread on his lips as he spoke.

“Yeah,” Marlowe’s lips were his, the word a passenger on Nick’s next inhale.

ReveRb 31

Nick growled when Marlowe’s hand left his shaft. Marlowe mumbled something to him, but he refused to understand.

Instead, he rooted under Marlowe’s jaw, finding a warm stubbled spot just underneath Marlowe’s ear to suck as Marlowe loosed his own fly. Nick bit one of many silver rings in Marlowe’s ear then snaked his tongue inside the shell, tasting wax but not caring since the move caused a quake in the body he held. A growl. A loud spit. Then the hand was back on Nick’s cock, wet now and accompanied by the firm pressure of another cock. Marlowe’s cock in Marlowe’s hand, squeezed together with Nick’s.

“God. Damn. Marlowe!” Nick threw his head back, unable to care about his body from the waist up when the riot of nerves in his groin was on fire.

“Nicky,” Marlowe moaned, pressing close, his lips, tongue, and teeth learning the line of Nick’s throat.

One leg wrapped around Marlowe’s thigh, Nick pumped into Marlowe’s hand, lost, intoxicated. In a brief moment of inspiration, he licked his own palm and reached down to envelope the heads of their cocks, leaving the squeeze of their shafts to the other man.

“Aw, fuck!” Marlowe growled into Nick’s neck, thrusting hard now, pounding Nick into the mattress. Nick shoved up into him, his free arm wrapped around Marlowe’s back to keep him close.

It went on forever, this delicious friction, the agonizing pleasure. The scent of sweat and sex drugged Nick, making it impossible to think, just to feel and move. Nick could have stayed like this, could have died in this heaven. But the cloud of their euphoria burbled over a powder keg of need and the heat between them set it off. Nick came with a hoarse cry, the sound shoved from his lungs by the electric storm that thundered through his veins. He thrust into the heated darkness, spurting hot spunk between them, coating both of their bellies. He kept rocking past when he was spent, caught in Marlowe’s continued rhythm, the urgency of Marlowe’s need corralling Nick’s release, prolonging it, firing it higher before he, too, exploded and mixed his seed with Nick’s.

32 Jet Mykles

They lay together, still entwined, lungs laboring to supply oxygen to greedy bodies. Fuck. Nick opened his eyes to stare past Marlowe’s head tucked into his neck, up at the ceiling. God. Then he closed his eyes, not ready to acknowledge reality when he’d just had a religious experience.

But reality would intrude. Marlowe stirred, easing his hand out from between them. He wiped spunk on the blanket then used the hand to lever up so he could look at Nick. “Nicky.” He breathed over Nick’s lips, coaxing a kiss. “Nicky, look at me.”

Against his better judgment, Nick cracked his eyes back open.

Marlowe’s smile was as warm and welcome as the sun and it scared the shit out of him.

Marlowe shook his head, reading the look in Nick’s eyes.

“Don’t. It’s okay.”

Nick’s head shook before he even thought the denial.

“Yes.” Marlowe stole a brief kiss. “No one knows but us.

We’re fine.”

Are we? Confusion covered his thoughts like a swarm of bees as Marlowe brushed sweet kisses over the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his nose, his eyelids.

“Wha…?” Nick croaked and had to clear his throat. “What just happened?”

Marlowe pushed farther up, sitting on his hip. “Something awesome.” Marlowe’s eyes shone with the excitement of a kid at Christmas, matching his wide, gleeful grin. He raked his gaze down Nick’s body, taking in the mess of spunk on his chest and belly and lighting on his spent cock. The look left no doubt that Nick was Marlowe’s idea of a terrific present. His gaze returned to Nick’s. “Something good.”

Nick swallowed, reason fighting with the drug-induced bliss that flooded his system. Had to be the X, right? “But…”

“No. No thinking.” Marlowe turned from him, scooting to the edge of the bed. “Not now. Not yet.”

Nick stared at the ceiling as Marlowe stood, afraid to watch

ReveRb 33
his friend—his friend?—cross the two steps to the bathroom door. He wanted badly to see Marlowe’s cock. Stupid, because he’d seen it before when he and Marlowe changed clothes in the same room. Nothing new. Except now it was. Now that cock had been hot and hard and clutched with his. That cock was at least partially covered in his spunk. Groaning, Nick raised a palm to his face, intending to cover his eyes. Until he felt the wet. Instead, he found himself looking at the glisten of clear fluid. His or Marlowe’s? Or both? With a shudder, he slapped his hand down and wiped it on the blanket.

Water sounded in the bathroom and a moment later a shadow wafted over Nick. The mattress sank. Nick opened his eyes just as Marlowe swiped a warm, wet cloth over his belly.

Nick watched Marlowe’s face. A million questions ran through his mind, but one made it to his lips first. “Why?”

Marlowe grinned, perhaps surprised by the question. Or maybe he’d expected it. Marlowe often knew Nick’s thoughts before Nick knew them. “I feel closer to you than anyone else.

Seemed natural.”

Surprise froze Nick’s thoughts. He needed to think, damn it!

This was exactly one of the reasons he’d avoided drugs when he was working on his career. Or, maybe was thinking all too clearly and just didn’t want to. Marlowe meant more than the world to him, but he never would have kissed Marlowe on his own.

Certainly wouldn’t have… Would he?

“Doesn’t matter to me if you’re a guy or a girl.” Blue eyes met his, full of a knowledge that hadn’t been there before. Or, at least, that Nick hadn’t recognized before. “I want to be close to you.”

Warmth bled around Nick’s heart. He caught Marlowe’s hand as the cloth drifted too low on his belly. His cock was still out.

He couldn’t let… that… happen again. “But… How long have you…?” He took the cloth and sat up.

Marlowe laughed, edging back to give Nick room to wipe at his own groin. “How long have I wanted to do that?” He shrugged, a slight hunger in the gaze following the cloth over

34 Jet Mykles

Nick’s cock. “Don’t know. Can’t pinpoint it. Since we’ve been on tour. Since I first laid eyes on you.” He chuckled, took the cloth from Nick then tossed it toward the bathroom. It fell in a wet splat. “Doesn’t matter.”

Feeling exposed, Nick started to tuck his cock away, but Marlowe grabbed his wrists and swung a leg over both of Nick’s thighs in one move. “Hey.” Nick’s back thumped the mattress as Marlowe hovered over him.

“Don’t hide it away.”

Nick scowled and twisted his wrists, but couldn’t get free.

“Get off me.”

Instead of obeying, Marlowe thrust Nick’s wrists up over his shoulders, pinning them to the mattress. “Don’t be mad, Nicky.”

Marlowe stole a kiss before Nick could turn his head away. “This is an awesome, joyous night. Celebrate with me.”

Nick shut his eyes and took a deep breath, but it was hopeless.

His high was ruined by confusion and, now, rising anger. A voice in his head told him to deck Marlowe, but everything else told him to follow Marlowe’s instruction and enjoy the moment. “Get off me.”

Marlowe dragged his tongue up Nick’s neck from shoulder to ear, then was suddenly gone, backing off the bed. His jeans were still open, but he’d readjusted his briefs over his cock. “Let’s play.”

Disgruntled, missing the euphoria from before, Nick pushed up on his elbows. “I thought we just did.”

That made Marlowe laugh, but it had a demonic ring to it that Nick didn’t like. Marlowe threw back his head, loose hair spanning like a cape down his back. Without another word, he spun and dashed through the door to the front of the bus.

At a loss, Nick expelled a breath and fell back on his back.

“What the fuck?” he asked the ceiling, but the shiny tiles weren’t answering. He closed his eyes, trying to get some of his former high back. Maybe if he took another pill this whole situation would look better. No, that’s stupid. That’s what got him into this

ReveRb 35
in the first place. Undecided, he levered back up onto his elbows then froze at what he heard.

The bus started up.

“What?”

Alarmed, he scrambled off the edge of the bed to the doorway. From there, he could see Marlowe’s silhouette in the driver’s seat, leaning over the controls. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Marlowe laughed again as he sat straight, hands gripping the horizontal steering wheel. “Joy ride.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Nick started forward a few steps then stumbled back when the bus lurched forward. “You can’t drive this thing.” He caught himself on the bar on one side and a cabinet on the other.

“Sure I can. Learned when I was a kid.”

Something Nick didn’t know about Marlowe, but wasn’t sure he needed to know at this particular moment. The world was spinning and it wasn’t just because of the moving bus. “Marlowe, stop.”

Marlowe hooted, tugging the wheel to turn left away from the curb. Glancing out the front window, all Nick could see was the swerve of the cabin then a line of parked cars.

He gripped the back of one of the swivel chairs to keep from falling. “Marlowe, fuck you man, stop it!”

A small stream of people were spilling around the main cabin, drawn, no doubt, by the sound of the bus. None of them were anyone Nick would call to for help.

“You asshole.”

They were in the middle of the parking lot now, circling the bank of parked cars and headed for the empty spaces by a raised grass embankment on the far side. Nick panicked, realizing the driveway to the street beyond lay at the end of that embankment.

He shuffled forward in the dark, confused by the rotation of lights as Marlowe continued to turn. A shout tore from him as

36 Jet Mykles
the tall bus tilted dangerously as Marlowe took the turn too tight.

“God damn it, you fucking prick. Stop the bus now!”

His protests only made Marlowe laugh harder. “Relax. I’m just taking her for a spin.”

“Yeah. And you’re gonna… Whoa!”

“Wups.”

“‘Wups’? You fucking son of a bitch, ‘wups’?”

“Relax, I got it.”

The bus swayed and Nick tumbled hard onto one of the spinning chairs to either side of a bolted table. A piercing female shriek was all that alerted him before a body fell toward him, on top of him. Blonde hair with a huge pink bow blocked his sight for a moment. She must have been crouched between the cabinets just opposite the table. She clutched at him as she raised her head, wide dark eyes meeting his in the crazy shadows.

Surprised, he yelled. She screamed.

“What the…?” Nick heard Marlowe’s cry, but had his hands full of screaming, scared girl.

A thump. The screech of metal on metal. Then the world tipped on its axis and the girl clutched at him as they were thrown into mid-air. For a second, he was flying.

“Nick!”

ChAPteR FouR

“What the…?”

Where’d the girl come from? Marlowe hadn’t seen her, but he heard her scream. That’s what made him look back. Just for a second. To get his bearings. That wasn’t enough time to lose control…

But it was.

Oh God! He forced his eyes open and groaned at the pull at his neck as he turned. Landscape was wrong. Sideways. He lay on his back on what had been the driver’s window, his feet up in the air. Everything was still but his head was spinning.

“Nick!”

No answer, just the creak of metal and a hissing sound. He grabbed the ruin of the driver’s seat and pulled, aware of a pain to his back but ignoring it. He got his legs under him and managed to stand. Looked to his right. Christ! Anything that hadn’t been strapped down—and some things that had—was piled on the left side of the bus, tilted so that it was now the floor. One of the cabinets on the right had opened, the doors swinging.

“Nick!”

Something moved. A back, arms. Arms too slim to be Nick’s, with bracelets clacking against the hands. A girl’s blonde head appeared. Amy. He could just make out that crazy pink bow in the cross-hatch of lights. Marlowe pushed up, climbing over the seat as she looked down where she had been.

She opened her mouth and screamed, loud and horrified.

Whatever was underneath her was horrible. Nick’s boot and shin were lying on the ruin of one of the swivel chairs, his body hidden by the rest of the chair

Nick!

“Hey!” Shout from outside, one of many. “Hey! Marlowe!

38 Jet Mykles

Nick! You guys in there?”

Marlowe started to shake, frozen in place, watching the girl.

She turned her head to look at him. Blood trickled down the left side of her face from a cut over her eyebrow. She stopped screaming and started panting. He could see her trembling from where he was.

Above him, the bus door opened. Anton, the driver, appeared in the rectangle. The big guy saw Marlowe and held out his hand.

“Take my hand.”

Marlowe stared at him. “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say in a voice he hadn’t heard since he was a very small child.

Anton didn’t hear him, concern lacing his features. “Can you take my hand?”

Marlowe reached up. As Anton’s grip closed on his wrist, he turned back. “Nick… Amy…”

Anton hauled. “Let’s get you out then we’ll get them.”

Marlowe didn’t help, his gaze on the girl as she scrambled back. At the last minute, right before Anton hauled him over the lip of the door, Marlowe saw Nick’s arm in the broken back of the chair, twisted at the wrong angle, bone visible in his forearm.

Nick’s right arm.

Marlowe was on the pavement, unaware how he got there.

People surrounded him, feeling him, hissing over the state of his back, but Marlowe ignored them. His mind’s eye was full of Nick’s arm. Broken. Battered.

My fault.

Totally his fault. He was driving the bus. Why the fuck was he driving the bus? What was he thinking? Don’t ever do this on your own, he heard his long departed father caution. Why’d he pick tonight to rebel against a man he no longer knew? He’d broken Nick. He’d broken the single person who meant the most to him on the night he’d finally decided to…

A scream grew, trembling in his belly then scratching its way up his throat. He opened his mouth and threw back his head,

ReveRb 39
expecting to see a swarm of locusts pour from his mouth along with the aching, horrible sound. Hands gripped him, arms held him. He fought, fingers curled in fists that he aimed at any face that came into view. He connected. His knuckles hurt. Swearing, some of it him. Tears, all of them his. Blood, not enough. Should be more. He should be broken. He should be dead.

He gathered his feet under him and lurched, trying to flee.

Cruel fingers held him. More than he could handle. Pain finally registered in his back. They pushed him face down to the grass—
grass? Where?—and held the back of his neck to secure him.

Weight on his legs. Weight on his arms.

He could see the bus but barely make out details, the headlights glaring in his eyes. He recognized Amy by the shape of her hair as she was helped up and out of the door. She couldn’t walk on her own. Someone carried her from the bus. I broke her too. And he hardly knew her. Had he slept with her? Maybe. Probably.

Damn. Five, six men on top of the bus, looking in the windows and doors.

“Where’s Nick?” Marlowe demanded, grass invading his mouth.

“They’re getting him.” Kip’s voice, overhead. Kip held his neck. Held him down. Kip was there. Kip would take care of everything.

Not this. Can’t take care of this.

Tears blurred his vision. His chin shook. “Where’s Nick?”

he’d heard the answer, but asked again. Asked where because he couldn’t ask the other question: is he dead?

Sirens. Red lights. Paramedics. They joined the swarm.

Two came toward him. As soon as Kip released him, Marlowe shot up, fighting to his feet, needing to get to the bus. He needed to see.

“Marlowe, stop!”

He swayed. Crumbled back to the ground. Paramedics held him.

40 Jet Mykles

“Let go!”

Fruitless. They fought. He lost. They asked if he was on anything. He ignored them, needed to see Nick. Kip spoke to them in a confusing rush. It was taking the medics on the bus too long to resurface. Too long to see to Nick.

He never felt the needle, but knew they got him. “Nick!” he screamed, fighting to be free, fighting to see, fighting to take back the last part of this horrible night.

All futile. He fucked up. Nick was… Nick could be… Nick.

Black.

ChAPteR Five

He should be on stage. Right now. Maybe. No. It was still morning, not night. Daylight in the window. They should be on the bus.

Bus. Screech! A woman’s scream. Weight on top of him. Flying…

Through a haze of painkillers, Nick stared at the cast on his arm, at the purple and blue fingers that poked out of the end.

Not broken. Those. No, the break was his arm. The damage to his elbow. They’d given him all sorts of technical garbage, told him they were sure his arm would heal fine, after a likely surgery to repair the nerve damage.

They couldn’t tell him if he’d play guitar again.

He wanted to be on stage. Now. He could hear the screams of the fans now if he closed his eyes and listened. He could hear Marlowe…

His eyes popped open. Instead of performing for thousands of fans, he lay in an emergency room bed, hopped up on drugs that beat the hell out of anything recreational he’d taken.

Removed from the pain he knew was there, his brain often tuned out for minutes at a time. Maybe more. Sleep was awesome. He didn’t have to think when he was sleep.

He was awake now.

His arm was broken.

He might never play again.

The drugs kept the panic at bay.

They couldn’t quite contain the anger.

No one would leave him alone. Nurses came in and out constantly. Two of the younger ones knew who he was and had made him their personal pet. They were sweet but tweaked his last nerve. Kip was gone. He’d been there some of the night, had been allowed to stay at Nick’s side in lieu of family. Kip

42 Jet Mykles
had helped keep Nick awake, helped ask questions when they thought he might have a concussion. Nick had heard but not fully processed Kip’s side of a dozen phone conversations. Canceling the show. Possibly canceling the tour. Getting Marlowe out of jail.

Jail. He couldn’t picture Marlowe behind bars.

The world spinning as the bus flipped on its side. The blonde girl desperately clutching at him, throwing him off balance, making it impossible for him to miss a bad fall on one of the thick metal chairs…

Marlowe’s fault. What the fuck was with driving a bus?

At least Marlowe was all right. Soft, insistent lips pressed against his. Hard muscles rubbing his skin as a hand squeezed two cocks together, racing for an explosive finish.

No! Fuck him! That didn’t happen.

Except it did.

Nick closed his eyes over the tears that slid down his cheeks.

“Damn it.”

“Hey, kid.” His dad’s voice was soft as he came back into the room. John Gorman had arrived maybe two naps ago, right when it was first light. Kip had gotten him here in record time. At the time, Nick suspected they weren’t sure it was just his arm that was broken.

It was, although a bunch of bumps and bruises along his back made moving a bitch.

Nick pulled his good hand up to rub his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Hey.”

John sat on the side of the bed, his hand resting lightly on Nick’s leg. He said no more. John wasn’t a talker, but his presence was welcome. It’d just been the two of them since Nick’s mom died when he was eleven. Raising a kid by himself, John had always been there for Nick, even supporting Nick’s move to Los Angeles for high school. Dependable where his brother Bobby was flighty, serious where Bobby was fun. Nick no longer resented his stern parent. He understood and was glad he’d gotten John

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instead of Bobby for a dad.

Nick wiped away his tears and took a deep breath to settle his heart. “What did they say?”

“We can check you out any time.”

“Thank God.”

“Kip gave me a number to call for a car. He said to call him or his assistant if we needed to make flight arrangements.”

Nick nodded. “So I guess… that’s it. The tour…?”

John’s blue eyes were rock steady as he met his son’s gaze.

“He said they’re probably going to have to cancel.”

Nick swallowed back tears. He wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t a child.

“But they could get someone to replace me.”

John’s black brows lowered and a storm passed behind his crystal blue eyes. “Probably. But Kip thinks Marlowe’s going to jail.”

Nick nodded. “What did they charge him with?”

“Reckless endangerment and driving under the influence.

There might be more.”

He studied his good hand, looking at his nails. The charges didn’t sound so bad. Marlowe would probably get off with paying a fine. He couldn’t decide whether he was pissed about that or relieved.

“The girl’s all right. Battered up, but whole from what I hear.”

Nick nodded vaguely, glad she was okay, but if she hadn’t been there, hadn’t startled Marlowe, hadn’t fallen on Nick…

John stood and stepped toward the small table in the room.

He held up a small overnight bag. “Kip sent over some clothes.”

Marlowe. In jail. Marlowe and the bus. Marlowe and the pills.

Marlowe with his bare, hard cock gripped with Nick’s as they ate at each others’ mouths. Nick closed his eyes and swallowed, the memory of the last far too vivid even under the current drugs.

Fantastic pleasure followed by horrible pain. Was that some of the cosmic irony Marlowe went on about in some of his songs?

44 Jet Mykles

Marlowe’s fault. All of it.

“They say you can stay another night, if you feel like it,” John continued, stepping into the tiny bathroom. “It’s up to you. Kip said he’d come by.”

“I’m not…” he cleared his throat over a lump, fighting a renewed bout of tears. For what? “I want out, but can we… check into a hotel maybe? Stay the night?”

John nodded, profile to his son as he pulled Nick’s shoes from the bag, the ratty Converse a welcome sight. “Sure. We can do that.”

“‘K. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

He didn’t want to leave Phoenix.

Not yet.

Kip’s assistant Sondra chose the hotel at John’s request. It was in town, not far from the hospital or the airport. It was the same one Kip was in; having moved from the motel where the band had been staying so he had better access to the hospital and the police station. Unfortunately, it was also the same one they’d brought Marlowe to after he was released.

“No!” Nick stood up from his chair, shaking. “No!”

Kip’s brows rose in surprise for only a brief second. Then his hands were out, palms to Nick. “Okay, okay. Sit down.”

“No, I mean it. No! I won’t see him.” The mere suggestion from Kip stabbed a spear of icy panic in Nick’s gut. He cradled his cast to his chest and backed away. “No.”

“It’s all right.” Kip’s voice, always smooth, was even more now. “I won’t bring him. But… He asked about you.”

“I don’t care.” Any thoughts of leniency had hardened to angry accusation within Nick in the past few hours. As the hospital’s drugs wore down and the pain in his arm moved in, ugly reality settled in. The more he thought about it, the more he thought Marlowe should be in jail for what he did. “I won’t see

ReveRb 45
him.” He turned to his dad, who stood to the side, watching. “We need to go.”

“Nicky,” Kip closed the distance to put a hand on his shoulder,

“you don’t have to do that. I’ll make sure…”

“No. I do. He’s here. I won’t be.”

“Nick…”

“Fucking no!”

John was at his other side. “It’s okay, Nick. We’ll go home.”

Nick nodded, aware of the look they shared over his head but choosing to ignore it. “Right. Home. Right.” He squeezed the plaster of his cast. Yet more tears burned his eyes. “Fuck.”

ChAPteR six

As soon as the door opened, Marlowe was on his feet. But Kip was alone.

“Where is he?” Marlowe didn’t stop until he stood nose-to-nose with Kip. “Are we going to his room?”

Marlowe refused to read the obvious in Kip’s too-calm face.

“Nick doesn’t want to see you.”

Kip’s hazel eyes didn’t blink as Marlowe stared into them.

Questions surfaced to his lips, but he discarded most that would lead to other subjects. Accusations. He had to settle for, “I need to see him.”

Kip shook his head, averting his gaze as he sidestepped Marlowe to enter the room. “Be that as it may, he does not want to see you.” His voice was soft, stern yet careful as he smoothed a hand over his hair. Marlowe knew that voice. That was Kip’s

“handling” voice; the one he used when the people he was in charge of needed to be managed.

Marlowe wouldn’t be managed. He’d been managed all fucking night and all fucking day. He spun and dogged Kip’s heels, hovering over the man as he lowered himself into a large, cushy chair. “Make him see me. Tell me where he is.”

Kip spread the lapels of his jacket to a more comfortable spot then lay his arms on the arms of the chair. “No.”

His own fingernails bit into his hands as he balled them into fists. “What’s his room number?”

Kip smoothed his tie, the thick gold ring on his right pinkie catching Marlowe’s eye. “I’m not going to tell you.”

Marlowe stood straight, hands on hips. “I’ll go from door to door.”

Kip barked a laugh. “Yeah, right. The paparazzi will find you before you find Nick.”

48 Jet Mykles

The laugh startled Marlowe enough to push him back a step.

Two. It was a harsh sound for Kip, a familiar indication that he’d gone too far. He caught himself and suppressed a snarl, turning toward the window. He stood, gazing down at the street below.

The crowd of paparazzi and fans had been hustled across the street and were penned in at the edge of a small park. He was too far up to make out faces, but he saw the TV vans just fine. Three of them. He bunched a fist on the sill. “Is he okay?”

There was enough of a pause for him to hear Kip’s intake of breath, barely louder than the soft whisper of the air conditioning.

“He’s alive.”

He stared at the bandage on his left forearm, that and the bump on the back of his skull the worst physical damage he’d suffered from the previous night. From what he heard, Amy had gotten off pretty easy too. Nick hadn’t fared so well. Your fault!

he told himself. He shut his eyes tight and suppressed the clarion voice in his head. “Tell me.”

He could almost hear Kip think, never a good sign. If Kip didn’t have words at the ready, it meant he was choosing them carefully, which meant things were bad. “For the most part, he’s well. Well enough to leave the hospital. Other than bumps and bruises, he’s fine. Except for his right arm.”

Marlowe bumped his head on the thick, tinted glass of the window, resentful of the bright, sunny day outside. It should be dark and dreary. Or, better yet, he and his band-mates should be sleeping on the tour bus or maybe just arrived in Tucson for a gig tonight. Instead… “His arm.” They’d told him about the arm last night but he’d been too fucked up for it to sink in.

“His right forearm is broken and there is nerve damage in his elbow. There’s also a fracture in his wrist.”

Feeling sick, Marlowe pushed back from the window, staring at the distant rocky horizon. Nick’s arm. Marlowe had worse than broken him, he’d deprived him of the guitar, the center of Nick’s world. Would that he’d broken himself instead.

“He’ll heal?”

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“Eventually. Although he’ll need surgery to fix the elbow.”

He swallowed. “Will he play again?”

Pause. “It’s too soon to tell.”

Too much. Marlowe was far too sober to take this news. But Kip had refused to get him anything and he couldn’t very well call any of his normal contacts.

He curled his fist against the warm glass. “I need to see him.”

He needs to know I’m sorry. He needs to understand… what? Marlowe’s hands itched with the need to hold Nick. “I need to talk to him.”

“I’m sorry, Marlowe. That’s not possible.”

He pulled anger from his chest, needing it as a shield since he had nothing else. “Of course it’s possible.” He turned to glare at the other man. “Just tell me where he is.”

Kip checked his watch, maintaining his infuriating calm.

“Right now, he’s either checking out of the hotel or on the road to the airport.”

A cold fist squeezed Marlowe’s heart. “What?”

Kip was not pleased with the information, shown by the twist of his mouth around the bad taste of the words. “He insisted. I...

didn’t think I had the right to stop him.”

Marlowe faced the door. “I need to see him.”

“That is not going to happen. May I suggest that we concentrate on something more important than your guilt?”

Marlowe glared. “Fuck you.”

Eyes averted, Kip crossed his legs and smoothed his slacks over his knee. “I’m expecting a call from Jane any moment now.

She’ll let us know when we’re to meet with the district attorney.”

Jane. Kip’s lawyer. Marlowe’s lawyer. He’d spent way too much time with her already last night and this morning. He didn’t want to talk about or to her again, but he knew that was a pipe dream. Still, he couldn’t do this sober. Determined, he strode to and behind the bar.

“Oh yes. By all means, have a drink.”

50 Jet Mykles

Marlowe ignored Kip’s droll tone, bending to open the cabinet to survey the selection. He pulled out a full bottle of honey colored whiskey and snatched a short crystal tumbler from the shelf beside the cabinet.

“Tell me, what is your tox screen going to tell us you were on last night?”

Marlowe poured his drink, splashing it straight since no one had retrieved any ice for the room.

“What were you on?”

Marlowe took a drink before he deigned to answer. “Just X.”

“Your normal excessive amount?”

He grimaced at Kip.

Who sighed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Did you do lines too?”

Marlowe shrugged and finished his drink before he allowed a humorless laugh. “Some. Not so much.” Only then did it occur to him that he hadn’t eaten since before the show the previous night. No, not true. He’d had a bite of a sandwich on the bus before he’d given Nick the X.

The bus. A scream. He’d only turned back for a second…

Crash!

“Just enough.”

He scowled, having lost the track of conversation for a moment. Then he remembered. Right, blow. “Some.”

“Lovely. They’re going to add to your charges.”

Marlowe poured another drink. The alcohol hit his empty stomach hard and he closed his eyes to savor the burn. It would be good to burn up from the inside out, a cleansing fire to free his soul.

“I’m curious. Do you even care what happens now?”

He closed his eyes, remembering the curl of Nicks lips and the shine of his tongue as he’d put the little pill in Nick’s mouth.

He remembered the hot satin of Nick’s skin and the honey of his mouth when Marlowe kissed him. Delicious, perfect. He

ReveRb 51
regretted not taking Nick’s cock into his mouth. But he’d thought he’d had time. He’d started the joyride to buy time, knowing he couldn’t keep his hands off Nick if he stayed. At least, that was his hazy memory of it. So many plans, such a perfect night, all shot to hell because of one stupid mistake.

“Marlowe?”

He stared at the empty glass, trying to make himself want another. He hated drinking to forget. That was one of the reasons he’d turned to pills in the first damn place. Better high, less sloppy. He stared at the bottle, gauging whether he could finish it. Whether Kip would let him. He had places to be today, didn’t he?

“What happens now?”

“We wait for Jane’s call. She’ll tell us what all they’re officially charging you with and what kind of deal, if any, they’re offering.”

“Deal?”

“Yes. I’m trying to keep you from going to trial. This is going to be bad enough as it is.”

That was enough to get Marlowe to pour another drink.

“What kind of deal do you expect?”

“I don’t know. They’ve got a lot on you. I still don’t know what Miss Young is going to do.”

“Who’s that?”

Kip’s eyes narrowed, as close to a glare as he ever got. “The girl you almost killed.”

“Oh. Her.” He’d never learned Amy’s last name. Figured Kip would know it. Liquid flames poured down his throat as he tried to summon an image of her. But all he remembered was her being pulled from the bus, and that only vaguely because he’d been watching for Nick.

“You do understand that you almost killed people?” The hard, biting tone to Kip’s voice grated Marlowe’s already frayed nerves. “You almost killed Nick. You understand that this is not a little thing.”

52 Jet Mykles

He slammed the glass down on the smooth wood of the bar.

“I know that! Jesus Christ, I know already.”

“Good. Because this isn’t going away. I’m not going to be able to sweep this one under the table.” When had Kip stood?

Marlowe didn’t know, but he was now standing on the other side of the bar. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to keep you out of jail.”

Startled, Marlowe looked at him.

Kip nodded. “I wondered if that got through to you.”

“Jail? But I didn’t...”

“But you could have. And you were too damn stoned to see what was going on at your arraignment. The ADA isn’t going to let you off just because of who you are. In fact, it looks like they’re thinking of coming down hard on you because of who you are.”

“No.” Marlowe shook his head. He couldn’t go to jail. That was impossible. “Can’t you just...?”

“Just what? Slip them some money to make it go away?

Newsflash, my friend. The major source of your income is now on the line thanks to what you did.” The words were terribly clear, delivered in Kip’s even tone. Only by having known him for years could Marlowe hear the anger. “You’ve blown way past your advances and the tour and merchandising was all you had to pay back the credit you’ve been living on.” Kip stepped back, studying the ceiling. “And the tour is over now. Even without your predicament, Nick can’t play for months at least, if ever.”

He gripped the bar, fighting the alcohol drowning his thoughts. “I can’t go to jail.” He honestly hadn’t considered that Kip couldn’t get him out of it. “Can’t I pay a fine and...?”

“A fine? Hardly likely.” Kip was at the couch now, his phone in his hand, thumb sliding over the touch screen. “You put lives in jeopardy. Jane seems relatively certain that we’ll be able to move you back to California, but it’s possible they’ll want to hold you here.”

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Shaking his head, Marlowe rounded the corner of the bar.

“No. I can’t go to jail. I’ll die.”

Kip wouldn’t look at him. “We’re doing everything we can, Marlowe.”

He grabbed Kip’s shoulder, forcing the other man to face him. “I won’t go to jail.”

For the first time in a very long time, burning anger showed in Kip’s face, a line marring the smoothness of his forehead and creases showing at the corners of his mouth. “Too bad you didn’t think of that last night when you decided to take a joy ride. Jesus, Marlowe.”

“Fuck you!”

Kip shook his head, backing away. “No. Fuck you.” More chilling for the fact that he didn’t raise his voice. Kip turned his back and looked again at his phone. “I’ll do all I can, but you’d better resign yourself to the fact that you’re going to pay for this.”

Marlowe dropped onto the couch, staring at Kip’s back.

‘Trapped’ was too paltry a label to put on the way he felt. He’d fucked up before. In truth, he could remember actions far worse than driving a bus under the influence. But fate had finally caught up to him. This time, he’d nearly killed someone. He heard his grandmother’s harpy voice, screaming at him that he’d better shape up or he’d get in trouble someday.

Someday had arrived.

ChAPteR seven

“Two years?”

“Yes. Luckily, the judge agreed to let him serve his term in California so at least he’ll be close to home.” Kip sounded so calm, so normal, even though the situation he described was anything but.

Nick stared out at the rain pattering his father’s front lawn, holding the phone to his ear. Marlowe would be in California serving time for putting Nick’s life in danger. For putting Amy Young in danger. For putting anyone else who might have been near the bus in danger. For being under the influence of alcohol and drugs during it all. For being a fucking, egotistic asshole. Reckless endangerment was the main charge.

“It will be a minimum security facility.”

“Club Fed?” Nick had heard of the ‘country club’ jails reserved for celebrities and rich people. Enough of Bobby’s friends from his heyday had spent time in them. When they’d had money.

“Not quite. But it is also a psychiatric institution. Part of his sentence is that he needs to undergo rehabilitation.”

Nick heard the nasty laugh that pushed from his throat.

Marlowe was finally going to rehab. “He’ll have time for it.”

“Yes.” Pause. “Listen, Nicky, your medical bills are all taken care of, but you let me know if there’s anything else.”

Nick stared at the blue crap wrapped around the plaster cast that held his right arm immobile from biceps to knuckles. “Yeah.

Sure.”

“Like you asked, I’ve started proceedings to sell your condo, but if you want to come home…”

“I am home.”

Kip cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. If you want to come back to California, you’re welcome to stay with me.”

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“Sure. Thanks.” He had to lay off Kip. Even if the man was Marlowe’s best friend, he’d always done right by Nick and then some. Nick couldn’t have gotten through this ordeal without him.

“I’ll keep you posted about the band and…”

“Don’t.” Nick dropped onto the couch, rubbing his eyes to stop the tears that sprang to them all too easily these days.

“If you need any financial information, you know how to contact me.”

“Can you just…? For now? I don’t think I can deal.”

“Certainly. I’ll have any payments sent to your father’s address?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Nick…?”

“Look, I’ve gotta go.” Not really, but this phone call wasn’t leading anywhere he wanted to go. He didn’t want to offend Kip.

He knew the man had gone above and beyond the call of duty for both him and… But he couldn’t talk right now. “I’ll call you in a few weeks when I’m… I’ll call you.”

“Of course. Take care of yourself, Nicky.”

“Will do. You too. And… Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.”

He punched off his cell phone then tossed it on the couch beside him. He stared at a stain on the off-white carpet beneath his boots. He wondered if Danielle, his dad’s wife, knew about it. He could hear her in the kitchen, the television on low as she cooked dinner. John would be home soon. Nick wasn’t used to living in this house with a woman, not since his mom died. He didn’t mind Danielle. She was good for his dad. But it was weird.

This was his home, but it wasn’t.

Tears escaped, spilling down his cheeks. This wasn’t home.

Neither was the condo he’d asked Kip to sell. Home was in the studio. Home was on the road. Home was where Marlowe… No.

No more. Doctor assured him that he wouldn’t play for at least

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six months. If ever again. He was due for surgery on the elbow in a few days to repair the nerve damage. It might work the first time. Would he play again? That depended on the surgery, time, and him.

He hated his doctor.

His life was over. His dream life ripped to shreds. He’d had it. He’d scored the big time, hit the jackpot, and in an instant the rug was whipped out from under him. All because of Marlowe.

Trust me. Golden velvet voice caressing his skin, heated muscle pressed against him, firm grip pumping pleasure in his cock. The feelings were distant but ever present, like a scene from a fuzzy video that kept playing in his head. What the fuck had Marlowe been thinking? First the bed, then the bus. None of it made sense. Not that Marlowe always made sense. Always in control.

If Marlowe had led the way on the road to Hell, Nick would have run to catch up and fought to stay by his side.

Stupid. Sheep.

“Fuck.”

“Nick?”

Nick pulled his head up and turned to see his dad in the doorway of the den that served as Nick’s bedroom now since his old room had been converted to Danielle’s sewing room a few months ago. Nick had even paid for the renovation, happy to send money back to help out the dad who’d always been there for him.

He put on a smile. “Hey, Dad.” He hadn’t heard him come home. How long had Nick been sitting staring at the floor?

If John’s smile was a reflection of Nick’s, Nick was pretty pathetic. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in a minute.”

John hesitated, like he wanted to say more. Then he just pressed his lips together in a weak smile, nodded, and left.

This is your life now. Nick gripped the plaster around his right wrist.

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“Fuck.”

ChAPteR eight

Six months later

“You’ve got to get me out of here.”

Marlowe reached across the table as far as he could, but since Kip was sitting back in his chair, contact wasn’t possible. Not that it was advisable anyway. Sunlight streamed into the bright white room, but the cheerful effect was ruined by the shadows of the iron grill over the glass. Guards watched from each of the three doors and would frown upon unnecessary physical contact.

Two other prisoners sat at other tables with their visitors, voices just a low murmur. At least he didn’t have to wear shackles. The minimum security prison allowed freedom in many areas, but it was still a prison.

Kip glanced at Marlowe’s hands. “You know I can’t do that.”

Marlowe glared at his friend, biting back a bitter retort. He folded his hands and brought them back toward his chest. It took effort to ignore the garish orange of the jumpsuit he wore. “I can’t take it.”

“You don’t have much choice.”

“I’m stifled.”

“I’d imagine.”

Marlowe’s glare deepened. “You’re enjoying this.”

Kip matched him glare for glare. “Oh, right. I’m getting a kick out of this. It’s worth it to lose a fortune just to watch you brought down a few notches.” The sarcasm dripped from Kip’s sneer. “Spare me.”

Marlowe dropped his attention to his fingers, so tightly wound that the skin was mottled white. “I haven’t been sober this long since I was a kid.”

“I know.”

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He shook his head. “I can’t take it.” He couldn’t. The first few weeks had been bad enough, but dealing with withdrawal had at least been a distraction. Now that the physical effects were past, the mental and emotional ones had set in and he swore it was worse. Dealing with that shit was the reason he took the drugs in the first place, a fact that Dr. Hoston, his shrink, loved to harp on. “You gotta help me.” He sounded pathetic and needy, but he was past caring about that.

“What would you have me do?”

“Fuck if I know. Think of something.” Marlowe thumped his fists on the table and glared again at his friend. “What the fuck good are you?”

Kip didn’t rise to the bait. If anything, Marlowe’s outburst cooled him off. He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t have to come here.”

Like ice water, Kip’s words doused Marlowe’s anger. He was right. Kip didn’t need Marlowe. It was true that he was losing any money he would have been making if Marlowe was still active, but Kip didn’t need the money. His family had been wealthy for at least a few generations and both of his parents had made their own wealth. Consequently, Kip Jarvis didn’t have to work a day in his life. But he shared the same trait as his parents, the drive to succeed even if he didn’t have to. Marlowe was his project and had been since they were kids. Without Kip, Marlowe was just the poor son of the struggling artist who’d been lucky enough to become Kip’s father’s favorite mistress.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Leaning an elbow on the table, Marlowe raised his hand to comb fingers through the inch of hair that was left on his head. All his lovely hair. Gone. During withdrawal, they’d cut it for fear that he might strangle himself with it—he’d tried—but afterward, he’d had them shave his head in a fit of rage. Now… Now he just didn’t care.

Kip shook his head. “You’re lucky that I know that.”

“I know.”

Kip took a breath and leaned in over the table. For the first

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time this visit, he showed some compassion. “I feel for you, but there’s really nothing I can do.”

“I know.”

“If it’s any consolation, you look… better.”

A harsh laugh barked out of Marlowe’s mouth. “As opposed to the drooling psychopath I was on your last visit.”

Sighing, Kip sat back again. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.” Perhaps it was an exaggeration, but Marlowe detested every memory he had of that time. He detested himself now. He was such a coward. He’d always known that. He needed the drugs to cover that up. He needed the music to glamour himself so no one—not even himself—could see the real him.

“You’ve been getting outside more.”

He stared at the wall, willing anger to leech away. He needed Kip. He couldn’t lose his touchstone. “A little.”

“It shows.”

Marlowe swallowed, still staring at the wall. “How is he?”

No need to clarify who “he” was. “They say the surgery went well.”

“And…?”

“And I don’t know any more than that. It’ll take time for him to heal.”

“My doctor thinks I should write him a letter.”

Pause. “Oh?”

A bitter smile curled one side of his mouth. Although he tried to sound positive, Kip knew that was a stupid idea. “Yeah.”

Another sigh. “Oh, who knows? It might be good for you.”

Marlowe shook his head and dropped his gaze back to his folded fingers. He caught his knee bouncing underneath the chair and willed it to stop. “He wouldn’t read it.”

“Probably not. Not now. But it might be good for you.”

Both elbows on the table, Marlowe lifted his hands to tug at

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what was left of his hair. “God, Kip, I can’t stop thinking about him.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Kip remained silent.

He did, however, sit forward and, despite the watching guards, gripped one of Marlowe’s forearms. They stayed that way for the remaining minutes of his visit, quiet, as bitter tears rolled down Marlowe’s face.

ChAPteR nine

Fifteen months after the accident

The San Fernando Valley had never been Nick’s favorite place. Spring should be bright, wet, and green, but the ever-present smog over southern California gave all colors a slightly brown overtone and the ground hadn’t seen rain in months. He’d moved in with his uncle during high school to be closer to the music scene, to be where things happened, but once he’d left the Valley, he’d never planned to move back.

Times change. In an instant sometimes.

He shut off the truck in front of a homey yellow house that was in desperate need of a paint job. Despite having spent days behind the wheel, he stayed in his seat a moment. He lifted his right hand and wiggled the fingers before him. The cast was gone, but the arm and hand still looked sickly. It looked and felt like the doctors had amputated his real hand and grafted on someone else’s instead. Certainly those damn fingers didn’t perform the way they used to on the strings of his guitar.

While he was sitting there, feeling sorry for himself, the front door of the house opened. Hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, his Uncle Bobby strolled down the cracked concrete walk between the two halves of his scraggly front lawn. The sight of him made Nick smile. A bit of a pot belly, spindly, hairy legs, sunburned bald above a ring of long, black hair pulled back into a tail that hung past his sloped shoulders. Looking at him now, few would even recognize him as the skinny, long-haired guitarist on the black Elastixx T-shirt he wore.

Times did change.

As Bobby unlatched the waist high chain link gate that separated the yard from the sidewalk, Nick opened his door and got out. Dry air assailed him. He missed Seattle already.

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“Hey, kid.”

Nick circled around the front of the truck and met his uncle under the shade of the carob tree that was pushing up the blocks of the sidewalk. “Hey, Unc.”

They met in a brief, back slapping hug, then Bobby stepped to look in the bed of the truck. “That all you got?”

Nick shrugged, reaching in to pull out one of three suitcases.

“Don’t need much these days.”

Bobby’s lazy brown eyes watched him as they both pulled out the remaining suitcases. Bobby left the guitar case for Nick.

“How’s the arm?”

Nick set the smallest and lightest case down on the sidewalk and flexed his hand. “It works.”

“Hurts?”

“Off and on.”

Bobby grunted, hefted his load then led the way back inside.

Nick took the last bag and his guitar case and followed.

The heavenly scent of fresh Mexican food surrounded Nick as he crossed the front door. “Holy shit. When’d you learn to cook?”

“I didn’t.” Bobby gestured toward the kitchen. “Sol’s living with me these days.”

Nick paused at the end of the short hallway that led to the left side of the house. A woman appeared in the kitchen doorway to his right, wiping her hands on a towel that hung from the low waist of her cut-off shorts. Her top was a snug magenta T-shirt that stretched to encase her sizable breasts, the short sleeves and hem leaving some rich cocoa skin bare to the cooler air inside the house. Her riot of pitch black hair was pulled back in a loose tail that started near the top of her skull with a lot of loose curls spilling down to frame her smiling face.

“Hey you.”

Grinning big, he dropped his cases and hurried into a hug.

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“Hey you.”

She laughed over his shoulder, a good two or three inches taller than him even barefoot as she was.

He grabbed her arms and held her back at a distance. He hadn’t seen her since they were teenagers. He’d come to California to live with Bobby, supposedly for high school, but really to try and make it as a musician. John’s deal had been that he could live with Bobby and let his uncle teach him to really play guitar if he kept up his grades. He’d done so, largely with the help of his cousin Soledad. At that time, Sol, too, had only just come to live with Bobby, making a similar deal with her mom. Her excuse wasn’t the dream of becoming a rock star, but the dream of a daughter wanting to get to know her former rock star father.

Sol’s mother had been an Elastixx groupie who’d been knocked up by the smooth Bobby Gorman. She and Bobby had never had a relationship, but Bobby had provided for Sol. By the time Nick and Sol came to live with him, his days in the limelight were years over. When Nick was far too young to remember, the Elastixx lead singer had died of a heroin overdose and the band had dwindled down to obscurity, just another name in the long line of ‘80s hair bands that had been bigger than anything for a brief moment of time. Nick and Sol had lived as close as brother and sister through junior and senior year of high school, but then Soledad had graduated early and gone off to college—sinfully smart, his cousin. Nick had stuck it out to graduation with decent grades then hit the Hollywood scene hard.

“Damn, girl, look at you.” He released her only to propel her in a turn. “Ivy League’s been good to you.”

“Speak for yourself, hot stuff.” She slapped his shoulder playfully, then reached up to comb her fingers through his hair.

“I can’t tell you how many girls wanted to be my very best friend when they found out I was related to you.”

He cast his gaze aside, clearing his throat. Last thing he wanted to talk about was his time with Marlowe. “Yeah, well. What are you doing back on the left coast?”

66 Jet Mykles

She shrugged. “I transferred to USC.” She turned back to the kitchen, faking a shudder. “It’s too cold back there.”

He wasn’t fooled. He’d seen the look in her eye. There was more to it. But since he had his own issues he didn’t want to discuss, he left her with hers. “Hey, I’m gonna put my stuff away.”

“Sure.” She lifted the lid of a pot, releasing steam that smelled of her spicy red sauce. “Dinner’s got a ways. We weren’t sure when you’d get here.”

Bobby was waiting for him in the same room that had been his when he’d lived there. Sol’s room was right beside his with Bobby’s around the corner. The lone bathroom on this side of the house sat between Bobby and Sol’s rooms.

