Love Me Tenor

by Annabeth Albert

But they always seemed to know. The bullies and straight jocks and girls wanting to adopt him—they all always seemed to know what he was.

  And now the world was about to know, too, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel about that. His insides felt like a can of Mountain Dew someone had let roll around in the bed of a truck on a bumpy road. He hooked his feet under the rim of the stool, anchoring himself down.

  “Can you guys make that work?” Kaitlyn looked from him to Jalen and back. Trevor looked at the door. He had seventy-eight dollars to his name. Not even enough for a plane ticket back to Iowa. If he balked, he’d be royally screwed. But he didn’t really need to worry. No way was Jalen the jock going to agree to play his boyfriend.

  Hell. Jalen needed shorty to be the one to say no. He’d promised Dawn he’d agree to whatever fool things the producers dreamed up, promised her he wouldn’t cause trouble. He glanced over at her. She was nodding up and down like a squirrel on crack. She gave him a thumbs-up. This show was Dawn’s big jump up the production ladder, and she was risking it by giving Jalen a shot. Unlike these other guys, he didn’t have prior camera experience.

  Come on, he tried to send the thought to Trevor. Just say no.

  But Trevor merely nodded. “If Jalen’s okay with it.”

  Bastard. Oh no, he did not just put it on Jalen. It’s on. Jalen smiled wide, spread his legs like he didn’t have a care in the world, stretched. Oh yeah. This acting thing wasn’t hard at all.

  “Sure. I can be short stuff’s boo. Just tell me when I got to kiss him and junk.”

  Trevor turned red, then slightly purple. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. Good. Let him be pissed. It was probably a low—pun totally intended—blow to go after Trevor’s height. But back in the lobby he’d been checking Jalen out like he was a new pair of kicks at Foot Locker and now he was acting like he’d rather get his crack waxed than be saddled with Jalen.

  “Great!” Kaitlyn smiled.

  Trevor looked like he might puke. Jalen smiled wider, giving him a wink. Maybe this could even be fun. Torturing Trevor could be his new hobby. And seriously, dude should be tripping all over himself with happy. Why bother checking out the merchandise if he was going to get all self-righteous about turning down a freebie?

  Kaitlyn started in on a boring series of questions about where they were from and what they liked to sing. Doppelbanger boys—thank you, shorty, for the best question of the night—were from Minneapolis and liked to sing pop. Harmony was their bitch. Yawn. Seriously, dudes looked straight out of the doppelbanger and boyfriend twins tumblr. blogs Jalen’s friends were passing around the other week. Trevor, whose last name was Daniels, was from Boring Place, Iowa, right on the South Dakota border, and liked all kinds of music. Miss Freaking America with his careful answers to Kaitlyn’s questions.

  He looked the wholesome Middle America part, too—strawberry blond hair, freckles, sky blue eyes. Cute, like an Old Navy ad—all perky and preppy and sanitized for mass consumption. He was perfect for this boy band shit.

  “Jalen? How about you?”

  “I’m Jalen Smith. I’m from LA. I rap. I can lay down a bass line. I listen to old school hip-hop when I want to chill.” He didn’t bother name-dropping. He doubted any of these Wonder Bread boys had even heard of Grand Master Flash and the Furious Five.

  “You rap?” Trevor’s jaw fell open. Man, dude just could not control his mouth.

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m bringing to the table. You guys cover hip-hop, I’m your dude for the rap verses. And I can like harmonize on other stuff.” I think.

  “Wait a second.” Trevor held up a hand. “If he’s the rapper, and they’re background vocals, who’s the main lead?”

  “You, of course.” Kaitlyn’s heart-shaped face fell into a perfectly concerned frown.

  “Oh. Yeah.” Trevor looked more than a little green as he nodded.

  Great. Jalen wasn’t the only one pretending to be more than he was. This was going to be epically awful.

  Chapter Two

  @NextDirectionShow Our groups are here and getting settled in! Follow their accounts for moving-in pictures & fun tidbits!

  @CarsonNCarter Arrived in Vancouver with my sweetie! Can’t wait to share our love with the world!

  @CarterNCarson Here’s a pic of Carson and me ready to win this thing!

