Books by Annabeth Albert
Portland Heat novellas:
Served Hot
Baked Fresh
Delivered Fast
Knit Tight
Perfect Harmony series:
Treble Maker
Love Me Tenor
LOVE ME TENOR
Perfect Harmony
Annabeth Albert
LYRICAL SHINE
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by
Title Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Love Me Tenor Playlist
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
To Wendy Qualls, whose careful beta reading and musical knowledge enriched this story and whose friendship continues to enrich my life.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, an enormous thank you to the entire team at Kensington. Their enthusiasm for the #PortlandHeat and #PerfectHarmony series makes working with them gratifying. A special thank you to the graphics department for the amazing cover—they absolutely captured my vision of Trevor. Thank you to my editor, Peter Senftleben, and my agent, Saritza Hernandez, for believing in the #PerfectHarmony series. Thank you to my beta readers, who read early versions of this book and whose comments helped flesh out the journey for Trevor and Jalen.
This book was written during the Ruby Slippered Sisterhood’s annual Winter Writing Festival, an online event I highly recommend for writers of all levels. Thank you to the festival participants for pushing me during sprints and for providing companionship on what is often a lonely journey. My family was particularly understanding during the push to finish this book, especially during the phase where it seemed like I had “Story of My Life” and “Kerosene” on constant loop in my office.
Finally, no book ever truly lives until it has readers. Thank you to everyone who read Book One in the #PerfectHarmony series and especially thank you for sharing, reviewing, reaching out to me on social media, and the countless other ways that readers have spread their love for the series and my books. Each and every one of you is special to me.
Chapter One
@NextDirectionShow Ready to find the next big Boy Band sensation? We are putting together groups now! The winning group gets a record deal, post-show tour & other prizes!
@NextDirectionShow We can’t wait for our groups to arrive! Filming starts in June & we can’t wait for you to meet our contestants!
The heater was broken again. Trevor shifted around, trying to find a stray bit of warmth from the ancient radiator in his tiny dorm room. The pile of textbooks on the foot of his bed went skittering to the floor as he adjusted the phone to his ear.
“Come on. You’re perfect boy band material,” Dawn said, her voice all sparkle despite the bad cell phone connection. She was in LA, home of sun and happy people and the best, most terrifying three months of Trevor’s life, when he’d played a minor part in the a cappella reality show Perfect Harmony.
“A boy band? You want me to be in a boy band?” Here in Iowa, land of reality and final exams and thirty-seven days from homelessness, Trevor couldn’t match Dawn’s enthusiasm. She had been a production assistant on Perfect Harmony but now had an assistant producer gig. Everything was awesome in her world, including the new show she’d landed on.
“Yeah. You’re exactly the kind of harmless cute that wins over audiences.”
“Harmless cute? You mean I look fifteen?”
“Okay. Hot in a nonthreatening manner. That better?” Dawn sighed, and there was a sound of papers shuffling. “Look. I loved you on Perfect Harmony. And I’m sorry that didn’t pan out for you, but you’re photogenic and you’ve got a decent voice and I really have to fill these slots so we can make housing arrangements—”
“Hang on. Did you say housing?” Trevor looked at his gray cement-block walls and college-issued furniture that were only his for exactly thirty-seven more days. And then? Nothing. He’d sent out stacks of ré-sumés, but every other soon-to-be graduate in the state was also looking, and most had way more employable skills than he did. No job had miraculously appeared, and he had no savings for a deposit on a place and no lead on a roommate situation, thanks to what had happened with his family.
“Yes. All the competing boy bands will be sharing a house together. It’ll be a big part of the show, and meals will be included, too. We’ll pay for you to fly to Vancouver next month. I’ve got the perfect group to put you in. A bunch of other guys like you. It’ll be terrific.”
“Not LA?”
“Vancouver is cheaper for filming. I’ll get you paperwork for making sure you have a passport. So are you in?”
No, I’m out. Out, out, out. Out had landed him in this predicament. He’d been stupid enough to come out to his family at spring break. Now he had no job at his father’s church waiting for him, no money, no hope of money, and no place to live after graduation. His dad’s harsh words still rung in his ears and his mother’s bleak face wasn’t something he’d forget anytime soon.
And yeah, he could sing, but the ability to harmonize was hardly a meal ticket. He’d put his a cappella days behind him and buckled down at school, but for what? A degree he was never going to use? A family he no longer had to impress?
“Trevor? You there? Can I count on you?”
“Yeah. I’m in.” What the hell. He could sing some teenybopper tunes while his life fell apart. At least he’d have a roof over his head. And Dawn said the other guys were like him. Probably fellow a cappella geeks. Yeah, this could work. He pulled his sweatshirt closer around him. Anything had to be better than this limbo land.
One month later
“You brought your luggage?” The receptionist looked at Trevor like he’d brought a snake to the movie studio offices instead of a rolling suitcase and a backpack.