The room was the same. Nick laughed when he saw that Bobby had even kept Nick’s posters on the wall over the full sized bed. “Don’t you renovate?”

Bobby shrugged. “No need. Few people who slept in here were jazzed to know you used to live here.” He laughed at the mild alarm on Nick’s face. “Relax. The mattress is new and Sol just washed the sheets.”

Nick groaned, dropping the suitcase near the bed but hefting the guitar case onto the bed. “Sick, Unc. That’s just sick.”

Another shrug. Then Bobby patted his shoulder. “Good to have you here, kid.”

Nick smiled, showing more happiness than he felt. Wasn’t Bobby’s fault there was an empty place in Nick’s heart. But, of all people, Bobby would understand his loss and his need. “Thanks for letting me come.”

A squeeze for his upper arm. “Any time, you know that. Mi casa, su casa and all.” He stepped back. “Right. You get settled then come join us in the kitchen. And put some shorts on for God’s sakes.” He was already out the door, but he kept talking.

“I’m hot just looking at you.”

Nick kept his smile. He was back in Bobby’s house and Sol was here. He couldn’t have asked for a better beginning for his

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life do-over.

Nick sat in the living room on one of two chairs he’d pulled out of the dining area. A huge meal of enchiladas, carne asada and beans, filled his belly and made his movements slow. A half finished Corona sweated on the low glass table beside him. Heart thumping, he cradled his favorite Stratocaster in his lap, tuning it.

Bobby strode into the room, the strap of a well used Les Paul slung over his right shoulder, a Corona in his right hand.

He laughed at seeing the guitar in Nick’s lap. “You still have that old thing?”

“Absolutely.”

Bobby had given him the Strat years ago. It was one of the guitars Bobby had acquired during his career, one of his favorites.

When he’d made a present of it for Nick’s eighteenth birthday Nick had been well aware of its worth. He stroked the curve of the body, settling her on his thigh. The white body was scratched to hell, but she still had a sweet voice and Nick loved her over any of the guitars he himself had purchased. It seemed appropriate to have this guitar when he was starting over.

He didn’t miss Bobby’s wistful smile. He knew his uncle was just giving him shit. Bobby understood the love of a good guitar.

With a grunt, Bobby lowered himself onto the straight-backed chair beside Nick, took a sip of his beer then set it down. “So.

Show me something.”

Nick grimaced. He’d been dreading this moment, even though this was why he’d asked for his uncle’s help. He flexed the fingers of his left hand then wrapped them around the neck of the guitar. No problems there. Then he settled the fingers of his right on the strings. That was where the problem was. Most people wouldn’t think that an injury to the right arm of a right handed guitarist would be as serious as an injury to the left. Nick wouldn’t have thought so either. But he’d been shocked to realize just how important the dexterity of that hand was to his playing.

If he was a guitarist who just strummed it’d be different, but the

68 Jet Mykles
complex fingering of even the most basic of rock songs was a painful chore to his entire arm, from the elbow that had been operated on, to the fingers that hardly felt like his anymore.

Then there was the anger. Ever since he was recovered enough to even pick up the guitar and try, the anger was his constant companion. Anger at his hand for not moving like it should.

Anger at himself for being impatient. Anger at his doctor for maybe not fixing him right. But, most of all, anger at the asshole who was the cause of the injury in the first place. Two years in jail wasn’t enough. Nick fought it now, trying to concentrate on the playing. He mostly succeeded. But the strength in his muscles gave out and he had to stop.

Bobby listened until Nick cut himself off halfway through Ginger Regrets. “You’ve been working on it.”

Keeping his eyes down, still trying to control himself, Nick nodded.

“Hurts?”

“Yeah.”

“But has it gotten better?”

“A little. Maybe? I don’t know.”

Bobby took a drink of his beer then, after setting the bottle down, leaned toward him. “You remember when you were a kid and swiped my acoustic?”

A real smile cooled some of the heat in Nick’s chest. “Yeah.”

Bobby tapped his wrist. “You didn’t have the strength in your hand to play anything right. This is similar.”

“No. It’s not strength. I’ve been working the arm. The cast’s been off for months.”

Bobby nodded patiently. Even though he hadn’t known him then, it was still hard for Nick to picture Bobby as the egotistical rock star he knew he’d been. The intervening years and the waning royalty checks had taught Bobby humility. He now made pretty good money teaching guitar and occasionally mixing songs for an online music group. By his own account, he didn’t miss life

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on the road at all. Nick knew Bobby was proud of him, but his uncle had been the first to warn Nick of the evils of life in the music business.

Bobby ran a finger up Nick’s forearm to almost his elbow.

“What’d they say about the nerve damage?”

“They say the surgeries were successful. Doctor says it’s up to me now.” He let derision drip in his tone.

His uncle nodded. “I’ve been reading up on it. There’s a good chance. It’ll take some time. But you need to relearn your fingering. Don’t groan. You did it before.”

“When I was a kid.”

Bobby sat back, reaching for his beer. “You’re still a kid.” He swallowed and set his bottle back down. “I think you can do it, if we work at it.” He swung his guitar into place on his lap.

“Question is, do you want to do this?”

“’Course I do. I came here, didn’t I?”

Bobby nodded, torturing Nick by demonstrating the delicate fingering that had made him a prime rock guitarist in his past.

“Are you up for this?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“What?”

Bobby played through the first few chords of Living Lies, one of Elastixx’s hit songs. It had an awesome solo that Nick particularly enjoyed playing. “What’s on the other side?”

“Other side?”

“Say you get your mojo back. What then?”

Nick wiggled his fingers, watching them. “I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. You’ve never been without a plan in your life, even if it was a pipe dream.”

He clenched his teeth together then consciously loosened his jaw. “I want my life back.”

70 Jet Mykles

“In a band?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“It’s what I want. Music’s all I care about.”

Bobby continued to play his song softly. “How long’s it been?”

Nick’s eyes narrowed. Bobby knew exactly how long it had been. But Nick answered anyway: “Fifteen months.” He would not count the days.

“You heard anything about the other guys in the band?”

The other guys. Not Marlowe specifically. Nick picked up his beer and sucked down a drink, fighting the surge of unease in his chest. “Not in person. Kip lets me know about them.” Another sip. Bobby just waited. “Justin’s probably going to join another band. He’s been with them in the studio. Hideki’s on tour with The Jones, filling in for their bass player.”

“What about…?”

“I don’t talk about him.”

“Okay.” Bobby nodded. “Okay. So you thinking going solo?”

Nick caressed the strings with his right hand, just letting chords float in the air without trying anything fancy. “I don’t know. Maybe. Right now, I just want to know I can play at all.”

Bobby stopped playing, which brought Nick to a halt. “Right.

Okay.” He slid to the edge of his seat, closer to Nick and reached out. “Let’s try something.”

Nick took a deep breath and consciously pushed away frustration and anger. He needed this. This had to work. He settled down to let his uncle help give him his life back.

ChAPteR ten

Marlowe lay in darkness. Despite the open window over his head, the moonlight caused shadows that only gave a hint of the ceiling. But he knew the view in vivid detail, having memorized the vista after months of lying nights and some days in his cell.

His cell. Something like a room, but it definitely felt like a cell, and not just because of the bars on the window. It was a twelve by ten space that served as bedroom, bathroom, and all the other living space he was accorded. The walls were faded tan with odd stain splotches here and there. In his maudlin moments, Marlowe imagined them as washed out blood stains from previous occupants who had thumped their heads against the walls. That didn’t fit for the stains on the ceilings but it served to amuse his activity-starved brain for moments at a time. His view from the one tiny window was of a meticulously manicured lawn. He was allowed out of his cell for most of the daylight hours; to go outside, spend time in one of the common rooms or in the library, but there were some days he simply couldn’t face the other inmates. On those days and during every fucking night, he’d lie on this thin, hard mattress with the scratchy blanket and bleached white sheets and contemplate the ceiling until one of the guards came to check on him. Or, worse, came to retrieve him for therapy.

Therapy. Dr. Emanuel Hoston. The man who would fix him. Not that Dr. Hoston would say it that way. No, the good doctor was all about letting Marlowe talk. Which was surprisingly frustrating for someone who loved to hear himself talk. Most of their early sessions had been about Marlowe alternately shouting or staying silent. Much of the shouting had occurred when his withdrawal pangs weren’t bad enough to land him in the infirmary, but bad enough to keep him up and make him uncomfortable.

Marlowe hadn’t been completely clean of drugs since before he was thirteen. At the very least, pot had always been easy to get

72 Jet Mykles
from his mother’s stash. He couldn’t say he liked being sober. In fact, he hated it. His mind flew through a hurricane of thoughts as it was. The drugs usually made them manageable. Without them, he was alone to contend with idea after idea, fear after fear, image after image. Like now, he could simply lie for hours and sift through the threads that passed through his brain, forgetting his body. He might even forget to breathe. His mother always called him The Bard, likening him to Shakespeare because she was convinced the man had to have a mind like Marlowe’s to come up with all those ideas and write them down. There had never been a notebook far from Marlowe’s hand when he was a child. The habit mostly died when he discovered the world in his teens. But even as an adult an available sheet of paper—or something equivalent needed to be handy.

A fresh new composition notebook lay unopened on his chest; quiet, cool support for his hand. He’d yet to write in it.

But the asking for it had been a step. A step the good doctor approved of. A step that Marlowe should be proud of. That had made Marlowe angry during this afternoon’s session.

Tonight, though, he had no anger. He had fatigue. He had pains in his muscles from a brutal workout he’d put himself through in an effort to quiet his brain. He had a lump in his belly that was dinner working its way through him. He had a mosquito bite on his forearm that he refused to scratch. He had an empty notebook on his chest.

He had nothing.

He was nothing.

Uncommonly maudlin, he thought to himself, noting the detached calm in his inner voice. He recognized it. It was the voice that always pointed out the cold, hard truth of things. The voice the creative side of him sought to smother. He’d never wanted to have an uncanny sense for the truth. Hated it. It was limiting and depressing. Truth was reality under a microscope, a cold steel dagger to plunge into the heart of hope. Music had always helped him suppress it. Music and drugs. Occasionally sex, but the sex had to be really good to drown him in sensation

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and turn off his thoughts.

The sex with Nick had been that.

He’d known it would be like that with Nick. The uncanny voice liked him. Nick was truth, but a whole different side of it than Marlowe had ever let himself see. Nick was straightforward and unflinching, as blunt as a hammer sometimes, but Nick had feeling. Nick was full of energy and quicksilver emotions.

Marlowe had been drawn to his flame ever since he’d seen Nick playing at a dive bar in Hollywood with a band that could hardly be considered musical.

He’d almost killed that gorgeous spirit.

Wet warmth pooled at the corners of Marlowe’s eyes. Since he didn’t move his head, the tears gradually overflowed and spilled down his temples. Not the first tears he’d shed over Nick and they wouldn’t be the last. Not with a life where he couldn’t remove the horrible things that had happened one night in Phoenix.

Still staring at the ceiling, he plucked the composition book from his chest and moved it to the nightstand.

Then he closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

ChAPteR eLeven

“Here.”

Nick frowned, then laughed, refusing to take what looked like a bunch of strips of black ribbon out of Marlowe’s hands. “What the fuck is that?”

Marlowe grinned. “It’s a shirt.” He held it up and looked at it. “Sort of.”

Nick shook his head. “No way, no how.”

“Oh come on. Show off the chest. You don’t work out like a fiend just to keep it covered.”

Nick looked down at his chest, unable to see the muscles through his navy blue T-shirt, but he could picture them. Ever since they signed the contract, he’d upped his workouts. He and Justin were egging each other on, although he had a long way to go to get as ripped as the drummer.

Marlowe laughed, as though reading his thoughts. “All right, maybe not this one.” He pulled another shirt from the store display beside him. “But definitely this one.”

Nick was captivated. He’d never seen such a gorgeous shade of blue, too dark to be cobalt but with a depth to it that defied mere fabric. He’d never been in a fancy shop like this one before, but Kip had prompted him to splurge and get something good for his first television interview with the band.

He reached for the shirt. No sleeves and only three buttons, the first would be around the bottom of Nick’s ribcage. Above the buttons, the collar—if it was called that—curved out like a wine glass.

Marlowe shoved it into his hands, storm blue eyes dancing with glee.

“This one was made for you, man. Try it on.”

Nick stared at the rack before him, the department store display a far cry from the men’s boutique of his memory. Where the hell was that shirt, anyway? He remembered wearing it in a photo shoot at the start of the tour, remembered looking good…

Oh yeah, right. The fans had ripped it right off his back a few

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weeks later when they found him and Marlowe in a club. Marlowe had picked out dozens of shirts for him after that, helping him develop what had been called a “chic bad boy” look. Nick never quite knew what that meant, but the label had tickled Marlowe.

I should have known then, Nick berated himself as the ghost of Marlowe’s taste swept his tongue. Goosebumps broke out on his shoulders, remembering the feel of Marlowe’s hands. How could I have not known? But why should he? They were buddies, friends.

And Marlowe was just odd, period. How could Nick have known he was interested that way?

“What are you thinking?” Sol asked, bumping his shoulder.

Nick startled, hanging a poly-cotton blend polo back on the rack with a dozen others just like it. “Nothing.”

“You were far away.”

He shrugged and moved on down the row of shirts.

Sol followed, arms full of clothing. “Aren’t you getting anything?”

Nick’s arms were empty. “Nah.”

“Nick, you need some new clothes.”

He grunted.

She sighed. “Here.”

Surprised, he accepted her load of clothing. Once her hands were free, she concentrated on the men’s clothing racks. “If you’re not going to pick something out, I’ll pick something for you.”

“You don’t have to shop for me. It’s not like I’ve got anyone to impress.”

She shook her head, flipping through shirts. “And that’s another thing. We have got to get you out of the house.”

He glowered at the shirt she held up. “No.”

“C’mon, Nick.” Ignoring his look, she tossed the shirt at him and moved on, flipping through more shirts. “If you’re going to be a big rock star again, you’ve got to get back into the clubs.”

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“I don’t know about that. I haven’t even sent the tracks to Kip yet.” Just this past month, he’d summoned his courage and used some of the recording equipment Bobby had at home to lay down tracks of some ideas he’d been hearing in his head. Eighteen months after the accident, now that his hand was moving back to normal, it was like the volume had turned up in his brain so he could no longer ignore what was in there. He was working up the courage to send them to Kip to see what he thought.

Nick wasn’t sure what he expected, but he figured Kip would be straight with him. At any rate, Nick needed to start thinking about making some money. There just wasn’t that much coming in. It had taken months for Nick to realize just how little he had, despite Kip’s careful management. Kip claimed that if they’d been able to finish the tour, they would have been fine. But since they didn’t and had the extra expenses of Nick’s medical bills, Amy Young’s medical bills, and Marlowe’s lawyers on top of it, Nick was shocked Kip had managed to pay for all that he had.

He kept wondering if Kip had dug into his personal finances to cover some of it and that thought made Nick uncomfortable as all hell.

“If you’d stop being a wuss and send it—” she gave him an arch look before returning her attention to the array of clothing before her, “—I am confident that Kip will set you up with something great.” Another shirt joined the pile. “Then a record company will sign you and you’ll be right back on top in no time.” She sighed wistfully. “Girls will be screaming your name again and I’ll have a load of new best friends wanting to get close to you.”

He chuckled, as he was sure she’d intended. “I don’t know.” He fingered a white sleeveless shirt with a shape fairly reminiscent of that blue shirt from ages ago. “They haven’t been beating down my door lately.”

Sol sighed, lifting the shirt that had caught his eye. “They’re still grieving.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it does. You went through a terrible time and your

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band died.” She ignored his scowl like she always did the few times they’d talked about the band. “They’re waiting for you to recover and present yourself again.”

“You’re full of it.”

She draped the shirt over his shoulder. “But I’m right.”

“They’re not waiting for me, they’re waiting for… him.”

“I beg to differ. You were becoming pretty darn popular yourself.”

“Whatever.”

“For instance…” she draped one more shirt on the pile in his arms then steered him out of the aisle toward the rack of men’s pants, “…there are…two women over by the tank top display who have been watching you and whispering furiously.” She chuckled, walking past him as he froze. “I think they recognize you.”

He had no doubt that Sol had deliberately put his back to said women, forcing him to try and figure out a way to casually look that way. He just wasn’t good at casual. Never had been. Marlowe had always said… Yeah, fuck what he said.

Nick followed Sol then stepped around her, turning so he could look past her toward the register. As soon as his attention came their way, the women in question bent over the shirts they were inspecting. They looked like they could be Marlowe’s fans.

Maybe in their late teens or early twenties, both blonde, but one with darker streaks in her hair, both tanned and toned. One wore a snug red top that gave shape to her small breasts and the other wore a flowered T-shirt that hung like a dress to her thighs. Not that all of their fans looked alike, but many of the women had a similar feel to them. Nick had gotten pretty good at picking them out during the tour. A strange chill shivered down the center of his torso. On one hand, he was thrilled that they might recognize him, that he still garnered attention. On the other, he was terrified, not ready to resume his public persona. That was a lot of the reason he’d become a hermit, barely leaving the house for the last few months.

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“Are you going to talk to them?” Sol asked, voice low as she fingered the fabric of a pair of chocolate colored slacks.

“No.”

“You should.”

“I don’t even know that you’re right.”

“I’m right.”

“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

She chuckled. “You know me.”

Yes he did. Sol’s personal assurance was a lot like Marlowe’s, both of them so very certain of themselves. And there he was thinking about Marlowe again. That was happening a lot lately.

Ever since his confidence with the guitar started approaching his former assurance, thoughts of the singer and of the life he’d lost had resurfaced with a vengeance. Part of the reason he hesitated contacting Kip was the knowledge that the other man would bring up Marlowe. It was inevitable. They were best friends. Kip had been good at not mentioning him right after Nick had been hurt, but enough time had passed that the singer would probably come up again. But Nick didn’t care. He didn’t want to know.

Marlowe was out of his life for good and could rot in his country club jail as far as Nick was concerned.

When he didn’t respond, she pulled the slacks and another pair in off white off the rack then turned toward the register.

“Come on.”

“We’re done?”

“We’re done.”

Aware that she’d placed clothing for him in his arms, he gave some thought to arguing with her or putting them back, but decided against it. She was right. He did need some new clothes.

He was pretty sure the last time he’d been clothes shopping was well before the accident. Since then, he’d been living in the same few pairs of jeans and a slew of T-shirts. It was depressing to know that the shirts were loose where they had been snug when he’d had a bit more muscle. He really needed to get to the gym.

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He looked over his shoulder. Maybe he should get some sweats and a few tank tops while he was here…

“Excuse me?”

Startled, he realized they’d reached the register. Sol was peeling layers off the pile in his arms. On his other side, the two women she’d pointed out had approached him.

“Uh, hi.”

He recognized the excitement in their eyes. Certain they knew who he was, but maybe not and respectful enough to not want to bother him if he wasn’t. Oddly, it was that second feeling that usually made him more inclined to talk to fans. Or maybe that wasn’t so odd.

“Are you Nick Gorman?” the one in the long shirt blurted, bumping up against the back of her friend’s shoulder. She was the one with corn-silk hair that shone in a straight fall down past her shoulders.

He found himself smiling easily before panic could surge. The warmth he felt from these women was familiar. Good. “Yes.”

They squealed, the one behind much louder than the other.

She clamped her hand over her mouth while the other burst out laughing. Around them, other shoppers took note, but only Sol and the cashier were near enough to have heard her question.

The one in red held out a new pink T-shirt and a pen. The shirt still had a tag and looked like a dozen others from the display she’d been at before. “Could you sign this, please?”

“Uh, sure.”

Without a word, Sol lifted the remaining load from his arms and dumped it on the counter. While she and the cashier were busy with it, Nick took the pen and shirt. He gave the pen a strange look, not sure how he was supposed to make a ball point work on fabric.

The cashier came to his rescue. “Here.”

He gave the woman behind the counter a smile and a thanks then accepted the Sharpie from her. “Who do I make it out to?”

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“Gella. That’s G-E-L-L-A.” She bent over the counter next to him to watch his hand, bouncing a little. She smelled like flowers.

A male urge that’d been suppressed for months buzzed Nick’s blood a little. “I have to tell you that I love your music.”

He bit back the urge to remind her that Marlowe’s music wasn’t exactly his music. They’d never gotten to release any of the stuff he and the bastard had worked on during the tour.

“Thanks.” He kept his attention on his task, trying to make his signature somewhat legible. Or at least recognizable as his scrawl.

Kip had hounded that into all of them, saying that a fan needed something unique as a keepsake and sometimes their name was all that was available. “Your name makes the mundane special,” he’d said. Or was that Marlowe? No, it had to have been Kip.

Tentative fingers brushed his elbow. “I’m so glad to see your arm’s healed.”

He tensed, but tried not to let her notice. Instead, he pulled on a smile as he stood straight and handed her the shirt back.

“Thanks. So am I.”

Her friend held out a little journal. He’d seen them on sale near the front of the store. “Me too? Please?”

He nodded and they switched places while he cracked open the book to the first page.

“Jennifer. And could you sign another page for Lucy?”

“Sure.”

“Sorry,” he heard Gella behind him and glanced back to see her addressing Sol. “We didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“No problem.” He could hear the amusement in Sol’s voice.

“You didn’t.”

He turned the page to sign for the missing Lucy.

“Do you think you and Marlowe will ever get back together?”

Jennifer asked him.

He froze. He couldn’t help it. The way she said it… Right in the middle of scrawling the name, the pen bucked in his fingers, slicing across the page. He stared at the black line and cursed

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softly.

“Oh no.” Hands to her lips, Jennifer took a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I just…”

He shook his head, turning another page. “It’s okay.” Quickly, he wrote out the autograph. He knew his smile was pathetic when he held out the book to her. He didn’t know what to say.

It wasn’t necessary. After his reaction, both women took the hint. He saw the cell phone in Gella’s hands, ready, he was sure, to snap a picture, but she folded it back up in her hand and she and her friend backed away. “Thank you so much.” She beamed at him as they retreated.

“Hey, thank you.” His voice was soft, but he tried to make it heartfelt. Not their fault they touched on a tricky subject.

Once they were gone, he turned back to see Sol handing her credit card to the cashier.

“Hey, wait.” He pointed at the clothing already bagged. “My stuff ’s in there.”

“I know. My treat.” She grinned at him. “You can buy me dinner.”

He scowled but didn’t want to make a scene.

Just as they were finishing up, the cashier gave him a shy look and held up a slip of paper and her pen. “Would you mind?”

A genuine smile curled his lips as he took the paper and pen.

“Not at all.”

“That was nice,” Sol announced as he followed her out of the store, bags hanging from both their arms.

“Yeah.”

“Good to know that they haven’t forgotten, right?”

He didn’t respond, glancing back at the entrance to the store even though the fans were long gone. Fans who’d recognized him, the guy who’d only been with Marlowe a short time. That said something. Maybe Nick didn’t need Marlowe to make it after all. How many people had told him he had a gift? How many had

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congratulated Marlowe on finding him? How many times had Marlowe told him he had something special? Just because it was Marlowe who said it didn’t mean Nick couldn’t believe it.

Nick climbed into the driver’s seat of Sol’s Saturn with new resolve. He would send Kip those tracks tonight, along with a note that he was interested in getting back into the scene. Kip would help him, regardless of anything past or present with Marlowe.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Sol remarked as Nick drove them out of the parking lot. “Everything okay?”

He spared her a grin before returning his attention to the road. “Y’know, for the first time in a long time…” He nodded. “I think everything’s going to be great.”

ChAPteR tweLve

Marlowe stared at the CD in its slim clear plastic sleeve. A label with the prison’s approval stamp hid the neat writing on the disk itself but it wasn’t necessary for Marlowe to read that. Kip had told him what was on it.

“Does he know you’re giving me this?”

“No.” Kip sat back in his chair, leaning away from the square of glaring sunlight that fell over the scratched metal table between them. Murmuring and furniture scrapes filled the big room around them, coming from the four other prisoners and their guests. “But he didn’t say I couldn’t give it to you either.”

A small smile curled one side of Marlowe’s lips. “Semantics.”

“Yes. But he asked me to tell him if it’s any good, and he said he didn’t mind if I let a select few hear it.” Kip shrugged, a very lazy, je ne sais quoi gesture. “I’ve always relied on your taste in music.”

Turning the CD over in his hands, Marlowe traced the edge with one finger. “Have you listened to it?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Marlowe stood the plastic disk sleeve on one corner, balancing it with a finger on the opposite corner. “His arm’s healed?”

There was a heartbeat before Kip answered. “It would seem his time with Bobby’s been very productive. I can’t tell the difference between his playing now and then. But then, I’m not the expert.”

Marlowe let out a shaky breath, tipping the CD back to his palm. He swallowed over a lump in his throat. “Good. He’s okay.”

No matter how many times Kip had told him Nick was getting better, no matter how many times he’d heard that the surgery was

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successful and Nick just needed time to heal, Marlowe couldn’t quite believe it. Not until it was said and done. Not that Nick being healed would ever excuse what he’d done, but he, at least, could feel somewhat better that Nick’s life hadn’t been ruined.

Just delayed.

Marlowe put a finger and thumb to his eyes, pressing in an effort to keep back tears. God, he’d spent most of his incarceration in tears. He blamed Dr. Hoston. Despite the fact that the man claimed they’d made wonderful progress, Marlowe couldn’t help resenting the hollowed out, brittleness that he lived with these days.

Kip let Marlowe have his moment and didn’t comment on the way his hands trembled ever so slightly. After a moment, he sat forward and pushed a small stack of paperback books across the table toward Marlowe. At the bottom of the stack was a new composition book. “We’re just about out of time. I talked to Jane this morning. She’ll be in touch soon about your parole hearing.”

Marlowe just nodded, still staring at the disk in his hands.

“She thinks it’s very likely that you’ll get out early.”

He nodded again.

“Marlowe.”

The tone more than anything got Marlowe to raise his head.

Kip was now leaning forward, a corner of that square of sunlight catching his frosted hair to make it look even more golden. He wove his fingers together and placed them on the table.

“Have you given any thought to where you want to go?”

Marlowe deliberately misunderstood him, buying some thinking time. “Go?”

“After you get out of here.”

He dropped his gaze back to the CD. “No.”

“None at all?”

“It’s been rough enough getting through every day. Thinking about getting out makes it worse.”

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Another pause. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to stay with me.

As long as you like. But you should know that Madeline called and is making the same offer.”

That surprised Marlowe some. “My mother called you?”

“She did. She feels bad about not coming to see you.”

Marlowe shrugged. “I told her not to.” He’d spoken to Madeline on the phone a few times since he’d been in. He’d told her then and would tell her again that he didn’t expect her to come here. Even this prison would greatly upset her delicate sensibilities. She’d freak the fuck out and they both knew it.

“As she puts it, she’s still your mother. She wants to help you if she can.”

He had to smile. “That’s sweet of her.” But they all knew it was an empty offer. Madeline lived very nicely off alimony from Kip’s father, but her lifestyle was one Marlowe had grown away from years ago. He loved her, but they were far better off living apart.

He sat back, carefully setting the CD down on the table. His hand hovered toward the books, one finger landing on the spine of the composition book. “So what about work? What are my options there?”

“Depends on you. Do you want to get back into music?”

“It’s the only thing I know.”

“Not true.”

“It’s the only thing I love doing.”

“Also not true, but we’ll go with it.” Kip spread his hands on the tabletop. “I could contact the record company; see if they’re willing to back some studio time. At a guess, they’ll jump at the chance to capitalize on your notoriety.”

Marlowe snorted a laugh.

Kip gestured at the composition book. “Have you been able to write anything? Put that guitar to good use?” Last month, Kip had secured an acoustic for him, although the damn thing was

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still standing in the corner of his cell, unused.

Maybe now… For the first time in a long time, Marlowe felt a slight urge to write. His heart thumped, welcoming the estranged feeling home. He chewed the inside of his bottom lip. “Not yet.”

“But…?”

He nodded. “I can come up with some ideas.”

Kip tapped the CD case in front of Marlowe. “Maybe this will help.”

“Oh God.” Marlowe cringed. “I doubt he wants to have anything to do with me.”

“True. But the two of you were a good combination.”

The fingers of Marlowe’s right hand curled together in a fist, the ghost of Nick’s silky warmth haunting his palm. The rasp of Nick’s groaning breath as he came rang inside Marlowe’s ears.

“Yeah. We were.”

“Should I talk to him?”

“No. God no. Leave him alone.”

“What should I tell him about the CD?”

Marlowe stared at it. “Has anyone else heard it?”

“Just me.”

“Send a copy to Arjun.”

“What?”

“Get Arjun’s opinion.”

Kip sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Do you think that’s wise?”

Marlowe had to smile. “Not remotely. If it’s even half decent, Arjun will want to snap him up.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He scowled. “He’s not going to want to work with me anyway. He deserves something good.”

“Wow.” Kip sat back in his chair, jaw dropping in overdone

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surprise. “You have changed.”

Marlowe’s scowl melted away. “Yeah. So says my shrink.”

Kip’s lips twitched in a smile. “I can’t say it’s for the worse.”

“You’d know.”

“Indeed, I would.”

Marlowe placed a finger on one corner of the CD case and flipped his hand so the plastic spun under his finger on the table.

“Has it been… worth it?” he asked, voice low. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. Dr. Hoston’s urging came back at him and now seemed as good a time as any.

“What?”

It used to be a rare occasion when he couldn’t meet someone’s eyes, even when he was lying to their face. But lately… Conscience was a bitch. “Being my friend. Putting up with me.”

Kip leaned forward in a rush, getting as close as he was allowed across the table. He reached out to stop the CD by placing his hand on Marlowe’s. “You’ve done a lot of bonehead things in your life and I can’t say being your friend has always been easy but… Look at me.”

Reluctantly, Marlowe lifted his gaze. The determined resolve he saw in Kip’s eyes nearly started him bawling again.

Kip squeezed his fingers. “I have never been sorry to have you in my life. Through good times or through bad. Do you hear me?”

Marlowe could only nod.

“Good.” Kip glanced over Marlowe’s shoulder. “Damn, they’re calling time.” He squeezed Marlowe’s hand again then sat back. “I’ll make some calls and have some information for you when I come back at the end of the month. Meanwhile, you work on some new material. Okay?”

Marlowe nodded again.

Kip’s blue gaze dropped to the disk then came back to Marlowe’s face. Words hovered at his lips, but he left them

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unspoken. He smiled. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”

Marlowe stood as Kip stood. A guard appeared at each end of the table, watching them closely. “Yeah.”

Kip patted his shoulder. “Take care.”

“You too.” One guard took Marlowe’s arm to lead him away while Kip followed the other guard out the door.

Although it was the middle of the day, Marlowe requested to be taken back to his cell. Normally, this was his time outside, but he was feeling far too raw to mingle with his fellow prisoners.

Books and CD in hand, he walked through his cell’s door and stood there as the guard locked it behind him.

Shadows dominated the room despite the time of day since the sun was now on the other side of the compound. In the false twilight, Marlowe dropped the books onto his small desk, noting that Kip had now brought him three composition books that he hadn’t opened. Maybe… He opened the CD case and took it to the little player on the nightstand. He missed his iPod, but had many times been glad they’d allowed him any music at all. He replaced The Darkness CD with the one Kip had given him and sat on the edge of his bed to insert his earbuds. His eyes closed as the first track started.

He didn’t move until the CD stopped.

Damn. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks. Nick’s playing was raw, the recording equipment not the best, but Marlowe heard what he needed. Nick’s gift was intact. A few flubs that none but the most discerning ear would hear. Some rough patches that could be explained away by the newness of the music rather than the health of the hands at work. But the music, the gift from God that couldn’t be taught, was present and fully accounted for.

Marlowe dropped his face in his hands and wept, letting months’ worth of tension bleed from his muscles. Not all of it, but some. Enough. He could breathe more. He opened his eyes and colors were a little bit brighter. Without looking, he reached over to start the CD again. He didn’t have much time. They’d come to get him for dinner soon. But he could listen until then.

ReveRb 91

He could fill his head and heart with Nick’s artistry and carry it with him through the night’s meal. Then… afterward… He looked at the guitar in the corner, was aware of the notebooks on the desks.

Tonight, he finally felt like he could put pencil to paper and write something.

ChAPteR thiRteen

“You need to get out and get laid.” That’s what she said. Sol further proclaimed she was sick of watching Nick sulk around the house and wanted him to have some fun. Bobby, usually silent on such matters, actually agreed.

So, here Nick was, at a club he and Sol used to frequent back a few years ago, before Nick had even met Marlowe. It wasn’t the most popular of clubs, but it did okay and the music was good.

Once she suggested the place, it wasn’t all that hard for Sol to convince him to dress up and go with her. He could do this.

No bouncer or line to wait in for this place. Although it was packed, there seemed to always be room for more. Once inside, the press of music throbbing in the smoky air made Nick feel right at home. No sooner had the first strobe light hit him through the darkness than Nick felt a broad smile pull at his mouth.

Sol punched his arm lightly. “Look at you,” she yelled over the thump of the beat, blue then red lights shining off her black hair.

He bumped her shoulder, just grinning. Yeah, this was like coming home.

“Want a drink?”

He shook his head. “Maybe later.”

“I’m gonna get one.” She waved at the crowd. “You mingle.”

He smiled at her back. “Mingle” meaning “go find someone”.

Well, he’d do that. But he didn’t have to rush it.

Sticking to the shadows close to the wall, he wandered behind little scattered tables that ringed the dance floor closer to the DJ
stand. It stood in a corner on a raised platform underneath the brightest of the strobe lights. The girl working the music had multi-colored dreads pulled into two high ponytails wrapped in thick ribbons. She held headphones to one ear as she listened with the other to a slightly built man grooving beside her. The dance floor wasn’t packed, but there were a respectable amount

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of dancers of both sexes. The groove was a great combination of techno and rock. The current song was a remix of a hit Nick recalled from when he was on tour. Nick had been here lots during his teenage years. The band he’d been in before Marlowe would never have been asked to play in a place like this and Marlowe was too big to ever play here. The crowd was much more casual than in high profile clubs. More girls were dressed in jeans than in skirts and just about every guy—Nick included—wore a t-shirt instead of a button-down. You came here to just hang.

Not in the mood to dance just yet, he headed for the bar and found Sol flirting up a tall guy with dark hair that hung in loose curls about his ears and a megawatt smile. Nick paused only a second before he decided it was early enough for him to barge in. He came at her from behind, bumping her toward the guy to make room for himself at the bar.

“Hey.” She mock growled at him as he flagged down the bartender. “Oi, Larry, this is my cousin, Nick.”

The grin that had dipped a bit at his appearance went right back up with the word ‘cousin’. “Nice to meet you.”

Nick reached over Sol to shake the guy’s hand. “You too.”

Turning away so they could continue to flirt, Nick ordered a beer and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Hell, he could have been looking at himself five years ago.

Did he ever change? Same straight, shoulder length hair, black and sleek enough to absorb the colors from the lights into its sheen. Heavy black brows drew straight lines from the bridge of his nose out toward his temples. He’d been told he had a terrific straight nose, full beautiful lips, and smooth, pale skin to die for.

He was a good-looking guy. He accepted that as a fact without taking much pride in it. It wasn’t like he worked at it. Not his face and hair, at any rate. He did work on his body and had recently started working out again. He wasn’t as ripped as he’d been with Justin to egg him on, but he could get back there.

But there were plenty of good looking guys in this place. No girls were falling all over themselves to be near him, to touch him.

He’d only had that once and he’d only had it around one person.

ReveRb 95

Marlowe. Whatever else he thought about the bastard, Marlowe had that special strut that drew people toward him, like he was a fucking black hole with some undeniable gravity. Not that Marlowe hadn’t been generous with it. “The trick to being special is showing it and believing it,” he’d said . “If you believe it, really believe it, so will everyone else.” Asshole knew what he was talking about. He lifted his beer and gave a tiny salute to his reflection, seeing the ghost of Marlowe over his shoulder. Fuck you.

The heat of the man’s body pressing down on his. The firm grip of his hand. The spicy, gorgeous taste of his mouth. Shit, Nick could feel his cock pressing the back of his zipper. For so long, after the accident, he hadn’t even thought about sex. Drugs, pain, and depression kept the urges at bay. But now that he was off the pain medication, now that his hand worked, the feelings had returned. Sex and music were Siamese twins that descended on him in tandem, assaulting his life and taking over as a pair.

So go get a girl, he prodded himself as he chugged most of his beer. Stop thinking about the asshole. There was no reason to think about Marlowe. Because Nick wasn’t gay. No way. Not after one… Not just because he kept thinking…

Yeah. Just… no.

Sol bumped his arm, a welcome distraction. “Hello? You there?”

He blinked, realizing he’d been staring at his reflection as he sucked at the rim of his beer bottle. God, he’d barely tasted his drink, his first in public since the accident. “What?”

She chuckled and tapped his arm. “C’mon. Stop admiring yourself in the mirror and let’s dance.”

He glanced behind her. “What happened to Dr. Teeth?”

“Dr….?” She giggled. She never giggled unless she was on the prowl. “Okay, I get it. I dunno. Maybe later.” She pushed his bottle at him. “Drink up. Let’s go.”

“You go ahead.”

Grumbling, she snatched the bottle from his hand and helped

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him by taking a good, long swig. The guy on Nick’s other side whistled. “God bless a woman who can drink.”

She smacked her lips as she handed the bottle back to Nick.

“Amen, brother.” She winked at the guy.

They waded into the crowd and Nick let himself have fun.

He liked dancing even if he wasn’t all that good at it. But it was easy to pick up girls on the dance floor, easier to tell if they were interested than when you were at the bar. Plus, girls seemed to like guys who would dance.

So Nick took his time, but he started sizing up the women around him out of habit. A trio of brunettes smiled at him, but the number overwhelmed him. There was a blonde with earrings longer than her hair grooving nearby, but the dazed expression on her face made him pretty sure she was on something major. He so didn’t want to deal with drugs tonight. Or, possibly, ever again.

Eventually, he did the casual bump to a girl with a tight, low-cut t-shirt, hip-hugging jeans, and a real smooth way of swaying to the beat. Startled, she tossed a mess of dark maybe-brown or maybe-black hair from her eyes to meet his gaze. She smiled and sidled up to him and they communicated with movement for a while. She had a great smile and she was just about his height. If she were a guy…

She’s not. To derail whatever thought was cropping up in his mind, he leaned into her. “Wanna get a drink?”

She thought about it, biting her lip. Then nodded. “Okay.”

See, you don’t do that with guys. With guys… Well, hell, maybe you did. But it’s not like he would ever know. Right?

They had to wait to get close enough to the bar to order a drink, so they filled the time by learning each other’s names.

Marnie was hers. Nice name.

Then, over her shoulder, he saw them. Two guys, leaning against the bar. Laughing. Standing close. Shoulder to shoulder.

Almost as one, they twisted their heads to look at each other.

Then, with warm smiles, they leaned in until their foreheads touched. One tipped his head to the side just enough so he

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could brush lips with the other. Wasn’t anything Nick hadn’t seen before. The crowd here was very tolerant so long as no one got hurt. It was one of the things he liked about the place. But to see two guys kissing, so casually, so naturally… it hit him like a lead pipe.

“You okay?”

He shook himself and looked down at where Marnie’s hand lay on his arm. Warm. Soft. Female. He put on a smile. “Yeah.”

Spying an opening, he put his hand at her back and nudged her toward it. “There’s a spot.”

Next morning, he was in his own bed. Alone. Half conscious, he rolled onto his back and into slashes of sunlight that stabbed through the blinds he’d failed to close all the way when he’d stumbled home in the wee hours of the morning. Folding his arm over his eyes didn’t help him go back to sleep, nor did the quiet sounds of someone in the kitchen. Food. Yeah, that was a good idea. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed and stepped into a pair of shorts before shuffling out of his room.

“What are you doing home?”

Yawn interrupted, Nick just stared at Sol across the kitchen, squinting over the glare of morning light on the yellow tiles. “I live here.”

Sol stood at the stove, spatula hovering over a pan with frying eggs in it. The duckies on her faded blue pajama pants matched the kitchen tiles, but the hot pink oversized t-shirt did not. “Yeah, but you went home with that brunette last night.”

He shrugged, headed for the refrigerator. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t go well?”

“Went fine.” He stared at the contents of the fridge while enjoying the cool waft of air on his legs, bare below the hem of his shorts. Not much to choose from. Milk. Was there cereal? “I just didn’t stay.”

“Hmm. Want me to make you some of these?”

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He turned to see the pan she was holding up after having flipped the eggs. “Yeah. Is there bacon?”

“You’ll have to make it yourself.” Although she wasn’t vegetarian, Sol had something against bacon that Nick had given up arguing over years ago.

Luckily, Bobby didn’t share her aversion. Nick rummaged around in a lower drawer of the refrigerator and came up with a pack of the good stuff; thick slices with plenty of fat on them.

Sol moved aside to make room for him at the stove as he pulled out another pan. “Where’s Bobby?”

“I don’t know. Still asleep probably.” She watched him as he opened the bacon. “She wasn’t any good?”

“What? Oh.” He frowned as he peeled strips of meat off the pack and set them in the pan. “She was fine.”

“Did she have a name?” She expertly slipped her eggs onto a plate.

“Hey, I’m not a dog.” He snatched a big plastic fork from the drawer with the utensils. “Her name’s Marnie.” To try and stop the conversation, he went on the offensive. “What about you?

Did you hook back up with Dr. Teeth?”

“Yes. Larry—” she glowered at him as she brought two more eggs to her pan, “—and I did hook back up. Thank you very much.”

He waited, amused. “But?”

“But what?”

He poked at the strips that were starting to sizzle with the fork. “What are you doing home? Or is he in your room?”

“No. We agreed to meet up tomorrow night for dinner. I’m not that easy.”

“What happened to getting out and getting laid?”

“Yeah, well that was for you. You’re a guy.”

“There was a girl with me.”

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“That’s her business.”

He laughed. “Whatever. I will never understand the rules women put on these things.” Guys probably didn’t. Guys hooking up with guys probably just… Who the fuck cares?

They were quiet a few moments, both dealing with the food sizzling before them.

Then Sol spoke without looking up, “You going to see her again?”

He shrugged. “Probably not.” The sex had been fine, but he wasn’t feeling the morning after. Not into breakfast and talking and when-will-I-see-you-again. He had her number and she had his. He doubted either one of them would make use of them.

He lifted his pan from the stove and crossed the kitchen to get a plate. It took him until he’d dished out the bacon and served up the pan in the sink before he realized she was watching him.

“What?”

She held her pan away from the flame and kept watching him.

“Are you okay?”

He picked up her plate from before and went to the kitchen table. “I’m fine.”

Without comment, she dished out the eggs in her pan on another plate. He could hear her mind working as she came to the table, but chose to concentrate on his food rather than prompt her.

“Nick,” her voice was carefully casual as she sat down around the corner from him at the table, “I know you were Mr. Big Shot rock star for a while and I know you were sleeping around some then, but…”

He chewed and waited, deciding not to take offense. Hell, she wasn’t wrong about the sleeping around.

She took a bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Were you happy?”

“Fuck yeah.” He flexed his right hand but didn’t look at it.

“Were you seeing anyone?”

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He blinked then realized what she was talking about. “You mean a girl?”

“Yes.”

Marlowe’s mouth on his. Marlowe’s arm around his shoulders. Marlowe’s naked skin pressed to his. “Don’t be mad, Nicky.” God, in some circles, they probably had spent enough time together to be dating. Fuck that! He swallowed and hunched over his plate. “No. That’s a stupid time to hook up with someone.”

“I suppose so.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s just…”

Jesus! Was she still going on about this? He shoved an extra large bite in his mouth in an effort to finish faster.

“…I think you should try and find someone.”

“A girl?”

She laughed. “Well, yeah. Did you think I meant a guy?” More laughing because she knew how absurd that was.

Marlowe’s voice, low and sexy: “Doesn’t matter to me if you’re a guy or a girl…I want to be close to you .” She didn’t know and she wouldn’t know. “You’re whacked.”

“Nick, I’m serious. You’re always so lonely.”

“I am not.”

“Don’t you dare tell me that stupid guitar keeps you company.”

He stood. “That stupid guitar is my life.” No longer hungry, he stood, leaving half the eggs and one strip of bacon on the table.

Sol reached for him as he circled around her chair on the way to the door. “Nick, I’m sorry, I know you…”

“Yeah, obviously you don’t know shit. I sure as hell don’t need a fucking girl to fix my life.”

“Nick!”

But he was in the hall and headed for his room. Fuming, he just managed not to slam the door. He spun and fell back on his

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mattress, left arm flying up over his head while the right landed protectively over his chest.

What the fuck, man? Where did this girly Sol come from?

Despite her sex, his cousin had never pulled that kind of shit on him before. But he shouldn’t be surprised. Chicks always did that, always made it about feelings, always made it about relationships.

God damn, that was why he rarely hooked up with anyone for very long. The relationship thing was a total buzz kill. Besides, no girl ever understood the hours he needed to spend alone with his music. None of them, not even the ones who played.

Guys didn’t do that. Marlowe wouldn’t. Unbidden, memories of him and the singer sitting in a room or on the bus for hours on end, barely talking, communicating through music when and if it was needed. Well, until they needed to eat or something.

“Shit.” He rolled over and sat up, reaching for the Strat to pull her into his lap. Maybe that was a damn good reason to think about this guy-on-guy shit. Not Marlowe, of course, but maybe Kip had the right of it dating guys. Had to be so much easier.

He frowned, staring at the carpet. Of course, with a guy the sex thing was… Yeah, he didn’t want…

Strong fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking with a firm, steady rhythm, squeezing in just the right places at just the right time. Okay, maybe it wasn’t…

“Shit.” Unwilling to think about it anymore, he bent his head over the Strat and laid his fingers to the strings. Music came to his rescue, drowning out disturbing thoughts.