  After the taping, Trevor raced to the van like he was eleven again, needing to beat all his siblings to claim the shotgun seat next to the driver. Carson and Carter took the very back seat, snuggling and sighing at everything remotely interesting they passed. Jalen took the window seat in the middle row, with Dawn next to him, the two deep in conversation the whole way through downtown Vancouver.

  God. Was Jalen really Dawn’s boyfriend? How did that conversation work?

  Hi baby. I need a huge favor. Can you kiss and junk this dorky guy for me? For six weeks? On camera?

  Yeah. That must have been a fun one.

  “The house is in Kitsilano. You’ll be close to the parks and beaches!” Dawn raised her voice to play tour guide as they got closer. And of course she was fast to clarify that their downtime for exploring said parks and beaches would be minimal or come as part of “challenges and group outings,” which translated into all camera, all the time.

  You can do this. You signed up for the camera. No matter how many pep talks Trevor gave himself, he still felt queasy as the thought of how much freedom he’d signed away.

  The van turned into an area of narrow streets and older, expensive-looking homes—mansions really. He’d grown up in a pretty big house, but most of these places put his parents’ place to shame, especially when it came to the landscaping. Complex gardens dominated the front yards, unlike the scrubby little lawns of Fair River, Iowa, where he’d grown up.

  Everyone else in the car started oohing and aahing over the neighborhood, but all Trevor noticed was the long drive from the studio. He hoped dinner would be early. He had energy bars in his backpack, but he needed to eat soon or he’d be sorry later. They pulled into a huge brown and green house surrounded by other overgrown Craftsman houses and evergreen trees. Parking was tight. He bet the neighbors were going to adore having twelve guys and a production crew roaming around.

  “So they’re going to film you guys walking around and discovering the place,” Dawn said. “So act really wowed. Lots of reaction shots. And you guys got lucky. The other two groups are in big four-and five-person rooms, but since Carter and Carson requested to room together—”

  “Thank you,” the not-twins said together.

  “They’ll be in one of the smaller rooms. Which means Jalen and Trevor will be sharing. Because you guys are a couple and everything.”

  “Wait. So we have to like be a couple around the other groups?” Trevor asked.

  “The cameras will be around most of the time—a lot of the show is going to be interactions at the house and the dynamics of the competing groups. You’ll have some privacy in your room of course.”

  Yeah. Privacy. With the one dude he really didn’t want to be alone with. That was reassuring.

  “But, ideally, you guys would play a couple all the time. You have to think of your brand. Remember, the point of the show is to grow your social media following—YouTube subscribers, Twitter followers, Facebook fans, all the other networks we’ll be tracking. Your brand right now is cute gay guys in love.”

  “We can work with that!” said one of the not-twins.

  “Love it!” said the other as they climbed down from the van.

  “So go wander around. Act natural, even when you see the camera guys. They’ve put signs on the doors of the rooms, so you’ll know when you find yours. And remember, reaction shots are money!”

  Too bad there wasn’t a camera around right then. Trevor could give her a killer reaction shot. Dropped jaw, eyes bugging out of his head, steam escaping his ears—he could even do a full-on Muppet flail because what the hell? It wasn’t enough that he had
to pretend to be Jalen’s boyfriend when they were performing and in public. No, he had apparently signed on for a 24-7 deal, including sharing a room.

  Carter and Carson raced ahead, no doubt eager to find a room with a bed in it. Like that wasn’t going to get annoying—the two of them all happy and snuggly while Trevor faked tolerating Jalen in his space.

  Liar. Okay. He’d love Jalen all up in his space, but that wasn’t happening for about a billion reasons, including the one where he was pretty sure Jalen was straight and merely going along with Dawn’s plan.

  Rocks crunched under his feet as he made his way up the path, Jalen and Dawn trailing behind. He stopped to watch two other vans unload. One group wore matching T-shirts that said “Keg Stand.” Every last one of them looked like the type of frat boy who would love to give Trevor a swirly or lock him in the basement. The other group had five fence-post thin guys in black skinny jeans and white T-shirts.

  “No one told me there was a dress code.” Jalen addressed Dawn, but he made a sweeping gesture encompassing Trevor, too. “Where’s our matching uniforms?”