“My flight was late. And then customs—”
“Fine.” She held up a hand, shimmery with the sort of nail art Trevor’s sisters weren’t allowed to wear. “You can have a seat.” She motioned to a seating area with square leather and chrome chairs and a metallic-looking shag rug.
“Wait. Is my group here yet? Stand Out!?”
“Let me check.” She glanced at a pink sheet on a clipboard. “No.” She made a shooing motion back in the direction of the waiting area.
“Thanks.”
The receptionist disappeared back down a hallway, teetering on shoes that put her a good six inches taller than Trevor. The building was kind of a letdown. The whole complex was a series of gigantic gray warehouses, but the inside of this one was like any other office building in America. Or Canada. He’d only been in Vancouver a couple of hours and kept forgetting he wasn’t in the States anymore.
His bag made a loud clickety-clack sound as he dragged it across the tile floor to the seating area, but
the only occupant in the chairs didn’t even glance up. The guy was about Trevor’s age, maybe a bit younger. His eyes were half-closed, like waiting for producers to call his name was just so boring. He had that jock sprawl, maximizing every inch of the low chair. Trevor took a seat with a good view of the guy. Indifferent eye candy was his favorite kind.
He had this thing for straight guys, particularly jocks. Jocks were his personal kryptonite; they made his knees turn into magnets, headed straight for the floor. And the guy across from him was the deadly, heart-stopping red kryptonite brand of jock. His build was perfect—not too tall, because Trevor was picky about that—but jacked like a Chevy with a lift kit. Hell, even the dude’s neck was ripped. Jock’s foot moved back and forth in motion with the music pumping in his ears from pricey Beats headphones.
Because dude’s eyes were shut, Trevor felt free to continue his inventory of hotness. Baggy shorts. T-shirt for a wrestling team. Wrestling. Trevor had to shift around on the slick leather couch before continuing his appraisal. Cheap white socks, but black shoes that probably cost more than Trevor’s bike. Rich elitist jock? Yes, please.
The outfit was notable because Trevor would have figured most guys coming to a TV studio would want to dress up a little. He had, but of course now his pressed khakis and dress shirt seemed horribly overdressed compared to jock boy and the receptionist wearing a cutoff denim skirt and a tank top that seemed to be made out of nothing more than knotted rope.
Maybe dude wasn’t there to be on TV. Or if he was, maybe he was there for a different show from the music reality show Trevor was on. He certainly didn’t look like the boy band type. Dude looked ready for an MMA-fighter type show, or maybe working as a stunt double. But if he wasn’t on Trevor’s show, that meant—
“You done checking me out or you need me to turn to the other side?” Jock’s eyes snapped open. They were a startling shade of hazel, almost amber. And at the moment, they were filled with undisguised irritation.
Oh crap. Trevor gulped hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He dug out his phone, giving himself something to look down at. He’d been caught before and it almost never ended well. With any luck, Dawn would show up soon and he would never have to see jock boy again.
“Oh don’t be shy.” Jock boy had a killer whisper: husky with a hint of command to it. He said it with the air of someone who knew exactly how hot he was. And now he was going to make Trevor pay for noticing.
Trevor didn’t look up from his phone, but inside he was squirming in his chair. In a different situation, he’d be more than happy to let this play out until he was on his knees in the restroom with jock boy berating him, but he’d sworn to turn over a new leaf. Plus there was always the risk that jock wanted all the verbal abuse and none of the fun. No more gambling.
“Yeah. That’s what I figured.” The other guy snorted.
“Trevor! You made it!” Dawn came barreling across the lobby, red hair streaming behind her. She was flanked by two nearly identical blond giants—one wore a blue polo shirt and khaki pants, the other a brown polo and blue pants. Both had the same bored smirk on their faces.
“What are you doing with your luggage?” Dawn’s smile was replaced by a frown, like Trevor was some clueless kid making her day more difficult. “Why didn’t you give it to the receptionist? They’re sending all the contestants’ stuff over to the house while we tape the intro segments.”
“Here. I’ll take it.” Blond giant number one grabbed Trevor’s bags, tossing them like they were a set of hand weights.
“Jalen!” Dawn stepped around Trevor to hug jock boy, who stood up to greet her. “It’s about time. I was starting to freak!”
Just his luck. Dawn hung on Jalen the jock like they were old friends, tugging his headphones down to his neck and rubbing his closely cropped black hair. Oh geez. Jalen looked a bit young to be Dawn’s boy toy; she had to be in her late twenties. But no matter what Jalen was to Dawn, he was now a giant pain in the neck to Trevor. A sick feeling gathered in his gut and his hands tightened.
“Did you meet Jalen already, Trevor?” she asked.
“No,” Trevor said carefully. The tension in his muscles climbed to trampoline spring tight—any second now Jalen was going to call him out for creeping on him.
“We’re acquainted,” Jalen drawled at the same time.