ChAPteR FouRteen

Kip’s reasoning for Nick getting out was entirely different than Sol’s. When Kip called and suggested Nick attend a party, he explained that if Nick was serious about getting back into the game, he needed to be seen. That made sense to Nick. He didn’t like the look-at-me-notice-me parties all that much, but he didn’t mind them. He understood they were necessary. To get anywhere in the music business, you had to play the game.

So he found himself in a Japanese fusion restaurant that had been closed for the night to accommodate the party. All the tables in the two spacious dining rooms had been removed, which left just the small booths for people to sit. Not that many did. Under the neon blue and purple lighting, most everyone was standing around the central sushi bar. The thing was huge, all glass and bamboo with bright white lights directly overhead to give it the best illumination in the house. Six sushi chefs worked busily to provide tiny plates of picture-perfect rolls. No sooner was a plate set on the bar than someone snatched it up. This place must have put aside a fortune in raw fish just for tonight.

“Nick!”

Nick had just sampled his first ever taste of a lobster roll—at least, that’s what the chef had said when he’d asked, but the man’s words were rushed—so he was wiping his mouth with a cocktail napkin when he turned to the sound of a familiar voice. He was smiling as he continued to chew and swallow. “Hideki.”

The bass player ignored Nick’s food dilemma and pulled him into a hug, complete with a punch to the middle of his back.

About the same height as Nick, Hideki had pretty much the same straight black hair, only his was much thicker than Nick’s. The similarities ended there. Hideki’s skin was a much darker gold than Nick’s, evidence of his love of the sun. His dark eyes were classically Japanese, as was the general shape of his face. The neon blue streak in the bangs that hung over his left eye was still

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there. He was dressed in black leather pants and a white shirt open almost to his navel. It showed off his hairless chest. Which made Nick note that there was one more similarity about the two of them now. Hideki used to be the slimmest of the group, not one bit interested in working out to tone his muscles. But as he hugged Hideki, Nick noted that since he’d lost a lot of muscle tone, his build was quite similar to the bass player’s.

“Yo, man!” Hideki held onto Nick’s hand, but pushed him back with his free hand to get a good look at him. “You look great, true?”

Nick grinned. “Thanks, man. You follow.”

“I try, I try.” Hideki squeezed his arm then released his hand.

“How you do, man? No cast?”

Nick spread the fingers of his right hand and wiggled them.

“Nope. All gone.”

“So awesome. You playin’ yet?”

Nick grinned. “You bet.”

“For true? That’s stellar, man!” Hideki jumped into another hug, regardless of the man behind him who got jostled thanks to Hideki’s exuberance. “Any gigs or just noodlin’?”

“Just noodlin’ for now but…” He glanced around at the party that surrounded them. “Who knows?”

Hideki’s eyes widened and he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You thinking of getting back in the game?”

“I’m thinking.”

“That’s awesome.” Hideki laughed, slapping his shoulder. “If you do, let me know. I’m with you anytime, my man. Hey, you heard about Justin?”

“Got his own band. Yeah, heard that. Good for him. Can’t just sit around, waiting, true?”

“True, dat.”

They smiled at each other, but there was a strain behind it.

Marlowe was obviously on both of their minds, but neither of

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them mentioned him .

Nick stepped back as a girl nudged him, trying to get closer to the sushi bar. “I need some juice, man.” He pointed at the open bar along the wall. “You?”

“Oh yeah.” Hideki fell into step with him. “You drinkin’ these days?”

“Huh?” A glance showed him Hideki’s meaningful look and he got it. “Oh. Yeah. Drinking’s not a problem.” No, X had been the problem that night. X and Marlowe. But X wasn’t a craving for him. Just tonight, he’d turned down several offers of various substances and he knew about the invitation to the private room off to the right where pot and coke were available. Ah, the music business.

“Good.” Hideki patted his back as they stepped up to the bar.

“Man, it’s good to see you.”

“You too.”

“Look.” Hideki folded both forearms on the edge of the bar, leaning into it as they waited for the bartender’s attention. “Man, I’m sorry we haven’t talked. I meant to call you…”

“Shit, man.” Nick squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t sweat it.”

Hideki frowned, then nodded and smiled. “Right. Yeah.”

They ordered beers then drifted off talking about nothing in particular. Hideki told Nick some about the band he’d toured with. Nick kept it to himself that he was glad Hideki hadn’t found a permanent home with The Jones. Nothing wrong with the band, really, but Hideki wasn’t right for them. Of course, Nick was biased. Hideki, like Nick and Justin, had been hand-picked by Marlowe. Marlowe had gone on at length about how he’d tried so many musicians and was satisfied, finally, when he found Nick. He’d called Nick the final piece of the puzzle, the one part that had been lacking. With the four of them finally together, Marlowe had claimed to be content. Even if he was an asshole, Nick had to admit that he’d made the right choices for the band.

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Then he’d fucked it all up.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Nick and Hideki looked up.

“Kip.” Hideki treated the taller man to a slightly less exuberant hug than he’d given Nick. “You lookin’ good, man. But, hey—”

he laughed as he drew back, “—you always do.”

Yes, he did. In a suit that might have been soft gray—the lighting turned it an eerie lavender—Kip was impeccably clean cut as always. He nodded at Nick. “Glad you made it.”

“Thanks for the invite.”

They chatted a bit, but it was clear Kip had something in mind. It wasn’t long before he gave Nick a serious look. “Nick, there’s someone here I’d like you to speak with.”

Hideki perked up but kept his peace.

Nick just nodded. “You bet. Who?”

“Have you heard of Arjun Kadam?”

Nick frowned. “Sounds familiar.”

“Producer,” Hideki chimed in, nodding to show he was impressed. “Big deal. Didn’t Marlowe want him?” Realizing he mentioned the name they’d been avoiding, he gave Nick a sheepish look.

Nick ignored it. “Okay, yeah, I remember him now.”

Kip nodded and continued as if Marlowe’s name hadn’t come up. “I let him listen to your CD. He liked what he heard and asked to talk to you.”

Shocked, Nick was momentarily speechless.

Hideki whistled softly. “Kip, man, you aim high.”

Kip shrugged. “I do right by my boys.” He smiled. “Come with me and I’ll introduce you. Hideki, you’re welcome to come too.”

“No, ’salright. I’ll pass.” He gripped Nick’s arm. “Hey, you send me those tunes, deal?”

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Nick patted his shoulder. “Will do, my man.”

Talking with Hideki had put Nick in a really good mood and he treasured it as he walked through the crowd with Kip. It was nice to have the clear reminder that his time in the spotlight hadn’t been all Marlowe. Hideki and Justin were good people. So was Kip. Starting to remember that let him remember that there had been others behind the scenes who’d become friends. He missed them. He missed the world. It helped to convince him that he was doing the right thing to put his feet back in the water.

Arjun Kadam sat with two other well dressed men, one of whom Nick recognized as a record company executive. Kip stopped at the edge of the table and waited for attention. Nick watched the big important men finish their conversation, making a point not to acknowledge Kip and Nick immediately. Power plays. Nick saw them, realized what they were for, but they never had put him in awe. Just seemed kind of sad to him when men had to prove they were better. There were only a handful of people who truly awed Nick and not one of them was a business executive.

Finally, Arjun turned to face them and Nick realized that he did know the man. He’d spoken with him briefly on that night.

Couldn’t remember a thing they’d said, but he remembered the handsome, sharply cut face with the dark skin with eyes that seemed every bit as black as the hair on top of his head. Then there were the teeth, so blinding white in his wide smile. He wondered what the man had that had Marlowe impressed.

“Ah, Kip.”

“Gentlemen.” Kip shook hands all around, clearly familiar with all three of them. “I’d like to introduce you to Nick Gorman.”

“Didn’t you play with Marlowe?” one of the other men asked.

The blue and purple lights shined harshly off his bald head.

Nick summoned a smile and a nod for him. “Yes, sir, I did.”

He’d discovered long ago that adding a little bit of respect to his words, even if he didn’t feel it, went a long way when dealing with

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self-important people.

“Right.” The other man, a pudgy man with red skin and bleary Chinese features. “You were the guitarist on the last tour.”

“Yes,” Kip confirmed.

There was a moment of silence, an acknowledgement by all of just how Nick’s stint as guitarist had ended. Nick waited, tensing the fingers of his right hand around his beer bottle, but no one went on.

Arjun stood. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.” He edged out of the booth to stand beside Nick. “I’d like to have a word with Nick, here.”

There was a round of “certainly” and “of course” and Nick and Kip waited while Arjun confirmed when he would see each of the men again. They were a few feet away from the booth when Arjun turned to face Kip. “Kip, I’d like to speak with Nick alone.” He turned to Nick. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Kip raised his eyebrows at Nick, leaving it up to him.

Nick glanced between the two men then shrugged. “Yeah, sure. I don’t mind.” He shared a look with Kip, silently agreeing to fill him in later.

Kip nodded. “Of course. You’ll excuse me.” He patted Nick’s shoulder on his way toward the arch that would take him back into the sushi room.

Arjun glanced at the bottle in Nick’s hand. “You seem to be running low.” He gestured toward this room’s bar. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” Nick sometimes wondered how an alcoholic handled parties like these, when so many conversations were had over drinks. There were only a handful of people he could see who didn’t have a glass or bottle in hand, and most of those were clearly enjoying some other sort of mind-altering substance as well.

Arjun waited to talk until after they had their drinks and had meandered away from the bar. They stopped beside an arrangement of plants underneath a skylight. Nick couldn’t have

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named the types of trees if he tried, but at a guess he’d say the tall stalks were bamboo and the big, wide fronds were ferns. The view of the night sky through the skylight was nice, even if the city lights made it impossible to see many stars.

Finally, Arjun got to the talking. “First, I’d like to say how very sorry I am about your accident. We met briefly after the concert that night and I heard you play. You’re very good.” He shook his head. “So tragic.”

Nick braced against the squeeze in his chest. Arjun wasn’t the first tonight to mention the accident and Nick had known it was coming so he’d prepared. He thought he was handling things quite well. Didn’t seem like his pain was showing at all.

“Thanks.”

Arjun gestured at Nick’s arm. “But you’re all better now?”

“Pretty much.” He wiggled his fingers because people seemed to appreciate seeing them move. “A bit stiff now and then, but nothing I can’t work through.”

“Good. Good. You certainly sounded great in the demos Kip let me listen to.”

“Thanks.”

“That was your original music?”

“Yes.”

“Was any of it the tracks you were working on with Marlowe before the accident?”

Nick blinked. “You knew about those?”

“Marlowe and I talked that night too.” Arjun’s smile warmed as he adjusted his stance, bracing one shoulder casually against the wood paneling of the wall beside the plant arrangement. “In fact, we’d all but agreed that I’d produce your next album.”

News to Nick. Impressive, though.

“Marlowe and I go way back.”

Something poked Nick’s heart. He stayed very still, unsure what it was. What did “way back” mean? What did that secretive

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smile of Arjun’s mean? Good God, did Arjun mean that kind of way back? Had they slept together?

Nick frowned to show his confusion. “Oh.”

Arjun nodded. “We had something of a rivalry going when we first met. That’s back when I was still playing. I’m a keyboardist. Or, I was before I started producing.” He sipped his drink, watching Nick over the rim of his glass. “I found I’m much better working other people’s magic than playing my own.”

Double meaning was heavy in Arjun’s voice. Nick pictured Marlowe’s fingers tangled in that dark hair, saw Marlowe tilting the man’s face for a kiss. Nick found himself falling back a step although he was pretty sure his facial expression never changed.

“So you were going to produce our album?”

Arjun’s gaze dropped to Nick’s feet then quickly back up, noting the retreat. He straightened and some of the sultry left his voice. “Right. Marlowe had been after me for years to work together, but I always thought he was missing something.” Some of the smile came back as black eyes latched onto Nick’s. Had his naked skin been pressed to Marlowe’s? Was his voice that low when screamed in pleasure? “When I heard you that night, I knew he’d finally found what was missing.”

Nick took a good healthy swig of his beer, glancing at the crowd around him. He knew he should be more focused, but his imagination wouldn’t let the images of this guy with Marlowe stop. He didn’t even care. He didn’t. But he didn’t need to picture it either.

“I’m sorry.” Arjun regained his attention. “I’m being thoughtless. You probably don’t like to talk about Marlowe, do you?”

“Not much. No.”

He nodded. “Understandable. That night…”

“Right.”

“So, I assume there’s no plans on rejoining Marlowe when he gets out? It’s soon, isn’t it? Kip mentioned that he might be up

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for parole.”

Nick couldn’t cover his shock. His jaw dropped and his beer bottle nearly slipped through his fingers.

Arjun noticed. “You didn’t know?”

“I, uh…” He brought his bottle to his lips, but didn’t drink, just breathed over the open mouth. “I… no.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was a secret.” His tone indicated that he’d probably have spoken anyway.

What had they been saying? Nick lowered the bottle without taking a drink. “No. The band’s history. Justin’s with another band now and Hideki’s been working pretty steady.” And I won’t ever play with that bastard again. Nick hoped Arjun wouldn’t press and force him to add that thought.

“Unfortunate. But that doesn’t mean that you are done. Do you plan to form a new band?”

“I’m… considering my options.”

“Good. Well…” Switching his drink from hand to hand, Arjun reached into his back pocket. He drew out a small fold of leather that turned out to be a business card holder. He extracted one rectangle of stiff paper and held it out to Nick. “When you make a decision, call me. I’d love to work with you.”

Nick stared at the embossed letters and knew they formed words, but his brain wasn’t clicking right.

“I also know of a few artists who are looking for a good guitarist. I’d be happy to hook you up.”

Nick nodded, trying to regain his composure. “Thanks.” He put Arjun’s card in his pocket with a few others he’d gathered earlier. “I appreciate that.”

Arjun placed a hand on his arm. The gesture was friendly; the squeeze was a little more. “You’re a very talented musician, my friend. Don’t let it go to waste.”

After Arjun left, Nick stared at the tall plants he thought were bamboo, his back to most of the party. All but one part of his

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conversation with Arjun leaked from his brain.

Marlowe was getting out?

Shaking himself, he turned and headed back into the crowd, eyes out for Kip. It took a while, but he finally found him at a back table, head bowed close over a table to speak intimately with another man. Nick stopped at the edge of the table, belatedly realizing that he might be interrupting something personal. But when Kip saw him, he sat back and smiled.

“Nick.”

“Can I talk to you?” He glanced at the other guy.

Who glanced at Kip.

Kip got the picture. He nodded then turned to his friend.

“I’m sorry, Neil. Would you excuse us?”

“Of course.”

Neil stood, proving to be a tall, muscular guy with skin that looked almost black in the dark lighting. He smiled at Nick, displaying very white teeth. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he said, extending his hand. “I hope you get back up onstage soon.”

Nick blinked then shook the offered hand, trying to manage a smile. “Hey, thanks.”

With a final wink at Kip, Neil left them.

Nick took his seat, spreading his palms on the table.

Kip waited.

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Is Marlowe getting out?”

“Ah. Let me guess, Arjun let the cat out of the bag.”

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” Sighing, Kip raised a hand to comb through the short hair over his left ear. “It’s true.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

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Kip lanced him with a stare. “You never want to talk about Marlowe.”

Nick winced, dropping his gaze. “Okay. Yeah. Fine.” He rubbed his fingertips on the shiny surface of the table. “When?”

“Jane’s trying to work out a parole hearing within the month.”

Jane. He remembered her. Met her once when he had to go to Kip’s office to sign some papers. Smart lady. Type of lawyer you want on your side because she’d rip the opposition’s nuts off and smile while doing it.

“Will he get it?”

“Probably. Lately, he’s been a model prisoner.”

Those words spoken about Marlowe just seemed all kinds of wrong.

Before Nick could summon any more words, Kip had a few of his own. “Are you objecting?”

Surprised, Nick looked up at him. “No.” He looked away. He wasn’t. Marlowe did his time. He… “Is he cleaned up now?”

“He’s well out of rehab. The big question is what will happen when he gets out.”

“What will happen when he gets out?”

Kip shrugged, eyes on the crowd, but it didn’t look like he was really seeing the people before him. “Time will tell.”

Nick had other questions. Where was Marlowe going to stay when he got out? What was he going to do? Was he going back into music? Did he and Kip have plans? But he didn’t feel he had the right to ask any of those, so he switched topics. “Why’d you let Arjun listen to my music?”

Startled, Kip glanced at him before returning his gaze to the crowd. “Whatever I feel about him, Arjun has a good ear. If you’re not…” Kip cleared his throat. “If you’re thinking of going down your own road, there are worse producers to work with.”

Nick heard the aborted sentence, but didn’t think on it long enough to try and finish it. “Is he gay?”

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Kip laughed and some dark cloud over his head cleared.

“Why do you ask?”

“I think he was hitting on me.”

Amused, Kip smoothed the open collar of his shirt. “Ah.

Well, Arjun’s bisexual. Although I think he does lean heavily toward men these days.”

“Yeah.” Then, before he could lose his nerve. “Is Marlowe bisexual?”

Kip froze, staring at the table. Slowly, he raised his eyes to search Nick’s face. “Yes.”

Not like Nick didn’t know it already. But he felt a strange urge for confirmation. “Was he always?”

“As far back as I can recall, yes.”

“And you’ve known him since you guys were kids, right? Did you guys… ever?” It wasn’t his business, but the question poured from his mouth anyway.

“Our time together is long in the past. We’ve just been friends for years.” He tilted his head. “Nick, is there something you want to talk about?”

“No.” God! They’d been together. Of course they had. They were too close for… Wow. Who else had Marlowe slept with?

“Nick?”

“No. Just curious. I didn’t know he… was… like that. Before.”

“Before?”

“Never mind.”

Kip sat forward, folding his hands on the table as he leaned toward Nick. “Nicky, did something happen that I should know about?”

“No.” Wasn’t any of Kip’s business, even if he was Marlowe’s best friend. Clearly it hadn’t meant enough to Marlowe to mention it. Nick certainly wasn’t going to act like some snubbed lover. Because he wasn’t: snubbed or a lover.

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“Did you and Marlowe…?”

“No.” He glared at Kip to keep his mouth shut, not wishing to repeat the lie. Seeing that it wouldn’t work for long, he scooted out from behind the table and stood. “Look, I’m gonna go home.

There’s no one else you wanted me to meet, was there?”

Kip kept on with that searching look. “No.”

Nick nodded. “I’m gonna think about the, uh, Arjun thing.

Call you in a few days?”

“That’ll be fine.”

“Great. Say ‘bye’ to Hideki for me if you see him.”

“Nick…?”

But Nick had already turned and was headed out the door.

Marlowe was getting out of prison. Time had marched on. Now, more than ever, Nick felt the need to get on with his life.

ChAPteR FiFteen

Marlowe stood in the middle of Kip’s kitchen, leaning on the free-standing island, his eyes on the shining black surface of the electric stovetop. A pan sat in one of the circles, a pan Marlowe remembered well. Kip had often cooked with that pan. Shrimp and scallop scampi with so much garlic it brought tears to your eyes. Kip cooked when he could and he was good at it. Kip had offered to cook tonight.

He was free.

Marlowe closed his eyes, took a deep breath, but when he reopened his eyes he was still in the kitchen. It wasn’t a dream.

Kip wore a light blue button down with the sleeves rolled up and casual khakis. Marlowe wore his favorite pair of battered jeans and a worn black Bob Marley T-shirt. His clothing provided by his ever thoughtful friend. He wasn’t standing in his cell doing everything he could to not go stir crazy. This was not part of the limited existence that had been his for nearly two years.

A hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Marlowe took another deep breath. “How the hell did I live through it?”

Kip’s arm slid all the way around him, squeezing tight. “You made it.” He pressed a quick, reassuring kiss to Marlowe’s temple.

Marlowe nodded and gave his friend a smile. “Wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Kip waved a hand and stepped away. “I didn’t do much.”

Marlowe grinned at his back, knowing Kip wouldn’t take credit for doing any more than a good friend would do. He’d always been like that. “Yeah, well, thanks anyway.”

“You’ve got to stop with the thank yous.” Kip grinned over his shoulder as he opened the refrigerator. “That’s not a very Marlowe thing to do.”

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“Yeah.” Marlowe stood straight, wiping a palm down his face. “That’s the big question though, isn’t it? What is Marlowe anymore?”

Kip didn’t answer, busy grabbing things to place on the island behind him. But they’d had this discussion on many of his visits.

He’d had to proclaim so many things he would no longer do, both in rehab and at his parole hearing. No more drugs, no more drinking. Easy enough to say when it meant getting out of that place a little sooner, if it meant not having to talk about his addictions any more. But now he was out, now he was in the real world. It’d be so easy to fuck up.

Would he?

As Kip kept saying, time will tell.

Marlowe hated that saying.

“I’ve got steaks,” Kip announced, placing a packet wrapped in butcher paper on the counter. “I thought we could whip up a salad, throw some potatoes into the microwave, and grill these.”

“Sounds fucking fantastic.”

“Excellent.” Kip left the packet where it was and turned to the sink to wash his hands.

“So… How is he?”

Kip laughed. “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask.”

“I’m asking.”

Before he’d answer, Kip finished washing his hands and dried them. When he turned back, his gaze narrowed at Marlowe.

“First, you have to tell me something.”

“What?”

“Did you hit on him?”

Marlowe raised a brow. “Why? What’d he say?”

“Not much.” He began to unwrap the steaks. “But a few weeks ago he asked me if you were gay. No. He asked if you were bi.”

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Interesting. Marlowe’s heart did a flutter, although it shouldn’t be that surprising that Nick was curious, given what had happened.

But he’d been interested enough to ask. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were. Should I have lied?”

“No.” Marlowe leaned in on the counter. “He didn’t say anything else?”

“So something did happen?”

“Yes.”

Kip growled. “And you didn’t think to tell me about it?”

Marlowe swallowed and lifted a hand to rub at a sore spot just underneath his heart. “It happened… that night.”

“Oh. Damn.”

“Yeah.” The steaks lay exposed on the expanse of white paper, thick, red, and tempting.

“What happened?”

Marlowe went to the refrigerator himself. If he was going to talk about this, he needed something to do. He took out lettuce and tomatoes and brought them to the part of the counter with the cutting board. “I gave Nick some X. I knew it hit him hard.

I got him out to the bus with every intention of fucking him.”

“Jesus, Marlowe.”

“I didn’t. We didn’t make it that far. But I sure as hell jerked him off.” He sighed. This was the first he’d talked about this with anyone but Dr. Hoston. He fought the panic. I can do this. “I was so high after that, that’s why I got the bright idea of taking the bus for a joy ride.”

They were both silent for a while, intent on their tasks. Kip pulled out a number of spices to rub on the meat and Marlowe sliced and chopped, filling a deep white bowl with lettuce and tomatoes.

“How do you feel about him now?”

Marlowe didn’t look up, eyes on the sharp edge of the knife as it cut through the shiny red skin of the tomato. “He hates me.”

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“That’s not an answer to my question.”

“Can’t stop thinking about him.” There was no use dissembling with Kip. He knew all of Marlowe’s tricks. “Don’t want to stop thinking about him.”

“Marlowe, maybe you should… I don’t know. You should probably give up. He’s not going to want to see you. And he’s not gay, no matter what happened that night.”

His lips buzzed with the distant memory of Nick’s warmth.

If he closed his eyes, he could remember the musky scent of Nick’s sweaty skin. “I know.”

“Did you think that maybe you’re still thinking so much about him because of what happened that night?”

Marlowe dumped the last of the tomato into the bowl and turned back to the refrigerator to search for more veggies to add.

“I’ve talked this all through with the good head doc. He says the same thing. Says I might be obsessing because I’d give anything to undo that night. He might be right.” Grabbing an orange bell pepper and some celery stalks, he turned back to the island.

“Except that doesn’t change the fact I’d been obsessing over him before it all happened. Hell, that was the reason we were on the bus.”

Kip sighed. “You never could pick the easy way.”

“Not once in my life.”

They shared a soft laugh.

“Do you want me to try and talk to him?”

“No. He needs you to be his manager, not my friend.” He sliced open the bell pepper. “Speaking of which, has he made any decisions?”

Kip got out a plate and lay both steaks on it. “I think he’s finally decided to take Arjun up on his offer.”

Marlowe couldn’t help a small groan.

“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who brought Arjun into this.”

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“Yeah, I know. It’ll be good for Nick. Arjun will make him sound right.” Arjun would also do everything he could to get Nick in his bed. Marlowe was relying on Nick’s heterosexuality to keep him clear of the shark. “Have they met up yet?”

“Arjun’s got a rehearsal studio booked starting this weekend.”

Kip went on to name a few people Arjun planned to hook up with Nick to see if any sparks flew. The conversation took them out on the veranda where Marlowe sat on a wooden lounger while Kip put the steaks on the grill.

“You know—” Marlowe interrupted Kip when he sat down in the lounger beside him, “—it’s okay to have a drink. I don’t mind.”

Kip stared out at the small landscaped hill across from them.

“I don’t need one.”

“What if I need you to have one?”

“What?”

“I’d like to prove to myself that I don’t need to drink.”

“Marlowe, come on, this is your first night out…”

“All the more reason. Please?”

Clearly against his better judgment, Kip stood. “Can I get you anything?”

“Coke?” He smiled, making a joke for his friend. “The carbonated kind.”

Kip nodded and disappeared through the kitchen door.

Marlowe stared at the trees as he waited, monitoring himself. Did he want a drink? He’d thought about it, of course. It felt weird not to have a glass or a bottle in his hand. He couldn’t remember a quiet dinner he and Kip had ever had where one or both of them hadn’t been drinking. It felt weird not knowing that there was a packet of cocaine in his pocket or in a bag somewhere that he could easily get. His fingertips dug into the meat of his thigh as he tried to figure out if he really wanted something or if it was a habit that was hard to break. It wasn’t lost on him that the racing of his thoughts, the doubt, the second guessing was the

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biggest reason he took drugs.

Kip came back with a bottle of imported beer in one hand and a can of Coca-Cola in the other. He sat, eyes on Marlowe as he took a sip from the beer.

Marlowe laughed as he opened the can. “I might need to start smoking again. That’s one addiction the good doc is okay with, since he smokes.”

Kip didn’t smile. “I can get rid of this.”

“God, don’t.” He scrubbed a hand through his short hair then took a sip of bubbly sugar water. “‘I’ll be fine. I need to get used to this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My own fault. I gotta keep remembering that.”

“Marlowe…”

“Stop. Just… stop. I’m fine.” He would be. He tugged at his hair again. “Think I should grow it back?”

It took a minute, but then Kip stood to look at the steaks.

“Won’t get long again for a long time.”

“Yeah, I know. I kind of like it short. Why the fuck did you let me grow it so long before?”

“As if I could talk you out of it?”

Marlowe smiled, even as he glanced at the beer bottle Kip had left on the shelf beside the grill. “You say that like it’s impossible.”

“It is impossible.”

“Nope.” Marlowe tore his gaze away from the bottle and faced the trees again. He took a deep breath. “It’s different now.

I’m different. I have to be.” He nodded, aware of the heavy silence from Kip. He lifted his can to toast the vista. “This is the new me.”

ChAPteR sixteen

Nick had been to the law offices of Hosken-Schmid & Driscoll only once before, to sign a contract that allowed him to go on tour with Marlowe. It was a nice one-story brick building in Sherman Oaks right down the street from any number of good little restaurants and coffee shops. Today, he got lucky and one of the two visitor parking spaces was open and the other spot was taken by Kip’s black Lexus.

Inside was a modest reception area with a wall of glass bricks that somehow made the small room seem lighter. A pretty blonde sat behind a circular desk underneath a splash of colors on canvas that someone probably called art. She smiled at him as he stepped up to the desk and introduced himself. She told him that he was already expected and actually got up from her desk to walk him through a door, down a short hall, and up a narrow flight of stairs to the conference room, explaining that coffee, tea, and water were available in the room but offering to get him something else if he liked. He declined with a smile and thanked her as she waved him into a sunny room with one wall made entirely of glass.

He froze.

Kip was there. He saw the frosted tips of his manager’s hair gleam in the sunlight as he stood from his chair on the other side of the conference table. But it was the man on the near side of the table that caught and held his eye. Marlowe. The hair was short, something about his body was different, and even something in his face was a little different, but there was no mistaking. It was Marlowe. Cut in short thick locks that barely covered his ears, his hair made the angles in his face stand out more and made the hard line of his jaw stronger. The aggressive thrust of his nose and the thickness of up-slanted eyebrows were the same, though, as was the proud jut of his chin beneath a light dusting of stubble. And those eyes, stormy blue and laser sharp.

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There was no mistaking them. He was… taller? No, that couldn’t be. But Nick got the impression that there was just more of him.

Maybe it was the muscles filling out his snug, long sleeved, skull and roses shirt. He’d always been toned, but now he was buff, from the solid column of his neck through the breadth of his shoulders down a tapered waist to lean hips encased in new blue jeans. Even without the hair and a dozen pieces of silver jewelry sparkling at ears, throat, and fingers, he was the personification of “rock star” and always had been.

Damn.

Aware of the silence, aware that he hadn’t moved from the doorway, aware that they were both staring at him, Nick blurted the first thing that came to mind: “What happened to the hair?”

Marlowe jerked, startled, then smiled as he raised a hand to run fingers through the short chocolate locks. “I cut it during rehab.”

What the fuck? You ask about the hair ? Nick berated himself as he stepped into the conference room. He stopped beside the table, placing his hands on the back of a wheeled, brown leather chair. Marlowe had taken one step toward him and halted. The table might have been a barrier between Nick and Kip, but a vast canyon of feelings and one measly chair were all that stood between Nick and Marlowe. Nick’s heart sped up and he shoved aside any number of images that sprang to mind. Kissing, sucking, pumping. Anger came to his rescue, a reassuring burn that served as a welcome distraction.

He looked to Kip. “What’s he doing here?”

Kip was as cool and composed as ever, dressed casually in a pale green dress shirt and business slacks. But his brief glance at Marlowe then back at Nick showed he was on edge. “We need to talk to you about something.”

Nick dug his fingers into the back of the chair. “We? I thought I was here to sign the agreement with Arjun?”

Kip nodded and opened the slim briefcase that sat before him on the table and pulled out a few bound sheets of legal size

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paper. He sent the paper sliding across the shiny glass surface of the table toward Nick. “Those are the papers for you and Arjun, ready to sign. But I think you’ll want to listen to what I have to say first.”

Nick stared at the papers before him, but didn’t pick them up. He knew that tone in Kip’s voice. He wasn’t fucking around.

Whatever he had to say, he took it very seriously.

“What is it?”

It had to do with Marlowe. Of course it did. Why else would he be here? And damn it, Marlowe was like a fucking miniature sun just a few feet to Nick’s right. Nick could feel the heat pouring off him.

Kip continued to speak and all three of them continued to stand. “Marlowe and I had a meeting with the record company yesterday. He still owes them an album. The papers were signed before the tour even began.”

Nick held very still. He knew that. Marlowe had told Nick that while they were on tour.

Kip continued. “The project was put on hold for obvious reasons, but the company wants Marlowe to resume work now that he’s out of prison.”

Nick said nothing. He didn’t need to. Kip would speak the words eventually.

Except that Kip didn’t say them. Marlowe did. That rich, ridiculously compelling voice spoke from a few mere feet to Nick’s right. “I want you with me. I want to use the songs we wrote.”

Nick shut his eyes, fighting the compulsion to look at Marlowe. The metal beneath the padding of the chair wouldn’t give under the pressure of his fingertips. He simmered as they waited. A dozen responses shifted through his head and not all of them to do with music. Finally he blurted the one that fought hardest to get out.

“Fuck you.”

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No response. He finally looked up into faces that showed no surprise at his reaction.

He snarled. “Did you actually think I’d work with you again?”

Calm. Infuriating calm was all that showed as Marlowe averted his eyes. “I had to try.”

“Nick,” Kip leaned on the table, trying to get his attention,

“listen…”

“What the fuck for? This son-of-a-bitch almost killed me and you want me to work with him again?”

Kip held his gaze and Nick gladly focused on him rather than launch himself at the man beside him. “Nicky, I understand your feelings. We both do. No one’s asking you to just instantly forgive what’s happened.”

“Good. Because it’s not happening.”

“But there’s a lot of good reasons to take this offer.”

Nick stood straight, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Give me one.”

“I’ll give you a couple thousand.” Kip pulled a single sheet of paper out of the briefcase and sent it sliding Nick’s way. “That’s the offer from the record company. That’s just your cut of the advance.”

Nick couldn’t keep from looking. Once he did, he couldn’t hide his shock. That was a fuckload of money. He scowled.

“That’s just for the album?”

“Just for the recording. That’s how much they believe in this.”

A hard clamp squeezed Nick’s heart and he shot a glare at Marlowe. “That’s how much they believe in you.”

Those blue eyes skidded away from Nick’s. Calmly, Marlowe turned to prop his butt on the edge of the table, crossing arms and ankles as he looked toward the floor. “Sure. But I know what kind of music we make together and I know it’s even better than they think.” He gestured at the paper. “And they think it’ll be pretty special.”

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“Fuck you.” The words were a gut reaction, nothing more.

His anger couldn’t blind him to the opportunity or the money, nor could he deny that Marlowe was infinitely marketable.

Probably more so now after prison than before. But it was too much to ask.

“Nick…”

Marlowe turned his head to face Nick, effectively cutting Kip off. “Sign your deal with Arjun.”

Kip grunted, surprise breaking through his calm.

“Marlowe…?”

Marlowe ignored him, focus fixed on Nick. “Sign your deal and spend your three months with Arjun. If he can find you a band that’s worthy of you, more power to you both. If not, reconsider my offer.”

Just like that. Ordering Nick around again. Except without any of the suave seduction that went with it. Nick lowered his head, glaring at Marlowe through his lashes.

“Why should I?”

“Because you know we’re good together, despite anything that’s happened.”

That stung. Phantom hands slid over Nick’s skin and invisible lips brushed his. Lips that were way too tempting from this close.

He took a step back.

“You prick.”

Marlowe’s focus was again on his feet, hands firmly tucked into his armpits. “Call me anything you want, it’s still true.”

Determined that it wasn’t for spite, Nick reached down to turn Arjun’s contract to face him. He looked up at Kip. “Pen?”

Kip grit his teeth, shooting a brief glare at the back of Marlowe’s head. “Nick, please…”

Marlowe spoke without moving. “Give him the pen, Kip.”

Muttering under his breath, Kip snatched a pen from his briefcase and pushed it toward Nick. “I don’t know how long

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that offer from the record company stands.”

Nick glanced at Kip.

Marlowe spoke without looking at either of them: “He’ll negotiate it. Three months isn’t that long.”

Kip was back to glaring at his friend. “We don’t know that.”

“Yes. We do.”

Nick glanced from one to the other and back, but they were locked in some silent, angry communication. Fuck it. He turned the papers to the little plastic arrows that were stuck near the places he needed to sign.

“You should read it first.” The dark tone in Kip’s voice said that he was still mad.

Nick glanced up at him. “You read it?”

Kip pressed his lips into a thin, disapproving line, before he nodded. “Yes.”

“It says what we agreed? Three months and shared rights to any recordings that come out of it?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged and bent over the table. “If I can’t trust you now, I’m screwed anyway.”

After that loaded barb, the scratch of pen on paper was the loudest sound in the room. When Nick was done, he stood and dropped the pen on top of the papers. As he’d signed, Kip had come around the table to stand at Nick’s left. He gathered up the single sheet with the record company’s deal and tucked it into a blue folder.

He handed the folder to Nick. There were some other papers in the folder as well. “Here.” He made sure he had Nick’s attention, pressing the folder to his chest. “Read it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Record companies just don’t make these deals anymore. Too risky. The fact that they are in this case isn’t something to take lightly.”

“They don’t want me…”

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“Wrong. What you didn’t give me a chance to say before—”

another brief glare over Nick’s shoulder at Marlowe, “—is that the offer is only half without you.”

Nick scowled. “Without me? What about Hideki and Justin?”

“No. You. The company wants both of you. They heard the songs you two were working on during the tour and I sent them your demo. They have confidence in the two of you and they’re willing to back it with solid cash.” He shoved at the folder, still held at Nick’s chest, sending Nick back a step. “Don’t let your emotions screw this up. And I’m speaking here as your manager, not as anyone’s friend.”

Nick licked his lips and took hold of the folder.

Kip stepped back. “Before you accuse me of keeping this from you, I haven’t. We both only found out about this yesterday.”

Yesterday. Three days after Marlowe became a free man.

Things happened fast.

“But maybe Marlowe’s right.” Kip crossed his arms calmly. At least, he appeared to be calm again. “You should take the three months with Arjun. It’ll be good to see if you can find someone you’re more comfortable with.”

Nick cast his eyes in Marlowe’s direction, but his gaze fell short of falling on the man. This was too much to process. Part of him wanted to grab the signed contract from the table and rip it up, but he didn’t. The stiff paper of the folder wrinkled in his tense grasp as he took a step toward the door.

“Fine. We done here?”

“We’re done.” Kip stopped him at the door, appearing to put a hand on his arm. “Call me and let me know how it goes with Arjun.”

Nick nodded.

Kip’s grip stopped him again, made him look up into sympathetic hazel eyes. “Call me if you need anything.”

Touched despite the roiling emotions in his head and chest, Nick squeezed Kip’s arm and nodded. “I will.”

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Marlowe’s eyes stayed on the door long after Nick had disappeared through it. Did Nick even realize that the palms he had tucked into his armpits were sweaty? Or that if he didn’t have himself propped on this table, he probably would have keeled over. The effort to keep from reaching out or falling to his knees at Nick’s feet had been ridiculous.

Kip shut the door and turned to glare at him. “What the fuck are you thinking?”

Suddenly tired, Marlowe slipped into one of the leather chairs.

“Nothing. Too much.” God, he was tired. Why was he tired?

Kip dropped into the chair beside him as Marlowe braced his elbows on the table and hid his face in his hands. “If you’d given me some time, I might have been able to talk him into trying.”

Marlowe shook his head without raising it. “No. He was too pissed.”

“Well, yes, but that’s a lot of money.”

It was. The offer had been a shock to even Marlowe, even more when the second offer to include Nick had followed on its heels. He knew he and Nick together were explosive. Evidently, it was more obvious than he thought. But only a blind and deaf man couldn’t sense Nick’s potential. It had always floored Marlowe that no one had lifted Nick up and put him in the spotlight before him. He was Bobby Gorman’s nephew for fuck’s sake. He should have been onstage when he was still in puberty.

Instead, the fates had saved him, nourished him, cherished him, and kept him hidden until they revealed him to Marlowe. It was fucking destiny for them to be together.

And he’d fucked it all up.

A sympathetic hand rubbed the back of his shoulder.

“Marlowe.”

He lifted his head, trying to remember what they’d been talking about. He didn’t want Kip’s sympathy. Not now. “Right.

A lot of money.” He spread his hands on the table and pushed

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back a little, staring at smudges on the glass tabletop. “But he’s never really worked with anyone but me. It’ll be good for him to get a feel for what else is out there.”

“Right.” Kip reached over to draw the contract Nick had signed closer. He sighed. “Maybe it’d be better if he finds a fit with Arjun.”

Startled, Marlowe looked at his friend’s profile. “What the fuck for?”

Kip shook his head slowly, eyes on the paper although it was obvious he wasn’t reading. “I’m not so sure it’s a good idea to put the two of you together. Maybe it’s too soon.”

Marlowe fought the sense of betrayal. He knew why Kip felt that way. A reasonable man would. Unfortunately, Marlowe was far past reason where Nick was concerned. God, the need to kiss him had made Marlowe dizzy. Nick just couldn’t be blind to that, could he?

“Don’t worry about it. He won’t go with Arjun.”

“You’re so sure?”

“I have to be.” He glanced up at the tinted glass wall before him, feeling the sun on his face. “We should go.”

“Right.” Kip stood and busied himself with gathering papers into his briefcase.

Marlowe stayed in his seat, closing his eyes, cherishing the memory of Nick’s presence. He was even more vibrant and alive than Marlowe remembered. Black hair shining in a straight fall to his shoulders, blue eyes sparking with fire under angry black brows. His muscular body was slimmer, evidence that he hadn’t been working out with the same fervor he had when on tour, but the most important thing was that his right arm was whole and seemed to be in fully working order.

Marlowe hadn’t been prepared for the wash of relief at the mere sight of it. Nor had he properly braced himself against the surge of lust that boiled his blood. He needed Nick like his life’s blood. Telling him to sign with Arjun had broken a piece

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of his heart. He had to believe that Nick wouldn’t find a match with anyone else. Couldn’t. He couldn’t find anyone but Marlowe.

Selfish of him, yes, but there it was.

It was a short drive back to Kip’s condo. Marlowe got out of the car and started to follow Kip to the building’s side door, but stopped.

“What?”

Marlowe stared at the tips of the trees beside the parking lot.

No, he couldn’t leave it alone. “Can I borrow your car?”

Kip hesitated. “What for?”

“I need to take him the books.”

Behind the brown tinted lenses of his glasses, Kip blinked.

“You think that’s a good idea?”

Marlowe started walking to the door. He had to go upstairs to get the books anyway. “No. It probably isn’t. But I think I need to.”

Kip sighed and followed. “Okay.”

He’d never been to Bobby Gorman’s house before, but the directions were easy enough. It was the first time Marlowe had been behind the wheel since he’d been freed so he took his time, enjoying the smooth ride of Kip’s luxury car. It made him miss his ‘Vette, but that had been sold to pay some of his lawyer’s fees. Truth, he’d also sold it to punish himself a little. He’d sold all ten of his cars as penance for what he’d done in the bus. Not enough and nothing anyone had asked him to do, but Dr. Hoston had approved.

Nick’s truck was parked in the driveway. A good sign. Marlowe wasn’t sure what he would have done if Nick hadn’t gone straight home after the meeting at the law offices. Marlowe parked and stared at the front of the unassuming house. How many people in the neighborhood knew that a former rock god lived behind that plain facade? Is this what happened when legends faded?

“Only if they’re lucky,” Marlowe murmured.

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With that happy thought, he scooped up two dog-eared composition books from the passenger seat and got out. The trip up the driveway was brief, not long enough for him to figure out what he was going to say. Not that it mattered. He worked best when he winged it anyway. Or, at least, he had.

Don’t screw this up.

A pretty Latino woman opened the door for him.

“Hi. Is…”

“Oh my God.” She recognized him and he didn’t think she was all that glad to see him. “Marlowe.”

He nodded, aware of her taking in his change of hair and physique. He hadn’t realized how much he’d filled out in the last two years, but enough people had noticed—Kip, the guys at the record company, a few of Kip’s friends, and, if he didn’t miss his guess, Nick—since he’d gotten out that he had to believe it was a big difference. “Is Nick here?”

She hesitated, then nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”

She closed the door after he passed through. “I’m not sure he’ll want to see you.”

“I understand.”

She looked him up and down again. “Okay. I’ll go tell him.”

It dawned on him as she walked away that he’d met her before.

She was Nick’s… cousin? Yeah, Bobby’s daughter. What was her name?

He waited by the door as she hurried down a short hallway and knocked on a closed door. There were murmurs, then a pause, then Nick walked out. He was still wearing the black vest and white T-shirt he’d worn to the meeting but he’d changed from slacks into jeans. His bare feet slapped softly on the hardwood and Marlowe had to stifle the thought of sucking on his gorgeous long toes.

Nick stopped at the end of the hall and stared at him, the woman hovering a few feet behind him. “What do you want?”

You. But that wasn’t a good answer. “Can we talk?”

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“We just did.”

Marlowe nodded. “I forgot to say a few things.”

Nick scowled, then startled, glancing over his shoulder. He pointed toward the living room to Marlowe’s right. “In there.”

Then to the woman behind him. “Sol, can you give us a few?”

She nodded then disappeared through what looked like a kitchen door. Nick followed Marlowe into the living room.

Marlowe sat on the couch, Nick on a matching chair.

Marlowe reached over to place the composition books on the table at Nick’s knees. “These are for you.”

Nick eyed them like they might bite him. He’d know what they were, of course. Marlowe always used the same type of books to write his music. “What are these?’

“Lyrics. To your music.”

“What?”

Marlowe shrugged, bracing his knees on his elbows. “Kip let me listen to your music. I… wrote those in my cell.”

Nick scowled and Marlowe couldn’t decide what, exactly, he might be pissed about. There was so much to choose from.

“Look, today didn’t go very well.”

“You think?”

“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about seeing me. Guess I know now.”

“Guess you do.”

“Look, I understand how you feel…”

“Do you?”

Marlowe bit the inside of his lip then tried again. “You hate me. I get it. I don’t blame you in the slightest. You probably want to beat my brains in.” He lifted his head and tipped it to the side.

“Want to go for it now?”

Nick laughed, a sharp, ugly bark of a sound. “Yeah, right.”

Marlowe put all the sincerity he could into his expression. “If

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I thought letting you beat me to a pulp would help anything, I’m all for it. Let’s go.”

Nick’s eyes narrowed, his hands fisting on his thighs. For a second, Marlowe thought he might actually take the offer. “No, thanks.”

“Then what do you need?”

“Need?”

“Yeah. To make this work. What do you need? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

Nick stared at him through narrowed eyes. Again, Marlowe couldn’t guess at his thoughts. It pained him to remember a time when reading Nick had almost been easy. When he could plainly see the admiration and unacknowledged lust. It had been there.

Once.

“Who the hell are you?”

The smile that twisted his mouth felt bitter. “I’m not so sure anymore.” When nothing came out of Nick, he had to speak to fill the silence. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But we know plenty of guys in other bands who hate each others’ guts and they still work together.”

“For the money.”

“That and… all of it.”

Nick stared at the untouched books on the table. “Is that what this is to you?” His voice was soft, full of what could have been anger. Probably more resentment.

Marlowe shrugged, trying his damnedest to keep this casual when all he wanted to do was tell Nick that he loved him. Because he was sure of it. This couldn’t just be obsession. Not when his very skin tingled in Nick’s presence. He loved him and he’d fucked up any chance they might have had.

