“So basically we’re a queer boy band version of the Wiggles?” Jalen asked. Trevor snorted. Nice to know he had a sense of humor.
“What color am I?” Trevor asked.
“Jalen is lemon yellow.” She smiled encouragingly at Jalen. “You look terrific in yellow.”
Actually, no, he didn’t. He looked jaundiced, and yellow did funky things to his eyes.
“I—”
Dawn held up a hand before he could protest. “Carter and Carson requested lime green and baby blue.” Ah. That explained why Jalen didn’t land either of the colors he did look good in. Low man on the totem pole and all that.
“Which makes me?” Trevor’s voice held a trace of panic to it.
“Pink. You’re the pink. It’s edgy, newly reclaimed by hip men, and it’ll make you pop!” Dawn spoke much too fast to be convincing. And okay, now lemon yellow seemed positively awesome. At least he wasn’t going to be stuck in pink.
Trevor made a noise not unlike a duck dying. Poor dude. He already looked way younger than twenty-two. Muted pastels were going to make him look ready for a middle school dance. Jalen felt a pang of sympathy. Not enough to offer to switch, but still, he felt a little guilty about his own relief.
“Here you go.” Dawn took a pink blazer and T-shirt emblazoned with “Stand Out!” from the suit bag. “Just give it a try! Wardrobe tailored the arms for you and everything.”
Oh yeah, Dawn, remind the short guy that he’s too small for off-the-rack stuff. Smooth. Jalen sent her a message with his eyes as he grabbed the yellow T-shirt. Clearly, it wasn’t going to be a shower sort of morning.
“Uh.” Trevor’s eyes darted wildly from Dawn to Jalen and back again. Jalen shrugged his shirt on. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up more so he could watch this play out.
“Come on. Your khakis work fine. Switch your shirt. I promise not to ogle you,” Dawn said to Trevor.
Jalen didn’t make any such promise. Trevor did the shirt switch faster than a seventh grader in gym class trying not to show skin, but Jalen got a glimpse of nicely freckled shoulders and dark pink nipples. Nice. Very nice. The shirt was way tighter than Trevor’s pajama shirt—and who in the heck wore matching pajamas anymore? But instead of exaggerating Trevor’s small frame, the more fitted clothing made him look hot. Jalen had always liked slimmer guys, and Trevor wasn’t painfully thin as much as delicately proportioned—not much in the way of muscles, but no visible ribs either.
“I should find my pants. You need anything else?” he asked Dawn as he stood up. Jalen didn’t bother grabbing the blazer that was supposed to go over the T-shirt. The preppy look could come as soon as Dawn left. Besides, while he wasn’t Trevor’s breed of modest, Jalen wasn’t wearing boxers under his flannel pants, and he didn’t need to flash the goods.
“Yes, actually.” Dawn twisted her hair around her finger. “I was hoping to catch Trevor alone last night, but that didn’t happen. I wanted to apologize if I . . . uh . . . outed you?”
“It’s okay.” Trevor was polite as always, but his eyes said he’d been more than a little miffed. Or maybe that was just at being stuck with Jalen.
“I honestly thought you understood what I meant on the phone.”
“It was an honest mistake.” Trevor looked like he was eating sand, but he still did a better job accepting Dawn’s apology than Jalen would have.
“Could have mentioned the boyfriend business,” Jalen mumbled. He hadn’t been too surprised by the gay group thing, but he wouldn’t have minded a little heads-up that he was about to be sparky’s main man.
“Um. Yeah.” Dawn turned pink. “I figured that would be an easier sell in person.”
Oh so it’s like that, huh? Jalen made a frustrated noise. Typical big sister, trying to set him up with Trevor and figuring he wouldn’t say no once he saw the cuteness in person. Unfortunately, said cute dude didn’t seem to want a whole lot to do with Jalen, and this was gonna be a long six weeks. Whatever Dawn was scheming for was so not happening.
“I’m not that bad.” Trevor took offense at Jalen’s frustration.
“Hey, I can pretend anything. Gay. Straight. Boyfriend. Whatever.” Jalen shrugged. “Just wouldn’t have minded a little warning.”
“With that in mind . . .” Dawn pulled out some papers from the clipboard she’d been holding. “Here’s the sheet music to the new Christina song you guys will be covering for your first YouTube video.”
Fuck. Jalen had always made a point of avoiding her music. He still hadn’t heard her latest. Really, Dawn? Sheet music? Not bothering to look at the paper, he grabbed his phone and headed straight to his music.
“There a particular version you recommend?” he said to Dawn. Trevor was busy studying the sheet.
“Oh um.” Dawn made a helpless sound, and Trevor looked up. “The original maybe? But a cover version by a dude might help, too?”
“Hold up. You can’t read music, can you?” Trevor’s eyes narrowed. “How do you expect—never mind. We’re already f—screwed.”
“You are not.” Dawn patted Trevor’s arm. “And Jalen’s practically a savant. He can learn any song by ear. You’ll see.”
“And I can read a little.” Jalen felt the need to defend himself. He wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew the difference between a C and a B flat note and shit like that—he could work it out note by note—but hearing the song in his head as he painstakingly plodded along was hard. Learning music by ear came more naturally to him, and there were abundant a cappella and other four-part harmony versions of most songs on the Internet. Hopefully, he could skate by with that. Even so, he’d spent the month since being selected for the show cramming on breaking apart harmonies. Sheet music was still his nemesis, but he could pick out the bass part on the piano much more easily these days.