“Um. Okay.” Dawn frowned but luckily kept talking before Jalen could reveal way more than Trevor wanted. “So this is Carter. And over there is Carson.”
Twins. They had to be twins right? Trevor was already in too much shit for gaping and didn’t want to stare hard enough to figure it out.
“So, are we ready to become the next boy band?” Carter spoke like some dude on an infomercial, each word carefully articulated for maximum impact. “I am so ready to win this thing.”
The riot in Trevor’s stomach grew worse. Win? With Jalen the jock? As in Trevor was now in the same group as jock boy? And the blond giants? For the next six weeks?
“Yeah. Let’s do this.” Carson came back over. Like Carter, he had a macho, commanding voice, probably a baritone when he sang. Heck. Trevor really didn’t want to be the only tenor on a team of One Direction wannabes.
“Okay Stand Out!, let’s go film your intro.” Dawn motioned for them to follow her down the hall.
Oh hell. He was really going to be on camera, in a boy band, right freaking now.
The taping room was small, a collection of stools in front of some lights with two camerapeople. A perky blonde in strappy sandals stood up as they entered the room.
“Kaitlyn Ellsworth, meet Stand Out!” Dawn said, making a gesture encompassing the four of them. “Guys, Kaitlyn is the hostess of Next Direction. She’ll be doing all the interview segments.”
“Hi, everyone!” Kaitlyn stuck out her hand to each of them.
She, too, was taller than Trevor. Most days his height didn’t bug him—okay, that was a lie. Every day it bugged him how the rest of the world seemed to strut around on stilts while he stayed a very earth bound five-foot-five. But today he felt even more out of place than usual. His height. His clothes. His voice. Heck, even his Twilight-pale skin felt off. Like the receptionist, Kaitlyn had a fake tan, a weird orange glow to her delicate features. Carter and Carson also had that Hollywood glow going on.
Carter and Carson took stools next to each other. On closer inspection, both of them were what Trevor’s mom called bottle blondes. Fake. Carter had dark roots, while Carson had more of a highlight thing going. Trevor could have used name tags to tell the maybe twins apart. They were both a bit older than him, maybe midtwenties.
Trevor ended up on the end, next to Jalen. Unlike the jelly-bean orange Hollywood types, Jalen had the most amazing skin tone: a warm chestnut color with golden undertones.
“Let’s get started.” Kaitlyn carefully arranged herself on her stool, pulling down the skirt of her teeny dress and fluffing her dark hair. “So you guys are the gay group right?”
What? Trevor tried to catch Dawn’s eye off camera, but she was shuffling papers. He waited for one of the other guys to speak up, but Carter and Carson were nodding in unison.
Jalen laughed, a low rumble like a saxophone—all knowledge and sass. Yes. He was about to put the interviewer in her place. Trevor leaned forward, eager to hear—
“That how you’re playing it?”
“Gay is the new cute.” Kaitlyn tittered. “Four hot young guys. Two sets of boyfriends. Your social media stats are going to be off the hook!”
“Boyfriends?” Trevor croaked. He looked over at Carter and Carson. He was supposed to be one of the twins’ boyfriend? He’d only come out at Easter—and now he was supposed to have a boyfriend? In front of millions of TV viewers?
“Yes! Isn’t it perfect! Carter and Carson are already a couple—”
“But you’re twins!” Damn his mouth, the words just tumbled out. “Aren’t you?”
“Boyfriends,” Carter said, looking sharply at Tre
vor.
“We’ve been together since forever,” Carson added.
“Glee club. Disco night.” They singsonged together, showing almost no range but scary unison.
“See? Isn’t it perfect?” Kaitlyn said. “Carter and Carson are YouTube stars. Everyone knows they’re a couple. So we pair them with a hip, modern young couple and . . . magic.”
“Magic,” Trevor repeated dumbly.
“So you’re saying I have to be short stuff here’s boyfriend?” Jalen asked, speaking slowly, like he was waiting for someone to contradict him or maybe working up his own list of objections.
Please contradict Kaitlyn. Please object. Please someone let me out of this.
“Just for the cameras. Viewers are going to love this angle. Trust me.” Kaitlyn leaned forward.
Trevor wouldn’t trust her as far as he could toss her scrawny body. How in the heck was he supposed to play someone’s boyfriend? He’d never had a boyfriend. And why hadn’t Dawn told him on the phone that this was a gay group—
Bunch of guys just like you.
Hell. He hadn’t been out last summer on the a cappella singing competition where he’d met Dawn. He’d been a part of his campus’s gay-straight alliance, working up the courage to come out to his folks, and his best friend Lucas was gay, but on the show he’d kept his head down. Never said anything to Dawn, even though they were sort-of friends.
But she’d guessed.
People always guessed about Trevor.
It was his voice: too high and lilting, even when he worked hard to butch it up. And his height and delicate build. And whatever the fuck else people saw when they looked at him.
Love Me Tenor Page 1