“Not sure what else it can be. Look, maybe we can’t be as good as we thought we were, maybe I… broke it with what I did.” He swallowed after that admission and waited for Nick to jump on it.

But the silence that followed prompted him to continue. “But I

136 Jet Mykles
don’t think either one of us can afford to pass up this offer. The record company believes we can make it work.”

“Or they believe that your going to jail, and me recovering to play again are that marketable.”

Marlowe sighed in appreciation of Nick’s quick mind. He smiled despite himself. “That too.” He braved a look into those blue eyes. “But we are good together, you and me.”

So cold, that stare. Like ice. That didn’t belong in the face of passion.

“We were.”

Marlowe nodded. “I’d like to see if we still are. Tell me what needs to happen to make it so.” The raw poetry was gone from Marlowe’s words, the bleak tone not the right sound for his voice.

But he had to lay it on the line for Nick. He had to be honest in the words he did say to make up for the ones he held close to his heart.

Nick shook his head, averting his gaze. “I have to think about it.”

Marlowe watched him then sighed. “Fine.” He stood. Nick stayed seated “The lyrics are yours. Read them, use them, toss them, whatever.”

Nick didn’t look up as Marlowe passed by him. So close.

Marlowe barely resisted the urge to reach out and stroke his hair to relearn its softness.

He stopped a few steps short of the front door and turned around. Nick still hadn’t moved so he had to talk to the back of his head. “Nick, I never told you I was sorry. Never got the chance and I… didn’t think I had the right. Still don’t. But I am. Sorry. So very sorry. For everything. I’d give anything to go back and choose not to drive that bus that night.” The bus he regretted, but not anything else. Would Nick hear the distinction?

With nothing more to say, he left. He could only wonder at Nick’s next move.

ChAPteR seventeen

A small knock on his bedroom door. “You okay?”

Nick stayed seated in his swivel chair, staring at the composition books that lay unopened on the desk before him. “I’m fine.” He knew Sol was still out there. He’d known she’d come. Marlowe had just left five minutes ago and she wasn’t likely to accept Nick holing up alone for long. “Just give me a few, huh?”

“Okay. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Bobby should be home any minute.”

He kept staring at the marbled cover of the books. Well used.

The corners of the stiff paper covers were worn, the corners rubbed smooth. They looked like any dozen books he’d seen Marlowe with during the tour. He’d seen Marlowe scribbling in those, had learned something of the notation Marlowe used when he was writing music. The meaning behind these books wasn’t lost on Nick.

“Fuck.”

He sat back in his chair, pushing it a few feet from the table and crossing his arms over his chest. Part of him wanted to open one of those books, but an equal part of him was downright scared. Marlowe had written lyrics for him. For his music. What did it mean? Was it an apology? Was it something more? Or was it something less, something he did to kill the boredom while in his cell?

“Fuck.”

Wasn’t bad enough that they’d dangled that offer from the record company in front of him today? Wasn’t bad enough that Marlowe had to be just as magnetic as he always had been?

Wasn’t bad enough that Nick had to battle a hard-on because of the unwanted images that kept popping into his head? The hair, the body, and the plain dress had thrown him off enough, was enough unlike Marlowe that the details were burned into his

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brain.

“To make this work. What do you need? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

Nick had meant it when he’d asked who the hell Marlowe was, because those words or anything like them would never have come out of the mouth that he remembered. The Marlowe he’d known never did wrong, so why would he ever have to make anything right?

“Damn it.” Nick leaned forward, elbows on knees, face in hands. He dug his fingers in his hair and pulled.

Damned if he didn’t want to go to Marlowe. That was the most infuriating part of this entire day. He wanted to go to Marlowe.

Wanted to take the record company’s deal. Wanted to work with Marlowe again. Much as he’d like to deny it, Marlowe was right.

They were good together. But fuck if he was going to risk his life by following in Marlowe’s footsteps again. Doing that before had almost gotten him killed, had almost cost him his music, a part of his soul. That he couldn’t forgive.

At odds with himself and getting nowhere in his own head, he shoved to his feet and left his bedroom. At the kitchen door, he leaned his shoulder against the inside of the frame, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. Bobby had come home and was at the refrigerator, pulling drinks out to set on the kitchen table. It looked like Sol had some of dinner already out, a salad and a covered casserole dish sitting in the center of the table. They both looked up when he appeared.

“Hey.”

Bobby nodded. His jeans were new and his black T-shirt plain so he must have had a new student today. Either that or he’d gone to a school for a presentation. “How’d the meeting go?”

Nick snorted. “You’re not going to believe it.”

Bobby set two cans of beer on the table and sat in his chair with his back to the wall. “Try me.”

Nick came into the kitchen and dropped into his chair, right next to the door that led to the back yard. “Marlowe was there.”

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Bobby exchanged glances with Sol, who was still stirring something that smelled like beans on the stove. “He came here too.”

“Yeah. That was later.” Nick opened his beer and took a sip.

“He wants me to work with him again.”

“Oh hell no.” That from Sol, who turned away from her pot to jam her hands on her hips. “No fucking way.”

He had to smile at her reaction. “That’s what I said.”

“Good.”

Bobby studied him as Sol turned back to the stove. “You told him no?”

“I told him no.” Another sip. “Then Kip told me that the record company wants us together too.”

Sol glanced over her shoulder, scowling. “What?”

“I guess Kip let them hear that demo I sent him. They want me and Marlowe to join up again. Offered a fuckload of money for it too.”

“How much?”

He told them.

Bobby whistled. “Yeah, that’s a fuckload of money all right.”

Nick nodded. “Offer’s only half for Marlowe alone.”

That shot Bobby’s eyebrows up. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Shouldn’t matter how much they offer you.” Metal scraped angrily on metal as Sol upended the pot of beans over another dish. “You can’t work with that bastard again.”

Nick met Bobby’s eyes and saw understanding. Sol saw it as she turned around.

“No. You can’t work with Marlowe again. How can you even think it?”

“I don’t want to. Fuck no. I don’t want to be anywhere near him.”

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“What did he come here for?” Sol asked as she set the dish on the table. “To sweet talk you into it?”

Nick stared at the dish. They waited.

“He came to apologize.”

“Too little too late.” She spun around and headed back to the oven.

“Yeah. But he needs the money as much as I do.”

She yanked open the oven door, letting heated air into the kitchen. “Is that why he apologized? For the money? To get you to come crawling back so he can be rich again?”

He could have answered in spite, but he tempered himself.

“No. I think it was a genuine apology.”

She rounded on him, oven mitts crushed in her grasp. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare think that you’re going to forgive him!”

Bobby held up a hand. “Enough. Finish what you’re doing.

I’m hungry.”

She glared at him briefly then went back to pulling baked chicken from the oven.

Meanwhile, Bobby turned to him. “What happened to your deal with Arjun?”

“I signed it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“They let you sign that before they told you about the offer?”

“No, it was after.” He laughed a little. “Marlowe told me to sign it.” Sobering, he held his can with both hands and stared into its little black mouth. “Told me to take the three months and see if I could find a band. That’s ‘worthy’ of me.” He raised his eyebrows and rolled his eyes. “Said if I didn’t to come back and reconsider.”

“Will the record company wait?”

Nick shrugged. “We left that one up to Kip.”

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Bobby watched Nick as Sol set the last of the dinner dishes on the table.

She sat. “I’m glad you signed the other deal. You need to find a different band.”

Bobby shook his head. “Not going to be easy.”

“Dad!”

“It won’t. Even with Arjun in it. Forming a band isn’t like forming a committee to—” he waved his hand as he thought,

“—clean up a park or something.” He rolled his eyes as they laughed at his lame comparison. “Whatever. But it’s not.” He picked up his fork and pointed it at Nick. “And you know it.”

Nick nodded as he dished green beans and chicken onto his plate. “Yeah, I know.”

“Nick’s got plenty of talent,” Sol argued.

“Fuck yeah, he does.” Of anyone, Bobby was the most proud of Nick’s recovery and never missed an opportunity to crow about it. “But he’s a guitarist, he’s not a singer. No matter how good he is, if he wants to be in a good rock band, he needs a singer.” Bobby shook his head as he filled his own plate. “And lead men like Marlowe are rare as they come.”

Ominous thought, but true. Nick knew any number of good guitarists and a handful of really good ones—Bobby among them—but the only famous ones, the only ones who really made the rockstar thing work, were in bands with a solid, talented lead man. Or they were the lead man. Nick was honest enough about himself to agree with Bobby. He could never work the crowd as a lead man. He wasn’t Marlowe.

“Marlowe’s not so hot,” Sol groused.

Nick’s head came up and so did his eyebrows.

She glared at him. “What? He’s not.”

Nick laughed. Bobby chuckled.

She grimaced, stabbing at her chicken with her fork. “Okay.

He’s hot. But he’s an asshole and he almost killed you. You do not

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need him.”

“I know.” Nick shoved a forkful of beans in his mouth, barely tasting it. But Bobby was right. Even with Arjun’s help, how likely was he to find another band like Marlowe’s?

After a few bites, he turned to Bobby. He waited until he had his uncle’s attention. “If Ellis didn’t die. If he’d gone to jail instead and come back later and asked you to reform Elastixx…

Would you?”

Bobby wasn’t against talking about Elastixx. He claimed that was far enough in his past that it didn’t affect him anymore. But Nick saw him think, saw the instant answer in his eyes even though he pretended to consider the question.

“Yes. In a heartbeat.” A small smile. “But I’d give him hell for it.”

During the rest of dinner, they veered away from the topic, although Sol came back to it whenever she thought Nick was too quiet and told him to stop considering the offer. Her concern felt good, even if she was off base. He was in a relatively good mood when they finished eating and went their separate ways to do their own thing for a few hours before the nightly television ritual began. But then he got back into his room and his attention landed on Marlowe’s composition books. Thinking he could handle it, he turned on the lamp and opened one of them to a random page. There was Marlowe’s scrawl, fluid, spiky letters that always made Nick think of what he’d seen in the original documents of the Constitution or the Declaration of Independence. Elegant and expressive script. Marlowe’s writing was even handsome.

Nick read a few lines.

Then cursed.

Read some more.

Then shut the book.

He didn’t even need the reference note that told him which track the lyrics were for. The cadence and Marlowe’s singular

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notation told him how the music flowed in and how the words fit perfectly with the music.

Just like that, indecision and frustration were back.

“Fuck.”

Without giving it much thought, he pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. He scrolled through the names in his contacts list until he found one that he’d recently added.

Hideki picked up on the second ring. “Yo, man! What up?”

“I can’t deal at home tonight. You doing?”

“Oh man, am I doing! Got invites to a new club on the beach.

You in?”

“I’m in. Give me the deets.”

Yeah, that was just what he needed. Time out with a good friend. Make some more friends. Meet a girl. Get laid.

The rest of this shit would have to wait.

Ah, my people. Marlowe damn near spread his arms and tilted his head back in order to soak up the atmosphere. Thumping music, bright lights, and fragrant bodies surrounded him, milling about, trying to be seen. The Ming looked like the inside of a porcelain vase, with off white walls and lights to match. Snatches of vibrant blue light broke the monotony here and there from conical lights that hung from the ceiling. The color matched the striped pattern of the cushions on the benches that were more than wide enough to lie upon. Actually, it was one long bench that lined two of the walls, but the cushions were interspersed with low tables provided for drink convenience. The circular dance floor in the center of the room was the focal point of most of the pale lighting, although the bar along one bench-free wall had its own bank of track lighting so the bartenders in their white T-shirts and slacks could see what they were doing, and who they were serving. The whole point of The Ming was to see and be seen. It had just opened a month before he’d gone on tour. Kip assured him it had gained in popularity.

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He grinned at Kip, but his friend didn’t see it. Behind a fake calm, Kip’s eyes were taking it all in, faintly disapproving. Marlowe could guess what he saw. Everyone had a drink in hand and it was obvious more people were flying high than not. Kip had been vehemently against coming out tonight. But after coming home from seeing Nick, Marlowe couldn’t stay in for another night. Now that he’d seen Nick, now that he’d been rejected, he craved a crowd. He wanted to be seen. He needed to know if the rejection was global or if it was limited to the one he’d hurt.

He bumped Kip’s arm. “It’ll be fine.”

That got Kip to look at him. His face remained calm, but one eyebrow did raise.

Laughing, Marlowe slapped his arm and stepped farther into the white bowl of the club. “Relax.” He put more calm into his voice than he felt, just for Kip. But his blood was racing. Already he’d spied a half dozen people he knew. Or had known. God, two years seemed like nothing. And forever. How was he going to be treated? Best way to find out was to wade in. He stepped in front of the nearest familiar face. “Carson Matthews.”

Bloodshot black eyes blinked. It took a moment for the actor to take in Marlowe’s face and hair, but slowly recognition dawned.

Bright white teeth appeared in a smile that split Carson’s smooth, nut brown face. “Marlowe?”

Marlowe offered his hand. “None other.”

“Well, damn.” A highball glass was switched from one hand to the other so Carson could take his hand and pump it. If possible, the grin grew. “Dayum. How you been, boy?”

Although he could feel Kip behind him like a shadow, his friend had been caught in another conversation a few paces away.

“I’m better now.”

Carson blinked red eyes again and sculpted black brows crowded down over them in thought. “Hey, wait. Weren’t you…?”

“In jail,” Marlowe finished for him. He ran a hand down the open collar of his black silk shirt, as if what he said was no big deal. “Yeah. Just got out.”

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Marlowe had predicted his reception with most people would go one of two ways. They could be reminded of his incarceration and draw away, uncomfortable. Or, they could react like Carson did.

The man’s eyes lit up and he took a step closer. “Yeah, I heard about that. Oh man, that’s a tough break. Car wreck, right? No, bus?”

A twinge of panic chilled Marlowe’s blood, but he was sure he didn’t show it. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit, man, what were you on?”

Marlowe made himself laugh. “Hell, what wasn’t I on?”

It made Carson laugh. It was supposed to.

And then the parade started. Carson was a big enough actor to draw attention. Missy Daly sidled up to him as though she didn’t see Marlowe at first, then her violet eyes went wide in mock surprise as she pretended to just recognize Marlowe. He’d barely finished greeting her when a handful of others—two starlets, a country singer, a baseball player, and a NASCAR driver—joined them. Throughout the greetings and introductions no one could pry details of the past two years out of him, but he knew he couldn’t hold out long. That was okay. What he struggled with was the smell of alcohol. It didn’t wake a craving, exactly. But his hands felt terribly empty. Everyone else had a glass in hand. He felt that he needed one too.

“Can I buy you a drink?” David, the NASCAR driver offered.

Marlowe looked toward the bar that wasn’t twenty feet away.

He saw the glistening glass shelves of bottles and recognized his favorite, Jim Beam. It called to him, told him he needed it.

Fuck that. He shook his head, smiling. “Thanks, but no can do.

I’m officially on the wagon.” Half of them gave him looks of thinly disguised horror, which he laughed off. “I did my time for driving a bus under the influence. If that’s not a wake-up call, I don’t know what is.”

“Oh wow.” Missy Daly wrapped herself around his arm. “I so feel you.” Touchy-feely, dreamy eyes. She was definitely on X.

146 Jet Mykles

“My brother got a DUI once and it made him quit. Well, he still does pot and stuff, but no more drinking.”

He almost laughed when her words seemed to calm a few of the others. Even the athletes were relieved to realize that Marlowe probably wasn’t off everything. He let them think what they wanted and gladly accepted the offer of a Coke from his new friend David, who was hungrily eyeing Missy. Loving the incestuous feel of being in a crowd like this, Marlowe headed to one of the cushioned benches with his companions. He caught sight of Kip watching him from across the room and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

He and Missy had to climb onto the bench and crawl to where they could rest their backs against the cushion propped against the wall. She used the opportunity to grope him and giggled when she ‘accidentally’ ended up sprawled across his lap.

She snuggled into his chest as she righted herself, her legs—bare underneath her mid-thigh skirt—draped over his.

“Hey,” she breathed, nuzzling under his jaw. “I’ve got some really good X in my purse. Want some?”

Happily, the press of her body distracted him from the instant need for the pills she offered. Sliding his hand just up under the hem of her skirt, he was able to shake his head and smile. “No, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“I’m clean, remember?”

Startled, she drew back so she could see his face. “Even pills?”

He tempered his laugh. “Yeah.”

“You meant completely clean?”

“That’s what I meant.”

Glossy pink lips formed an O. “Oh man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“No worries, sweetheart.” He squeezed her thigh to remind her of his hand. “Doesn’t mean you can’t.”

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That wasn’t easy for her to digest, but a kiss helped her out.

Or, at least it distracted her. Distracted him too. Felt nice to have a willing body pressed to his again.

Missy stayed on his lap as they rejoined the conversation with the others, who were either spread out or sitting up with them in the wide space between two of the low tables. But then her peak waned. She left to freshen up but never came back. No loss. By the time Marlowe realized she’d been a while, he was well into an intriguing conversation with David of NASCAR. He knew nothing about racing cars, but he did know something about a man clearly confused by his attraction to another man. David was adorable, although he wouldn’t think of himself nearly as that. Six foot and blond with aqua blue eyes. The drunker he got, the closer he sidled toward Marlowe until they were seated side by side. Marlowe had turned to face him, one knee bent and his arm resting on the cushion behind them. David was sitting so when he moved, his hip often brushed Marlowe’s knee. He was blushing, but that could be excused by the drinking. Marlowe knew, though, that something in David wanted him. If he chose, he could probably nurture it and take the man home.

Except that every fiber of his being was against the idea. His heart beat steadily and the only tingle he felt on his skin was from the warm air. Intellectually, he knew David could be fun to play with, but he just wasn’t interested. His dick had perked when the girl had been in his lap, but now wasn’t interested at all. It was kind of fascinating. Marlowe knew there was nothing wrong with his dick. One of his plans for the night was to use it on—in—
someone, but clearly it wouldn’t be a man. Why not? The answer was painfully simple. When he tried to picture David underneath him, blond hair turned black and blue eyes turned from aqua to crystal. Nick. However many women he chose to think about or sleep with, he only wanted one man. Thinking of Nick was enough to distract him from his conversation with David.

“You okay?” David asked, laying a hand on his knee.

Marlowe stared at it. That was his invitation. It didn’t get clearer than that, even if David didn’t really know what he was

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doing. But, instead of taking advantage, he just looked up into the man’s face, ignored the simmering lust in those eyes, and smiled. “Yeah, I’m good, but I… forgot something.” He pulled his knee away as he pushed from the wall. “Will you excuse me?”

“Huh? Oh, sure.”

Without a backward glance, he scooted off the bench and melted into the crowd. At the edge of the dance floor, he thought he saw Nick. His heart stopped. But when the guy turned around, the shape of his face was all wrong. Besides he was Marlowe’s height, not a few inches shorter. You’ve got it bad, my man, Marlowe told himself. More than any other time that night, he wanted something. A drink, a handful of pills, some powder. Something to dull his thoughts so he could go with the flow. But that was stupid. He was doing just fine without. Maybe he wasn’t as ready as he thought. What time was it? Maybe he should find Kip and go.

A hand grabbed his arm just before the body attached to it glided in front of him. A cloud of jasmine perfume surrounded him and a short blonde bob framing a heart-stopping face came into focus.

His smile was instant and genuine. “Dayna.”

“Hey there, handsome.”

Gladly, he folded the model into his arms, breathing her in.

Of all the celebrities he knew, this was one he actually considered a real friend, probably his best outside the music world. “Where did you come from?”

She drew back but kept her hand on his shoulder. “I come here all the time.” Then she laughed. “But, to be completely honest, Kip called me.” Before he could look around for Kip, she laid a hand on his cheek to keep him focused on her. “He thought you might need a friend.”

“Did he now?” This made sense. Dayna was clean. She was the rare celebrity who was honestly sober. She had champagne or a glass of wine here or there, but rarely more than that. He knew for a fact that she’d never done any drug more than pot when she

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was younger and the very occasional sleeping pill when the stress of modeling got to her.

“Now don’t be mad.” Sliding her hand back down to his wrist, she drew him aside, away from most of the crowd. “I’d asked him to call me when you got out. I miss you. I didn’t get to see you before…” She drew a breath and shook her head. “And I’m so sorry I didn’t come to visit you…”

“Hey, hey, no worries. I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

Unexpected tears burned the back of his eyeballs but no moisture escaped. “We’re good.”

She nodded, glancing away to give them both a moment to compose. She looked great in a green silk tank top and sinfully tight jeans over the three inch heels that made her his height. “So, you doing okay here?”

“I’m holding up.”

“You sure?”

“So far.”

She turned back and her look of sympathy had deepened into an invitation he recognized. “Had enough?”

He gave her a responsive smile, reaching out to slide a hand over the slight curve of her hip. “Did you have something in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She stepped into him, rubbing her hip into his crotch as she slipped an arm around his waist. “How about you take me home and pound me into the mattress?”

Laughing, he wrapped his arms around her. “Absolutely.”

“Well, you’re early.” Kip glanced up from his desk chair as Marlowe strolled into his home office. The late morning sun was at the wrong angle to light the room so Kip had the desk lamp on beside his open laptop. “I thought you might spend the day with Dayna.”

“Nah.” Marlowe sat in one of the two guest chairs and spread

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his legs out before him. “Last night was enough.”

Kip smiled and set down his cell phone. “Work out your tensions, did you?”

“And then some.” Marlowe stretched his arms above his head then let them drop to the metal arms of the chair. “You know, you didn’t have to provide me with a baby sitter.”

Kip’s eyes were on the laptop screen as his finger tapped the track pad. “I seriously doubt that Dayna treated you like a baby.”

“That she did not. Still.”

Kip sighed then shut the laptop. “I thought she might make it easier on you.”

“I was doing fine.”

“I noticed.”

“Didn’t have a drink.”

“I saw.”

“Turned down X.”

“Good for you.” Kip tilted his head to the side. “I just didn’t think that Missy Daly was a good choice for your first night out in public.”

Marlowe chuckled, pulling one ankle up to drape it over the opposite knee. “No worries. She’d already dumped me. ‘Sides, she’s the one who offered up the X.”

“Hmmm.”

Marlowe slid further down in his chair until his head could rest off the low back of the chair. It put his butt at the very edge of the seat cushion and tucked his feet up under Kip’s desk. “So, did you go home with anyone last night?”

Kip sat forward and pulled one of many sheets of paper from a haphazard stack toward the corner of the desk to where he could scan it. “No.”

“Bring someone here?”

“No.”

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“I don’t mind, you know.”

“Wouldn’t matter if you did.”

Marlowe chuckled. “No one appealed?”

“Unlike some people, I don’t have pent up tensions ready to blow.”

Hands folded over his stomach, Marlowe watched Kip try to blow him off by continuing to read over his paper. “When’s the last time you got laid?”

“We’re not going there.”

“Jesus, that long?”

“None of your business.”

“Never stopped you from telling me before.”

“If I tell you now, you’ll make it a crusade to get me laid.”

“I could.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Why not?”

“Drop it.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

He sat for another quiet moment, at first just to irk Kip but then he started thinking. “Why’d you call a woman?”

The question startled Kip enough for him to look up. “Excuse me?”

“Last night. Why’d you call Dayna for me? Why not call a guy?”

Intrigued, Kip set down the sheet of paper and folded his hands over it. “To be honest, it didn’t occur to me.”

“Why not?”

Kip studied him for a moment then a ghost of a smile tweaked the corners of his mouth. “In all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I’ve ever set you up with a man. You tend to be more…

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particular with your men.”

Marlowe narrowed his eyes. “It means more.”

“I know.”

They stared at each other for another moment. “I wouldn’t have gone home with a guy.”

Kip nodded slowly. “I know.”

Closing his eyes, Marlowe tipped his face toward the ceiling.

“You know who I wanted.”

“Yes.” Paper rustled. “But I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have come if I called.”

Nick buried his face in his pillow. By another person’s standards, last night had gone pretty well. Most men would consider a night spent having sex with two women as the pinnacle of sexual conquest. A few years ago, Nick would have considered it an amazing feat. He’d seen Marlowe go off with two women, but had never had the pleasure himself. But last night, with Hideki and one of his buddies egging him on, he’d successfully used his little bit of former glory to get to go home with two hot women. The sex had gone on for hours. Even though he’d caught a few hours sleep at their place, he was still exhausted after one of them had graciously offered to drive him home. He was worn out.

And frustrated.

Because, now that he was alone in his own bed, alone in the house because both Soledad and Bobby were at work, all he could think about was Marlowe. His muscles ached from sex and his stupid fucking mind kept wondering what Marlowe would have done. Which was goddamned in-fucking-sane. It was not in any way right that he’d kept thinking about Marlowe. Wondering how Marlowe would have fucked Andrea or would he have preferred Tiana? What would he have looked like doing them?

Stupid fucking images popping into his head when, by all rights, all he should be remembering was the girls.

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What was wrong with his head? What was fucking wrong with his body for that matter?

Disgusted, he rolled over facing the wall and closed his eyes to try and get some more sleep. When fantasies of sharing the girls with Marlowe again invaded his head, he was too tired to fight them off.

ChAPteR eighteen

Nick stared up at the sound-proofed ceiling, counting the number of cobwebs swaying in the air conditioning. Jesus, didn’t anyone ever clean up there? But then, Nick hadn’t seen much evidence of a cleaning team at the rehearsal studio, not after…

how many days had he spent there? Two days that first week, then another day the second week, four days two weeks following, so that was two, one, four, seven days. A week total and all of it a complete waste of time.

Bet Marlowe hadn’t wasted his time.

Before he could work himself into an inner monologue about Marlowe, the studio door opened and Arjun stepped through.

Alone. Thank God. Nick wasn’t sure he could get through another minute in Gerard Costa’s presence without driving a fist through his face. Arjun closed the door behind him and wiped at his nose as he crossed the room. So he’d been doing coke then.

Probably with Gerard. I’ve got to get away from this guy. Nick didn’t generally hold drug use against people; you couldn’t when you worked in the music business. But Arjun’s habit got in the way.

Not to mention the coke made him talkative and Nick didn’t need to listen to most of what he rambled on about.

“Nick, Nick, Nick.” Arjun shook his head and dug his hands into the deep pockets of his cargo jeans. Nick had thought they were worn at first, but he was pretty sure Arjun had bought them already looking beat up. It explained the pristine state of his white T-shirt with the fancy art sketch in front. “You gotta stop embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

Nick snorted, sitting forward. “Your friend should be embarrassed. Where’d he get the idea he could play bass?”

Arjun sat on the couch beside Nick, knee bent so he could face him. “Don’t go dissing Gerard. He’s decent.”

“He can hardly keep a beat.”

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“He’s better with a drummer.”

“That’s no excuse.”

Arjun smoothed a hand through his sleek black hair. “Cut him some slack. He started out playing guitar.”

“He should have stayed with it.”

“It’s not like you need a guitarist.”

“I didn’t mean I’d play with him. I meant he’d be better off.”

Arjun’s lips tightened into what Nick had come to realize was a show of distaste. “Look, man, just because you had a rock god to teach you guitar doesn’t mean you’re as good as him.”

Nick stared at him. Were they really going to go there? He tested himself to see if he was pissed. He wasn’t. He was no longer interested enough in Arjun’s opinion to get mad. “Then why am I here?”

“Hey.” Arjun laughed to take the edge off his criticism. His hand came out to pat Nick’s shoulder. “It’s all good. We’ll work it out. These things take time. Can’t just land in a band like magic.”

“I did once.” Geez, did he actually say that? Stupid. He noticed that Arjun’s hand was still on his shoulder and stood to dislodge it. “Are we done here?”

“You tell me. Are we?”

An edge in Arjun’s voice made Nick turn around and look at him. “What?”

Arjun folded his hands in his lap and gave Nick a look of false calm. “Are we done here? I mean done done? You haven’t got on with anyone I hooked you up with.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Look, Nick, just because you hit the jackpot once doesn’t mean it’ll happen just like that again. There aren’t many Marlowes out there.”

“Thank God.”

Arjun tilted his head to the side and blinked. “Well damn, I

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think you mean that.”

“What are you getting at?”

“If you’d’ve asked me, I’d say you were just looking for a reason to crawl back to him.”

“What? What the fuck would I do that for?”

“You tell me. Everyone I bring in here is below your standard, even though most of them have been at this longer’n you have.”

Uncomfortable, Nick crossed the room to where his guitar case lay on a table. He braced his butt on the edge of the table, facing Arjun but with his gaze down “Those guys didn’t want to work with me any more’n I wanted to work with them.”

“Yeah, now. I tell you, most of them were excited at the chance of meeting you. None of ‘em would touch you now.”

Not true, Nick thought. There was one drummer he’d gotten on with real well. Ben Edgley. He’d remembered that name on purpose. But the others? Yeah, for one reason or another he just didn’t want to waste his time.

“People talk, you know. It doesn’t matter how talented you are. You get a name for being difficult to work with and you’re out on your ass.”

Nick glared at the floor rather than show Arjun the contempt that probably showed in his eyes. Arjun’s words weren’t lies and he knew it, but he also knew that Arjun had thrown the bottom of the barrel at him. He’d passed every name through Bobby who, although he wasn’t active in the business anymore, still knew what was up and still had a few friends he talked to. Bobby had only vaguely recognized a few names. Still, Arjun had a certain measure of respect in the business and he did manage to get a good sound out of the albums he’d produced. Both Bobby and Kip had advised him to try and listen.

Once he was reasonably sure he had his face under control, he looked back up at Arjun. “What do you want from me?”

Smiling, Arjun stood. “A little cooperation. A little give and take.” Nick gripped the edge of the table as Arjun closed the

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distance between them. “We’re both on the same side here.”

Nick nodded, letting his gaze slip away from Arjun’s. That look was in the other man’s face again. The look that made Nick very much aware that they were alone in a sound-proofed, windowless room together. That look had been on Arjun’s face a lot when they were alone. He wasn’t blind or quite so naive not to know that Arjun had been hitting on him. So far he’d fended Arjun off by pretending not to notice. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to have that luxury for much longer.

Arjun stepped close enough that Nick had to actually twist his head to avoid looking at him. “Nick, can I ask you a personal question?”

Nick made bold enough to look at the man. The two of them were about the same height and pretty much the same build.

“What?”

Arjun’s black eyes searched his face. “Just how close were you and Marlowe?”

Nick frowned. “What do you mean?”

Arjun laughed. “I think you know what I mean.”

He lowered his brows. “No. I don’t.”

“Oh come now. You have to have known he swings both ways.”

What really pissed Nick off the most was that everyone but him seemed to have known that. He used that anger to burst away from Arjun. “No. I didn’t.”

Arjun laughed. “Forgive me. I find it very hard to believe that Marlowe never made a pass at you of all people.”

That stopped Nick. He spun to face Arjun. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That night I first saw you play, we talked about you. The way he talked about you…” Arjun shook his head slightly with a tilted smile. “He was full of wanting you.”

Shit. That night. From previous talks, he knew that Arjun

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had seen him that night. Nick crossed his arms over his chest, deciding to brazen this one out. “Well, I didn’t know.”

“I’m… amazed. I’d have thought he’d be all over you.”

“Why?”

“You’re exactly his type.”

“How do you know that?”

Arjun’s grin turned up full blast. “We have the same type.

Always have.”

Nick ignored that Arjun had all but said he was attracted to him. “Just how far do you guys go back?”

“Years. I met him back when he was just starting out. We both were.”

Nick dropped his gaze to the floor. “Did you two… ever…?”

Arjun laughed. “Well, you’d think so, but no. Neither of us was willing to bottom for the other.”

Nick’s eyes opened wide. Okay, yeah, he’d wondered. But only in the deep recesses of his mind where he could ignore what he was thinking about. Marlowe was a top. Well, yeah, that made sense. But if he was a top, that meant he wanted Nick to… Oh fuck no.

“Nick.”

Distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t notice Arjun coming closer until the man was right in front of him. Nick startled back, but the wall stopped him from going too far.

Arjun looked like a cougar creeping in for the kill. “Nick, I find you very attractive.”

Nick crossed his arms as a barrier. “I’m not interested.”

“Are you sure?” Delicate fingers landed on Nick’s forearm. “I swear I can make it good.”

Nick forced himself to breathe steadily over a pounding heart. “I won’t bottom for you either.”

If he thought that’d turn Arjun off, he was very wrong. The

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man shuddered and stepped so close that his chest brushed Nick’s arm. “For you, I might make an exception.”

“Whoa.” His hand was out and splayed over Arjun’s chest in a quick second, pushing the man away. “Back off.”

The warm hand with delicate fingers closed over Nick’s, keeping it pressed to Arjun’s chest. “Come on, Nick. Try something new.”

“No fucking way.” With a little shove to get some more space, Nick sidestepped Arjun and crossed to the other side of the room, back by his guitar. “Not going to happen.” He heard Arjun’s sigh, but didn’t look back. He grabbed the handle of his guitar case and hefted it off the table as he turned. “Look, I don’t think this arrangement between us is going to work.”

Arjun rolled his eyes. “Just because I hit on you?”

“No. It’s not that. Well, it’s not all that. I don’t think we’ve got the same goals in mind.”

“We both want you to put out an awesome album.”

“Yeah, but we’ve got way different ideas how to do it.”

Now Arjun crossed his arms. “So what are you going to do?

Go crawling back to Marlowe?”

Nick stared at him. Blinked. What the fuck was he doing?

Who was he kidding? It all came back to Marlowe anyway. “You know what?” He started for the door. “I think yeah.”

Straight to Kip’s. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.

Nick tugged at his hair as he drove his truck through the early evening twilight. The cool spring wind was starting to warm on its way to being summer. Tons of cars were on the main road but the numbers died off as he turned up the sloping road that took him to the gate of Kip’s condo complex. Here, in the middle of the city, people with money had created a haven on the crest of a hill and surrounded the base of it with a park full of trees. The trees mostly hid the high brick wall that protected the elite from the rabble outside its perimeter.

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Nick pulled up to the little gray box in front of the gate and entered in Kip’s condo number.

“Hello?”

The voice was a punch to Nick’s heart. He’d known Marlowe was staying with Kip and had figured there was a fifty-fifty chance Marlowe would be there when he showed up. But even knowing, hearing the voice caught him off guard.

He cleared his throat. “Hey. It’s Nick.”

“Hey.” Pause. “Kip’s not here.”

“Will he be any time soon?”

“Yeah, he should be on his way now.”

Nick glanced up at the top of the gate, the top of the wall next to it. If there was a camera on him, he couldn’t see it. Didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “Can I come up and wait?”

Another pause. “Yeah. Sure. Come on up.” That was it. The voice was gone and was soon followed by a buzz that heralded the opening of the gate.

Nick waited for the gate to roll aside then passed into the shady interior of the complex. He’d been here before. Not often, but enough to know his way around. Although Kip had an office in Santa Monica, he did a lot of his work from home, especially that which dealt with the band members themselves. Nick took it slow through the streets, wary of children playing in some of the yards, then he parked in one of the visitor spaces across the street from Kip’s four-plex. He stared at the door at the top of one of two staircases for a moment. A light shone through the window beside it, but curtains hid what was inside. Who was inside.

Are you really going to do this?

Yes. Too much thought. Too much avoiding. The music, the money, the fame, they were all with Marlowe. It was stupid of him to think anything different.

That decided, he got out of his truck and headed for Kip’s front door.

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Marlowe answered on the second knock and Nick’s heart leapt into his throat. “Hey.” Gaze averted, Marlowe stepped aside and waved Nick in. “Come on in.” He was dressed in navy blue sweats and a snug black T-shirt. Dark arms were not only bare of sleeves, but bare of the assorted bangles he used to wear.

His fingers, too, were bare. The short hair was clear of his neck, which was also devoid of jewelry. Odd. Nick just wasn’t used to the lack of flash. “I just called Kip,” he said as he closed the door, barefoot on the shiny tiles of the entryway. “He said he’ll be here in about ten minutes.” He turned and almost met Nick’s eyes. There was an uncomfortable moment as they both listened to the silence. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Uh, yeah. What’cha got?” Quit staring. It was hard, though.

Marlowe had never been anything but magnetic and Nick was fascinated by the differences. The eyes for one thing. Marlowe had never, ever avoided eye contact before. And he was bigger in the shoulders. Had he been working out? In jail?

“Beer, juice, water, and soda in the fridge, and the bar’s fully stocked.”

Drinking alcohol around Marlowe felt like a bad idea. “I’ll take a soda.”

He followed Marlowe into Kip’s kitchen and stayed on the other side of the island as Marlowe opened the refrigerator.

From the back, he almost didn’t look like Marlowe. Nick missed the sway of hip-length hair, although the shorter cut still looked good. Something about the ridiculously long hair, though, had made him seem more than human. The shorter hair made him look a little more normal. A little.

Marlowe held up a can of Coca-Cola. “You want ice?”

“It’s cold?”

“Yeah.”

Nick reached for it. “Nah, that’s fine.”

Marlowe came close enough to hand the can to Nick over the corner of the island then backed away to lean against the sink as he opened a second can. “So,” he started after they’d both taken

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sips, “how’s your time with Arjun going?”

Nick shrugged then took another sip. “Not so good. That’s why I’m here.”

“Oh?”

Nick stared at the random pattern of flecks in the shiny countertop, his very recent conversation with Arjun going through his mind. Was Arjun right about what Marlowe had been planning? How long had you been planning on getting me in bed? No, not the time to ask that. “Yeah. I didn’t like any of the guys he brought around.”

“Weird. Arjun knows the best.”

“Well he didn’t bring any of them to play with me.” He took another sip, more for something to do than for actual thirst.

“Although there was one. Ever heard of Ben Edgley?”

“Edgley?” He looked up in time to see Marlowe tilt his head back, exposing the length of his throat as he stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. A faint stubble shadow covered his chin and throat.

He’d rarely been seen unshaven before. Then Marlowe’s head came down and Nick banished the thought. “Drummer?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Used to play with Stone Factor. No, Stone Rubble?”

Nick shrugged. “Stone Factor. But that was a while ago. He says he hasn’t really played in years. Not for money anyway.”

Marlowe winced. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah. He’s good too. Only one I got along with.”

“Who else did Arjun bring around?”

Nick opened his mouth to answer, but then the front door opened. As he was closest, he was the first to step into the living room to see Kip. “Hey, man.”

“Nick.” Kip was a little out of breath. Had he rushed up the stairs? Had he rushed home? Worried about leaving Nick and Marlowe alone? But they’d been fine, hadn’t they? Nick was rather proud of that. Had a discussion and everything. Kip placed his

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briefcase on a side table underneath the condo’s front window.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need out of this deal with Arjun.”

“Ah. That’s easy enough. I’ve got the papers in my office…”

He waved toward the open door at the opposite end of the living room.

“Can we talk first?” Nick glanced at Marlowe, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen. “All three of us?”

Marlowe blinked in surprise, exchanged glances with Kip.

Nick read uneasiness between them and supposed that was understandable. But then Marlowe nodded. “Sure.”

Kip nodded too and waved toward two pale green couches facing each other in front of a fireplace. Marlowe pulled up a straight-backed wood chair from against the wall and sat at the end of the couches. Satisfied, Nick sat on one couch while Kip sat across from him on the other.

Nick sat forward, elbows on knees. “I’ve been thinking about the offer.”

Marlowe didn’t move, his can of soda held on the knee he had draped over his other leg. Kip nodded encouragement.

Nick swallowed and spoke to Kip. “I’d like to take them up on it.”

Kip glanced at Marlowe. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be.” He took a breath and faced Marlowe.

“What do you think?”

“You know I want to take it. What changed your mind?” The rich velvety voice was low and even. Controlled.

“I… miss you. Uh, I mean, working with you.” Jesus, stupid, watch what you’re saying! He stared at a faint scratch on the shiny surface of the coffee table between them. “I read some of your lyrics and… Yeah, they’re perfect for my music.” The words were surprisingly easy to say, given how hard he’d tried to deny them.

He hadn’t read all of the lyrics, but he’d read enough to know. He shrugged. “You were right. We had it good. No reason to give

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that up.”

“None?”

“Okay.” He forced his eyes to meet Marlowe’s, blue on blue in a direct confrontation. “I don’t know if I’m over what happened, but I get that you did your time. I get that it was hard for you. I can… try if you can.” Except hadn’t he already forgiven? Wasn’t that what this was about? He couldn’t deny the excitement burbling in his gut at the prospect of Marlowe accepting. Now that he’d put aside his anger, he wanted to work with Marlowe again. Very badly.

Marlowe watched him and Nick wondered just how much those eyes saw. He felt like lasers were pouring into his skull, spearing through his thoughts. Could Marlowe see his confusion about… other things too?

Eventually, Marlowe nodded. Slowly. Then he blinked, shook his head a little and smiled. It was like he’d been in slow motion and then things resumed normal speed. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Nick held up a hand. “One thing though, or I’m out.”

Marlowe froze.

Nick stabbed at the table with his forefinger to emphasize his point. “This time, we’re a band. Not a solo act with a backup band.”

Startled, Marlowe’s head jerked back a little, but that was it.

“Okay.”

“I’ve been thinking—” during endless, non-productive hours with the musicians Arjun tried to pair him with, “—and I think the name Reverb sounds good.” He spread his hand on the table.

“But I’m open to suggestions on that one.”

Half of Marlowe’s wide mobile mouth curled in a smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

Silly that Marlowe’s acceptance made Nick’s heart thud, but it had always been important to get his acceptance. Nick glanced at Kip, who was very quietly watching the exchange with no expression on his face. “I checked the name and couldn’t find it

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used anywhere.”

Now Kip smiled. “I can check that.”

“Good.” Back to Marlowe. “Hideki’s available. I’d like to have him back, if you’re okay with that.”

Marlowe nodded. “Hell, yes.”

“And I’d like to give Ben a shot. See if he and Hideki click.”

Now the other half of Marlowe’s mouth smiled and his lips parted to expose his teeth. “All sounds great to me.”

“Good.” Bracing himself inwardly, Nick leaned over and offered his hand to Marlowe. “Deal.”

Marlowe glanced at his hand then back at his face. He sat forward, unfolded his legs, and set his drink on the table. Then he carefully took hold of Nick’s hand. Nick was pretty sure they both jumped. Marginally. Electricity sizzled up his arm as Marlowe squeezed his hand. Nick had to fight to keep eye contact because it just seemed way too intimate.

Marlowe’s grin settled and he gave Nick a grave look. “I won’t fuck it up this time.”

Nick jumped again. “I didn’t say…” His voice trailed off.

Marlowe released his hand, but stayed seated forward. “I know. Thanks for that. But I want you to know that I know this wasn’t an easy decision to make. I won’t make you regret it.”

Nick found himself nodding. “Thanks. That means a lot.”

ChAPteR nineteen

“So it all seems to be going your way. How do you feel about that?”

Marlowe smiled. He’d only been to see Christine Harper twice, but she already had his number. Then again, she’d come recommended by Dr. Hoston and they’d admitted to discussing his case, so she probably should have his number. But Marlowe liked her so it was all good.

“Terrified?” He laughed. “Excited. Amazed. Pretty much all the same emotion.”

“Why do you say that?”

He leaned back in his chair and stared at the open window.

Nice view of the thick branches of a tree. There was even a little bird flitting back and forth. Ah, spring. “All of them make me want a drink. At least.”

“That’s honest. Is it bad?”

He shrugged. “Not so much. Actually kind of helps to have Nick around.” His smile died. “As a reminder.”

“Is that all he is?”

“You know he isn’t.”

She smiled. “So you’ve told me. Are you going to let him be more?”

“I’d like it if we were friends again. Beyond that… I don’t think I want to hope for more.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

He brought his gaze back around to hers. “Isn’t it?”

She looked at him for a moment. She was in her late fifties probably, with dark hair shot through with silver. She wore very little makeup and the hair was cut short in that no-nonsense style that some women preferred in middle to late life. Today she wore

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a rose turtleneck underneath a brown cardigan, the only flash to her look was the diamond pendant displayed prominently just below her collarbone. He wondered if she put on the matronly look on purpose or if that was just her style. Seeing her wasn’t mandatory, but he’d taken Dr. Hoston’s suggestion of talking to someone regularly. Things were different on the outside where he didn’t have his prison cell to enforce sobriety. Coming to talk to Christine had taken some of the edge off and she was laid back enough not to turn him off of therapy.

She checked her watch and dipped her chin. “That’s our time for today.” They stood and she offered a hand for him to shake.

“Just take it one day at a time, John. And call me if you need to.”

John. She and Dr. Hoston both insisted on calling him by his almost forgotten given first name. Even his mother called him Marlowe these days. He’d had it legally changed when he was twenty-one. But both professionals had asked for and decided to use the name, and Marlowe had let them. Seemed appropriate.

They were, after all, dealing with a different him than anyone else.

He pondered that as he left her office. Was it a good thing that they spoke to a different side of him? Shouldn’t they speak to the him that everyone else saw? But it seemed that the him they saw was the quiet side at the heart of everything, the side he never let anyone see. Maybe Kip on occasion, but no one else. That scared little boy who wondered if he was really as good and talented as everyone thought he was or would they one day see through his bluff and see that he was just ordinary?

Amused by his musings, Marlowe shook them off as he stepped onto the asphalt of the parking lot and into the sun.

Although it was bright, the chill of spring had yet to completely leave southern California so he was glad for his long sleeves. He brought out his keys and pressed the button on the fob to unlock his new black Dodge Charger. The car was his one splurge after receiving the advance from the record company. He and Kip had discussed it and he was staying on with his friend for living conditions, but the car was his next step toward independence.

He sank into the buttery soft tan leather seats and enjoyed the

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purr of the engine as he brought it to life. As he waited for the engine to warm, he checked his phone since, at Christine’s request, he left the phone off during their sessions. The smart phone came to life with one text message from Kip: Arjun called.

Then a number. Since Marlowe had a new phone number, Kip became his screener and he refused to just give the number out to anyone.

Intrigued, Marlowe dialed Arjun and let the Bluetooth in the car pick up as he backed out of the parking lot.

“You shifty son of a bitch.”

Marlowe laughed. “Hello to you too.”

“How long did it take him to come back to you? A day?”