  “Sorry. With you and Trevor getting in so late, wardrobe didn’t have time to get you guys in. But don’t worry! Tomorrow will be awesome! They’ll have a look that will help you solidify your branding.”

  “Goody,” Jalen drawled. “I can’t wait to see what cute boys in love looks like.”

  Me too. If Trevor hadn’t already determined Jalen to be one of the most confounding people ever, he might find his sarcasm funny.

  “Come on.” She punched Jalen’s arm. “This is going to be great. Now I have to get to a production meeting. Go. Wander. Give good reaction shots. Don’t be mean to Trevor. He’s sweet.”

  She hugged Trevor like that would make up for the avalanche of bombshells she’d dropped on him in the past few hours. Don’t be mean to Trevor. Like he was a damned puppy Jalen should learn to tolerate.

  Trevor watched her head around the side of the house. His feet felt stuck to the gravel. He had no interest in finding the room he’d be sharing with his “boyfriend.” After the revelations of the afternoon, the thing probably had a single heart-shaped bed.

  “Come on.” Jalen tugged Trevor’s arm. “Let’s go see how bad this is.”

  Trevor didn’t really like being herded along. However, a ways down the path a camera dude was filming the groups walking in, so he didn’t shake Jalen loose. He needed to take advantage of being out of the range of the camera’s microphone to get some things set with Jalen. At least they hadn’t mic’d them individually for this scene.

  “If it’s a single bed, you’re sleeping on the floor.” He kept his voice low but firm.

  “Ha. Like you wouldn’t jump at the chance to get me in bed, shorty. You should be so lucky.”

  Oh. My. God. Now that Jalen had said it, Trevor couldn’t shake the image of the two of them, a tiny bed, wrestling for space, ending up all tangled up. . . .

  And Jalen calling him shorty in the middle of that little fantasy of never-going-to-happen.

  “Listen.” Trevor stopped short of the entryway, lowering his voice and trying to keep his face neutral for the cameras. “We’re going to get one thing straight. I’m going along with this pretend boyfriend crap, but you don’t get to call me names. No more short jokes.”

  He expected Jalen to argue, but he nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “Thank you.”

  A sly smile crept across Jalen’s face. “I’ll just have to come up with a better pet name for you. Snookums.” And with that, he leaned in, a parody of a cheek kiss, breath rushing across Trevor’s skin. “Race you to the room. Last one there gets the floor.”

  “What? Wait!” Trevor was still recovering from the nearness of Jalen as he ducked around him, through the stone entryway. Trevor raced after him, feet skidding across the polished hardwood of the foyer. Jalen took the large oak staircase two at a time. He paused at the landing. “You coming, sho—pookie?”

  I’m going to kill him in his sleep.

  The upstairs was a long hallway with wooden doors ablaze with cutesy handmade signs. “Keg Stand” on a cutout beer mug. “Heat Loss” on a flame. And “Stand Out! Jalen & Trevor” on hearts. Freaking hearts. Pink and purple, like valentine’s candy.

  “A bunk bed? Seriously?” Jalen pulled up short as he opened the door. Trevor peered over his shoulder. The room was as tiny as his dorm room back in Iowa. Jalen could touch both the bed and the wall, something he demonstrated as they came into the room. The bed was one of those metal, full on bottom, single on top affairs that half the people Trevor knew in high school had. Two cheap laminate dressers stood side by side and a single chair took up the corner. Their bags had been tossed in front of the dressers.

  “Bottom.” Trevor grabbed his backpack, tossing it on the bed.

  “I figured.” Jalen smirked. “But no. I don’t do top bunks. You should be thrilled—”

  “You want bottom anything. I get it. Is everything a sex joke to you?”

  “In a word, yes.”

  “Are you even gay, or do you just like teasing me?”

  “Teasing you, sho—sweetie pants, is the most fun I’ve had in weeks. But I’m dead serious about not liking top bunks.” It was a frustrating nonanswer to Trevor’s question, but Jalen didn’t seem to care as he plucked Trevor’s backpack off the bed.

  “How about we flip for it?” Trevor was not going to let Jalen and his bossy teasing win. He dug in his pocket and fished out a quarter. “Heads or tails?”