“Not even that, I don’t think.”

“Fuck. God damn it and fuck again. That little prick.”

“Who the hell did you try and hook him up with? He was not complimentary.”

Arjun rattled off some names, repeating the list Nick had told him. Marlowe found it amusing that Arjun’s tone indicated he thought he’d been doing Nick a favor.

“And you thought any of those guys would work? Seriously?”

“I was trying to set him up with a backing band. Didn’t want anyone too flashy.”

“Well, there’s your problem. Nick thrives on a challenge. You should have brought in people better than him.”

“Wish I’d figured that out before.” More half-hearted cursing.

“Tell me. How do you get him to follow you around like a puppy when you not only almost killed him, but you haven’t even slept with him.”

Marlowe gripped the steering wheel hard but otherwise controlled the combined surge of guilt and anger. “How do you know I didn’t sleep with him?”

“I asked him.”

“You hit on him?” No wonder Nick was done with him.

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“You know I did. The boy is tasty. Not that I have to tell you that. How did you resist him?”

None of your business. But if he said that, Arjun would be all over him. “It wasn’t easy. But he’s not into it.”

“I found that out. Could have fooled me, though. The way he talks about you, even now…”

Marlowe braked hard at a stop light. “What?”

“He may pretend to hate you, but he’s obsessed with you.

Everything was Marlowe this and Marlowe that.”

“What?”

“Okay, he rarely mentioned you by name, but I could tell.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not. Your stamp was all over his music.”

Marlowe stared at the intersection’s red light as a million thoughts swirled through his head. What the hell was Arjun going on about? “That’s not all that surprising. His first taste of fame was with my band.”

“Whatever. I know what I saw. And now he has you back.” A few mild curses. “Don’t think we’ll be working together after all.”

The light turned green and Marlowe let the Charger forward.

“No. Probably a bad idea.”

“Well, hey, probably best.”

They spoke a little longer about common acquaintances.

Arjun mentioned a release party he was going to this weekend for a group they both knew and he said he’d talk to them and get Marlowe an invite. Marlowe half-heartedly agreed, but he didn’t think Arjun noticed.

“So that’s it for me. I gotta jam.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll call you about the party. Out.”

Mind awhirl, Marlowe pulled into a convenience store parking lot. Once inside, he went straight to the rack of chips and

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grabbed the biggest bag of cheese-flavored crunchies he could lay his hand on. At the back of the store, he headed for the soft drinks, but had to pass by shelves of beer and wine, prominently displayed behind glass doors. He stopped. In recent years, his taste in beer had veered into the exotic, far beyond anything to be had at a chain store, but his drinking days had begun with Miller and Budweiser. A huge 24 oz. can of Foster’s Lager caught his attention and he caught himself salivating, just a little. One beer wouldn’t hurt. Except that he was looking at the biggest damn can in the display.

“Shit.”

With effort, he tore himself away and yanked open the next door to grab the nearest bottle of carbonated caffeine. He paid for his purchases, grateful for an old man who showed no signs of recognizing him. No sooner was he in the car than the bag of chips was open and a handful shoved in his mouth.

Was Arjun right about Nick? Did it matter? No. It didn’t.

Marlowe was going to keep things friendly with Nick come hell or high water. He was not going to jeopardize that relationship or his career again. The fact that he’d very nearly bought the beer scared him. Maybe he should call Christine. Or maybe he should grow a pair and just go to rehearsal like he was supposed to. He glanced at the clock. Any more stalling and he’d be late.

Rehearsal. Yes. Where Nick would be playing. One of the most welcome sights in his life had been when Marlowe had first witnessed Nick playing his guitar like before the accident. It had thawed another piece of his heart. The continued sight gave him ease. Yes, he should go watch that.

Decided, he put the chips on the passenger seat—open and handy for snacking—and downed a quarter of his soft drink before putting the car in drive.

He’d be fine.

ChAPteR twenty

“Break time, ladies.”

Nick startled. He hadn’t even heard Kip come through the door. He sat up straight on his stool and instantly winced as the move pulled at a muscle in the back of his neck. He’d been hunched over his guitar too long again.

“Tell me,” Kip continued into the room, bearing white plastic bags filled with white Styrofoam boxes, “if I didn’t bring you food, would any of you eat?”

“Hey.” Hideki rose from his sprawl on the floor by one of the two ratty couches, leaving his bass behind. He held up a bag of chips. “We eat.”

Marlowe groaned and fell back from the keyboard set on the coffee table to lie prone on the couch. He pointed at a can of soda beside the keyboard. “And drink too.”

Kip rolled his eyes and pushed an unused amp to the side of the big table so he could put the food down. “You’ll all waste away.” He glanced around. “Where’s Ben?”

Nick hovered behind Kip, his growling stomach assuring him that he was indeed interested in the food. “Out back smoking.”

“Ah. I’ll get him. There’s shawerma, falafels, kebabs, and gyros. Should be plenty of all of it.”

“Kip’s a god,” Hideki announced, descending on the white bags to tear them apart.

Nick didn’t disagree and helped Hideki to lay out the Styrofoam boxes. He glanced over his shoulder at Marlowe. “You want any?”

Marlowe scratched at his head, yawning. “Yeah. Just give me a minute to put my head on.”

Nick grinned. He, too, was exhausted and brain dead. He’d been wearing the same clothes for about three days straight and

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just about every meal had been some kind of take out, but he was having the time of his life. He’d thought touring was the best, but recent experience had made him rethink that assessment. For nine weeks, the four of them had been together in a little hole-in-the-wall rehearsal studio Kip had secured for their use. Nick wasn’t sure what the two-story brick building had once been, but now it was a series of sound-proofed rooms of varying sizes.

The one they were in was about twenty by twenty.

In the time they’d been there, Nick had only seen a couple of other people renting the other rooms so it was kind of cool because Reverb had most of the place to themselves. Not that they left their room much. All of them had even had a night or two where they’d slept there. But it was all worth it. The handful of tracks Nick had written a few months ago together with the songs he and Marlowe had written when they were on tour had served as a basis for the stuff they worked on now. Some of it was no longer recognizable since it was pretty much an open forum of the four of them putting in ideas. All of it was better.

Nick was so proud of the music they were writing he could bust a gut.

Kip returned with Ben in tow and stood back as the drummer joined Nick and Hideki at the food. Kip sat beside Marlowe. “So, how goes it?”

Nick turned in time to see Marlowe nod. “Goes okay.”

Nick grinned over an open box of falafel, rice, and hummus.

“It goes fucking great.”

Marlowe chuckled as he pushed to his feet. He gave Kip a wry look. “He exaggerates. He’s young.”

“Oh, quit your bitching, old man,” he said genially as he stepped aside to make room for Marlowe at the table. He chuckled at Kip. “He’s pissy ’cause we changed Ever More again.”

Marlowe threw up is hands. “Again!”

Hideki cackled and punched Marlowe’s arm. “Fuck you. Most of it was your idea.”

Nick laughed and dropped onto the couch across from Kip

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so he could enjoy his food. That was the other thing. They got along. Back when it was Marlowe’s band, there’d been tension.

Justin had never quite meshed with Nick and he and Marlowe fought. But Ben was so laid back that sometimes they had to poke him to get him to speak up. Not that he needed to speak.

He was a rock solid rhythm man. It was a pleasure to work with these guys.

Kip waited until everyone was seated and eating before speaking up. “I’m glad to hear it’s going well because I have another reason for coming here tonight.” He instantly had four pairs of eyes focused on him. He smiled. “I heard from the record company.”

Nick swallowed some rice. “Yeah?”

Kip folded one knee over his other leg and laced his fingers over it. “They asked me how far things had gotten along. If you had anything ready to show yet.”

Marlowe cracked open another soda can he’d grabbed from the mini fridge in the corner. “Show?”

“It seems the big wigs want a preview on their investment. To ensure they haven’t wasted their money.”

“No shit?” Hideki piped up from his seat on the floor, his back to the couch.

Kip made with that casual shrug he did. “They actually seem pretty excited. What they’ve asked is if you’ll do a show?”

Marlowe leaned his butt against the table, now holding a Styrofoam box at chest level. “What? We’re not ready to play a full show.”

Kip raised a hand and waved the palm. “They’re not asking for a full show. Just a few songs in a very intimate environment.”

Nick wasn’t the only one who frowned. “How ‘intimate’?”

Kip laughed. “A private party of a few hundred people?”

“Out of the question,” Marlowe stated.

“Hold on now. This could be a good thing. They don’t all

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have to be new songs. One or two of the new ones then a few of Marlowe’s to fill in.” He looked to Ben. “I’m sure Ben could learn the old songs in no time. It’s a marketing thing. Show you off in front of the big wigs, some select press, and a few hundred of your diehard fans, who then turn around and spread the word.

By the time you’ve got the full album ready, the buzz is already going.” He locked gazes with Marlowe. “We did the same thing for your first album.”

All eyes turned to Marlowe, who nodded. “Yeah. I remember.

It worked pretty well, too.”

“You see? Then while you guys are doing your job finalizing the album, everyone who saw you is starting the hype to see you.”

It sounded good. Nick watched Marlowe, who stared at his food and said nothing.

It was Kip who prompted him. “Marlowe?”

As though he wasn’t aware they were all watching him, Marlowe glanced up as he shoved some shredded chicken into his mouth. He looked from Kip to Hideki to Ben then finally to Nick. Then back at his food as he shrugged. “It’s up to you guys.”

Nick ground his teeth. Working with Marlowe had been different. Very different. Gone was the brash know-it-all who had ruled their every move during the tour. In his place was a multi-talented musician who was willing to listen and accede to other ideas when they were better. This Marlowe—this drug and alcohol free Marlowe—was a lot easier to work with. It wasn’t that he gave in all the time, but he conceded a hell of a lot more than Nick had expected.

Hideki had admitted privately that working with Marlowe now was night and day compared to how he’d been for his last album. Then, he’d dictated the music, now Hideki was psyched to actually have a say. But nice as it was to work as a team, one thing Nick did miss was the balls-out confidence. This Marlowe had a bitter habit of doubting himself. Not often with the music, but with almost everything else. It had taken Nick some time to recognize it, but now that he’d seen it he saw evidence of

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Marlowe’s annoying self-effacing crap in a lot of little ways.

Like now.

Nick looked to Kip. “When do they want us to play?”

Kip glanced from him to Marlowe then back. “They have an event scheduled for the end of the month at the Shasta Casino.”

“Where’s that?” Ben, who hadn’t lived in California long, asked.

“About halfway between here and Palm Springs.”

“So three weeks?” Nick asked.

Kip nodded. “Roughly.”

“Say, what, five songs? Two new, three old?”

Kip tilted his head from side to side, considering. “That could probably work.”

Nick faced Ben. “You up for learning a few of the old songs?”

Ben laughed and propped his Converse on the pock-marked coffee table. “No sweat. A couple I know already.”

Nick grinned. “My man.” Then he turned to look at Marlowe, to find the singer watching him with a blank expression. “We could make that work.” He didn’t make it a question.

Marlowe stared at him for a few seconds then nodded. “We could make that work.”

ChAPteR twenty one

Marlowe stared in the mirror. The long hair was gone, but other than that, he recognized the man in the mirror as the man he’d been two years ago. In looks at least. A silver flame pendant dangled an inch below one ear and the cartilage of the other ear was crowded with more silver, ending in a shining ruby embedded in the lobe. The brown hair wasn’t long, but it was styled, spiked, waved, frosted, and even spritzed with glitter. Thick black liner made the blue of his eyes lighter and artfully plucked brows slanted up to his temples. A studded white leather collar circled his neck, matching the white leather vest he wore over bare skin.

The pants weren’t leather, but they were tight and black and the thick white belt slung low over his hips just emphasized the flat of belly that showed between vest and pants. He looked good.

He was terrified.

Swallowing, he tried closing his eyes to breathe and calm down. Again. Didn’t work. Again. His heart was racing and his mind swam through various prophecies of doom. He wasn’t nearly as good as he’d thought he was. The last few months had proven that to him. Oh, he was adequate. He could hold his own.

But back before prison, he’d been convinced his voice was a hell of a lot better than he’d heard lately. And it wasn’t just that he was out of practice. He sounded flat. He sounded lackluster. Not exciting. Not nearly worth the money they were paying.

He needed a drink. He needed pills. Some lines. Hell, right now he seriously considered a needle. He needed something to suppress the doubts that hadn’t plagued him since puberty.

Feelings like this were the fucking reason he took anything. He hated this.

Swallowing, he gripped the edge of the tiny bathroom’s counter and hung his head between his shoulders. Get a grip, he advised himself. There were people waiting for him. They were due to go on in minutes. Probably past due by now. He was

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surprised no one had found him yet. Coward. Yes. That was him.

It truly astounded him that no one had figured that out before now.

A knock on the door. “Marlowe?” A high-pitched woman’s voice. The stage manager’s assistant. Raquel? Another knock then a try of the locked door. “Are you in there?”

He swallowed again, grit his teeth, met his face in the mirror, and spoke up. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Marlowe, everyone’s waiting on you.”

“I’m coming.”

Do this. The internal pep talk wasn’t working, but it was all he had. He’d managed not to go looking for someone to sell him something to deaden the edge of his fear. Not that he hadn’t seen the opportunity. But, until now, he’d kept himself busy with getting ready for the show. The panic had sent him running.

Unexpected. He’d thought he’d had it under control.

He didn’t.

He had to.

He could do this.

He hoped.

Before he could cop out, he turned for the door, unlocked it, and opened it. Raquel was still there, glancing nervously down the hall. Her relief at seeing him was palpable as she waved her arm in the direction of the stage. “This way, sir.”

He knew that, but he let her lead anyway. She kept glancing at him, like she thought he might bolt. Smart girl. The hallway emptied into an open backstage area. They maneuvered through unidentifiable set pieces, equipment, and scaffolding until they reached the rickety stairs that led up to the stage.

Although here in the wings they were mostly in shadow, Marlowe saw his bandmates easily enough. Ben was twirling his sticks and Nick and Hideki’s silhouettes were distorted by their guitars. All three of them stirred as he approached, as did another shadow, standing from a seat at the bottom of the stairs.

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As Marlowe got nearer, he could see the concern on all their faces, his band and Gregg, the announcer he’d met earlier. None of the band showed any kind of anxiety, just excitement. But then, they didn’t need to worry. They were talented. It was just him who…

God damn it, stop it! He knew his inner monologue was stupid, knew the childlike whine in his voice was just panic talking.

Knowing it didn’t help to dispel it or the sizzling uneasiness in his belly.

So go.

He fixed his attention on Gregg. “Let’s go.”

Clutching his mike, Gregg nodded and hurried up the stairs.

“Where were you?” he heard Nick demand as the sound of the crowd picked up at Gregg’s appearance.

He didn’t answer. The subtle roar of a crowd of hundreds spilled off the stage toward them and a look up blinded him by the lights. That’s where he needed to be. That’s where he loved to be. He just had to remember that. Without a comment or a glance at anyone, he grabbed the handrails of the stairs and catapulted himself to the top. Heavy footsteps behind assured him that his bandmates were right behind him.

“Ladies and gentlemen—”

Marlowe stopped at the edge of the stage, hidden behind a tower of draped scaffolding. A hand on his shoulder forced him to look to the side.

Nick, concern etched on his gorgeous face. “You okay?”

“—the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” Female screams careened toward the ceiling.

Marlowe wanted to kiss Nick more than anything in the world. That would fix everything. Nick’s lust focused on him was better than any drug. But that was the last thing he could do and that lust he wanted from the other man just didn’t exist. Pained, he turned back to face the stage.

“Hey…”

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“Reverb!”

Before Nick could finish his sentence, Marlowe rushed into the warmth of the lights. It wasn’t a full stage show, there were no spot lights, only standard stage lights, but they were warm and they marked the focal area of the hundreds of people before the stage in a standing-room orchestra pit and an overhanging balcony.

On auto-pilot, Marlowe waved to the crowd as he accepted the microphone from Gregg. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Full of bluster, he soaked in the screams of the crowd as he walked toward the edge of the stage. Adoring faces turned up to him, arms extended to get grabbing hands as close to him as possible. “Hello, everyone!” He touched the fingers of one dainty hand before tossing his head up to look toward the back of the theater. “Is everyone feeling good tonight?” More screams. They vibrated harder than the panic in his veins, letting him ignore it. This was old hat. He’d done the lead man thing hundreds of times. It was in his bones. He glanced over his shoulder at Hideki, who grinned and set his hands on his bass. Marlowe nodded, Hideki glanced at Ben. Three clacks of drumsticks together then the night exploded in music. Smiling, Marlowe spread his arms and tilted his head back, drinking it in, letting it give him strength.

It was too late to back out now.

He was on.

Five songs. It lasted forever. It lasted for seconds. Marlowe happily lost himself in the show of it. He flubbed a few of the lyrics on the new songs, but no one would know but the other three onstage. Marlowe even made a mental note on one mistake, deciding that it worked better than the original line. The old songs he performed more by sense memory, letting his body flow through well practiced moves. The crowd was small by his former standards, but that was perfect for tonight.

Only one thing was off, even with the mistakes. He kept his distance from Nick. The urge to drape his arm over Nick’s shoulders came on him more than once, but he quashed it. He

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couldn’t touch him. Not with the full knowledge that once they were offstage, they’d be back to their careful relationship. Twice he was aware of Nick at his side and twice he managed to play it off with a glance and a smile before sauntering off to another part of the stage. He’d have to get over the aversion when they really started the tour, but this was the best he could manage for now.

The good news was that he conquered the panic. He still thought he sucked, but no one would know that. Despite what he thought, the audience was all screams and praise.

At the end of the final song, they stayed within the lights.

Mr. Patrick Chalcroft, the record company’s A&R man, climbed onstage and accepted the microphone from Marlowe. “Well how about that, ladies and gentlemen?” Patrick shook Marlowe’s hand as the crowd screamed its approval. “Let’s hear it for the return of Marlowe and Reverb!”

Marlowe only flinched a little. Patrick had been told that the band was Reverb, not Marlowe’s backup, but evidently the man chose to overlook that. He wouldn’t be the first. With effort, Marlowe kept from glancing behind him to see Nick’s reaction.

After the band took another bow and as the lights dimmed to house lighting, Patrick grabbed Marlowe’s arm and leaned in close to be heard over the roar. “I’d like you to talk to some people. If you’re up for it.” His tone didn’t give Marlowe much choice.

Fine, if he was going to do this, he’d make a statement of his own. He nodded at Patrick then turned. Nick had just given his guitar away. Marlowe could see in his narrowed eyes that he was trying to hide a gut reaction to how things were going. Marlowe waved a hand to get his attention. Patrick waited until Nick got to their side. Marlowe put on a smile for the guitarist. “Patrick wants us to talk to some people.”

He could see by the look on Patrick’s face when he turned that Nick wasn’t part of the equation, but to the man’s credit, he took it in stride. He put a hand on Nick’s shoulder and told them who he was taking them to meet.

ChAPteR twenty two

When he finally escaped from the press corps, Nick made a beeline for the bar. He was more than grateful to see Hideki and Ben standing at one end, chatting it up with a black-shirted bartender.

“Man,” he sighed, draping an arm over each of his bandmates’

shoulders. Well, almost. Ben was Marlowe’s height so he had to reach a little. Same effect. He lowered his head between them and kept his voice as low as he could and still be heard over the music on the dance floor. “If I have to answer one more question about Marlowe and his band I’m gonna hurl. What are we drinking?”

“Tequila.” Hideki laughed, picking up a freshly poured shot glass filled with clear liquid. “That’s what you get for talking to the press at all.”

The bartender held up the tequila bottle for Nick. Don Julio.

Nice. He nodded and the guy retrieved another glass.

Hideki sniffed his glass with an appreciative smile. “Leave the press to Kip and Marlowe. They’re good at it.”

Nick snorted, dropping his arms as his drink was poured.

“No way, man. That keeps them thinking it’s Marlowe’s band.”

Ben picked up his glass as Nick lifted his and the three of them clinked. “We rocked,” Ben affirmed quietly just before all three drank.

As the expensive tequila buzzed down his throat, Nick slammed his glass on the top of the bar and motioned for another.

As his friends did the same and the bartender poured, Nick glanced past him, past the group of girls around the corner of the bar watching the three musicians, at the closely packed knot of press he’d just abandoned. Couldn’t see Marlowe anywhere in that throng. Not that it would matter if he did. Except for a handful of pointed short exchanges, Marlowe had been avoiding him all night.

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First, he’d decided at the last minute to drive out to the casino with Kip rather than driving out to check in early with Nick and Ben as previously planned. Then once he’d arrived, he’d kept busy with dressing and makeup and avoided when Nick tried to talk to him. Not that he’d had much to say, but he’d wanted to talk about a change to one of the songs and each time he tried to stop Marlowe, the other man managed to slip away. Then there was the disappearing act right before the show. That one threw Nick completely for a loop. Marlowe had never played hide-and-seek before a gig. He’d always been up front and center, talking everyone up. And then when he’d shown up… It had been dark so Nick couldn’t be sure, but he had an undeniable feeling that he’d seen fear in Marlowe’s eyes. Notable because Marlowe just didn’t show fear. The doubt from the past few months was one thing. Fear was something altogether different. He wanted to find out if he was right, but yet again Marlowe managed to set them up so talk was impossible.

After a third shot, he slid away from his bandmates and let some girls take his place. He wandered around the dance floor, letting a few well wishers stop him here and there. He wasn’t in a hurry. But he did keep his eye out. Sooner or later he was going to… There he was. Standing by the now-dark stage, his white leather vest a beacon in the fiesta of lights. Still strange to see the singer surrounded by a crowd without a drink in his hand.

Slowly, Nick made his way toward the spot, keeping an eye out.

But when he got there, Marlowe was gone. Nick bit back a curse and sought him out again. This time he saw the vest heading up one of the curved staircases that led to the balcony. When he reached the balcony, Nick missed the mark again. He glanced at the dance floor and thought he saw Marlowe there. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Marlowe was avoiding him. But did he know better? Maybe Marlowe was avoiding him.

Now he was pissed. What the hell was Marlowe avoiding him for? This was the first gig since… well, since, and they’d been great. They should be celebrating together. Instead, he was spending his time chasing the singer through the crowd. What.

The. Fuck?

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For a while, he tried to let it go. So Marlowe didn’t want to talk? Fine. Fuck him.

Nick took a turn on the dance floor and sidled up to a hot blonde in tight stretch pants that made her ass look edible. She danced with him, but eventually when one song blended into the next, she drew away with a coy glance over her shoulder and pushed away into the crowd. He frowned. She wanted him to follow, he got that. But all of a sudden, he really didn’t want to deal with the game. He didn’t want to spend the next hour or so figuring out if she was going upstairs with him or not. Even if she did, at this moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to be with her.

So he let her go. He turned around in a different direction and made his own way off the dance floor. A trip to the bar supplied him with a few more shots and a few more women flirting. He flirted back, but it was half assed. He looked around for a guy to talk to. He’d spied Shad Searle in the crowd earlier and the other guitarist was always good for a laugh.

Then he saw Marlowe, vest now dangling open to expose his chest, with each arm across the shoulders of a woman. He was leading them out of one of the exits. Two girls. Typical. Nick’s head spun with images of Marlowe drowning in female flesh.

Marlowe kissing. Marlowe’s hands. Marlowe’s dick. Marlowe’s voice. Singing. Onstage. Avoiding. Fear showing on his face.

Fucking bastard. Just like that, Nick’s anger surged back.

Nick was out the doors and bolting toward the elevators before he realized it. “Hey!”

Marlowe’s smile only faltered a little as he turned. “Hey, Nicky.”

Ignoring the girls and the din of slot machines just twenty feet away, Nick stopped in front of him. “I need to talk to you.”

Marlowe frowned. He looked down at the intoxicated smile of the brunette tucked up against his left side. “Can’t it wait until morning?”

The elevator opened and spewed its human contents. Nick hardly gave it any thought when he reached out to nab Marlowe’s

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wrist, unwinding it from one set of narrow shoulders. “Excuse us, ladies.” He shoved Marlowe past him into the empty elevator.

“Hey!” Marlowe stumbled into the little cubicle.

Nick punched the number for their floor and his stare kept the girls on the other side of the doors as they closed.

“What the hell, Nicky?”

Nick glared, fists bunched at his sides. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“What?”

“Thought I was imagining it at first, but it happened too often. I’d be in one place and you’d go somewhere else.”

The muted white light poured over Marlowe, highlighting the pristine white of his vest. Much of the makeup was gone from his face, but the black liner remained, enhancing the shape of his eyes and bringing out the stunning blue. Tight black pants hung low enough on his waist to show the divots at the lower V of his toned belly. Marlowe set his hands on narrow hips, but Nick noted that he stayed near the far corner of the chrome and black box, as far from Nick as he could get.

“What are you talking about? We’ve been in close quarters for six months.”

“I’m talking about tonight.”

“We talked.”

“No.” Nick took a step toward him. Stopped when Marlowe pulled up against the wall, hands now on the waist high railing that lined the back and sides. “What’s with you?” He narrowed his eyes over a vicious suspicion. “You high? That why you’re hiding?”

“Jesus Christ. No.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

Finally Marlowe gave him a real look, even if it was a disparaging glare. “You don’t. But I’m not. I’m painfully sober.

Ask Kip.”

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“I might.”

“You do that.”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wro…?” He laughed and gestured at the door. “What’s wrong is there are two girls downstairs that I was bringing up to my room for some fun and you sent them away.”

For reasons Nick didn’t care to acknowledge, that pissed him off. He closed the distance between them by another step.

Because Marlowe’s chest was bare between the open sides of the vest, Nick saw his breathing pick up the pace. “What the hell do you want with girls anyway? Aren’t you gay?”

Marlowe’s brows shot up and his jaw unhinged a little. Then his eyes narrowed and he ground his teeth. “Oh no. We’re not doing this now.”

“How come? Aren’t you gay?”

“No. I’m bisexual. When have you known me to publicly go off with a guy anyway?”

Confusion muddled Nick’s anger. It occurred to him that this outburst might be due to a bit too much to drink, but so be it.

He’d wanted to ask these questions for months but had never found a good time. “So you’re ashamed of it?”

“God, no.” Marlowe graced him with an exasperated frown.

“What… What are we doing?”

Nick wasn’t sure. His head was spinning a little. Maybe someone had slipped him something. Whatever it was, his blood was boiling and his focus was laser sharp on this man trapped in the elevator with him. “Why haven’t you ever picked up a guy publicly?”

Marlowe gripped the handrails and kept himself wedged in the corner. “It’s bad for my image. Guys think twice about your music if they know you’re gay. Besides…” He licked his lips and his gaze slipped away. “I can’t just do casual with men.”

I can’t just do casual with men. That was a very important sentence, wasn’t it? That meant something. Nick struggled to decide if he

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wanted to know why. Behind him, the elevator doors slid open.

Nick turned halfway to stare at the open space, at the garish patterned hallway carpet that would lead them to the rooms the record company had rented for the night.

“We should go back down,” Marlowe suggested calmly. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

Still staring, Nick nodded. He made no move toward the buttons. He kept watching as the door closed.

I can’t just do casual with men. That meant that what happened between them hadn’t been casual. I’d have thought he’d be all over you…You’re exactly his type. Arjun’s words echoed Marlowe’s. Then he heard Arjun’s: Come on, Nick. Try something new.

Something new.

Firm hand pumping his cock. Demanding lips devouring his mouth.

Heat and musky scent drowning him, taking him higher than he’d ever been…

The elevator began to sink. “I can’t stop thinking about you.

About… that night.”

It was so quiet that he could hear the sharp intake of Marlowe’s breath. “Nick…”

“I can’t. I try and it…” Nick shook his head. Closed his eyes.

Swallowed. “Not the accident. I never think about that anymore.

But before… When we… I can’t…” God! Finish a sentence. But he couldn’t. If he said… His ears were ringing. Was that a good thing? Say it. “I should be downstairs talking up a woman for tonight and instead I’m chasing you.” He looked up and threw an accusing stare at the object of his obsession. Yes, obsession. He could admit that. “Why?”

Marlowe just stared, choosing to stay quiet. Tiny specks of glitter shone in his hair and he must have just licked his lips because the lower swell of his mouth shone in the unflattering light.

“C’mon, Marlowe.” Nick laughed. It shook. “A coupla years ago, you would have been full of explanations for me. You would

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have had me in bed already.” A cold burst of heat around his heart when he finished the words. He tilted his head at the show of the whites of Marlowe’s eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”

A swipe of lips with the tip of a pink tongue. “A lot’s happened in the last few years.”

“Yeah.” Watching that wide, mobile mouth, he took a step closer, crowding Marlowe into his corner. “How many guys you fucked since then?”

Marlowe tried for bluster. “I’m not going to tell you tha…”

Nick threw himself forward, slamming both hands on the shiny walls of the elevator to either side of Marlowe’s wide shoulders. Making Marlowe flinch. A shot of heat seized Nick’s cock at the sight of it. “I wanna know!”

Behind him, the elevator doors shushed opened. Beyond irritated, Nick shoved away from Marlowe and spun just in time to scare two drunken couples from coming in. “Catch the next one!” he barked, jabbing at the number for their floor again. He caught Marlowe trying to escape and flattened a palm on the man’s chest to shove him back against the wall. “I’m not done with you.”

Marlowe actually bounced off the wall as the doors shut, barely catching hold of the railing to keep himself from collapsing to the floor. “Ow.” He reached up to rub the back of his skull.

“What the hell, Nick?”

“Nick? Now it’s Nick? What happened to Nicky?”

“What goes with you?” Again he backed against the wall.

“I don’t know. You tell me. How’d you turn me gay for you?”

Marlowe reached out to grip Nick’s shoulder, trying to hold him back. “What? You’re not…?”

“I’m not? Then why the fuck have I been dreaming about this?”

Again Nick threw himself forward, this time reaching for Marlowe’s head. The taller man’s eyes went wide as his grip on Nick’s shoulder disappeared and Nick’s desperation won out.

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Nick took hold of Marlowe’s ears and dragged his head down to bring his lips in range.

Fuck, no! Yes! Marlowe winced in pain, fingers digging into his temples, teeth clashing with his to bruise two sets of lips.

He opened instinctively and couldn’t suppress a hungry groan as Nick’s tongue shoved for entrance. Instinct had his arms sliding around Nick’s back, hands spanning over the hard muscles of his back before bunching handfuls of his T-shirt. Fuck, he tasted good! Tequila and something fruity laced over the molten musk that was all Nick. A completely undignified whimper escaped Marlowe’s throat and he let one of his hands drop to possessively cup one side of Nick’s ass, pressing the shorter man flush against him. Goddamn, he was hard as stone. Both of them. All the fear, panic, and excitement of the night channeled down to drowning in this man.

But… wait… With effort, Marlowe freed his lips enough to speak. “Wait…”

Nick’s fingers dug into his skull, pulling him back. “No.”

He fought. He needed… A glance up showed that he must have heard the ding of the elevator because the number of their floor showed in steady red above the bank of buttons. “We need…” Nick’s lips made it hard to talk. To think. “Elevator…”

“What?” That got through to Nick. He turned his head enough to see the doors opening. “Right.” Laser blue eyes swung back around to fix on Marlowe. “We finish this.”

Marlowe could only nod. Part of his brain clanged with huge warning bells, but the rest of his body would follow Nick anywhere.

With one last bite for Marlowe’s lower lip, Nick let him go.

Marlowe sank against the wall for a moment, stunned by that last little bit of erotic dominance, then he had to look up at the sound of Nick’s voice.

“Come on.”

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Nick was striding fast down the hall by the time Marlowe made it out of the elevator. Lust bolted through him at the sight of that strong, compact body commanding the space, muscular arms swinging with a purpose. Broad shoulders filled his tight, blue shirt perfectly and the jeans… God, Marlowe could write sappy sonnets for years dedicated to the heart-rending shape of that ass.

Then Nick stopped. Spun. Those eyes pinned him from underneath a shaggy fall of black bangs. “You coming?”

Almost. Resisting the urge to adjust his aching cock, Marlowe nodded and headed in Nick’s direction. The other man didn’t wait for him, but resumed his stride. It took him around the corner. Marlowe caught up as Nick was pulling his wallet from his back pocket.

“Wait.”

Impatience made Nick glare and Marlowe’s heart soared to know that impatience was to get alone with him.

“My room.”

Nick nodded then turned to wait. Marlowe had to drag his gaze away to lean against the opposite wall and reach into his boot.

“Your key’s in your shoe?”

“Yeah.” He kept his eyes off Nick so he could function. “Too many people who know how to pick a keycard out of my pocket.”

An unreal moment as he produced the card and slid it through the door’s lock. The tension from the elevator remained, connecting the two of them by sizzling live wires Marlowe could almost see. He made it through the door and had to catch himself on the wall as Nick brushed past him into the darkness. Then he was there, standing in the middle of Marlowe’s room, a silhouette against the moonlight and city lights from far below framed by the open window. The door clicked shut behind Marlowe and the silence that enveloped them was broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner and the slightly louder rasp of their breathing.

Fuck! Marlowe had never been so turned on.

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But he had to keep his head. If they went through with this and then Nick turned on him afterward, Very Bad Things would follow. He had to try and avoid that if he could. “Nicky, are you sure?”

Nick spun to face him. Marlowe could barely make out his features since the only light was behind him. But the body language was clear. The set of shoulders, the fists at his sides, the tilt of his head. All indicators that the decisive mind he loved so much had been made up even if he didn’t fully acknowledge it yet.

“No. Yes.”

Marlowe kept his distance, sure that if he got too close they’d both get burned by the fire between them. “We don’t have to.”

“Yeah.” Nick headed for him, hands rising. Marlowe was right. Flames licked at his skin as Nick closed the distance. “We absolutely have to.”

He didn’t like the ring of the words but God he loved what followed. Nick’s hands dragged his head down again, lips took his.

He stumbled forward as Nick pulled him further into the room.

Nick fell back, pulled him down, and they landed in a tangle of limbs on the mattress, the thick ivory satin duvet sighing as it gave under their weight. For long, precious moments they just kissed. If what they were doing could be considered just kissing.

While they ate at each other’s mouths, their bodies writhed, each inch of skin doing its best to rub against something of the other.

Nick’s belt buckle dug into Marlowe’s bare belly and his cock was a steel rod against Marlowe’s thigh. Marlowe nearly died when Nick lifted his left leg to wrap over Marlowe’s hip to press them closer.

Nick’s fingers dug into his ass, pulling in anxious rhythm.

“Shit.” Wet lips brushed Marlowe’s as they both panted. “I’m gonna come.”

Marlowe tightened the fingers he had dug in Nick’s hair. “Me too.”

“Fuck. God! Wait!” Nick tensed, arms tight around Marlowe

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as he froze. He trembled, grit his teeth. But didn’t come. He held it back. “Ah, God,” he groaned as the critical moment passed.

His arms relaxed and he slid his hand up under Marlowe’s vest, caressing his back. He sucked Marlowe’s lip between his teeth and growled. “Fuck. I need… something.”

Lost in the sensual banquet of Nick’s body, Marlowe didn’t know where to begin. He wanted everything. But some bit of sense remained and he did a quick think through. He wanted to fuck Nick. He nearly reached critical mass himself just at the thought of sinking his dick into this strong, willing body. But that was a bad idea. He needed to curb the lust, give them both some breathing room, give Nick a chance to back out. Even if it broke him, Marlowe would let Nick pull away if he wanted. Marlowe was responsible for enough wrongs in Nick’s life, he promised himself he wasn’t going to add to that. Although that meant he should pull away himself and deny them what Nick was begging for. But he just wasn’t that strong. He could only do so much, and denying Nick was now far past his capabilities.

He buried his face in Nick’s neck and latched onto his racing pulse. Nick shuddered and groaned beneath him. As his arms went lax, Marlowe slid them from his body down to the mattress, pressing them to either side of Nick’s shoulders. He squeezed to make his point.

Keep them there.

Nick seemed to understand. That or his neck was a switch to turn off his mind and make him pliant. Marlowe wondered if he’d ever get the chance to find out for sure. Waving away that thought, he kissed his way down Nick’s neck, grazed his collar bone. With sure hands, he yanked Nick’s T-shirt up and bunched it under his armpits so he could get to precious, pointed nipples.

Nick jolted when Marlowe latched onto one then jostled them both as he yanked his shirt up and over his head and arms. While he was busy, Marlowe slid away from nipples until he found the line that led between abdominal muscles to the cavity of Nick’s navel. His head spun as he travelled, loving every inch of warm satin skin.

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Nick was simply perfect in every way and Marlowe worshipped each inch of him, lamenting the raw need that pushed him to hurry and didn’t let him linger. As he bit into the soft skin over Nick’s left hipbone, his hands pulled open Nick’s belt and made quick work of the button-fly of his jeans. By the time he knelt up beside Nick’s legs, he had belt and fly open, parted to reveal a damp, gorgeous bulge in snug, dark boxer briefs. A glance up showed Nick’s face as a combination of shadows, watching him with avid interest as his chest rose and fell in rapid breaths.

Fucking gorgeous. Marlowe wanted to turn on a light, but reason told him it was better to keep this shadowy. Dreamlike. Easier for Nick to deny if he needed.

Fuck.

Passion and despair warring in his chest, he crawled back on the bed, tugging Nick’s jeans with him. He left the briefs for now and he abandoned the jeans at Nick’s ankles. Before Nick could struggle out of them, Marlowe lay between his spread knees and pressed his face into a cotton-clad erection. Something between a hiss and a groan expelled from Nick, and fingers instantly dove into Marlowe’s hair, holding his head, keeping his face where it was. Not that he would have moved for the world. The raw, damp scent of Nick filled Marlowe’s head, drowning all other thoughts.

He inhaled and died a little. His fingers pressed either side of Nick’s hips. He lipped the stalk of Nick’s erection down until he could nuzzle the soft give of balls. He opened his mouth and pulled as much of Nick’s sac into his mouth as he could, briefs and all, wetting the fabric with his saliva as he tasted the earthy reality of this man’s scent. This was a far more effective drug than anything he’d ever had. His only need was to worship at the center of Nick’s body.

“God. Fuck!”

Nick’s grumbled cries and curses were the soundtrack for Marlowe’s devotion. He finally remembered to hook fingers into the briefs and pull them down. He groaned at the moonlit sight of Nick’s cock slapping up to his belly. He barely managed to clear the briefs down to Nick’s balls before his dripping tongue

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found the thick vein lining Nick’s stalk, tracing it slowly from the curly hair at the root to the arrow juncture right below the head.

He paused there, unsure if he wanted to treat or torture himself, but wordless pleading and a flex of the fingers still lightly tangled in his hair convinced him. He licked that last little bit then lowered his head so he could suck the tip of Nick into his mouth.

“Ah, God!” Nick writhed, trapped feet restless underneath Marlowe.

Slowly, savoring, Marlowe sank his mouth over the most wonderful cock that had ever passed his lips. He’d chide himself for romanticizing if it weren’t the simple truth. Nick’s salt filled him and he could not have pulled away if he tried. He sank over that cock until it hit the back of his throat and he could take no more. Not at this angle. He didn’t make it to the root, but his hand filled in, gripping and squeezing those last few inches below his lips.

“Fuck. God! Marlowe.”

The sound of his name was the trigger to allow him to pull up, slowly, leaving a coating of his spit to juice up Nick’s cock. When he got to the head, he paused to run his tongue over the smooth, firm skin, to tease the hole at the end with the tip of his tongue, before he slid his lips back down the stalk. He lost track of time, lost track of anything. He was simply a mouth, meant to devour this heated, velvety flesh. He had no other purpose in life than to cause those gorgeous curses that poured from Nick’s mouth, to taste the salty nectar that he coaxed in droplets from the tip. He picked up the pace of his sucking only because he knew it was needed, to properly please the object of his affection, he had to suck and squeeze.

“Shit. Stop.” But the grip in Marlowe’s hair kept him where he was, kept up the rhythm, kept him going until… “Aw, fuck!”

Salty warmth filled Marlowe’s mouth and he swallowed it gladly and kept on sucking, kept going until he’d drained every last bit, until Nick sank boneless into the mattress beneath him.

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Nick could barely see and it wasn’t because no lights were on.

That was one of the best orgasms he had ever experienced and it demanded he take a moment for brainless enjoyment.

When he came to his senses, he groaned and reached, but couldn’t immediately place Marlowe. He lifted his head and found the man sitting on the edge of the bed, profile to Nick.

He was still dressed, vest hanging open from his shoulders and belt still in place over the snug pants. That was a wrong picture.

It was also wrong that he was faced away from the window so his face was completely in shadow, hiding his expression from Nick.

“You okay?” Marlowe’s richly amused voice filled the room.

Nick had to smile. “I’m great.” He pushed up onto his elbows, his smile melting into uncertainty. “What now?”

Marlowe shrugged. “You tell me. Are we done?”

“Done?” Nick shoved up to brace on his hands. “How could we be done? You didn’t get off.”

Marlowe chuckled, turning away completely. “That’s okay. We can stop if you want.”

Something like fear drained warmth from Nick’s chest. He looked down at himself, at the briefs still banding the top of his thighs, at the pants gathered around his ankles. He hadn’t been the only one to enjoy that; had he? He would have sworn Marlowe was digging it.

“Do you want to stop?”

“I don’t want to push you.”

There it was. That awful uncertainty Nick had heard lately in Marlowe’s voice. It was completely at odds with the man he knew and he really wished Marlowe would quit it. So give him a reason to quit. “Fine.” He scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. While Marlowe faced the bathroom, Nick shed briefs and pants, quickly toeing out of his shoes. Only once he was naked did he turn on the other man and catch him off guard by grabbing his shoulder and shoving him onto his back on the bed.

“Hey!”

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Before Marlowe could right himself, Nick climbed over his lap and shoved two palms down on his shoulders. When he had Marlowe’s attention, he raised an eyebrow. “Then I’ll push you.”

They were kissing again. It was easier that way. Nick wasn’t as good with words as Marlowe, so he didn’t trust himself to talk much in this uncertain situation. But the physical was easy. Or, well, maybe easi er. He pressed down on Marlowe, chest to chest, and enjoyed the hell out of rubbing his cock on Marlowe’s bare belly. There was just enough saliva and semen left on his shaft that it slid easily over the warmth of Marlowe’s skin. Wasn’t hard yet, but it could be soon enough if they kept this up. Which reminded him. While Marlowe’s hands skimmed over his back and arms, Nick considered what to do about Marlowe’s cock. He couldn’t ignore it. That wasn’t right. But was he ready to really do anything with it? And what about Marlowe being a top? Did he want to fuck Nick’s ass? Was he serious about not pushing Nick?

Too many questions made his brain ache and distracted him from the gorgeous slide of Marlowe’s skin. He tore his lips from the singer’s and tasted the line of that long neck, dragged his tongue over faint stubble, learned that Marlowe trembled a little if you tongued his ear. Okay, this wasn’t all that different from sex with a woman. You just had to pay attention to what felt good. He could do this.

Decided, he slipped his hands down Marlowe’s sides until he could get his hands on his belt buckle.

“Nick, wait…”

Impatient with the hesitation, Nick lifted his head and sought Marlowe’s mouth, his fingers still at the buckle.

“No.”

They struggled, but Marlowe eventually caught Nick’s wrists and held them.

Pissed, Nick sat up and glared down at the man. “What?”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“What? Touch your cock? Yes.”

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“You don’t have to do this just because I sucked you off.”

Nick wanted to punch him. He really did. Marlowe was looking out for him, which was cool, but didn’t he see that Nick was ready for this? But punching him would just delay things even further.

“What if I want to?”

“Have you done this before?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“I’m just saying don’t do it if you just think you have to.”

Nick glared at him. It was kind of hard to really be mad though because the man looked fucking gorgeous all laid out on the satin spread. The vest had fallen open and spilled down one arm and his chest was covered with a fine sheen of sweat that glistened in the moonlight. Nick wanted to lick every inch. Oh yeah, he could do this. He reached for the belt buckle again.

“Noted.”

“Nick…”

He spoke through gritted teeth. “Marlowe, I swear to God if you keep talking I’m gonna gag you. We clear?”

The hands that had started toward Nick’s hesitated then dropped. “We’re clear.”

“Good.” Nick scooted back a little so he was sitting more toward Marlowe’s knees then set about unbuckling the belt. The leather fell away, unattached to the pants and he left it underneath Marlowe in favor of smoothing his hands over the prominent bulge in Marlowe’s crotch. Warm, firm, new, exciting. He was liking this. “How do I get these damn things off you?”

Marlowe’s eyes were closed and his Adam’s apple bobbed before he could answer. “Zipper on the side.”

“Ah.” Nick rubbed his hands outward. He found a hard lump that felt like Marlowe’s phone in an inside pocket and right beside it was the zipper and a little hook above it. He made quick work of the zipper. “A thong?” That was the only explanation for the

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bikini-style string he revealed at Marlowe’s hip.

“Yeah.” The singer’s voice was gruff as he slipped out of his vest. “Avoids lines.” He dropped the vest over the edge of the mattress.

Nick ran a finger under the string. Imagined snapping it. Liked the idea. A lot. But he quelled the urge. Instead, he crawled back until his feet hit the floor then, leaning forward, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of the pants and pulled them off. He had to help Marlowe with his boots, but soon enough the singer was left in just a little scrap of dark fabric that struggled to contain his cock and balls.

Sexy as fucking hell.

He’d always been toned, but frequent workouts lately had made his lean body into a work of art. Nick reached back up and slowly pulled the top of the thong until it was up enough to clear Marlowe’s cock, then he brought the thong down Marlowe’s thighs and off, leaving the singer naked. It was all very real now. It was real before, but seeing Marlowe’s cock, so much darker than the rest of his tanned skin, lying on his belly, full and flush and ready for service, brought it all home. He became aware that his own cock was re-awakening.

Marlowe was watching him. Waiting.

Nick lost some of his bravado. This was all so new. He got the concepts, but… “I don’t know what to do.”

That got him a soft smile. Marlowe beckoned with one hand.

“Come here.”

He crawled up beside Marlowe and lay down at his direction.

Marlowe turned on his own side to face him. Nick glanced down, turned on by the shadowy picture of their cocks so close together.

“I want you to feel good.”

Marlowe cupped his jaw, tilting his face up. “Being with you makes me feel good.” Soft brush of lips on his. “Even if this goes no further.”

Okay, that was nice, it really was, but Nick wasn’t satisfied.

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As Marlowe kissed him, he smoothed a hand over Marlowe’s side, his hip, even made bold to reach back to trace the curve of his ass. Since Marlowe didn’t seem to be in a hurry, Nick took his time. Although how Marlowe withstood it was beyond him.

He’d already come and his impatience with himself was nearly killing him. Stupid, just do it. He brought his hand around between them. Brushed underneath Marlowe’s cock with the backs of his fingers. Marlowe’s small groan warmed him, gave him courage to lightly stroke the shaft of Marlowe’s cock. Then he realized that he was acting like a virgin confronted with her first cock. Okay, well he was kind of, but… No, damn it. He wrapped his palm around the shaft near the head and squeezed.

Marlowe tensed, pressing his forehead to Nick’s. “Oh, God.”

He held onto Marlowe as the singer shuddered. He squeezed and pulled and yeah he knew how to do this. The cock wasn’t attached to him, but it was a familiar enough sensation for his hand. More sure of himself, he managed to spit on his palm then return it to Marlowe’s cock. The wet eased the way and soon enough he was pumping hard, paying close attention to Marlowe’s cues for whether he was doing it right or not. And he must have been doing a lot right because Marlowe thrust against him, dug fingers into his shoulders, ate at his mouth, all the things he imagined that he’d done on that night long ago when Marlowe had started this.

Nick stayed with it, easing Marlowe onto his back then climbing half on top of him. He nuzzled and bit Marlowe’s neck, collarbone, chest as his hand worked Marlowe’s cock. When he sucked up one of Marlowe’s nipples, the man cried out and hugged him tight. When the thrusting started in earnest, Nick rolled into Marlowe’s body and tucked one of his thighs between Marlowe’s to increase the pressure. He rocked with the other man, ignoring his own cock for now, fully caught up in Marlowe’s soaring pleasure, soaking in the golden pleasure that Marlowe gave off when he was in his element. It made Nick want to work with him and now it made Nick want to fuck him, to bring him to the peak where he poured out all that molten magic that made

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him special. And he poured out hot semen all over Nick’s hand and their bellies.

What a rush. Nick could do that again and again. He braced on his elbow so he could watch Marlowe’s spent, panting expression.

His tongue tingled and now he wished he’d had the nerve to suck Marlowe’s cock and drink him in. Maybe next time.

More. He wanted more. He needed more of this. His cock was back up and ready and he needed to use it. His next move came to him with crystal clarity. The only problem was he wasn’t sure if Marlowe would allow it.

He waited until the singer opened his eyes, until that smile was focused up on him. He kissed Marlowe’s relaxed lips and sucked on the bottom one for a moment before asking the question. His face hovering over Marlowe’s he waited until the man’s eyes were focused on him.

“I want to fuck you. Will you let me?”

Marlowe stared up at Nick. He couldn’t be sure if he’d heard what he thought he heard since his brain was still reeling from coming. But the earnest expression on Nick’s face suggested he’d heard correctly. “You want to fuck me?”

“Yeah. I know you’re a top and all…”

“You know that?”

Nick grinned. “Arjun told me.”

“Well. What else did Arjun tell you?”

Nick smoothed a hand over Marlowe’s belly and watched his fingers push around cooling cum. “Don’t want to talk about him right now.”

Suited Marlowe okay. He was just buying time anyway. He still couldn’t decide… Yes, he’d planned on fucking Nick. Eventually.

Probably not tonight. Sometimes he could convince a virgin to take it up the ass the first time, but he was sure Nick wasn’t that accommodating. In all his imagining of their first time, he’d always pictured a lot of sucking and jerking off, leaving penetration for a

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later time. As usual, Nick threw him for a loop.

“You sure?” He knew Nick was impatient with questions, but damned if he was going to be blamed for not thinking later.

Nick nodded quickly. “Oh yeah.” He looked up, reminding Marlowe of a kid begging a parent into buying a toy. “I can make it good. I’ve had anal sex with girls before.”

That was something of a relief. It had been years since Marlowe bottomed so it was almost guaranteed it’d hurt. But, he decided as he looked into that oh-so-gorgeous face, it would be so worth it. He smiled. “Okay.”

Nick’s grin warmed his heart. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He cupped Nick’s jaw and drew him in for a lingering kiss. “But let me wash up some.”

Nick lifted his hand and chuckled at the coating of semen on it. “Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

Chuckling, Marlowe pushed himself up and off the bed.

“There’s lube and condoms in my overnight bag.”

He kept his cool until he got around the corner into the bathroom, but he had to give himself a moment to clutch the counter and breathe. This was really happening. And it was going well. So well that it scared him. He screwed his eyes shut and forbade himself to predict doom. Live in the moment, he begged himself. Don’t screw this up. With that, he ran the water to heat it and threw a washcloth underneath it. He had to clean up good so nothing could possibly turn Nick off.

Ten minutes later, he emerged. Nick had plugged his iPod into the alarm clock and set some soft music on low. One of the lamps in the corner was on and the curtains were closed, shutting them away from the world. The covers were turned back on the bed, revealing startling white sheets and Nick lay against the headboard, still naked. Condoms and lube lay beside him on the far side of the mattress as he slowly pulled on a delicious looking erection.

Marlowe leaned on the wall just outside the bathroom door

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and crossed his arms. “Now that’s a pretty sight.”

Nick’s smile was lazy and sexy as hell. “Ditto.”

He was ridiculously happy to hear that word. Laughing, Marlowe pushed off the wall and started for the bed. “We’ve got to work on your verbal skills.”

“Nah.” Nick scrambled to his knees. “That’s your department.”

They met at the edge of the mattress, two sets of arms wrapping around each other in perfect harmony. Their lips met in a slow, sensuous kiss and Marlowe enjoyed the slide of Nick’s hands over his shoulders, down his back and eventually to his ass. He groaned when eager fingers pulled his cheeks apart and probed a little between. Jesus, Nick really did want this. He broke free of the kiss, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

“I think I need to lie down.”

Soft lips caressed the base of his neck and softer hair tickled his jaw. “Good idea.” Nick backed up, arms slipping away from Marlowe.

Marlowe bent one knee on the bed then stopped. “How do you want me?”

Nick chuckled low. “Too many choices.”

Marlowe laughed. “Serious.”

“Does it matter to you?”

He thought about it. First, it’d been a long time. He’d be better off on hands and knees. Second, he wasn’t sure he was ready to face Nick like that. Not yet. Too vulnerable. “Hands and knees.”

Nick nodded once. “Works for me.”

With a rapidly beating heart, Marlowe climbed up facing the headboard. Shocking how unsure he felt. For a brief moment, he really wished he was high. That’d make this so much easier.

But then Nick was behind him, hot hands smoothing down his back and over his hips and he sank down to push his face in the pillows, willing himself to live in the moment.

Nick made that easy for him. His hands didn’t stop. Even

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when they left Marlowe’s skin to open and pour lube, Nick pushed his hips forward so some part of him kept touching Marlowe. On purpose? Maybe. Marlowe had often wondered what type of lover Nick was. His assumption had aimed at passionate and raw. He was delighted to discover Nick was that, but he was also thoughtful and sensual. When wet fingers slid down the center of Marlowe’s ass, they went past his entrance and down almost to his balls, slathering lube along his skin. Slowly they slid back up and the pads of two fingers circled Marlowe’s hole, tracing it, learning it while Nick’s free hand squeezed Marlowe’s hip. A part of Marlowe relaxed. At least Nick wasn’t repelled.

Quite the contrary. When one finger finally slipped past that tight ring of muscle into Marlowe’s body, it sank slow. As an added bonus, Nick leaned forward to brush his lips over the base of Marlowe’s spine.

“You okay?” His finger paused.

“Mmmm. Yeah, I’m good.”

More soft kisses to his lower back as Nick drew the finger out then pressed it back in. Careful but not hesitant. Marlowe could easily believe he’d done this before. When the second finger joined the first, Marlowe almost missed the difference. Almost.

The burn to muscles unused to stretching reminded him. Nick felt him flinch and paused. Then the fingers started rubbing around inside, twisting a little, until… “Oh yeah.” Marlowe made sure to let Nick know when he found the spot. The spot that made Marlowe wonder why he didn’t bottom more often.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Awesome.”

Having found the spot, Nick rubbed it for a while, waiting for Marlowe to adjust. He even moved his free hand, reaching between Marlowe’s legs to grip his shaft.

“Oh fuck.” Marlowe couldn’t help rotating his hips and he slid his knees a little further apart, giving Nick all the room he needed.

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“More?” Nick asked, swiping his thumb over the head of Marlowe’s dick.

“Yeah.”

Three fingers probed and Marlowe hissed. Nick took it easy and eventually Marlowe settled enough to accept him. All the while, Nick slowly palmed his dick, kissed his back, distracting him with pleasure. Letting himself be wanton, Marlowe rolled his hips, moving with Nick, letting the tingling wash of heat pour over him. Took him a while to realize that Nick’s moans echoed his.

“God.” The word was breathed into Marlowe’s spine. “I gotta fuck you now.”

“Do it.”

Marlowe replaced Nick’s hand on his dick with his own and severely lamented the loss of Nick’s fingers from his ass.

He twisted his neck to watch his lover— his lover!— reach for the condom and rip it open. A little more lube after the latex was in place then Nick was back for him.

Catching Marlowe’s eye, he grinned. Exactly like a kid in a candy store. “You ready?”

“Ready.” Marlowe had to twist his face back into the pillow, unable to watch Nick rear over him. Too intense. He knew his feelings would be far too evident.

Pressure at his anus. A hand squeezed his left butt cheek.

Then a long, slow burn as his opening stretched wide over the head of Nick’s cock. Marlowe groaned, clutching the base of his dick. Nick paused, pulled out a little, then pushed back in.

Another pause, pull out, then push. He took his time, but he was relentless, determined to fit all of himself into Marlowe’s body.

It hurt. Hurt more than Marlowe thought it would after Nick’s careful preparation. But he knew enough that if he just breathed through it, just relaxed, just let it happen, it’d be good soon.

“Oh, shit.” Nick’s sigh of reverence wafted between Marlowe’s shoulder blades as he fell forward, hands braced on the mattress to either side of Marlowe. “Oh, God, you feel so good.”

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Marlowe whimpered. It was small, but it was an honest-to-God whimper. When had he last made such a sound?

Lips on the back of his shoulder blade. “You okay?”

“Gimme a second.”

Nick kept his hips still, but his lips were busy, drifting over Marlowe’s skin, leaving a wet trail of saliva. So sweet.

Marlowe rolled his hips a little and sighed. There it was. “Oh yeah.” That’s what he remembered. The push inside him, the feeling of being filled up. “Move now.”

Nick gripped Marlowe’s hips and slowly pulled out for a thrust.

Oh yes. Marlowe sighed, arching his back. That was good. A few more delicious thrusts and Marlowe started to lose himself in it.

“Harder.” Nick took him at his word and put his back into it, but kept it slow. Marlowe enjoyed that for a while, but impatience got the better of him.

“Faster.” Nick picked up the pace, pumping Marlowe full of his dick, making it feel like he was bumping right underneath Marlowe’s heart. Marlowe pushed up on his elbow so he could shove back.

“Fuck me, Nicky. God, fuck me.”

Oh yes! His words set Nick loose. Hard as he’d been fucking, he proved that he’d been holding back. All the power in his body went into his thrusts and his grip on Marlowe’s hips gave him some leverage. Marlowe had to brace himself to keep from getting slammed into the headboard. It was glorious! He lost the ability to speak, to reason, to think. He became a grunting, crying receptacle for Nick’s gorgeous punishment. Eventually he did have to let go of his dick and use both hands to fix on the headboard. Nick’s hands moved from his hips to his shoulders, digging into the muscles there as he yanked Marlowe’s ass down on his cock. Marlowe’s name and muttered curses spilled from his mouth, drowning out the soft play of jazz from the alarm clock.

“Marlowe... I can’t...”

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Marlowe shoved back at him. “Come for me, baby.”

Nick growled. One hand loosed from Marlowe’s shoulder and found his dick. Nick’s chest pressed to his back. “You too.”

Nick still lost it first, groaning as he lost his rhythm and shook over Marlowe. But his grip on Marlowe’s dick and the achingly beautiful sound of his distress shoved Marlowe over the edge into a molten sea of electricity. He came forever, essence spurting from his body in heated masses.

When pleasure finally released him, he collapsed into a puddle of goo on the sheets, pinned by Nick’s dead weight. They panted, fused together by the sweat of their skin and Nick’s dick still buried deep within Marlowe’s body.

I love you. Marlowe thought, squeezing his eyes shut. Oh my God, I love you so much.

ChAPteR twenty thRee

Nick cleaned up first and by the time Marlowe got back to bed, Nick was out like a light. Marlowe shut off the light and slid under the covers next to him.

“Mmph.” Sound from Nick startled him. So did the strong arm that snaked out to pull him closer. “C’mere.”

Marlowe just went with it as Nick clumsily pulled them as close as they could be when both were on their sides facing each other. He raised his chin as Nick burrowed into his neck, pressing his nose to Marlowe’s collarbone. The position finally seemed to satisfy him because he took a deep breath then settled down. As far as Marlowe could tell, he was out before the breath left him.

Smiling, Marlowe got a little more comfortable, lifting a leg to drape over Nick’s hip and sliding his arm around to stroke Nick’s bare back. He stared at the moonlit wall and inhaled deep the aroma of male sex. He shivered in pleasure and let himself enjoy the moment.

For a moment.

Then doubts started creeping in. Just how drunk was Nick?

He seemed to have his faculties. Enough alcohol to loosen his inhibitions, but not enough to rob him of memory. So he’d remember what happened, of that Marlowe was reasonably sure.

But would he want to? He cuddled in close now, but what would happen in the light of day? Would that temper of his flare and cause him to blame Marlowe for making him do stuff? Would he remember that Marlowe tried repeatedly to stop him? Would it matter anyway?

Marlowe closed his eyes, but he knew already that sleep wasn’t coming. He was far too wired. His body was exhausted, but his fucking brain was going to gnaw at this until Nick woke up and ended the suspense. Until then, he was screwed. God damn sobriety! He could think of a handful of remedies for his sleeplessness, none of them particularly good ideas, but they’d

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let him sleep. But every one of them involved either alcoholic or pharmaceutical help. No, there was one that didn’t, but he’d have to get up and go work out for that one, and leaving the warmth of Nick’s embrace tonight just wasn’t going to happen. If this turned out to be his only night with Nick, he was going to enjoy every damn minute of it.

Anyway, it was already four in the morning. Knowing Kip, he’d be calling at nine to make sure Marlowe got out of the room by check out.

When the room phone rang, Marlowe’s first thought was amazement. He must have slept because the hideous sound jerked him awake. Anxiously, he reached for the receiver.

“God! Fuck!” Nick grumbled, spilling from his side to his back to crack open sleepy eyes Marlowe’s way. The cuddling had only lasted an hour or so, after which Nick had rolled away and hadn’t moved until this moment.

Marlowe rubbed at his eyes as he spoke into the phone.

“Yeah?”

As expected, it was Kip. “You awake?”

“No.”

“Will you be?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we have breakfast or do you have company?”

“Uh.” Marlowe lowered his hand and looked toward Nick.

The other man lay with one arm covering his eyes and the other hand spread on his bare chest. Fucking gorgeous. “What time is it?”

“Nine thirty.”

Wow, he’d given Marlowe an extra half hour. He was out of practice. “Call me back at ten.”

“Will do.” Kip hung up.

Marlowe slowly hung up the receiver then listened to the silence of the room.

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Nick gave it a few moments then cleared his throat. “Kip?”

“Yeah.”

The arm didn’t move. “What time is it?”

Was it wrong to enjoy that gravelly tone in his voice? It probably was wrong to want to flip down the sheets that covered him from the waist down and see if there was a morning treat to suck on. How about if he just licked at the fine black hair that nested in Nick’s exposed armpit? “Nine thirty.”

“Shit.” Yawning, he lowered his arm and blue eyes that were just a little blurry from sleep focused on Marlowe. A small smile that was on the shy side tilted one side of his mouth. “Hey.”

Marlowe used every resource he had to keep it cool and keep his hands in his lap. “Hey.”

Nick blinked at him and the smile faded a little. Marlowe wondered what thoughts were flying behind those eyes as they studied him. Then Nick rolled up onto his elbow, bringing him up against Marlowe’s side. In the same motion, he reached up with his free hand to circle it around the side of Marlowe’s neck.

“Hey,” he repeated, pulling Marlowe closer.

Marlowe swallowed, focused on Nick’s lips. “Hey.”

In all honesty, the kiss tasted awful. Morning breath for both of them and Nick’s was frosted with tequila. But Marlowe couldn’t care less. The kiss eased a panic he’d held close to his heart, the panic that had convinced him Nick would bolt from his bed in horror as soon as recollection of the previous night surfaced. Evidently, this wasn’t the case.

Nick kept the kiss brief, pulling back and sliding his hand down from Marlowe’s neck to his shoulder. “God, I’m sorry. I taste awful.”

“I don’t mind.” It was out before Marlowe could hold it back.

Nick’s smile was worth it. “You’re sicker than I thought.” He groaned and collapsed back to the mattress, hugging a pillow to his face. “God, I’m tired.” The words were muffled, but Marlowe heard them well enough.

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He chuckled and pushed his luck a little. “Yeah, well, you were working hard.”

The laugh that rose from Nick was so damn low and sexy that Marlowe’s heart skipped. “Yeah.”

It gave him the courage to settle down closer to Nick, close enough to press his lips to one exposed shoulder. “Any time you want a repeat performance, you let me know.”

Before he could pull away, that arm snaked out to catch him.

One blue eye peeked out between pillow and tumbled black hair.

“How about now?”

Marlowe licked his lips. “Thought you were tired and you tasted funny?”

He yelped when Nick exploded up and a tangle of arms and legs spun him flat on his back so Nick could straddle his waist.

The covers draped over him but it was clear in front, showing Marlowe evidence that Nick didn’t find the idea of sex with him a turn off.

Nick leaned on the hands that pinned Marlowe’s shoulders.

“I just woke up.”

Marlowe glanced down. “I see.” But he played the grown up and stopped Nick from swooping down to kiss him. “Kip’s gonna barge in in less than a half hour.”

Nick thought about it for a second then lifted up just enough to shimmy down so he sat at the top of Marlowe’s thighs. He caught up Marlowe’s cock and his in one strong hand and squeezed, making Marlowe gasp. When brain function came again, Nick had lowered himself so he could nip at Marlowe’s chin while his hand was busy jerking them both off. “There’s time for this,” he growled.

Oh fuck yeah! Marlowe groaned his approval.

Just minutes later, Marlowe let it go, spewing all over his belly. Nick released him then took another minute kneeling over Marlowe to make himself come. After, he leaned on arms braced to either side of Marlowe’s shoulders and heaved breath until it

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was normal.

Then he cracked another grin at Marlowe. “Fuck yeah. Can’t do that with a girl.”

Marlowe laughed as Nick rolled away from him. “Not most of them anyway.”

He was wondering what to do with the combined spunk on his belly when Nick returned with a warm, wet cloth.

“So, um,” Nick stood by the bed as Marlowe wiped off. “How do we handle this?”

With just a glance and by listening to his tone, Marlowe figured out he was talking about more than just the morning clean up. “I dunno. Should we tell anyone?”

Nick turned and opened the curtains, letting in the morning light. “You think that’s a good idea?”

Marlowe took heart that it seemed he intended to continue.

“Might freak Hideki and Ben.” He tried to keep his wits as he watched sunlight play over Nick’s pale skin. When Nick stretched his arms over his head, Marlowe bit back a groan.

Nick didn’t even notice what he was doing to the other man.

He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t even know if they know about you.”

Marlowe brought his knees up so he could rest his elbows on them, his back to the headboard. His head buzzed pleasantly.

Nothing like a morning come to mellow you out. “Hideki knows.

Don’t know about Ben.”

“Probably not. I doubt he’d care.” Nick started for the bathroom, scratching at his hair. “Let me think about it a minute.”

Marlowe watched him go, shocked. Nick was taking this really well. Far better than Marlowe could have hoped. In a daze, Marlowe turned on the news for some background noise and scrounged through his overnight bag for clothes. Nick emerged as he was packing up what he could.

He stood beside the bathroom door, wiped down but still in need of a shower. “Fuck. You been keeping this kind of stuff secret for years?”

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Marlowe chuckled, stepping out of the way as Nick headed for the clothes Marlowe had picked up for him and dumped on the side of the bed. “All my life.”

Nick shook his head, bending over to step into his jeans—
forgoing the briefs—and giving Marlowe a lovely view of his ass.

“How the fuck did you keep from going insane?”

Marlowe sat at the end of the bed, eyes on the television to keep him from drooling over Nick. “You get used to it.”

Nick grunted. Dressed in silence. When the rustle of clothing stopped, he spoke again. “You okay keeping this under wraps?”

“I am if you are.”

“Yeah. Probably the best idea.”

Marlowe nodded.

There was another brief silence. Then Marlowe heard the familiar beeps and trills of Nick’s phone coming on. “Hideki texted. They’re meeting Kip for breakfast at ten thirty.”

Marlowe glanced at the time in the bottom right of the television screen. 10:16. “Kip’ll be calling here any second.” He reached over to the dresser to retrieve his own phone. Nothing yet. Kip was probably giving him time to finish waking up.

Nick laughed. “This is gonna be the weirdest breakfast.”

Marlowe laughed. “True dat.” He glanced back, but Nick was still messing with his phone. “Kip will figure it out, you know.”

Nick shrugged. “I figured you’d tell Kip anyway.” He finished with his phone and tucked it in his pocket. Then Marlowe had the full attention of those blue eyes. “I’m not sorry we did it.”

Marlowe blinked.

“I want you to be clear on that one. It’s—” his gaze skittered away, “—a little weird for me. I’ll admit it. But I’m not sorry.” He moved forward to bend one knee on the mattress, reaching for Marlowe’s neck. “And I want to do it again. Sometime.”

Marlowe’s lips parted in surprise to receive a brief, tender kiss from Nick.

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Then he got a lopsided grin. “I gotta go shower.” He sniffed.

“You need one too.”

Marlowe grimaced at him and playfully shoved him away.

“Fuck you.”

Laughing, Nick turned for the door. “Yeah. Definitely later.”

Then he was gone.

Marlowe stared after him, wondering if he really did hear The Twilight Zone theme or if that was just his imagination.

“You gonna tell me what happened last night or do I have to pry it out of you?”

Marlowe grinned and adjusted his sunglasses. He was behind the wheel of Kip’s Lexus and they weren’t even out of the Shasta Casino’s parking lot. Breakfast had been pretty normal and Marlowe was rather proud of both himself and Nick for being cool, but it was too much to think that he could hide anything from Kip.

“You want the truth or a pretty lie?”

“Oh shit. That bad?”

Marlowe kept the grin. “God, I hope not.”

He could feel Kip’s stare on his profile. “My fucking God.

Did you really sleep with Nick?”

That warranted a glance toward Kip. “Jesus, you’re good.”

“I know you too well.” Kip twisted as far as his seatbelt allowed to face Marlowe. “Are you kidding me?”

Marlowe shook his head. “Believe me, no one is more shocked than me.”

“Last I saw you, you had two girls on your arm.”

“And I nearly got them upstairs. Nick stopped me.”

“Wait. Hold on. What?”

Marlowe nodded. “It was his idea, Kip, not mine. Although it wasn’t hard to convince me.”

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“Damn. What? When did he decide that gay sex was a good idea?”

“Fuck if I know.”

“I take it you didn’t discuss it?”

“Wasn’t really a good time.”

“Fuck a duck.” Kip straightened in his seat then leaned one elbow on the closed windowsill, staring outside. “Shit.” He turned back to Marlowe. “What now?”

“That we did discuss. We both figure it’s best to keep this under wraps. You being the exception, of course.”

Kip snorted. “He’s… okay?”

“Surprisingly.”

“Goddamn.” The cursing was a measure of how much this discussion threw Kip. “He didn’t freak out or anything?”

“Or anything.”

“Denial?”

“Kind of hard to deny.”

“You and I have both slept with some champions of denial, my friend.”

Marlowe laughed. “It’s true. But no, really, he took it really well. I expected the worst.”

Silence for the ten minutes it took Marlowe to make it to the freeway.

“Was it good?”

“Kip!” Marlowe raised his brows in mock outrage. “I’m shocked.”

“Fuck you. Was it?”

Marlowe exaggerated a shudder. “How do I describe the best goddamn fuck of my life?”

Kip whistled. “That good?”

“Words cannot hope to convey. Not even mine.”

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“My, my.” Kip chuckled. “And would he agree?”

“He seemed to enjoy. I won’t walk straight for days.”

Again, Marlowe could feel Kip studying him. “Hold on. Hold the fucking phone. Do not tell me that you bottomed?”

“Mmmm. Does it show?”

“Oh my maiden aunt.” Kip hooted and put on his best ultra-gay persona. “Girlfriend, what came over you?”

“Hurricane Nick, honey. And all over me and in me.”

They laughed for a good long time over that and it felt good to just feel good.

“Well, well, well,” Kip sighed, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes as he settled back in his seat. “Last night was just full of sexual revelations, wasn’t it?”

“Oh? And what type of revelations passed your way?”

“Mmmm.” Marlowe had not heard that particular purr out of Kip for years. “I found a very accommodating gentleman last night who reminded me what it was like to get reamed good and proper.”

“Thank fucking God! And who is this Romeo?”

Kip waved a hand in the air. “No one you’d know. Not sure if I’ll even see him again.”

“Shame to waste a good pounding.”

“Mmmm.” Same purr. It must have been good. “I did get his number. I’m not stupid.”

“Looks like we both got some satisfaction last night.”

“Looks like.” Then an entirely different sigh. “I’ll try not to worry that this thing with Nick will blow up in our faces.”

“Gee thanks.”

“Don’t you get offended. You know damn well he could freak and bail on us. Don’t tell me that didn’t occur to you.”

Wouldn’t have occurred to the old him, but Kip had gotten to know the new him pretty well. “I know. But denying it would

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have been just as bad. Or would have delayed it.”

“I know. Just… be careful, huh? I can talk with him if you think it’ll help.”

“No.” Marlowe squeezed the steering wheel and stared at the road ahead, determined to see his own future as sunny and clear of traffic as the freeway before him. “We’ll be fine.”

ChAPteR twenty FouR

He didn’t feel gay. Shouldn’t he feel different?

Okay, wait, wasn’t true. He did feel a little different. He was fucking really horny and wanted to get his dick back inside Marlowe. So, yeah, that was a little surprising. He hadn’t been this hot for sex so soon after having it since maybe the first time he’d done it. But even back then he hadn’t wanted to keep Lisa-Mae naked and under him for hours. But he seriously thought that he could fuck Marlowe for days. Given enough sleep and food to fuel him, he’d be happy not to surface for a good long time.

Is that what gay men thought like? No, that was stupid. Of course they didn’t. He knew enough gay guys to know that they thought about sex pretty much the same, except they wanted dick instead of pussy.

So, really, he probably did feel gay. But it was so… normal.

His head hurt. After hours of keeping his thoughts to himself, he just wanted to crawl into bed and finish the sleep that had been interrupted that morning. That morning. Yeah. What he would have given for a few hours to bury himself in Marlowe then sleep, then do it with Marlowe again. Wait, what had he been thinking?

“Dude, you awake?”

“Huh?” Nick shook himself and sat up in the backseat of Ben’s Ford Fusion.

Hideki laughed. “Did you get any sleep last night? You been asleep the whole trip home.”

Nick groaned, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m worn out.”

Ben chuckled. “She that good, man?”

Nick kept his eyes down and perpetuated the lie he’d started at breakfast. “You got no idea.”

Hideki hooted and clapped. “Hope you got her number.

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Anyway, we here.”

Nick blinked and looked out, only now realizing the car was stopped in front of Bobby’s house. “Oh shit, I was out.”

“No shit. So we see you Friday, right?”

Sliding toward the door, Nick nodded. “Yeah.” It was only Tuesday, but the group had agreed to take a few days off before getting back together to work.

Hideki rolled down his window as Nick hit the pavement.

“Awright, you get some sleep, you hear me?”

Nick grabbed his hand to squeeze it. “You bet.” He let go of Hideki’s hand and waved through the window toward Ben.

“Thanks, man.”

Ben nodded then the two of them were off. Nick turned toward the house, trying not to feel bad for lying to them.

Probably could have told them about him and Marlowe, but…

Nah, better not talk about it. Be like Marlowe had been all these years. Jesus, how many guys had he fucked on the sly and Nick never knew it? They’d lived in pretty close quarters, but Nick had managed to sneak off with plenty of girls so there was no reason to think that Marlowe hadn’t done the same. How many guys had he sucked off? Nick couldn’t help but smile as he started up the porch steps. None of them had fucked him though.

Nick felt absurdly proud that Marlowe had let him top. He had little experience in such things, but he knew enough to get the feeling that was a big deal. So why did he want to be a big deal to Marlowe? Well, you always wanted to be special to your lovers, didn’t you?

Yeah.

Since it was the middle of Tuesday, both Bobby and Sol were at work. Nick let himself in and headed straight for his bed. He was curled up with his pillow and some sexy memories in minutes.

It lasted two hours. Then his eyes opened and he was wide awake. Not only that, he was hard as stone. He knew why too.

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The last bit of his dream included Marlowe naked, sweating, and groaning underneath Nick. Vivid enough for Nick to hurry his jeans open, shove a hand into his briefs, and finish himself off all over his T-shirt.

“Fuck.”

He stared at the ceiling. Sleep was gone. His body, although rested, was juiced up. Turning his head on his pillow, he looked at his cell phone where it rested on the nightstand. He could call Marlowe. For what? Hey you, I need to fuck. That’s a laugh. Even if Marlowe wanted him too, that seemed a little… presumptuous.

He sat up and stared at the sunlight streaming through the slanted blinds above his desk. His alarm clock read 4:19. Bobby and Sol would be home in another hour or two. He grimaced.

What would he say to them? Would he avoid telling them like he did with Hideki and Ben? That seemed wrong. But he wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet.

Only one thing to do. He got up, cleaned himself off, and changed into a new shirt and another pair of jeans, then grabbed up his keys and his cell and headed for his truck. Sitting at home wasn’t an option so he might as well go to the studio. When he pulled into the parking lot, he was absurdly happy to see Marlowe’s Charger. It was one of a half dozen cars in the lot, but there was no mistaking the new car.

Nick tried to keep it cool as he parked next to the Charger then headed into the building. Another band must have moved into one of the downstairs studios because there were voices.

Nick headed away from them, up the stairs and was happy to hear the relative quiet in the hall. Last door on the left, he tried the handle and wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked.

Marlowe, however, was surprised when the door opened.

He sat at the two keyboards set up in one corner, headphones covering his ears. Nick caught him singing one of the newer songs, but the door opening halted both words and music. He, too, was changed and looked rested, now wearing a black, long-sleeved T-shirt. His hair was smooth and curly, devoid of the product he usually used to spike it up. In fact, he looked very

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ordinary. Well, as ordinary as Marlowe ever got.

Marlowe gaped for a moment then grinned. “You going crazy too?” he asked as he lifted the headphones from his head.

Nick found himself crossing the room in quick strides as he let the door click shut behind him. “Yeah.” He swung around the end of one of the keyboards and had his fingers in Marlowe’s hair before he realized how needy he was acting.

But then it was too late. His lips fastened on Marlowe’s and the singer opened up beneath him. Oh God, yeah. He wanted this. Wanted now.

“Shit.” The desperation in Marlowe’s voice when he managed to part their lips just enough to speak matched the desperation thrumming through Nick’s veins. “Nicky, hold up.”

“No.”

A breathless laugh then Marlowe’s palms were at either side of Nick’s jaw, forcing him away. “Wait. Not here.”

A sliver of reason cut through the heat clouding Nick’s brain.

Hands resting on Marlowe’s shoulders, he glanced up, around, focused on the couch.

“Oh no. Don’t even think about it.”

“Why not?”

Marlowe stood, distracting him. His attention landed on the freshly shaven jaw that was level with his eyes. Before he could nibble, Marlowe’s finger under his jaw made him look up into heated blue eyes. “Not here. No lube. No condom.” He chuckled.

“Not to mention the fact that if you and I are restless, there’s no reason Hideki or Ben might not be as well.”

Nick sneered, but caught all three points. “Yeah. Okay.”

Frustrated, he slid his hands down Marlowe’s chest until he could rest them on slim hips. Hot. Marlowe’s skin was hot. Of their own accord, his fingers yanked the hem of his shirt from his jeans so Nick could feel the heated satin for himself. “I don’t think I’m gonna get any work done, though.”

Marlowe leaned in to nuzzle his temple. His ear. “Me neither.”

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“Let’s go somewhere then.”

“Where? Your place?”

“God no. I’m not ready to deal with Bobby or Sol about this.”

“Mmm. I’m still staying with Kip.”

Nick paused a moment to enjoy the wet tongue tracing the shell of his ear, playing with the stud in the lobe. “Hotel?”

“Bad idea. We’re almost back in the spotlight. Would be too easy for a hotel clerk to remember you and me checking into a hotel with no bags.”

Nick grimaced. “Well fuck. What then?”

Marlowe lay one palm flat in the center of Nick’s chest and pushed. “I know what we can do right now.”

Nick stumbled as Marlowe continued to push. “What are you doing?”

They didn’t stop until Nick’s back came up against the door. Marlowe turned the dead bolt and locked the knob. “For warning,” he said, grinning just an inch away from Nick’s face.

“Warning for wh…?” He cut off as Marlowe dropped to his knees.

Then he knew. Marlowe’s fingers were quick at his fly and soon enough his jeans and briefs were at his thighs and his cock was pointed at Marlowe, begging attention.

Smiling, Marlowe wrapped his hand around Nick’s shaft and looked up. “Eager, are we?”

He couldn’t hope for Marlowe’s eloquence. Not when all the blood rushed to meet Marlowe’s touch. He put a hand in Marlowe’s hair and tugged gently. “No talking. Sucking.”

Marlowe chuckled and leaned in enough to lap at the head of Nick’s dick. “Just sucking?”

Nick pulled his T-shirt up to his belly and thrust his hips forward. “Sucking, licking, whatever. Just do something.”

“Mmmm, gladly.”

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Nick’s skull thumped the door and his eyes fell shut as warm, wet heat enveloped his cock. That was so fucking good.

Marlowe’s mouth proved itself again to be marvelously multi-talented. Nick held on and tried his best to make it last, but when he opened his eyes, looked down, and saw Marlowe’s shining moist lips surrounding his cock, saw Marlowe’s eyes shut, and with an expression of pure rapture on his face, he couldn’t take it.

A grunt that was painfully close to a whimper was all the warning he could manage before hot lava poured out of him. If Marlowe was surprised, he hid it well. He just held on and sucked Nick dry.

“Fuck.”

Smiling as he lapped Nick clean, Marlowe glanced up.

“Good?”

“Guh.”

Marlowe laughed and sat back on his heels. “I’ll take that for a good.”

Nick couldn’t help a silly grin as he reached down for his pants. Then he caught sight of the bulge in Marlowe’s jeans.

“What about you?”

There was a brief, odd pause, then Marlowe rolled to his knees. “Don’t worry about me.” He climbed to his feet.

“That’s not fair.” He winced as he tucked his still-sensitive cock into his briefs before zipping up.

“It’s okay.”

“But… umph!”

Marlowe had waited just until Nick had his zipper up before slamming his hands on the door to either side of Nick’s head and commandeering Nick’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Just like that, Nick’s sated body slid right back to want and he freed his hands to wrap his arms around Marlowe’s waist.

Nick leaned toward Marlowe as the taller man pulled back.

Marlowe palmed either side of his jaw and watched his thumb play over Nick’s swollen bottom lip.

“Meet me back at Kip’s.”

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Nick blinked, trying to clear some of his brain for thought.

“What about Kip?”

Marlowe shook his head, blue fire simmering in his eyes. “I’ll have to make it up to him. I can’t wait to have you inside me again.”

The whimper was Nick’s and he wasn’t proud of it, but neither could he help it. The sound produced a smile on Marlowe’s face that made Nick feel much better about it.

“That what you want, Nicky? You want to fuck my ass?”

“God, yes.”

“Then get your keys.”

Marlowe called Kip from his car.

“Hey.”

“Hey. You home?”

“No. Still at the office. You need something?”

“Yeah. I’m gonna have sex with Nick at your place and I need you to be okay with that.”

A brief pause during which Marlowe well imagined Kip’s surprise. “He called you?”

“He showed up at the studio.” He’d left for the studio shortly before Kip had been due to leave to get some work done at his office.

“I see. Where is he now?”

“We’re both driving back to your place.”

“So this is going to happen regardless what I say.”

“Yes. I’ll make it up to you.”

Kip laughed. “Oh yes. You will. But have your fun. I may be home later. But then again, maybe not.”

“You are one in a million, my brother.”

“And don’t you forget it. And hey…”

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“What?”

“Try and stay in the bedroom. I don’t want to know if anything happens in the kitchen or the living room, okay?”

Laughing, Marlowe agreed then hung up. Then his mind jumped to supplies. He was pretty sure he had most of a bottle of lube in his dresser and there were a few condoms left in his bag from last night. If not, then he’d have to raid Kip’s bedroom.

But everything should be ready.

He glanced in his rearview mirror, watching the black truck behind him. Nick was riding his ass already. The thought made Marlowe laugh again. He had never been this excited to get fucked. His laugh soured just a little as that hit home. He was far too excited to have sex with Nick. When he’d looked up and Nick had come through the door, his heart had leapt in his throat. When Nick attacked like he was going to eat Marlowe alive, he’d very nearly let him have his way. Only vast experience had allowed him to keep from stripping down and letting Nick drill him into the studio’s ratty couch. He was higher right now than he’d been on any drug he could remember.

That meant the crash would be that much more devastating.

Shoving the thought from his mind, he turned into the driveway of Kip’s complex and punched in the keycode that opened the front gate. Nick followed him to the parking spaces in front of Kip’s condo. Marlowe didn’t wait for Nick to get out of his truck. He headed straight for the door to open it. He was in the foyer when Nick hit the top of the stairs, his boot steps loud on the thick wood. Grinning, Marlowe didn’t look back. Instead, he went his room. Behind him, the front door shut and boots clacked on the hardwood floors. Marlowe pulled off his shirt as he crossed the threshold into his room and threw it toward the closet as he turned to face Nick. A wolf on the hunt, Nick’s blue eyes fixed on Marlowe with predatory intent as he shut the door behind him.

“You called Kip?”

Marlowe nodded, sitting on the edge of the queen-sized bed.

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“I did. He’ll probably stay out tonight.”

A smile took Nick’s lips and he stayed by the door as Marlowe bent down to pull off his shoes. “All night?”

“That would be my guess.” Marlowe ripped off one sock, then the other, then stuck his legs out straight and wiggled his bare toes.

Nick finally stepped away from the door, but he stopped short of the bed. “What’d he say when you told him about last night?”

Marlowe paused, enjoying the way Nick’s flat belly was revealed as he pulled his shirt up and off. “He was surprised. He didn’t think you’d ever want this.”

“Him and me both.” Nick dropped his shirt then sat on the chair by the window, leaning over to untie his boots. It also, Marlowe noted, hid his expression.

Marlowe had a pang of conscience. But he knew Nick wanted this now. Even if he hadn’t said as much, every move he’d made until now told Marlowe he wanted sex. Going with that, Marlowe reached for the nightstand drawer to open it. There was the lube.

No condoms. He’d have to get to his overnight bag. He stood and went for the open door of the room’s private bathroom.

His bag lay on the floor beside it. A quick rummage through it produced a string of five condoms.

He turned back just in time to watch Nick, now standing, drop his pants. His torso was formed of acres of lovely, toned muscle under satiny pale skin. Unless you knew to look, you could barely tell that the muscles of his right arm just might be a tad smaller than the left. Or maybe that was Marlowe’s overactive imagination seeing that. But, even so, he could find nothing wrong with this guitar-playing Adonis. Entranced, he bit back a groan as Nick bent over first to shove down jeans then to shove down briefs.

“God, you’ve got an amazing ass.”

Nick glanced at him through a thick fringe of hair, almost a shy look. “Thanks.” There was nothing shy about the grin though. “So do you.”

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Marlowe stood and put an extra swagger in his step as he approached Nick. “Why yes. Yes I do.”

As he’d intended, that made Nick laugh. The shorter man reached out and smacked Marlowe’s butt as he passed. “Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

Marlowe chuckled and tossed the string of condoms onto the dark gray and purple patterned duvet. His back to Nick, he quickly opened his pants and shoved them down, purposely displaying his ass. He hadn’t realized Nick was close enough to reach out and grab and he gasped when he was pulled back flush against Nick. The top of Nick’s shaft nestled between the cheeks of his butt and warm lips pressed to his nape. He sighed happily and grabbed at one of the hands that slid up his chest. Strong, calloused fingers squeezed his, then the other hand slipped down to loosely wrap around his cock. He hissed his pleasure, sinking back into Nick’s strength. He understood why Nick was hesitant about his cock and appreciated that the other man seemed to at least be comfortable stroking him. Maybe one day, if this wasn’t just a passing fancy, Nick would work up to a blow job.

Marlowe could only hope.

After a few glorious moments of just grinding together, Nick released him. “Get on the bed.”

Breathing deeply, Marlowe crawled forward. “Lube’s in the drawer,” he said as he rustled a pillow out from under the covers.

After a moment, Nick knelt behind him and a pop of the lube bottle sounded. Wet fingers trailed between Marlowe’s cheeks and when one pushed for entrance, it slid in easily. “You’re pretty much ready.”

“Mmmm.” Marlowe enjoyed the slight stretch of his muscles, hugging the pillow close as he wiggled his ass for Nick. “You made sure of that last night.”

He peeked over his shoulder, but Nick didn’t notice, intent on his task. He plunged in with two fingers and found that spot that made Marlowe melt. Although he didn’t show it, impatience must have gotten the better of him. He pulled out his fingers, made

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quick with the condom, then he was back and pressing his cock into Marlowe’s body.

They both groaned, but Nick voiced what they were thinking:

“God, you feel so good.”

Marlowe let his knees slip farther apart, lowering his belly to the covers. Nick sank with him until he lay draped over Marlowe’s back, his cock deep in Marlowe’s body. They stayed like that for long, quiet moments, their hips rocking gently to cause the friction they both craved. Nick ran his hands up and down Marlowe’s arms, short nails and rough calluses rubbing his skin. Marlowe felt his restlessness grow, felt the slight snap in hips that wouldn’t be able to be gentle much longer. He savored it, lying quiet under the brewing storm, bracing himself for when it arrived.

When Nick pushed up on his arms and bent his knees between Marlowe’s, Marlowe bit the inside of his lip. Nick arched up over him, shoving his hips forward as far as they could go.

Nick’s growl vibrated the air then he grabbed Marlowe’s hips so he could start to thrust in earnest. Measured at first. Thrust, wait, wait, slow pull out then shove forward. Repeat. Marlowe grunted at each shove, breathed and shuddered through each withdrawal. He almost felt it when Nick snapped, right before two palms braced on the backs of Marlowe’s shoulders and the storm rained down. Marlowe clutched at the bedspread beneath him, letting out a groan that perfectly underscored Nick’s grunts.

A portion of his brain wanted to record the sounds, beautiful music that they were.

Nick laid into him and Marlowe reveled in it. So much that the surprise nearly caught him unaware. His cock, full to bursting, frustrated by the inadequate friction of his belly and the rough cotton spread, was about to explode. His balls were drawn up and his hips moved with their own motion. To his utter shock, he came, crying out his release as he snapped his head back. Nick paused only a moment, a slowing of rhythm rather than a stop.

“Oh fuck yeah,” he groaned when he realized what had happened, then he thrust in again with a vengeance. Marlowe panted beneath him, still too stunned to do anything but enjoy

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and try to catch his breath. When Nick finally came, Marlowe was so sensitive that he firmly believed he felt Nick’s pleasure coursing through his veins.

Eventually, they both groaned and rolled apart, ending up on their sides facing each other. Marlowe smile and Nick grinned back.

“That’s never happened to me before,” Marlowe felt compelled to point out.

“What?”

“Coming without anyone touching my dick.”

Nick blinked. “Yeah?” He looked so damn sexy with his hair damp from sweat, silky straight strands stuck to his flushed cheeks and forehead.

“Yeah. Even when I was a kid.”

Nick raised his brows then rolled onto his back with a laugh.

“Damn.”

Marlowe stared at his profile. The same wash of love passed over him as it had last night. “Yeah,” he agreed, hoping the euphoria wasn’t as short lived as he was scared it might be.

“Damn.”

Marlowe remained quiet as Nick drifted off to sleep. He agreed with Nick’s short grunt of “hungry”, but didn’t mind when the other man failed to follow up as his eyes remained shut and his breathing deepened. They had all night. Kip probably wouldn’t come back. Even if he did, that was okay. If this thing with Nick was going to keep happening, Marlowe would have to come to some sort of agreement with Kip because where else could they go?

But he could think about that later. Now was the time to soak in the warmth of Nick’s body and to fill his head with the sight of the naked man beside him. Now was the time to shiver and record the memory of Nick’s touch in his brain so that he could summon this gorgeous feeling at will. He had no way of knowing how long Nick would want to keep fucking him, but Marlowe

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was damn sure he’d do anything and everything he must to make sure Nick stayed satisfied.

Even if he had to make some compromises.