  “You have to ask? I like tails.” He said tail all suggestive, like Trevor’s brain wasn’t already on sex overload. Trevor wasn’t sure why he cared so much whether Jalen was straight or not—either way he was still a juvenile jerk.

  “Fine.” Trevor tossed the coin, but it missed his open palm, hitting the carpeted floor.

  “Yes!” Jalen looked down at the shiny backside of the quarter and fist pumped.

  “Best two out of three?” Trevor’s stomach sank. He got dizzy sometimes. Having the top bunk was not a good idea, but he didn’t see a way out of it.

  “No way.” Jalen flopped onto the bottom bunk. “But if you wanted to share, we could work something out. . . .”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” He claimed the dresser closest to the door and started stuffing his stuff into the drawers. “Aren’t you worried that Dawn’s going to get jealous? You flirting with me all the time?”

  “Flirting? This is flirting?” Jalen feigned surprise with a hand on his chest and eyes wide. “And you think I’m hitting it with Dawn?”

  “Look. I know you’re not really gay. Or interested. Or whatever. But if you’re doing gay for pay, we should get a few things straight.”

  “Yes. Whatever. I am definitely whatever about you and this whole thing. Go ahead. Set me straight.”

  “No name calling. No teasing. If the cameras aren’t rolling, you do your thing, I do my thing. I am not your entertainment. Got it?”

  “Loud and clear.” Jalen pulled his headphones up from around his neck and stretched out on the bed, closing his eyes. “Let me know if they ring a bell for dinner or something. If that’s not too much trouble, snuggle kitten.”

  Trevor’s hand tightened around a pair of socks. He wanted to lob it at Jalen’s head, knock those headphones off. Six more weeks of this? He was pretty sure one of them wasn’t going to live through it.

  Each of Jalen’s breaths felt trapped behind a wall of anger. In. Out. In. Jalen laced his hands together over his stomach, feeling the rise and fall. He let Flo Rida’s beat wash over him, chilling out, trying to resist the urge to get another dig in. Dawn was going to kill him when she got wind of how he was treating Trevor. Part of the problem was that Trevor was cute as fuck when he was all riled up. His freckles popped out, his eyes got bluer, his cheeks got pinker.

  Mr. Prissy and his you’re-not-really-gay shit. He’d heard that crap before. Like just because Jalen’s skin was brown, he must be hitting it with chicks
and obsessing about car rims and gold-plated grills. Racist BS. And what the fuck was Trevor doing checking him out so intently if he was so convinced Jalen was chilling with the ladies?

  No way was he going to be able to figure Trevor and all his rules out. Fuck this shit. He pushed up off the bed.

  “I’m going to check the place out,” he said to Trevor, not bothering to take his headphones down. “See you at dinner, sweetums.”

  Not waiting for a reply, he walked into the hall, not exactly sure where he was headed. Out. Away. Anywhere but here. But that wasn’t an option. Dinner meant people. And people meant irritation. And irritation Jalen already had plenty of. What he wanted was a beer. And in Canada he could legally enjoy a brew or three, even though twenty-one was still almost a year away. Dawn said the show was providing all the food. Maybe they’d be providing booze, too. After all, what would be more fun to film than a bunch of liquored up musician wannabes? He headed downstairs.

  When Dawn had sold him on the show idea, she’d told him the house was really cool. He wasn’t sure it was all that. Lots of dark hardwood paneling and shiny floors. He’d hoped it would be all sleek and modern, but this was more like someone’s rich grandma’s house. By the stairs, a couple of the other dudes were chilling in a lounge area with white leather couches that overlooked a great room below. Jalen gave them a nod but didn’t stop. He wasn’t in the mood to meet and greet. Fiddling with his phone, he flipped on some get-happy music. He needed something with a little jive to it. Couldn’t go wrong with a little Wu-Tang Clan.

  The beat put some bounce in his step as he made his way downstairs and discovered the great room was filled with more show people on couches and a smaller living room with a piano. One of the hipster group members was picking out a tune while his bandmates watched. A camera dude was filming, so Jalen skirted along the back of the room. White-shirted catering folks were bustling around the dining room table, setting up a buffet of something that smelled amazing—like Mama Kern’s lasagna, all rich and full of tomatoes and garlic.