ChAPteR twenty Five

Having never been involved in recording an album before, Nick was not prepared for the next few months’ schedule. If he’d thought they’d been working hard before, it was nothing compared to the strange combination of exhilaration and tedium of actually recording. Exhilaration at hearing their songs come to life and flourish, tedium of having to record and re-record and re-record ad infinitum, until it sounded just right.

Jose “Carp” Carpenter was hired on as their producer.

Marlowe knew of him, Ben actually knew him. Nick had never heard of him before and didn’t like him at first because Carp was not only a slob, but he had the social skills of a third grader.

Marlowe decided—in private—that Carp must be something of an idiot savant when it came to music because his ear for what sounded good was perfect. He was pickier than they were, but it always resulted in something that surpassed anything the band had thought the song could be, and nothing had even been formerly mixed yet. So they put up with his crude jokes and slovenly appearance. Three months into it, Nick knew he was losing touch with reality because he started to find some of Carp’s jokes funny.

Since they were working twelve hour days on average, it didn’t leave much time for a social life. Even when Nick did have an odd day off, it was almost guaranteed he was only off because Marlowe was working and vice versa. Nick did go home with Marlowe about once a week, but it was pretty much for sex, then sleep, then back up to head to the studio. At one point during breakfast, Kip jokingly suggested that Nick should just move in for the duration, but Marlowe had laughed it off, and Nick put it out of his mind.

But he did like sleeping with Marlowe. The sex was great, of course, but he liked the sleeping too. Even though they were both full grown men sharing a queen-sized bed, it worked. Even

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in the middle of summer, sleeping next to a warm body was nice.

It was around September that the fans found them. One early afternoon Nick showed up to the studio to find three women hanging around the back door. He didn’t recognize them as anyone who’d been around the studio before, but he didn’t think anything was off at first. New people showed up occasionally. It was just strange that they were huddled together and watching the cars. When he got out of his truck and started walking toward the door, he figured it out. Kind of obvious. As soon as they saw him, three pairs of eyes looked him up and down and heads came together for some furious whispering. Pointing. The body language was easily recognizable.

“You’re Nick Gorman.” The brunette looked to be the boldest of them. She came right up to his side as he reached for the handle.

“Yes.”

The brunette grinned big and one of the girls behind her squealed softly. The brunette held up an old Marlowe program to him. “Would you sign this? Please?”

So for the next few minutes, he signed stuff and let them take his picture, then they let him go inside. A guy from one of the other bands recording in the building—Randy, Nick was pretty sure that was his name—caught him right outside the kitchen. “I bet you guys get that all the time.”

Nick watched the guy look longingly at the back door. He couldn’t help a grin. “Sometimes, yeah. Not lately.”

Randy snorted, cradling a cup of coffee to his lips. “Yeah, but you guys’ll be right back on top soon’s your album comes out.”

“Maybe.”

Randy rolled his eyes and left with a, “Yeah, right. Later.”

Still grinning, Nick got his own cup of coffee then made his way upstairs. Carp and Ben were at the console, listening to some of Ben’s tracks from the previous day.

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“You see the girls outside?” Ben asked him.

“Yeah.” He sat in a plush chair set against the wall behind the console. “Were they there when you came up?”

“Yeah.” He spun in his swivel chair. Carp remained bent over the millions of lights and buttons of the console, muttering to himself as he adjusted levels. “They didn’t know me from Adam though. But I figured they were here for Marlowe. They recognize you?”

“Yeah.”

Ben smiled and nodded.

Nick chuckled. “Give it a few months, man, then they’ll be hounding you.” They would too. With his nut brown skin, sleepy brown eyes, and big smile, Ben was sure to attract the ladies.

“With any luck.”

“Hey, is Marlowe due in today?”

“Maybe. He had that charity party last night though so who knows.”

Nick nodded and sipped his coffee while Ben bent toward Carp to answer a question. Nick knew damn well where Marlowe had been, but he’d been real careful to play things casual. As far as he could tell, Kip was still the only one who knew about him and Marlowe.

While the other two were discussing, Nick pulled out his cell and dialed Marlowe. The call went immediately to voice mail, which meant the singer was probably still asleep. “Hey. Just a heads up. There’s fans at the studio back door. Just three, but thought you should know.” He hesitated. It always seemed like he should say something else when he left a message for the man, but he didn’t know what it was. “Bye.”

He wondered how the charity thing had gone. Marlowe was starting to get a lot of invites to all sorts of random things.

Ever since the show for the record company, the media had rediscovered Marlowe and, at the urging of both Kip and the A&R guy Patrick, Marlowe had let himself be seen. In just the

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past week, Marlowe had attended the charity event and two club gigs. Nick had gone to one of the gigs with him, Hideki the other, but he’d taken a friend of his to the charity event. A woman.

Nick hadn’t met Dayna yet but he knew who she was, and he was still dealing with some misgivings about Marlowe spending the night with her on his arm.

“Dayna and I go way back,” Marlowe had explained when the discussion came up.

“Lovers?”

“Off and on.” He’d given Nick a smile. “But I don’t plan on sleeping with her this time.”

“You better not.” Nick still wasn’t sure why he’d said that.

The words had come out before he could stop them. Since they’d been in bed at the time, he’d covered it by rolling on top of Marlowe and fucking him senseless. But the words haunted him.

Made him wonder what was going on. They were both so busy that sex was fast, furious, and sporadic. He knew he didn’t want Marlowe with anyone else. He knew he didn’t want anyone else.

What he didn’t know was why or if it was temporary. How long would it last? What happened after? He’d never been good at long-range planning in relationships. He much preferred to just tackle things as they came. But this felt different. Important. But he didn’t have the leisure time to figure it out.

To prove his point, Carp spun around to face him, his bulk overflowing the little chair that tried to hold him. “You’re up, Nick. Ready?”

Nick rolled to his feet. “Yep.” He took the chair that Ben vacated. The drummer headed for his kit in the studio proper where he’d warm up while Nick and Carp listened to and discussed tracks from yesterday.

Marlowe walked through the door a few hours later, a can of soda in his hand and Hideki at his side. They were both laughing, but Nick couldn’t hear them through the headphones.

He finished his track then wandered in to join the others in the

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console room.

“Thanks for the heads up on the girls.” Marlowe sat on the couch as Nick came through the door.

“They’re still out there?” Nick sat on the arm of the couch, close but not close.

“Yeah. Seven of ’em now.”

Without thinking about it, Nick reached out to rub a shiny carmine lip print on Marlowe’s jaw. “Armed, I see,” he said to cover the move.

Marlowe jolted then laughed when he saw what it was. “Yeah.”

Nick glanced at the others. Ben had left an hour ago. Hideki was in the recording room, retrieving his bass. Carp’s attention was all on the console. He was almost alone with Marlowe. When he turned back to Marlowe and saw the small grin on his face, he knew Marlowe realized it too.

“How was the thing last night?”

Marlowe shrugged, sinking down on the couch and stretching his legs under the coffee table in front of him. “Long and boring.”

“Sorry.”

“Goes with the job. No big. Anything good—” he startled and twisted a little to retrieve his phone from his pocket, “—
happen here today?”

“Carp’s got a new idea for Follow Spring. Horns this time.”

“Jesus fuck, Carp.” Marlowe spoke up to get the producer’s attention, but he kept his eyes on what his thumb was doing on his phone. “What are you doing to me with this song, man?”

“Better,” Carp called over his shoulder. “Horns.”

“Don’t got any bleaters, man.”

Carp muttered something, but Marlowe had stopped paying attention.

“What?” Nick asked.

A wry grin curled half of Marlowe’s mouth. “Well, shit.” He

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scooted over. “Take a look at this.”

Nick slid down to the couch beside Marlowe and tucked in close. Perhaps closer than just a buddy would be, but he didn’t think it was too obvious. Marlowe held up his smart phone so Nick could see the video start.

“This is that interview I did last month.”

Nick remembered it. A female reporter and a cameraman had come to the studio for a few hours to follow Marlowe around.

Nick still thought it was kind of annoying that they’d only focus on the singer and not the rest of the band, but he let it go like he let it all go. They’d all figure it out once the album was out and the band was on tour. At least, that’s what he told himself.

The clip was for a nightly television magazine show. It started with a brief overview about Marlowe, showing some images of him during their last tour. There was a brief flash of the news footage of the bus crash then a few seconds of Marlowe’s mug shot.

Marlowe shifted beside Nick. “Shit.”

Nick remained silent, a little surprised that the bus footage didn’t bug him, nor the bit that explained that he, Nick, had been injured and may never play again. Wasn’t true. He was playing again and the accident was behind him. He could deal.

The interview cut to the reporter sitting with Marlowe on the same couch he now sat on with Nick. The reporter was a willowy red head with a killer smile whose bright yellow blouse and tan slacks seemed out of place on the ragged couch. She leaned toward Marlowe as if they were old friends. In contrast to her, Marlowe’s faded green T-shirt and ripped jeans matched the couch perfectly.

“So, Marlowe, this time around you’re with a band. Reverb.

Why the change from solo?”

“This time it’s not just me, not just my songs.” Marlowe’s smile was smooth and the camera loved him. “Before, I wrote most of the music. This time, it’s a collaboration. I’m real lucky to work with some talented musicians.”

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Marlowe nudged Nick’s shoulder. Nick chuckled and playfully punched his arm.

“But why the change? Is it because of your time in prison?”

Nick startled. “You let her ask that?”

“No.” Marlowe’s thumb set the clip back a few seconds to replay what they were talking over. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“…because of your time in prison?”

The camera framed Marlowe’s reaction, which was minimal.

A brief tightening in his jaw. A twitch of his eyebrow. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I understand.” Her voice from off screen was oozingly insincere. “But everyone’s curious. Something must have changed.”

Nick could almost see Marlowe come to the decision to answer the question. “Yes. My time in prison changed a lot. I learned what it was like not to have a lot of things I’d taken for granted.” The raw tone of Marlowe’s voice cut to the quick, maybe more so because he maintained a ghost of a smile. “I know I didn’t have it as bad as most, but it was bad enough. And I’m clean now, completely sober. I take life differently now. And, yes, it’s a lot of the reason behind the fact that I’m in a band now.

It’s not just me. It never was and I learned that the hard way. I’m incredibly lucky to be working with anyone at all, much less the musicians in Reverb, and I’ll do everything I can to show them how grateful I am that they gave me a chance.”

Nick blinked, overcome by Marlowe’s words. He didn’t move as the clip continued.

Cut to the reporter, who was nodding gravely. “That’s amazing, Marlowe. I’m sure your new album will reflect that.

When’s it due out?”

The rest of the interview was quick and soon over. But Nick kept staring at the little screen of Marlowe’s phone, even as it was lowered into Marlowe’s lap.

“Wow.”

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“True.” Marlowe’s thumb moved over the screen to shut down the video player. “Every word of it.”

“Did that air already?”

“Tomorrow. She agreed to send me a copy when I agreed to let her show that bit.”

Finally Nick turned to face Marlowe. They were still shoulder to shoulder. So close. He wanted to kiss Marlowe so badly, but he didn’t dare. “You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

“Not really, but it’s not like I’m gonna be able to avoid questions about it. Might as well get it over with to start.” He glanced at Nick’s lips and Nick knew he wanted to kiss just as badly. But then he sighed and shifted away. Just a little, but it was enough to lessen the sizzle between them. He started messing with his phone again. “Kip’s gonna try and set up an interview with one of the bigger magazines. We agreed that one big interview to start off could take some of the steam out of the rumor mill.”

Nick nodded. Sounded like a good idea. He was still replaying the last bit in his head though. I learned what it was like not to have a lot of things I’d taken for granted… I’ll do everything I can to show them how grateful I am that they gave me a chance. That all sounded great, but…

just how much of Marlowe lately had been gratitude, and what exactly were the things he’d taken for granted?

ChAPteR twenty six

“So—” Dayna handed him a bottle of flavored water then sat beside him on her couch with a glass of wine, “—who is he?”

Marlowe paused as he screwed open the cap. “Who’s who?”

She smiled as she sipped. “The man you’re currently caught up on.”

He raised a brow as he set the cap aside. “Who says there’s a man?”

“Well,” she tucked her bare feet up under her and leaned an elbow on the plush back of the couch, “we just left a deadly dull awards show and now we’re sitting here in my living room rather than in my bedroom fucking.” She took another sip, smiling at him over the rim of her delicate glass. “That only happens when you’ve got a new lover that you’re into.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“It’s quite all right and you know that. But I am curious that you haven’t mentioned him. Who is he?”

He sipped his own drink, wondering what to tell her. “What makes you think it’s a man?”

She chuckled. “You don’t get that caught up with women.”

“Oh, I don’t know. What if I finally met that special woman?”

She considered him. Since they were at her place, she’d changed from her formal gown into a pair of pink sweats and a pale pink, overlong T-shirt with a caricature cat on the front.

Even devoid of makeup, she showed ridiculously good looks. He was stuck in his suit pants and shirt, although he’d unbuttoned a third of the front and rolled up his sleeves over his elbows.

“All right,” she said with a knowing grin. “Tell me about her.”

He sipped some more, considered the toes he wiggled in his socks, then laughed. “It’s a man.”

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She sighed dramatically. “I knew it.” She threaded her fingers through the silky hair over her right temple and waited. “So?”

He took a deep breath. “Not sure I should tell you.”

“Oh God, is it Kip?”

He snorted. “No.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She calmed. “Why not tell me then? You know you can trust me.”

“I know.” He spun the plastic bottle in his hand, stalling. “It’s weird.”

“Even more reason to tell me.”

He reached up to run fingers through his hair, mussing the mousse that had kept it styled all night. “It probably won’t last long anyway.”

“Jesus, what is it with you lately? You were never this unsure before.”

He twisted his neck so he could look into her teasing brown eyes. He didn’t smile. “That was before.”

“Oh.” Her smile died. “All right.” She reached over to brush his shoulder with her fingertips. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He caught her hand and pressed the backs of her fingers to his cheek for a moment. What the hell. He needed someone else to talk to or he’d go mad. Kip was too close to the two of them.

“It’s Nick.”

She blinked. “Your guitarist?”

“Yep.”

“The one who hates you?”

He smiled. “We’ve gotten past that.”

“You have?”

“We have.”

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“Is there sex involved.”

“There is.”

“Oh my. I never would have guessed that one. Isn’t he straight?”

Marlowe pressed his lips together and shrugged. “He was. He still might be.”

“Ah. The seductive powers of Marlowe brought him under?”

He laughed. “Would you believe no? It was his idea.”

“Well, he’s just a barrel of surprises, isn’t he?” She sipped some more of her wine and shifted her seat a little. “Why don’t you think it’ll last?”

“Because he’s not gay?”

“But there’s sex involved?”

“There is.”

“I’m afraid that makes him gay, my dear.”

He nodded and shrugged at the same time. “You’d think so.”

“But?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been playing a woman for him.”

It took her a moment, then she threw back her head and laughed. “Oh my. I’m not sure my heart can take this string of surprises. How many times have you slept together?”

“Lots. It’s been going on for five months.”

“I’m sorry, darling, he surely knows you’re not a woman by now.”

“I’m not saying he thinks I’m a woman. I’m pretty sure he knows. But to this point, he’s only slept with women.”

“So?”

“So the sex hasn’t been varied, if you get my drift.”

“Plenty of gay couples only have sex one way.”

“How many gay couples do you know where one of them has yet to give a blow job?”

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Her jaw hung open for a moment. “Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, that is odd.”

He nodded.

“Have you talked about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He held his bottle of water to his mouth and didn’t answer.

“Wow. You really are stuck on him, aren’t you?”

He nodded.

“He doesn’t know?”

He shook his head.

“You should talk to him.”

“I should. I won’t.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed and settled farther into the couch. “We’re too close.

The band, the album. We’ll be going on tour after that. We’ll be in close quarters for months, if not years. I won’t jeopardize that.”

“So you’ll just keep taking it?”

“Yep.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m in love with him.”

“Okay.”

“No, Dayna, it’s not like it was before.” He met her gaze. “I was in love with him before the accident. I made a move on him that night. It was one of many reasons I was so high and made stupid choices.”

He watched that settle in. She’d heard him talk of being in love before. Never had it lasted more than a few months.

“Oh, sweetheart. And he really doesn’t know?”

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“I don’t think so.”

“You absolutely should tell him.”

“Why? Don’t you think I’ve upset his life enough?”

“Upset his life?”

“I almost killed him.”

“And you did your time in prison to pay for that.”

“Doesn’t take away the fact.”

She scowled. “I’ll have you remember that you’re also singularly responsible for him being in a successful band.”

“And now I’ve turned him gay.”

“Oh stop that. You know very well you can’t make anyone gay who didn’t already have leanings.”

He shrugged.

She slapped his shoulder. “Stop.”

He chuckled. “You sound like Kip.”

“Kip’s a very intelligent man and you should listen to him.” She squeezed his arm, leaning into him to make her point. “Marlowe, seriously, you owe it to him and to yourself to talk to him about this.”

He shook his head. “No. I owe it to him to let him do what he wants. If I’m what he wants to do, so be it. If not…” He shrugged. In truth, the idea of losing the scrap of a beyond-friendship relationship that he had with Nick made his blood run cold, but he meant what he said.

ChAPteR twenty seven

“This calls for a celebration.”

Caught up in discussing the whys and hows of digital mastering, Nick hadn’t noticed when Kip left the room. But he certainly saw him when he came back, his announcement underscored by the two bottles he held in one hand and a box tucked under the other. The green glass of the bottles was distinctive, as were the gold foil-wrapped tops.

Kip set the open box on the table, revealing a set of champagne glasses arranged neatly by cardboard dividers. “Champagne—”

he set down the bottles and looked to where Marlowe sat at the console, “—and sparkling cider.”

They all laughed as they gathered around the table. Indeed, it was a time for celebration. Today they’d finished the final mixes of the final tracks for the album. From here, Carp would hand it off to the mastering facility. Nick was a little concerned that someone else would be two months alone with their music, but the others assured him that it was for the best.

Most of the time, having an artist involved in the mastering just gummed up the works. They’d call if they needed help. Nick’s only consolation was that it was the week after Thanksgiving now so he’d have the holidays to distract him. The holidays and a two week trip to see his dad in Seattle. The trip had just been decided last week. Bobby and Sol were even going with him. He had misgivings about leaving Marlowe, but the singer had plans of his own. He was going to visit his mother in New York. Kip was going with him, since some of his family was also on the East Coast. Anyway, they had another week before Nick got on a plane, a week without anything else to do.

It made him smile to think of all the time they’d have to fuck.

Because there’d been no sex for the last month and a half. The band had pushed hard—encouraged by the record company—
to get the tracks all done by the holidays. The record company

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wanted to release the album in February and have them on the road by March at the latest. Kip was already negotiating with the record company to decide on directors and cost for at least two music videos to be shot in January and February.

It was hectic, but it was awesome!

Nick gladly accepted his flute of champagne and toasted with the rest. He watched Marlowe sip from his own glass then wander away from the table.

The singer had been distant lately. Nick blamed it on their schedule. Two weeks ago, Marlowe had come down with a minor cold that had delayed his laying down the vocals. It had only lasted a few days but it had taken its toll on Marlowe. He was quiet and withdrawn, coming in to do his work then heading directly home. When Nick had tried a few times to talk to him, Marlowe had brushed him off and made it clear he wasn’t in the mood to communicate. Although he didn’t like it much, Nick had given him space. For all he knew, this was how Marlowe got at the end of recording an album. He knew for damn sure that he wasn’t all that much fun to be around either. Sol had informed him of that a number of times.

“So hear me,” Hideki called out, pouring himself a second glass. “This is solid, but we need a real celebration.” He grinned at those who remained at the table, namely Nick, Ben, and Kip.

“We needs to go out. We needs to get laid.”

Kip chuckled and Ben saluted with a hearty “hear, hear”.

Nick smiled and did his damnedest not to glance at Marlowe behind him.

Hideki clapped him on the shoulder and shook, almost spilling Nick’s champagne. “Come on, my brutha. It’s time. When’s the last time you fucked good and proper?”

Mild panic made Nick’s laugh wobble a little. “Hey, we’ve been busy.”

“True, true. Hell, I haven’t seen pussy since summer.” Hideki rolled his eyes and groaned loudly. “But it is time.” He turned and saluted Marlowe with his glass. “What say you, fearless leader?”

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Finally, Nick could turn around because they were all now looking at Marlowe. The tall brunet studied them all over the rim of his glass, sipping thoughtfully. He didn’t focus on Nick any longer than the others and Nick didn’t recognize any special flash in those blue eyes. That was good. Even if it did kind of piss him off.

Then Marlowe grinned and shrugged. “Yeah. You’re right.

We’re all overdue to get laid.”

Hideki laughed, jostling Nick’s shoulder again. While the others were focused on each other, Nick met Marlowe’s eyes, trying to read something in them. What was he thinking?

Marlowe gave him no clues. He cast his eyes downward then turned back to fiddling with the console. What the fuck was up with him? Even though he hadn’t been out clubbing for months, Nick would much rather spend the night in Marlowe’s bedroom.

Didn’t Marlowe want the same? Or… Slowly it dawned on Nick.

Maybe that was it. Maybe he was sick of just fucking Nick.

Marlowe had never been known to stay with one lover for long.

Maybe he was ready to move on. Ready to go back to girls for a while. Shit, Nick hadn’t thought of that. He wasn’t ready.

He brought his head back into the conversation as Hideki and Ben started naming out possible destinations for the night. He tried to catch Marlowe’s eye again a few times, but each attempt failed. Marlowe wandered to Kip’s side and the two of them had a brief private discussion that involved a laugh and smiles.

Nick beat down an irrational surge of jealousy that Marlowe would talk to Kip and not him. Were they fucking again? No, don’t be stupid. He couldn’t believe that they were lovers again, much less that they’d time it during whatever Nick and Marlowe were going through together. One thing had always been true about Marlowe, then and now, he was eternally fair to his lovers. Nick hadn’t seen any evidence to the contrary when he’d become one.

One. One of a long list of many. Maybe soon to not be the last on the list.

Fuck.

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Hideki finally decided on the place, a club Nick knew very well on the West Side. Not big and flashy, but popular. The few times Nick had been there, he’d scored every time.

Except this time he didn’t want to score. Not with someone new, anyway.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He needed to talk to Marlowe. In a flash of genius, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and sent the singer a text: Need to talk to you. A few seconds later, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Marlowe looked at his phone. He looked up when Marlowe did. The singer blinked, then nodded, then thumbed a message on his phone. Nick was glad the others were distracted as he checked the message: Parking lot after they leave. He nodded so Marlowe would know he got it.

Twenty minutes later, Nick stood in the shadows between his truck and Marlowe’s Charger. They each leaned on the closed door of their own vehicle and waved as Kip drove past them.

The only other car left in the parking lot was Carp’s blue Toyota, but the producer wasn’t going to come out of the building any time soon.

Marlowe’s body language confused Nick. Arms were crossed over his chest and booted ankles were crossed as well. Sure, it was cold for California, but Nick thought Marlowe huddled in a little too much into his thick black turtleneck sweater. He also didn’t look at Nick, choosing rather to focus beyond the bed of Nick’s truck at the sporadic cars passing on the street beyond.

“Do you really want to go out clubbing?” Nick didn’t see any reason not to get to the point.

Marlowe shrugged. “Sure. It’s been a while.”

“You still feeling sick?”

“You mean the cold? Nah, not really.”

Nick shoved his hands in his pockets, beginning to get pissed at Marlowe’s cool attitude. He tamped it down as best he could.

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“Y’know, we could bail and just go back to your place.”

Still with the arms crossed, like that would keep Nick at bay.

But Marlowe did finally look at him, head cocked. “You sure you want to do that?”

Nick blinked, surprised. “Huh?”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve been out. Recording for months on end can fuck with your mind.”

Was that all this was? “Nah, I’m good. Clubbing’s okay, but I don’t need it like Hideki does.”

“I like clubbing.”

Oh. “Okay. Sure, then, let’s go. But, uh…”

“Yeah?”

“How about… after?”

Marlowe tilted his head forward, not quite hiding a wry smile.

“Nick. Don’t you miss girls?”

What was going on? “Huh?”

“I’ve seen you when you’re out. You’re a chick magnet. I don’t think I’ve ever been out with you that you didn’t score.”

“That’s not true.” How would Marlowe know anyway when he was always scoring on his own. “Anyway, so?”

Marlowe sighed. “So I’m trying to let you know that if you were inclined to sleep with a girl, that’s all right with me. I don’t want you to think that you have to be with me.”

Nick froze. Stared. Sleep with a girl? Why would he want to sleep with a girl when he already had…? Shit, where had that come from? Thinking it made Nick’s brain spiral back, wondering when was the last time he really wanted a girl in his bed. Certainly before he’d started with Marlowe. Wasn’t that weird?

Marlowe finally lowered his arms and shifted his feet so they weren’t crossed. Still leaning against his car, he hooked his thumbs in the front pockets of his jeans. “I mean, what we have is great, but it doesn’t have to be exclusive.”

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He wants to sleep with a woman. The conclusion presented itself plain and simple to Nick’s brain and made perfect sense. No matter what he’d been saying about taking Nick’s cock, Marlowe was tired of taking it up the ass and wanted to do the fucking for a change. He wanted breasts and curves and a pussy. All the things Nick didn’t have. All the traits Nick was confused he wasn’t craving himself.

It was Nick’s turn to avert his eyes, thinking furiously as he tried to tamp down on a confusion of emotions that threatened to choke him. He didn’t want Marlowe with a woman. He didn’t want a woman. But was he really thinking they should be exclusive? He was still struggling with the idea that he might be—probably was—gay, wouldn’t this urge to have Marlowe to himself really make him gay? If he wanted this, shouldn’t he seriously consider some of the stuff he’d put off thinking about?

Like maybe letting Marlowe fuck him for a change. Like maybe finally taking Marlowe’s dick in his mouth to pay back some of the many blowjobs he’d received. But he couldn’t say any of that right now. He had to think about it first.

“Yeah,” he finally managed, clenching his fists deep in the pockets of his jeans. “You’re right. Maybe we should.” Should what? He couldn’t finish the sentence.

It wasn’t necessary. Marlowe pushed to his feet. “Right. See you there?”

Nick felt a hand land lightly on his shoulder, but he didn’t look up. He couldn’t. Marlowe would see right through his turmoil. If Marlowe could be big enough to let him have his way, Nick could be generous enough to let him free to enjoy himself.

“Right.”

The hand left. “Cool.”

Nick watched Marlowe’s feet walk away to circle around the back of his car. Gritting his teeth, he turned to open his driver side door and climb up into his truck. He didn’t look over as the Charger roared to life and he pulled out of the parking lot before Marlowe did. He didn’t look back.

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The drive to the club took ages. Well, it took maybe twenty minutes, but it seemed like forever to Nick who couldn’t stop picturing what woman Marlowe might pick up tonight. Or maybe he’d find two. Would they be blonde? Brunette? Redhead? Tall, skinny, short, curvy? Would she ride him or would he pin her down and pound her into the mattress? Or hold her up to the wall? God, maybe he’d be so desperate that they wouldn’t even make it out of their clothes and go at it hot and heavy in a dark hallway. Jesus, now he was pulling images from memory, from movies, from porn. His intimate knowledge of Marlowe’s body made it way too easy for him to substitute his lover—former lover, probably—in the hero’s role. If nothing else, he wanted to watch.

Damn it! He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d fucked up somehow. But where? This was best, wasn’t it?

By the time he got to the club, he was way too amped. He was at the bar before he even looked around for his friends. Kentucky Bourbon, straight up. He downed a shot then ordered another with soda to sip. Only the sipping got him all the way through the drink before he realized, so he had to order another. The third drink he was able to slow down. His brain started to mellow.

The thumping music behind him vibrated his bones, shaking away some of the tension. He rolled his shoulders, sipped some more of his drink and finally turned around to acknowledge his surroundings. It took a few moments of squinting through the smoke in the low lighting, but he finally recognized Ben at a table toward the back.

“Hey, man!” Ben stood to grab his hand then pulled him down to the booth. Two ladies were sandwiched between Ben and Hideki so Nick ended up beside Ben at the end of the hard, rounded bench. “We started to think you weren’t coming.”

Nick shrugged. “Drove around a little to clear my head.”

Hideki frowned at him over the table. “You okay, man?”

Nick raised his glass and smiled. “I am now.”

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Hideki hooted and clinked Nick’s glass with his own. “I hear that.”

“Where’s Kip?”

Ben shook his head, leaning back in the booth and stretching his arms across the back. “He bailed.” The brunette next to him cozied in to his side. “Where’s Marlowe?”

“Should be here soon.”

Except, he wasn’t. An hour later, Nick had two beers and had talked up a handful of women, but Marlowe had yet to show.

Nick checked his phone, not really expecting a message, but looking anyway. Nothing. He had a mind to call Marlowe anyway, but gave up that idea almost as soon as it occurred. If Marlowe wanted to find a girl somewhere else, more power to him. Hell, he probably called that model friend of his.

As for himself… Nick stayed another hour, but he stopped drinking. Instead he gave some serious thought to the girls around him. But, after yet one more hour, he knew it wasn’t happening.

He wasn’t feeling it and it wouldn’t be fair to a girl if he took her home.

By midnight, he was in his truck headed home. Alone.

ChAPteR twenty eight

Marlowe hadn’t told anyone about the invite. Not even Kip.

Because he hadn’t intended to go. But after watching Nick drive away, he knew he couldn’t meet up with the others. He couldn’t watch Nick take home a woman. It’d break him.

So, instead, he drove deep into the Hollywood Hills to see Evan Fletcher. A true Hollywood character, Evan was one of those overly rich, overly flamboyant playboys. The kind when seen in a movie, people think that such a person can’t possibly exist. Who could have parties practically every night? Who was rich enough to never work and just support an endless string of get-togethers? Evan was and Evan did. Evan did everything.

Over did was more the word for it. Evan also collected friends, preferably famous. Marlowe had been collected many years ago and used to enjoy Evan’s parties. He’d not been to one since getting out of prison. For obvious reasons. That didn’t stop Evan from inviting him. This one happened to be an actual planned party. Evan was getting married. Marlowe couldn’t remember what the exact reason for this party was—since a wedding would generate many pre- and post-nuptial get-togethers—but he knew the new bride was the reason. Which meant it had started early in the day—if not the previous night—and would just be ramping up about the time Marlowe got there.

A perfect place to lose himself for a while.

The trick to getting to Evan’s was to show up at one of his other houses. He had four others around the city. If you knew how and when, you could park at one of the other houses and get one of his drivers to take you to the Hills. Much easier than even attempting to approach Evan’s house in the Hills. Especially at night. Marlowe pulled up to the gate box at Evan’s place in Encino and made sure the camera framed his face.

“Marlowe?”

He smiled, recognizing the deep voice. “Terrence, that you?”

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“Hey, man. Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“I’m here now.”

The gate started to move. “Come on in.”

A half hour later after shooting the shit with Terrence, the man who kept the Encino place for Evan, Marlowe was tucked up in the backseat of a Lincoln town car on his way to the Hills.

He chatted with Andy, the driver, whom he’d never met, but who turned out to be something of a fan. It filled in the time of the drive and distracted Marlowe that the town car was stocked with a mini-bar in the backseat. A bar, Terrance assured him, that had all the amenities, which meant that if he looked in the tiny drawers he’d find any number of substances that would start his night off right.

Andy dropped him off right at the front door, which was open despite the chill of December. There Marlowe saw the first two of many familiar faces. Edie and Keisha were both actresses and both quite friendly. Also quite drunk. In this, they weren’t alone. As they led him inside, Marlowe had his first misgiving that perhaps this wasn’t the best of ideas. But then he struck up a conversation with Leana, his favorite famous closeted lesbian, and forgot to be worried for a little while.

“Marlowe!”

Leana chuckled, leaning back on the uncomfortable couch and crossing her legs. “You’re in trouble now.”

Seated beside her, his back to most of the party, Marlowe cringed at the sound of the voice behind him. Loud enough to cut over the music streaming from two separate rooms as well as the din of conversation all around them. He rolled his eyes for Leana then turned so he could see the approach. He almost bolted. Two gorgeous men were headed for him with obvious intent, both shirtless, one in skimpy little shorts that left nothing to the imagination. Shorts. In December. He had to be high on something.

Oh shit.

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They descended on him with overdone effeminate shrieks.

Little Royce—he of the tiny shorts who was all of five foot three and maybe weighed one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet—
landed in his lap. Fabian with the huge brown eyes, glistening light brown hair, and luscious mouth knelt before him.

Before he could speak, Royce’s lips were on his in an enthusiastic hello kiss. “Marlowe, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

Only surprise allowed his lips to part to accept Royce’s briefly questing tongue.

Marlowe had no choice but to hold onto the bundle of energy in his lap, but he avoided another kiss. This wasn’t good. He’d let Nick think that he wanted someone else to free Nick to think the same. He’d decided that if he let Nick be free in their relationship, then when Nick eventually went back to sleeping with women, he’d still want to sleep with Marlowe. He was campaigning for Nick’s bisexuality, hoping that it didn’t go far enough to include other men. But he had no intention of indulging himself, in men or women. He had no desire for anyone but Nick. But although Royce was much smaller and slimmer, he had shining black hair and clear blue eyes just like Nick. In a dark room, if he was drunk, Marlowe might even be able to mistake them. Maybe.

Probably not.

Fabian reached up to hook Marlowe’s neck so he could have a kiss of his own. Sweet and savory, just like he remembered Fabian. “It’s been too long,” he murmured as he pulled away, licking his lips.

Danger. Fabian was a little safer since he looked nothing like Nick, but neither of them was safe. If he’d been around anyone tonight, he’d wanted it to be girls. Women were much easier to resist. Having Royce in his arms was too much of a reminder of just how long it’d been since he’d topped. The fact that Royce was nearly naked, tightly packed, and obviously eager didn’t help.

“I’ve been out of the scene,” Marlowe admitted, a little lost in Fabian’s eyes.

Royce hugged him. “You’re here now.”

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Grinning, Fabian stood. He held out a hand. “Come dance with us.”

“Yes.” A moment of relief when Royce bounced off his lap, but then both of them were pulling him to stand.

Marlowe glanced over his shoulder at Leana, but she just waved and continued talking to a little blonde number of her own.

They led him downstairs to Evan’s play room. A massive space with a wet bar at one end and an open set of glass doors leading to a patio then a swimming pool beyond. The music was loud enough to put any club to shame and Evan’s light show was in full mode. Couches and barstools lined the paneled walls underneath huge Hi-Def televisions showing music videos. On the table in front of more than one of those couches, people were hunched over doing lines. Marlowe squeezed Fabian’s hand harder when he felt an overwhelming desire to join them.

Both of the men leading him stopped. Fabian saw what he was looking at and smiled. He asked something, but Marlowe’s ears weren’t adjusted to the volume yet so he couldn’t hear. Didn’t matter. He knew the gist. Fabian asked if he wanted to join. He shook his head then led the way toward the dancers. Dancing was safe.

It worked for a while. Working up a sweat to the beat of throbbing music let him beat aside his cravings, both for an absent man and chemical substances. At some point, he’d shed his sweater and was now shirtless. The better to feel the heat.

The better to feel the various and many hands that reached out to caress him. Bodies surrounded him and shared his abandon and for a little while nothing mattered but being in the now. Yes, that’s what he wanted.

But the needs of the body asserted themselves. He needed some water. He mimed his destination as the bar to Royce, who nodded. Fabian had abandoned them some time ago for parts unknown, but the little man with the black hair and big blue eyes continued to torment Marlowe. It was a good thing he was sweet.

And a bad thing he was sexy as hell.

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Marlowe got to the bar and leaned toward the lady bartender to ask for water. She produced it immediately and he downed half of it in one massive gulp. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and looked down to find that Royce was still on his tail. In an impressive athletic move, the little man hopped up onto the bar.

Grinning, he took the bottle from Marlowe’s hand then with his free hand, he pulled Marlowe into a kiss. Sweet lips opened for Marlowe’s and thank God the music swallowed his groan. Would it be bad if he took this one home? Or took him upstairs to one of many bedrooms that would surely be unoccupied?

Yes.

Distracted by his own thoughts, he didn’t immediately register something small and hard that passed from Royce’s tongue to his own. A swirling of tongues pushed it farther back into Marlowe’s mouth. By the time Royce pulled away, Marlowe knew what it was. Lips parted, he stared into Royce’s eyes—so very like Nick’s—and didn’t immediately take the half bottle of water offered him. There was an ecstasy pill in his mouth. Could be something else, but he could tell Royce was on X so it made sense that that was what was offered. All he had to do was swallow. A riot of confusing, negative thoughts ran through his brain. All the reasons he shouldn’t.

He swallowed.

Feeling light-headed, he grabbed the bottle and upended the rest of the water. One pill wasn’t going to do much. Maybe it’d ease some of the hurt, some of the longing Marlowe had been fighting all night. Royce was the only one who knew and Marlowe was now pretty damn sure he wasn’t going to be alone with Royce any time tonight. He may take the pill, but he wouldn’t make things worse by fucking the boy toy.

Or maybe… How better to forget one lover than by taking another? It’d never failed before.

But before he could lean back into Royce, Evan Fletcher himself appeared at Marlowe’s side. “You bad boy.”

Marlowe could barely hear him, but he could read Evan’s

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smiling mouth. Although he was over fifty, Evan looked like he was in his mid-thirties despite his steady diet of cocaine and alcohol. Evan was a so-so actor who’d gotten most of his parts because his mother had once been Hollywood elite. A gorgeous man, but with a brittle edge. Evan took hold of Marlowe’s wrist and pulled.

“Come with me.”

Using this chance to get away from Royce, Marlowe shrugged at his temptation and followed their host. True, Royce might follow, but Marlowe kind of doubted it. If Evan had wanted him to follow, he would have summoned.

“You naughty boy,” Evan scolded, leading Marlowe up the stairs to the quieter main floor. He linked arms with Marlowe as they proceeded like royalty through the crowd. “Where have you been?”

“In the studio. New album’s about to come out.”

“And you haven’t come to see me at all. You’ve been out of prison how long now?”

“A year in February.”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

He chuckled. He’d never been one of Evan’s sexual indulgences, but they’d always flirted around it. “Oh, but I do.”

Evan chuckled. They’d reached the bottom of the sweeping circular steps that led to the second floor. Evan continued up.

“I don’t believe you. How could you have stayed away this long?”

Marlowe glanced at the people below. Plenty of others loitered on the wide staircase and still more were scattered in the hall above, but Marlowe knew he should stay below. The second and third floors were dangerous. “I haven’t been partying much.

I’m sober now.”

“Are you? My, my, will wonders never cease?” Evan’s tone said he didn’t quite believe him.

Marlowe stopped at the top of the stairs, forcing Evan to pause. He knew what lay beyond. As wild as the parties got on

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the lower floors, the real stuff happened on the second and third floors. He shook his head. “I don’t think I should go any farther.”

Evan raised one manicured eyebrow. Then he smiled. “Just for a few minutes. I want you to meet my new bride.”

Marlowe allowed himself to react to that, distracting himself from the goodies that lay beyond. “I still can’t believe you’re getting married after all this time.”

Laughing, Evan took his arm again. “It’s bound to happen to us all.”

“Never thought it’d happen to you.”

Against his better judgment, Marlowe let Evan lead him down the hall. They passed a few open doors. Glances inside showed scenes from anyone’s fantasies about Hollywood parties. He concentrated on breathing and stopped looking. But the many and varied smells of some of his favorite drugs wafted through the hallway and the ecstasy was starting to come on. Warm air had dried his sweat from dancing and the tingle of it flitted over his skin. The silk of Evan’s shirt was soft, petable, and he was dying to run his fingers through the natural platinum of Evan’s hair.

Ahead, there was a girl curled up on the floor in the hall, sleeping. At least, Marlowe hoped she was sleeping. Another girl sat on the floor beside her, but she was staring up at the muted chandelier of the hallway like it was a new and wondrous thing.

Either there were some mushrooms going around or someone had some acid. God, when was the last time he’d tripped? Years.

Although flying right now certainly wasn’t a good idea.

Being here wasn’t a good idea.

Before he’d made up his mind to excuse himself, turn around, and go back down to the main floor, Evan had led him up the flight of stairs at the end of the hallway, which emerged directly in his bedroom. Six women sat on a set of two matching low-backed couches in the center of the room. Two of them were bent over the circular table between them dicing lines of white powder on small mirrors.

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“Marial,” Evan called, “come meet Marlowe.”

All the women perked up, but one stood. She had to be younger than Marlowe, probably younger than Nick. Abundant chestnut hair tumbled loose across bare shoulders and her sparkly, spaghetti strap top draped over a slim, model’s frame.

As she got closer, Marlowe readjusted his thoughts on her age.

She might be his age, but she was highly made up and manicured to good effect. Still, she was at least ten to twenty years younger than Evan.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, clutching Marlowe’s hand with beringed hands. Her eyes shone over a cocaine-induced smile.

“I’m a huge fan.” Giggling, she released his hand and threw herself into his arms. “This is awesome!”

He smiled and held her and watched in mild panic as Evan continued further into the room. The older man sat at a chair that matched the couches and slid one of the mirrors closer as the woman who’d been using it stood to look at Marlowe.

Marial pulled Marlowe in and introduced him to her friends.

They all gushed and somehow managed to push him down to sit on the couch.

“Oh! Is Nick Gorman in your group?” A blonde asked, leaning on the back of the couch over his shoulder. It gave him an excellent view of the diamond pendant dangling in front of her ample cleavage. “I’d love to do… oh!” She covered her mouth coyly and grinned. “I mean meet him.”

They all laughed at that and he thought that she wasn’t quite Nick’s type. He preferred the tomboy type although he was rather fond of breasts. Maybe he would do her. I wish he was here.

No, he didn’t! The X in Marlowe’s system made his head spin, affecting him strongly after such a long absence. The cocaine on the table sang to him like a Siren. He tried to concentrate on the women around him, but the lines were too close. The white powder called with more intensity than it ever had. He’d been in plenty similar situations in the past and passed on the powder.

Why was it such a lure now?

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Evan saw him looking and smiled. He held out a straw and a mirror, four perfect lines already cut across the reflective surface.

“Want some?”

Marlowe shook his head, but he couldn’t make his eyes look away.

Evan chuckled. He set the mirror down at Marlowe’s knees and tapped his fist with the straw. “You’re among friends. No one will tell, will we ladies?”

Marlowe barely heard the chorus of nos. Just one. He took the straw. One wouldn’t hurt. He already had X in his system. The damage was done. What did it matter if he did a line?

Or two.

Two. It was done. He didn’t even recall bending over or putting the straw to his nostril. Euphoria filled his head and he fell back on the couch for the initial head spin. Then he was sitting up, talking. Except he wasn’t sure what he was saying. Was he talking about Nick? That’d be bad. Nick wouldn’t approve.

Nick would be mad.

Oh God, Nick!

“Marlowe?”

He heard a concerned female voice, but couldn’t respond.

He froze and stared into space, suddenly seeing Nick’s face clear as day. The disapproving scowl told Marlowe what he thought.

Alcohol, X, and pot were things Nick could get behind and at one time Marlowe had been pretty sure he could talk him into doing acid once, but Nick had never remotely desired snorting anything up his nose. He watched people on coke with open disdain. Didn’t understand why anyone would get addicted for such a brief and ridiculously chatty high.

“Oh fuck.” Marlowe sank, hiding his face in his hands. If he hadn’t ruined things with Nick earlier, this would do it. If Nick ever found out… Even if he forgot Nick for a moment—hard to do—what if Kip found out? What would he tell Christine on his next therapy visit? Shit, could they send him back to jail? No.

But… Maybe…

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Soft, sympathetic hands stroked his shoulders and back.

Soothing female voices surrounded him. When he leaned to one side, he found plush, warm breasts there to pillow his head.

Fuck!

He jumped up. “Sorry, I… gotta go.”

“Marlowe, wait…” Evan stood, but Marlowe was already at the stairs.

He rushed down, down the hall. He had to get away. This was perhaps the second biggest mistake of his life. How could he throw away years of work on one fucking night? Nick might never want him again after this.

He didn’t bother to find his sweater. Didn’t care. He burst out of the front door and raced for one of the town cars. He didn’t know the driver, but it didn’t matter. When he named the Encino house, the man opened the back door and waited for him to get in. Safely in the backseat within the heated car, Marlowe whimpered when he saw the mini bar before him. The little silver drawer was sure to contain blow and the necessary paraphernalia.

Anxiously, he tucked himself into the corner of the seat and fumbled with his phone. He was surprised to see the drop of wet that fell on the phone’s screen and only then realized tears were dripping down his cheeks. As the driver took the car down the driveway, Marlowe hit speed dial then hunkered down to wait for an answer. He kept his free hand crossed over his body, clutching the door handle to make sure it didn’t go reaching for anything.

“Where are you?”

“Kip, God, I fucked up.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

A small sob burst through Marlowe’s lips. He shrank against the car door. “Oh shit, Kip, I fucked up.”

“Marlowe, calm down.” Kip’s serene voice reached out to Marlowe, but he couldn’t accept the peace it offered. He was cold. “Where are you?”

“Car. Going to…” He stopped, took a breath to slow his

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racing thoughts. “I’m leaving Evan Fletcher’s.”

“One of the town cars?”

The coke was right there. He could have some. No. “Yeah.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Encino.” Or a drink. The crystal decanter sparkled in the low light. Either whiskey or rum. Maybe bourbon. That’d calm his nerves. No.

“Good. I’ll meet you there. Do you need me to stay on the line?”

“Yes.” He whimpered. He was pathetic! He did not want anything in this car that bad. Except he did. “God. No. No, hang up.”

“Marlowe—” Kip’s voice wavered, probably juggling the phone as he moved. “Don’t hang up. Stay on the line and tell me what happened.”

“No. Can’t. Meet me at the house.” He hung up. When the phone rang, he ignored it, now clutching the car door with both hands. He kept his eyes shut tight and willed the car to reach its destination before he lost the battle with his will.

ChAPteR twenty nine

Nick was awake surfing the Internet at three in the morning when the phone rang. Not his cell phone because that was off.

It was the house line. He scowled and left his room to get to the cordless handset in the hall before the ringing woke Bobby and Sol. Caller ID identified that it was for him anyway.

“Kip?”

“Nick, hi. Sorry to call on this number, but your cell went to voice mail.”

“It’s off.” He ducked back into his bedroom and closed the door. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Marlowe. You need to come to my place.”

Ice shot through Nick’s veins. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s… fine. Well, no, he’s not, but…” Kip grumbled, a frustrated sound. “Could you please just come?”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s better if you hear it in person.”

Confusion reigned, but it was clear there was only one way to clear things up. “I’ll be right there.”

Nick threw back on the jeans and T-shirt he’d worn earlier, shoved into his Nikes, and pulled on his leather jacket as he walked out the door. Didn’t take him long to get to the condo and Kip answered immediately when he called up from the gate.

Nick heard them arguing through the front door right before he rang the bell, but he couldn’t make out the words.

Brief seconds, then Marlowe ripped open the door. “Nick.

Go home.”

Beyond his shoulder, Kip barked a harsh laugh. “Oh right, like that’s going to work.”

Marlowe bared his teeth, blocking the doorway with his body.

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An oversized blue button-down draped his arms and shoulders, open in front to reveal his bare chest. The brighter light was behind him, but Nick could see he looked… flushed. Amped?

“What’s going on?”

Marlowe shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Nothing.

Kip’s overreacting. Just go home.”

“Don’t listen to him, Nick. You need to see this.”

Marlowe spun on him. “Shut the fuck up, goddamn it!”

While he was distracted, Nick shoved Marlowe back into the condo so he could get inside. As Marlowe righted himself, Nick pulled the door shut behind him. He glared at the singer. He looked whole and healthy. But something was seriously wrong.

“What’s going on?”

Marlowe’s eyes widened, then shuttered. “Nothing, damn it.”

He pulled his shirt shut and stalked across the room. He glared at Kip as he passed. “You ass hole.”

Kip glared right back, hands on hips. He wore sweats and a faded black sweater, as dressed down as Nick had ever seen him.

“Call me whatever you want. You’re the one who fucked up.”

“And you’re making it worse.”

“Maybe. But at least it’ll be out in the open.”

Nick struggled to figure out what they were talking about. He couldn’t take his eyes off Marlowe. What was it? He hadn’t seen him this animated since… No. “Someone better tell me what’s going on here.”

Kip turned to him. “Look, Nick, I don’t know what happened between you two earlier—”

“Shut up!”

Kip ignored Marlowe. “But I know some thing happened because only if something went wrong with you would it throw him off the wagon.”

Nick froze. Was Kip saying…? Nick grit his teeth. “What?”

He looked to Marlowe.

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“He lost it at a party. I know he’s done X and at least a few lines of coke. He won’t tell me more.”

“Fuck you!” The singer had his back turned, arm braced on the wall beside the opening into the hall. Tension etched the hunched lines of his shoulders and legs. “There wasn’t more.”

As Nick stared at Marlowe’s back, digesting what he was hearing, Kip took a few steps toward him to regain his attention.

“He loves you, you know.”

Information that hit Nick’s brain like a sledgehammer.

Marlowe whirled. “God damn you!”

Kip turned on him and snarled. “Fuck you. I’m sick of watching you kill yourself trying to make Nick happy. How can he begin to participate in a real relationship when you won’t tell him how you feel?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business when you call me to come rescue you because you fucked up.” Back to Nick. “I’m sorry to do this, Nick. I really am. I’d hoped he’d grow a pair and talk to you. But you need to know because you need to decide.”

Nick frowned. His heart raced. “What are you talking about?

Is this about Marlowe taking something?” Kip was making a very good point, but Nick was still struggling to figure out what it was.

“Don’t listen to him,” Marlowe barked. “He’s fucking delusional.”

Kip ignored him again, focused on Nick. “You need to decide if you want him or not.”

“Kip!”

“If you do, terrific. I couldn’t be happier for you two. Really.

But if you don’t, this needs to end and it needs to end now.” He pointed at the floor for emphasis. “Because you two are months away from going on a world tour for God knows how long and it’s my job—” thumb to his chest, “—to make sure nothing fucks that up.”

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Nick stared at Kip, but his real attention was out of the corner of his eye on Marlowe, who stood fuming across the room. Kip said love. Was that true?

Kip stepped up until he was almost nose to nose with Nick.

“It really is up to you. Because he’s obviously not strong enough to handle this. But if you’re okay, he seems to be okay.” He waited a beat to let his words sink in then he started across the room toward Marlowe. The singer bristled, circling a little to clear the hallway opening, fisting his hands at his sides. Kip halted a few strides from him. “Really? You’re going to hit me now? Are you really that stupid?”

Marlowe glared, but held his ground. “Fuck you.”

“I’m trying to help you.” Kip shook his head and some of the angry tension bled from his frame. “If you can’t see that this is necessary maybe there’s no hope.” He glanced over his shoulder at Nick. “For either of you.” Then he left, disappearing down the hall in the direction of his bedroom.

Marlowe didn’t move. He stood profile to Nick, staring at the wall beyond where Kip had stood. Nick didn’t move, staring at Marlowe, silently replaying all that Kip had said.

“Where’d you go tonight?” Nick finally asked.

Marlowe’s brows lowered slightly. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.” Nick stepped farther into the condo. He pulled off his leather jacket since it was nice and toasty inside the condo. “Tell me.”

“Party.”

Nick draped his jacket over the back of a chair. Looking down, he realized he’d never tied his shoes. The laces were splayed from his feet like stray branches.

“What’d you take?”

He heard Marlowe sigh. “Nick…”

Snapping his head up, he caught Marlowe with a glare, freezing him. “Tell me.”

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Marlowe blinked then dropped his eyes. “X. A few lines of coke.”

“Coke.” He hated that stuff. Hated thinking of Marlowe back on it.

Marlowe rolled his eyes. “Yeah, coke. I know you don’t approve. I fucked up. I admit it.” He stepped up to the couch and leaned against its side.

Nick circled around the chair so that nothing was between them but a few feet of space. “Why’d you do it?”

Arms crossed, Marlowe shrugged. It reminded Nick of his posture earlier in the parking lot. Why was it so damn hard to get anything out of him? The man lived and breathed words.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just did.”

Nick shook his head. “I don’t buy it. You haven’t even wanted so much as a drink since you got out.”

Marlowe’s laugh was harsh. “Wrong. I want a drink and more all the fucking time.”

A chip shattered off Nick’s brittle heart. Was that true? Had he blinded himself to Marlowe’s need? Or was the singer just that good at hiding it? Maybe a little of all the above?

“Fine. Why tonight?”

“You’ve never been to an Evan Fletcher party.”

Nick had heard the name. From Marlowe, in fact. Back before the accident, Marlowe had promised to take him to one of Evan’s parties. A wild time, he’d said. “Why’d you go? Why not come out with us like you said you would?”

Marlowe’s head tilted forward more, hiding most of his face.

He snorted. “No way I was going to watch you pick up a woman.”

Air pushed from Nick’s lungs in an exasperated burst. “You told me to pick up a girl.”

Marlowe wagged his head side to side. “Yeah. Doesn’t mean I wanted to watch.”

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Fisting his hands, Nick took a step toward Marlowe. Watched the singer tense. “I thought you wanted to sleep with a woman.”

Marlowe nodded. “Maybe.”

“You’re not making any fucking sense.”

“Listen, Nick—” In a quick move, Marlowe shook himself and circled around the back of the couch to its other end, putting the piece of furniture between them. “Despite what Kip thinks, we don’t have to have this conversation. I fucked up tonight. I’m sorry. I’ll go to therapy tomorrow. It won’t happen again.”

Marlowe’s avoidance was painfully obvious and tasted of the insecurities Nick had seen him display over the past few months.

It still pained him to see a once brilliant, flawless creature wear his shortcomings on his sleeve, but at the same time it was comforting to have learned that Marlowe was, indeed, quite human. Human, vulnerable, mortal. In need of protection perhaps? Was Kip right about Marlowe’s feelings? If anyone would know, Kip would. He knew Marlowe better than the singer knew himself. Maybe Nick was the cause of some of the worst of those insecurities? If so, he was the one who could put them to rest.

Nick stepped up to the end of the couch. “I didn’t want to watch you pick up a woman either.” His voice felt stronger than he did. “The idea made me kind of sick.”

Marlowe gripped his end of the couch. “That’s flattering.”

Nick allowed himself a small smile, even though Marlowe couldn’t see it with his face averted. “The idea of you going off with a guy made me furious.”

The singer startled, just a little, and his eyes braved a quick dart at Nick’s face before settling back down to the cushions between them.

Nick warmed to his subject. Kip was right. He had to decide.

Even now Marlowe was backing away from the subject. Nick stepped behind the couch, sliding his hand along the top. “The idea of you fucking anyone but me just doesn’t appeal.”

Slowly, Marlowe’s eyes finally rose to meet Nick’s. Caution

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kept his expression neutral, but fire brimmed in those stormy blue depths. “I thought you’d blame me later. If people found out what we were doing and called you gay.”

Nick lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “I probably will blame you. But it doesn’t have to be in a bad way.”

That got him a little bit of a grin, but it died quickly. Marlowe shook his head. “I can’t take it if you hate my guts again.”

The soft, vulnerable undertone to Marlowe’s voice gouged Nick’s heart. Determined, he closed the distance between him and Marlowe. He had to catch the other man’s arm to keep him from fleeing across the room. “I don’t think I ever hated you. I couldn’t.”

Marlowe stared at Nick’s shoulder. The muscles under Nick’s hand bunched. “You made a good show of it.”

“Yeah. Well, you almost killed me and nearly ruined my career.” He held fast when Marlowe’s arm jerked. He wasn’t going anywhere. Nick struggled for the right words to say. “I think I hated that I couldn’t hate you. If that even makes sense.”

The line of Marlowe’s square jaw twitched, those succulent lips pressed tight together. So beautiful. So compelling. Marlowe was and had been the central focus of his life for years, the man and the music they shared intricately twined in Nick’s psyche.

Nick was so comfortable with that fact that he’d ceased to see it.

“Damn.” Nick shook his head. Suddenly, his whole body relaxed. Now he understood. After almost three years of fighting it, now he got it. “I never hated you. I think I’ve loved you from the start.”

Air hissed into Marlowe’s nostrils then held. His eyes, big and shocked, leapt to meet Nick’s. “What?”

Nick smiled. Nodded. Searching Marlowe’s face, he allowed himself to feel what he’d been fighting so hard. At the moment, he couldn’t fathom why he’d fought. “From the time you barged in and took over my life. There’s only been you.”

Disbelief tilted Marlowe’s head. “You’ve drowned that fact in

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a lot of bodies.”

Nick laughed. “So have you.”

“Yeah.” As though he were freed too, Marlowe searched Nick’s face. “God, I love you.”

That’s it. Nick shot his hand up into Marlowe’s hair and pulled the man into a hungry kiss. Yeah, that was good. So good he had to lift his other hand so he could hold Marlowe’s head with both hands. Marlowe’s arms slid around him, hauling him close.

The heat of Marlowe’s skin seeped through Nick’s T-shirt. The give of his bottom lip encouraged Nick to bite. Marlowe’s palms pressed his ass, pulling him close, close enough to feel the proof of Marlowe’s arousal against his belly.

They turned and Marlowe started to sink down on the couch, but Nick stopped him. “Not here.” He grabbed Marlowe’s wrist and pulled him toward the hall. “Your room.”

It was dark so Nick was at Marlowe’s door before he recognized that one of the shadows at the end of the hall was actually a person. Kip was leaning against his closed bedroom door. Opening Marlowe’s door cast the light from within on him.

He gave them a knowing smile.

Nick laughed. “You listening?”

“I was.” He glanced at Marlowe over Nick’s shoulder. “I had to look out for my investments.”

Marlowe squeezed Nick’s shoulders then moved past him toward Kip. They met in a brotherly hug. Nick heard Marlowe’s

“Thanks, man.”

Kip patted his shoulder as they parted then looked him in the eye. “You are going to therapy tomorrow. If I have to drag you there myself.”

“You and me both,” Nick promised.

Marlowe turned so he could grimace at Kip then at Nick.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

Kip surprised Nick by moving past Marlowe to pull him into

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a hug with a heartfelt backslap. “Thank you,” Kip murmured in his ear.

Nick squeezed him hard before he let go. “Thank you.”

“All right.” Kip stepped away from Nick and turned toward his own bedroom. “I’m going to close the door and put my earplugs in. But you two really need to get a place of your own soon.”

“Hey, we’ll be on the road soon,” Marlowe called as he followed Nick into his room.

Nick stood in the middle of the bedroom, looking around.

He’d been there a number of times before and it always struck him a little wrong. True, Marlowe’s stuff was visible all over the place, but it wasn’t his. The suitcase in the corner spoke of how temporary the accommodations were. “He’s right, you know.”

Marlowe shut off the overhead light, leaving just the lamp by the bed on. “What?”

“We should get a place together.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

Surprised, Nick turned to face him.

Marlowe took hold of his shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong.

I’d love to live with you. But we just started.” He ran the backs of his hands over Nick’s jaw, grazing the stubble. “We’ve got a lot to work out.”

Nick narrowed his gaze. “How high are you?”

“What? I’m just saying we should think…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ll talk about the living together another time. I want to know how high you are right now.”

“Just a little. It was only one pill. It was hours ago.”

So he was probably just peaking, or about to. “I should kick your ass.”

Marlowe gave him a sexy smile and wrapped his fingers in Nick’s T-shirt to pull it out of his pants. “You’ve got better uses for my ass.”

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“Yeah. You’re lucky.” He poked Marlowe’s sternum with two fingers. Hard. “Don’t you ever do that again. Ever. You hear me?

You don’t need that shit. Any of it.”

Marlowe winced and the fingers that had wormed into Nick’s waistband stilled. He leaned in to press his cheek to Nick’s temple.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Nick grabbed his hips. “Yeah, well, next time try telling me the truth.”

“Okay.” Lips brushed the skin near his ear. “You too, huh?”

“Yeah.” Aware that they were teetering into mushy territory, Nick hauled Marlowe around and shoved him toward the bed.

Caught off guard, Marlowe stumbled and fell on his back on the mattress.

Nick stood at his knees. “I shouldn’t reward you with sex,”

he warned, pulling off his T-shirt. “I should punish you for what you’ve done.”

“Oh, baby.” Marlowe squirmed, eyes alight as they watched Nick’s hands start to open his jeans.

“You’re lucky that I really need you tonight.”

Marlowe sat up to help with his task. “I need you too.” He kissed Nick’s belly as he shoved his pants down. In his rush to leave the house, he hadn’t bothered with underwear. “Hey, commando. I like.”

Nick groaned as Marlowe’s clever fingers wrapped around his half-hard shaft. “I had to get dressed in a hurry.”

While stroking his cock, Marlowe covered Nick’s belly with kisses. “Poor, baby. I’ll make it up to you.”

Nick snorted, threading his fingers through Marlowe’s hair.

“Quit with the ‘baby’ shit.”

Chuckling, Marlowe dipped down to swipe his tongue over the head of Nick’s cock. “What would you prefer? Stud muffin?”

Nick lost interest in the conversation as Marlowe bathed his cock with the warmth of his tongue. He was so very good at that.

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He had Nick hard as a rock and desperate in no time. Nick could happily stand there and receive as he had a number of times before, but no. He reached down and pulled away. He kissed the wet, pouting lips Marlowe turned up toward him. “Not this time.” Another kiss. “Lie back. It’s your turn.”

“Oh, hey, Nick, you don’t have…”

“I want to.” He pushed and Marlowe obediently fell back. He reached down to loosen Marlowe’s pants. “Truth is, I wanted to for a while, but I…” He shrugged, struggling with a sudden bout of shyness. “I was afraid to try.”

Marlowe lifted up so Nick could pull his pants under his hips.

“Afraid?”

“You’re so good at it. And you must’ve gotten a thousand blow jobs…” Nick tossed the pants aside then finally stepped out of his own.

“Oh, bab… uh, stud muffin.” He laughed, holding out a hand to lead Nick down to the mattress with him.

Nick took the hand and knelt, but didn’t lie down. “Okay,

‘baby’ is better than ‘stud muffin’.”

They shared a smile then Marlowe sat back up so he could slide his arms around Nick’s waist. Nick’s cock pressed into his chest as he looked up. “You don’t have to be afraid. As long as you keep everything wet and don’t bite, you really can’t do a blow job wrong.” He smiled up at Nick. “And you really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Freak. What guy turns down a blow job?”

“I didn’t say I was turning it down just that…”

“Shut up.” He mussed Marlowe’s hair, kissed his forehead, then pushed at his shoulders. “Lie down.”

Obediently, Marlowe scooted up so he could lay his head on the pillows.

Nick studied him. Every tanned, toned, gorgeous inch of him. Had he ever really noticed the male body before meeting Marlowe? Or was it that particular combination of muscle, bone,

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and spirit that attracted him? Actually, that couldn’t be it because the bulkier shape Marlowe sported now was quite different from his lean build before the accident. So it wasn’t the body. It was the man in it. Of course, the fact that he was put together nice didn’t hurt. Nick sat at his side. Ran a hand over his chest, pausing to tweak first one nipple then the other. Marlowe squirmed, groaned, no doubt a result of the drug in his system. For a brief second, Nick regretted not having taken a pill with Marlowe so they could share the high. But, no, that wouldn’t be fair or right.

Besides, he didn’t need it. Being with Marlowe was equal to any high he’d ever experienced.

Nick readjusted and lowered his elbow down between Marlowe’s spread thighs and seriously confronted his cock.

Long and gorgeous, just like the man himself. Nick had handled it enough to know that he could get both palms around the shaft comfortably, but he’d never really looked at it. Especially the foreskin. Marlowe had told him once that his mother didn’t get him circumcised because she couldn’t imagine anyone mutilating her beautiful baby. Right now, Nick blessed her for her forethought.

He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and pulled the excess skin down, exposing the head. The covering made the smooth, pink skin seem more vulnerable. And, yes, kissable. So he did that, leaned in to press his lips just underneath the tip. Marlowe’s entire body jumped then he sighed. Nick stuck out his tongue and drew a line up the shaft from curls to tip and enjoyed Marlowe’s groan. This wasn’t bad. Marlowe didn’t taste bad and that musky scent of groin seeped into Nick’s head and lodged there, making him light headed. He liked it. Holding Marlowe’s cock near the base, he aimed it up and slipped the tip between his lips. A little bit of salty fluid trickled onto Nick’s tongue. Not bad at all. And the effect on Marlowe was incredible. His whole body rippled and the next groan sounded like it came straight from his gut.

Encouraged, Nick tried to think of some of the things Marlowe had done to him. The trick seemed to be to use his tongue a lot.

Marlowe liked that. He also liked when Nick sealed him in and sucked hard. But that only made sense.

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“God, Nicky, don’t ever stop doing that.”

Nick smiled around his mouthful, liking the fingers in his hair and the belly that shuddered under his free hand. Nick had one of his thighs trapped so Marlowe lifted the other one, twisting his body toward Nick’s mouth. That gave Nick a great idea. He shifted a little and switched the hands that held Marlowe’s cock.

He managed to wet two of his fingers then lowered them down, past Marlowe’s balls—which he promised himself he’d explore later. He rubbed around until he found the warm pucker of Marlowe’s anus.

“Oh, yes.”

Encouraged, he slipped his fingers inside Marlowe’s warmth, all the while sucking and lapping at his cock. The effect was predictable but still pretty powerful. He knew already that Marlowe liked to get fingered, but the added attention to his cock drove him wild. He curled farther on his side and lifted his leg so his heel was almost resting on Nick’s shoulder. His hips started rocking between Nick’s mouth and his fingers. So fucking sexy.

“God, Nicky, yes, suck me, God, please.” Marlowe’s string of words barely made sense, but Nick understood them anyway. He loved that he could make Marlowe lose it like this. “Nicky, God, wait. I’m gonna… You gotta…” Nick had a second to decide and opted for the chicken shit. He pulled his mouth off Marlowe’s cock, but kept jerking him with his hand. He kept his fingers buried deep in Marlowe’s ass, rubbing that spot he knew made it happen for his lover. The cum spurted from Marlowe in time with his cry and Nick’s mouth was close enough to get spattered.

He parted his lips to let some of it fall on his tongue. Strong.

Salty. Weird. But not… bad. He could get used to it.

Gently, he eased out of and away from Marlowe’s body as he calmed. He stroked a wet hand over Marlowe’s belly and kissed his upraised knee. He licked at the cum on his lips and Marlowe caught him doing it. Stormy blue eyes set ablaze and Marlowe shoved to sit up. He grabbed Nick’s head and turned it so he could lick his own cum from Nick’s face. Nick was not remotely prepared for how sexy he found that. He groaned,

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clutching Marlowe’s waist as his lover finished lapping his chin.

Then Marlowe turned his face back and took his mouth in a demanding, open mouthed kiss. Marlowe’s cum dissolved in their saliva as they devoured each other.

He was in love with a man. Never would have thought it. But it felt so natural. Where would things go from here? Who knew?

But at least they had the one thing established. They belonged together. With that, they could work everything else out.

Marlowe would never, could never, get enough of this man. It simply wasn’t possible. He couldn’t remember a blowjob that felt better. Couldn’t recall sexier lips wrapped around his dick. “You are… so…” Marlowe growled against Nick’s lips, arms in a vise-grip around his neck and shoulders. Electricity buzzed his blood as the drug in his system refused to let his orgasm die. “Fuck me, Nicky.” He needed that heat inside him. “Fuck me now.”

“Fu… wha…?” It was difficult for Nick to speak since Marlowe couldn’t quite relinquish his lips. “You sure?”

“Positive. I need you now.”

“But I thought—” kiss, “—you —” kiss, “—wanted to do me.”

The reminder stopped Marlowe, the image ablaze through his brain. It was what he’d wanted from the beginning; almost from the first time he’d laid eyes on Nick’s gorgeous body. He pressed his forehead to Nick’s and just held the man’s face between his palms. “Later,” he decided. He wanted to be sober when they enjoyed that first. “Now I need you in me.”

Teeth bit into his lower lip, accompanied by a sexier-than-hell chuckle. “Okay.” Hands slid up and down Marlowe’s sides; then one disappeared. Marlowe heard the nightstand drawer open and the clatter of Nick feeling around inside. Then Nick pulled his lips away by turning his head. “Where’s the lube?”

“Right there in the…” Marlowe paused, eyes snapping open.

“Oh.” He’d meant to stop and buy a new bottle of lube earlier but had gotten distracted. “Oh shit, wait.”

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He heard Nick’s laugh as he vaulted off the bed to hurry naked into the bathroom. With only the light from the bedroom to guide him, he snatched open the toiletries bag on the counter and dug through it, hoping against hope that he still had that small bottle of… “Ha!” He jumped into the doorway, brandishing the travel-sized bottle that was nearly half full. “I was afraid I was going to have to barge into Kip’s bedroom.”

Nick sat, arms braced behind him, naked and pale as a marble statue of Adonis, but very much alive and warm. His smile was lazy, but the hungry cock thrusting up from his lap was anything but. “I think we bugged him enough for tonight.”

“Mmmm.” Marlowe knelt beside him and sealed their lips again. He wanted to rub up against all that satin skin and purr like a kitten as he lapped up all of Nick’s cream.

Nick had to practically shove Marlowe away, both hands pressing gently but firmly at either side of his neck. Wicked blue eyes sparkled at Marlowe as wet lips grinned. “Lie down on your back.”

Marlowe blinked. “My back?”

“Yeah.”

“Not hands and knees?” They’d only ever done it hands and knees. Marlowe had made sure of that and Nick had never asked for any different.

“You want it that way?”

“I want it however you want it.” The words tumbled from Marlowe’s lips, eager to make Nick happy.

Nick narrowed his eyes and rose to his knees, hands now pushing at Marlowe’s shoulders. “I’m not sure I’m all for this self-sacrificing Marlowe. Can we have a little bit of the smug, selfish bastard back? Just a little?”

Laughing, Marlowe lowered to his elbows. “We’ll discuss it.”

“Fine. I want you on your back.” Straddling Marlowe’s hip, he stroked the side of Marlowe’s jaw, his grin fading into something akin to awe as his voice hushed. He brushed the tips of their

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noses together. “I want to watch you when I fuck you.”

Oh God! That was the one reason Marlowe had kept them from that position. He knew damn well that his feelings for Nick showed when Nick was inside him. How could they not?

But this was it, right? This was different. Nick had spoken of love, had accepted Marlowe’s confession of the same. Marlowe actually believed he meant it, although parts of his overactive imagination were doing their best to convince him otherwise.

The tactile influence of the drug in his system helped him to keep that voice at bay.

“Okay.” A brief kiss, for courage, then he let himself fall back on the mattress.

As he arranged himself and the pillows, Nick backed up until he knelt between Marlowe’s knees. He opened the lube but paused just before he squirted liquid onto his palm.

“Condom?”

“What?” Not in the nightstand. He’d run out of those too.

“Oh shit…” He shoved up onto his elbows, intending to head for the bathroom again.

Nick splayed a hand on Marlowe’s chest to keep him on the bed. Up on one knee with the other foot on the floor, he loomed over Marlowe, broad shoulders blocking the light. “Where?”

“Black bag in the bathroom.”

He watched Nick’s ass flex and release, flex and release as he walked to the door. Gorgeous. Mine. Yeah, he liked that thought.

He lay back and reached down to trail fingers along his softened cock, teasing himself. Eyes drifting closed, he reached lower, lifting his balls and bending his knee to so he could find and tease his own hole.

“Don’t start without me.”

Marlowe smiled and opened his eyes as Nick knelt on the bed, tearing open a shiny plastic packet. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Nick eyed the circle of latex. “I’ve always used one of these.”

Marlowe stilled, watching Nick’s face, wishing he could read

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his thoughts. “Me too.”

Nick nodded then moved between Marlowe’s splayed thighs.

“We should probably do the testing thing anyway.” He shrugged as he rolled on the latex. “Just because.”

Marlowe swallowed over a lump in his throat. God, the thought of Nick fucking him bare made his balls ache. The fact that Nick was thinking about it seriously made his heart follow suit.

“Yeah.”

Nick didn’t look up at Marlowe’s face as he grabbed the lube and popped the cap. “Then, if we’re clean—” he looked up , “—
we should stop using them.”

“You trust me?”

Marlowe was without words to describe the simple purity of Nick’s smile. Surprisingly innocent as he poured clear liquid on his palm then capped the bottle and tossed it aside. “I always have. For better or for worse.”

Marlowe held his gaze as Nick rubbed lube over his cock.

His heart strained under the weight of the moment. He didn’t deserve this. “I won’t let you down again.”

Nick nodded. He hooked an arm underneath one of Marlowe’s knees and lifted. “Good. Don’t.”

Marlowe shifted, tilting his hips so Nick could see his destination. He closed his eyes as Nick slid in slowly, easily. Filling his body like he filled his heart. Aware Nick was watching him, he clutched the pillow beneath his head and bit his lip. Too much.

Too good. There was no way to keep the bliss from his face so he didn’t even try. That was the point anyway, wasn’t it? Nick wanted to see him. And he… Shoring up his courage, he pulled his eyes open. Nick’s crystal blue eyes were shadowed, both by lush black lashes and the silky raven fringe of his hair, but intent and laser sharp, fixed on Marlowe’s face. Kiss-swollen lips were drawn into a lopsided, possessive smile. He looped an arm under Marlowe’s other knee and leaned forward, pressing deep.

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“God, you feel good,” he murmured, voice a low rumble in his chest.

“Ungh, you too.” Marlowe twisted, reaching up to grip the top edge of the wooden headboard, needing some solid purchase or else the pleasure would lift him away.

Nick started to roll his hips, finding a slow, steady rhythm that ensured Marlowe felt every delicious inch of him. No hurry. Not yet. He took his time, building it up, driving Marlowe crazy. All the time his eyes were locked with Marlowe’s. Marlowe was on board with the steady pace at first, but he couldn’t last long. It felt too good. He had to move, but bent double with his heels in the air, he was helpless to do much more than writhe.

“God, Nick.” One hand snapped down to clutch Nick’s arm, digging into his biceps. “Jesus, fucking God!” He shoved, doing his best to get Nick to move.

Finally, Nick lost the battle. With a primal grunt, he dropped his head forward and drove in, hard. Marlowe cried out, arching his back and biting his lip over a scream. Nick leaned in and started pounding, chasing orgasm. Beautiful. Unable to resist, Marlowe reached down to palm his cock, still mostly soft but starting to wake to possibilities. Nick’s head came up, his eyes fixed on Marlowe’s hand. He groaned, bringing one hand up to clutch at Marlowe’s chest, palm flattened over Marlowe’s left nipple.

“Fuck.” He pinned Marlowe to the mattress and angled so Marlowe’s hips lifted even higher. Sweat dotted his forehead, plastering black silk to his cheeks as he reamed Marlowe. “Shit,”

he grunted, hanging his head. “I’m gonna…”

Yes. Marlowe didn’t care that his own orgasm wasn’t anywhere near. He wanted Nick to soar and wanted to watch him come apart.

“Do it.”

At the last moment, on the brink of explosion, Nick opened his eyes and met Marlowe’s gaze. He opened his mouth and cried out as he lost control of his body, convulsing as his pleasure

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overflowed.

Fuck yeah! Marlowe shuddered, showered in the aftershocks of Nick’s orgasm.

Spent, Nick leaned heavily on the backs of Marlowe’s thighs.

Slowly, he sat back, letting Marlowe’s legs slide down his arms.

“Oh man.” He tipped his head toward the ceiling, shaking it once to free hair from his face.

Marlowe stretched carefully as Nick pulled away. His legs ached from the unnatural position, but he wasn’t even close to complaining. He’d gladly endure that discomfort. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah.” On visibly shaky legs, Nick managed to stand and stumble to the bathroom.

Marlowe flung an arm over his head and settled into the pillows, aware of the sweat damp spot under his back, but too comfortable to bother moving. Nick came back with a towel and stood by the bed with a sleepy smile while Marlowe made a lazy attempt to dry himself off. The towel found the floor then Nick lowered himself to stretch out at Marlowe’s side. Marlowe reached over him to shut off the light then they settled face to face, hands idly roaming available naked skin as their eyes adjusted to the dark.

They shared a lazy kiss, then Marlowe had to reach down to pull the covers up over them, feeling the chill now that his blood had time to cool.

Nick tucked in against his side, head on Marlowe’s shoulder.

He yawned. “You’re not gonna be able to sleep, are you?”

Marlowe shook his head, grazing his lips against Nick’s forehead. “Nope.” After what he’d done tonight, he’d be lucky if his eyes even closed. “You sleep. I’m fine.”

Nick sighed as he relaxed. “I love you,” he murmured, squeezing the arm he had draped over Marlowe’s belly.

Marlowe’s heart leapt. “I love you too. So much.” And he would do anything— anything— to make sure Nick never regretted his feelings.

ePiLogue

It wasn’t Phoenix, it was Tucson, and the date wasn’t exact, but it was close enough. No one had mentioned the similarities in location to Nick but then they wouldn’t. People still had a tough time talking about the bus accident around Nick. He understood why. In this case, it worked to his advantage. It would mean what he’d planned would take Marlowe completely by surprise.

Exactly his intent.

They were five dates into the tour and so far, so good. Two out of the five California nights had been sold out and there was enough hype from the shows and two music videos that Kip was already negotiating additional shows for next year after the band got back from Europe.

But that was far off. Tonight, Nick made his plans then had to wait to finish the sound check to put them in motion. Didn’t that figure that Marlowe had mic problems, tonight of all nights?

After handing off his guitar to Kelly, his roadie, Nick loitered onstage rather than follow Hideki and Ben back to the dressing room. It took an extra fifteen minutes, that cut into Nick’s plans, to finally adjust Marlowe’s microphone to his liking. Nick amused himself by watching his lover. He wasn’t all dressed up yet, just wearing drawstring pants and a Beatles T-Shirt. His hair was flat and his face wasn’t made up. Nick liked to consider this Marlowe as his while the fans got the one he put on for the night. Marlowe had been amused to hear that.

Finally, Marlowe turned and saw him. He smiled as he sauntered close. “Hey, you.”

No ‘baby’. Not out in the open. Although some of the road crew certainly suspected their relationship by now, they were careful not to make a deal of it. By mutual agreement, they would acknowledge the relationship if confronted, but they weren’t going to tell anyone about it. So far, only Hideki had confronted them. Since he knew, they all figured that Ben should know. But,

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once the other two members of the band were told, the lack of interest was almost anti-climatic. Telling Bobby and Sol was simple too. Sol was shocked and a little pissed, but more because she still didn’t think Marlowe deserved Nick. They were working on that. They were working on a lot of things.

Just wait, Marlowe had said, we’ve only just begun.

Nick grinned as Marlowe got closer. The son-of-a-bitch had the sexiest roll of a walk. No wonder everyone wanted to fuck him. “Hey.” He beckoned with a finger. “Come with me.”

When Nick turned down a corner that took them toward the outside doors rather than the stairs that led down to the dressing rooms, Marlowe caught up to his side. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” Nick pushed open the door to one of the loading docks.

“Uh, you do realize Kip will come searching for us?”

“No. He won’t. I negotiated one hour.” He checked his watch.

“Which means we’ve got to hurry.” Since he hustled forward, he didn’t get to see the reaction on Marlowe’s face.

“Where are we going?”

They walked through a brief band of sunlight before the bulk of equipment trucks shaded them. “Here,” Nick announced once they’d passed two of the trucks. He fished keys from his pocket and pointed them at the blue and black tour bus that was parked beyond.

When he got to the door of the bus, he realized he was alone.

Turning, he saw Marlowe a few yards away, still near the truck.

Careful trepidation caused the narrowed eyes and bitten lip.

Nick had to grin as he pushed open the door. “Come on.”

“What are we doing?”

“Going inside.” Laughing silently at himself, Nick mounted the stairs into the bus.

This whole thing was so much more Marlowe than him.

He was far too direct a person to waste time on shit like this.

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But the mood had caught him and he’d already made all the arrangements. Besides, he was pretty sure Marlowe would get a kick out of it. If—he glanced behind him to see the singer still standing outside—he got on the damned bus.

Nick stuck his head out the door. “Come on, would you?

We’re running out of time.”

“Time for what?” Marlowe asked when he finally came into the bus.

Nick was halfway down the aisle toward the back. “I told you.

I negotiated an hour. But you took up some of that with your mic so we’ve only got a half hour.”

The bus wasn’t his lover’s problem. They’d been traveling on the thing for three weeks now. The problem was that they were alone together on the bus. That hadn’t happened since the accident. Nick planned to get over that problem very quickly.

He pushed open the door to the bedroom in the back and was pulling off his T-shirt by the time Marlowe made it to the opening.

“What are we doing?”

Nick threw his shirt at Marlowe’s chest. “Fucking. What do you think?”

“Why now? Why here?”

Nick pulled open his button fly jeans. “Now, because it’s three years and three days since we did this the first time.”

Judging by Marlowe’s intake of breath and the cringe around his eyes, Marlowe was well aware of the date. “You want to celebrate that?”

“Yeah, I do.” Nick shoved his pants and underwear down and sat to pull off his shoes. “That was the first time you kissed me.”

Slowly, Marlowe stepped into the room and shut the door.

Promising. “A lot happened that night.”

“Yeah. I know.” Leaving shoes, pants, and underwear on the floor, Nick lay his naked self back on the bed he’d prepared in

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advance. Thank God their current driver was a hopeless romantic.

The blankets were all spread, pillows arranged, and a bottle of lube was tucked up under one of them.

Marlowe stared at him, still unsure. Nick was gratified that, although he clearly had doubts, he couldn’t resist looking Nick up and down.

“You’re still dressed,” Nick pointed out.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Fuck? Oh yeah.” He bent his knee and let it fall a little to the side. At the same time, he reached down to palm his cock.

Watching him warmed Marlowe a little. He reached for the hem of his T-shirt. “You planned this all.”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

“I like fucking. Haven’t you noticed?”

Marlowe laughed and Nick knew he’d won. Wasn’t much of a contest, really. Marlowe was hopelessly weak in denying Nick sex for long.

“I noticed.” The T-shirt came off, revealing all that gorgeous tanned skin. His hands went to the drawstring of his pants. “But why the bus?”

“’Cause I want to put the bad stuff that happened that night behind us. Your therapist got us to talk about it.” He grinned as he crooked his free arm behind his head, stretching to give Marlowe the show of muscles he knew he liked. “I figured we should go one better.”

Marlowe shifted his weight on his feet, toeing out of his shoes. “Christine will be very pleased with you.” Pants and briefs were shoved down solid thighs then Marlowe was as naked as Nick liked him to be.

Marlowe crawled up between Nick’s legs. He slid a hand up Nick’s thigh until he, too, could wrap fingers around Nick’s shaft.

“Were you thinking we’d do the same thing?”

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“No.” Nick allowed himself a grunt of pleasure at the feel of Marlowe’s grip. “You’re gonna fuck me.” He met his lover’s eyes and let all of his wicked intent show in his grin. “Like you intended to do that night.”

Marlowe growled low and leaned in to lick at Nick’s bottom lip. “I told you I figured that wouldn’t happen.”

“Mmm.” Nick licked Marlowe’s darting tongue. “But that’s what you wanted.”

Marlowe swiped a thumb over the head of Nick’s cock, making him shudder. “Yes.”

“Do it.” He nipped Marlowe’s lip. “I’m already lubed up.”

Had taken a quick trip to the restroom right before the sound check. Had made things… interesting while he was onstage.

Marlowe startled then his jaw dropped. Then he laughed.

“You tricky slut. I didn’t even get to watch?”

“No time.” He bit Marlowe’s lower lip because he liked to, and because Marlowe liked it when he did. “There’s more lube under that pillow if you need it.”

“Let’s see.” Marlowe kissed him. At the same time, he released Nick’s cock so he could reach down, past Nick’s balls to finger his anus. Nick hissed at the pleasure of having Marlowe’s finger slide inside him. The first few times Marlowe had fucked him hadn’t been a breeze, but lately he’d come to like it. They’d even had one night where they’d had to seriously negotiate who would bottom.

One finger became two and Nick rolled into them, trying to get them as deep inside of his ass as possible. “I think you’re all ready,” Marlowe declared.

Nick switched his grip from his own cock to Marlowe’s. He squeezed. “So are you.”

“Yeah.” Marlowe pulled away to position himself. He did snatch up the lube and poured a small amount in his palm. “Just in case.”

Nick didn’t care. He wanted to get on with the fucking already.

He lifted his leg and hooked his ankle on Marlowe’s shoulder.

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“Do me already.”

Marlowe didn’t need more encouragement. He held Nick’s leg as he aimed his cock, then he was working his dick into Nick’s hole. Nick gasped at the quick bite of pain. He knew well enough that it’d go away soon.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy tonight,” Marlowe growled, leaning forward, opening Nick even more by pushing back his leg. “I’m gonna watch your ass and know I was there tonight.”

Nick groaned, clutching the pillow beside his head with one hand and his cock with the other. “Now you know how I feel.”

He was in, and he was moving, that awesome series of little thrusts that moved his dick so that it rubbed that spot inside Nick just right. He had Nick bent double, pinned under his weight, and Nick loved it. Loved the stretch in his leg, loved the clutch of his ass around its invader, loved the look of utter surrender on Marlowe’s face as he loved Nick’s body. Nick watched his mouth, mesmerized by his lips, the way they muttered words that Nick couldn’t hear but could feel in every sinew.

Nick released the pillow and his cock and reached for Marlowe. He caught the man’s shoulder and pulled as best he could. Marlowe, well versed in Nick’s antics during sex, knew to let his leg slide, knew to lean in farther, let him get his hands to the back of his neck, knew to continue in until their lips met. Their height difference when fucking like this was perfect for kissing. It might be the part Nick liked best. He sucked in Marlowe’s tongue as his ass sucked in Marlowe’s dick. Devouring him. Possessing him completely and utterly. Mine. The word rang in Nick’s head whenever they made love and Marlowe wholeheartedly accepted the fact whenever Nick voiced it.

“I love you.”

He murmured the words against Marlowe’s parted lips, filling his mouth with the words. When normally he’d be cursing and demanding fucking, he switched his talk this time. This time, words of love were important. It was easiest to speak them when they were joined, when the truth of the matter was in every

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minuscule move they made.

“I love you.”

Marlowe moaned and thrust harder into his body. Words of love poured from his lips, but words came easily to him. Nick heard and believed them. But now it was important that Marlowe hear him.

“Yours,” he cried softly, when normally he’d say mine. He shut his eyes, overcome by the wash of pleasure that Marlowe’s thrusts stirred in him. “Always yours.”

“Nicky.” Marlowe held him, shuddering. Lips caressed his throat, teeth grazing his pulse. “God, Nicky.”

“Love you.” He gripped the sweaty skin of Marlowe’s back.

“Yours.” He chanted in time with Marlowe’s thrusts, determined that his lover would believe the meaning of those words.

Marlowe growled, bit, gasped. He tensed and Nick knew he was coming, pouring himself into Nick’s body. Nick loved that thought, held onto it and kept his own rushing pleasure at bay to allow Marlowe his pleasure.

Marlowe shuddered to a stop. Groaned. Smiling, Nick held him, rubbing his back. He waited. Could have counted. Maybe he would have gotten to five. Maybe not. Then Marlowe was sliding down his body. Nick missed the filling length of his cock, but welcomed the sucking heat of Marlowe’s mouth on his dick.

Nick arched, digging his fingers into Marlowe’s hair. He let go completely, no reason to hold back. He shuddered and spilled down his lover’s throat.

They lay together for a few minutes of quiet, Marlowe’s head pillowed on Nick’s belly, Nick’s fingers stroking his hair. Then Nick’s phone rang.

He laughed. “That’d be Kip.”

Groaning, Marlowe rolled aside to allow Nick to sit up and fish his phone from his pants. Yep, it was Kip. “We’re coming.”

“Hopefully you’ve already done that.”

“Yes. We have.”

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“Was it worth it?”

Nick grinned at the naked man lying beside him. “Totally.”

“Good. You have ten minutes before I send someone for you.”

“Fifteen?”

“Twelve.”

Nick snorted. “Fine.” He hit the end button. “We’ve got twelve minutes.”

“Mmm.” Marlowe didn’t move.

Nick took the opportunity to roll on top of him, straddling his waist. Braced over his lover, he waited for those stormy blue eyes to open. “I meant every word.”

Marlowe blinked once. Nick was ready for him to ask, ready to say words of affirmation that didn’t come easily to him, but that he’d say if Marlowe needed to hear him.

Instead, Marlowe smiled. He reached up to cup Nick’s jaw. “I know. Thank you.”

Nick searched his face, making sure the message got across.

As far as he could tell, it had. “Okay.” He bent to bestow a brief kiss on his lover’s mouth before he pushed up to get his clothes back on.

He didn’t know what came next. He didn’t see a sunset for them to ride into. He knew there were tons of stumbling blocks in their future. But he believed that Marlowe knew he loved him, and he knew he was loved in return. With that, he was pretty sure they could get through anything.

About the Author

JET MYKLES has been writing sex stories back as far as junior high. Back then, the stories involved her favorite pop icons of the time but she soon extended beyond that realm into making up characters of her own. To this day, she hasn’t stopped writing sex, although her knowledge on the subject has vastly improved.

An ardent fan of fantasy and science fiction sagas, Jet prefers to live in a world of imagination where dragons are real, elves are commonplace, vampires are just people with special diets and lycanthropes live next door. In her own mind, she’s the spunky heroine who gets the best of everyone and always attracts the lean, muscular lads.

In real life, Jet is a self-proclaimed hermit, living in southern California with her life partner. She has a bachelor’s degree in acting, but her loathing of auditions has kept her out of the limelight.

You can find Jet on the web at: http://www.jetmykles.com

Trademarks Acknowledgment The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Bluetooth: Bluetooth Sig Inc.

Budweiser: Anheuser-Busch INBEV S.A.

Coca-Cola: The Coca-Cola Company

Converse: Converse, Inc.

Corona: Grupo Modelo S.A.B. DE C.V.

Corvette: General Motors

Dodge Charger: Daimler Chrysler Group LLC

Don Julio: Diageo Norwalk, CT

Ford Fusion: Ford Motor Company

Foster’s Lager: Oil Can Breweries
iPod: Apple Inc.

Jim Beam: Beam Global Spirits and Wine, Inc.

Les Paul: Gibson USA

Lexus: Toyota Motor Company

Lincoln: Ford Motor Company

Miller: MillerCoors LLC

NASCAR: Turner Sports Interactive, Inc.

Nikes: Nike

Saturn: General Motors

Sharpie: Sanford L.P., A Newell Rubbermaid Company Stratocaster: Fender Musical Instruments Corporation Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company

Toyota: Toyota Motor Company

If you’re a GLBT and questioning student heading off to university, should know that there are resources on campus for you. Here’s just a sample:

US Local GLBT college campus organizations
http://dv-8.com/resources/us/local/campus.html

GLBT Scholarship Resources
http://tinyurl.com/6fx9v6

Syracuse University
http://lgbt.syr.edu/

Texas

A&M
http://glbt.tamu.edu/

Tulane University
http://www.oma.tulane.edu/LGBT/Default.htm

University of Alaska
http://www.uaf.edu/agla/

University of California, Davis
http://lgbtrc.ucdavis.edu/

University of California, San Francisco
http://lgbt.ucsf.edu/

University of Colorado
http://www.colorado.edu/glbtrc/

University of Florida
http://www.dso.ufl.edu/multicultural/lgbt/

University of Hawaiÿi, Mānoa
http://manoa.hawaii.edu/lgbt/

University of Utah
http://www.sa.utah.edu/lgbt/

University of Virginia
http://www.virginia.edu/deanofstudents/lgbt/

Vanderbilt University
http://www.vanderbilt.edu/lgbtqi/