“Yeah.” Trevor drew out the word, sounding anything but convinced.
“I should probably head out.” Dawn backed up to the door, looking only too eager to escape now that she’d handled the dirty work of the wardrobe and the music.
“Bye,” Jalen said at the same time Trevor said, “Thanks.”
Man. Trevor had gotten the crappy end of the stick with both the pink shirt and the divalicious song, but still the dude was all polite.
“Oh, Jalen—” Dawn paused with one hand on the door frame. Her tone was too careful to be a random brainstorm. “Please call Mama Ivy. She called me at six wanting to know you were safe. And the last thing I need right now is a mom lecture.”
Fuck. Jalen did not want to have this conversation, especially not in front of Trevor.
“I texted Mama Kern—”
“You know Mama Ivy. She probably kept Mama Kern up all night with her worrying. Mama Ivy won’t feel comfortable until she hears your voice. Two minutes, Jalen. I know you hate the phone, but give Mom some peace of mind.”
“Wait.” Predictably, Trevor butted in. His eyes were anime-character wide. “You guys are . . . brother and sister?”
“Sure are.” Dawn grinned. “But we’re kind of keeping that on the down low on set, okay?”
Trevor nodded. “Sure . . . but you guys have two mothers?”
“You got a problem with that?” Jalen stepped right up to Trevor’s chest.
“No, no, of course not.” Trevor sounded more than a little bit cowed by Jalen in his face. Good.
“No one messes with my mamas. You got issues with that, you don’t let me hear.”
“Jalen . . .” Dawn warned.
“I don’t have a problem.” Trevor held up his hands. “It’s great.”
Oh barf. That was a variation of the how-nice-for-you line that strangers often gave Jalen, the too-polite words masking what they really thought.
Whatever. Getting adopted by his moms at fourteen was the single best thing to happen to him. Dawn had been in college then, working every play on campus, driving the whole family nuts with constant requests to come see a particular show. But she’d also been a great bi
g sister, and Jalen wasn’t about to let her or his moms down. He glared at Trevor.
“You guys.” Dawn gestured between them. “When you come downstairs, remember, you’re supposed to be a couple.” She looked right at Jalen, a heavy dose of play nice underscoring her words.
“We’ll try.” Trevor didn’t sound any more certain than Jalen felt.
Chapter Four
@NextDirectionShow Our groups are hard at work filming their first music videos today! And the drama over at the house is heating up, too, so be sure to follow us for *all* the inside scoop!
@CarterNCarson So in love with my guy. Wish everyone could harmonize like him.
“Cut,” the director—not Dawn—yelled, throwing up his clipboard hard enough that Trevor feared for the guy’s head. Dawn was working with Keg Stand on their video, leaving them with Arrow, a tall, barrel-chested guy who had a penchant for making huge gestures without a care as to who might be nearby.
Arrow also had zero control over the set, leaving Carter to appoint himself Grand Poobah of music video production. The four of them were parked on the set piece of a battered, gray concrete stoop in front of a façade of a dreary brownstone. Lots of gray and brown for the group to pop against in their pastel awfulness. Carter turned toward Trevor. “Could you be less believable?”
Carter’s expression was exactly like Trevor’s father’s when he’d reached the end of his patience for Trevor’s shortcomings—all rolled eyes and heavy sighs and autocratic decrees. Only in Carson’s case, the declarations were mainly things like, “we must find more unison,” and “why can’t you smile?” And now he was attacking Trevor’s delivery. To Carter’s credit, he had a point. Trevor wasn’t exactly selling the lead. They were on take four and counting and he still hadn’t nailed it.
They were back at the studio for filming their video. A couple of hours of rehearsal were all they’d had before the vans delivered them there. Luckily, the arrangement was pretty straightforward, but still, it was a lot less rehearsal time than Trevor was used to. After the video was shot, they’d also do a studio version of the song that the editing wizards would use to finalize the music video, as well as use the higher-quality version on iTunes later on. But first they had to nail down what they were actually doing. Studio time was at an absolute premium, and they’d been warned about not needing too many takes.
The tight production schedule meant that their social media presence started now, with still photos and short teasers being shared, along with YouTube videos that would go up as soon as postproduction finished with them, building to the TV network episodes themselves, which would premiere in a few weeks. Unlike most shows, which had a huge lag between taping and airing, this one was more off the cuff, so that they could see real-time results of their efforts. The YouTube videos were a huge part of the show, and getting views, shares, and subscribers were key to winning. The objective was for the studio to find a social media juggernaut with a built-in audience to award the contract to, and for the audience to feel like “an integral part of the experience and invested in the outcome.” Or so Dawn and Kaitlyn kept espousing.
To be honest, Trevor had kind of tuned out some of the discussion of the rules. All he really cared about was keeping his head down and a roof over it. No way was Stand Out! winning this thing, but Trevor would ride the show as long as he could. At least they weren’t doing weekly eliminations. All three groups were locked in until the finals.
“Well?” Carter prompted, and Trevor realized he’d let his mind wander. Damn. How long had it been since lunch? He was getting a little foggy.
“Not sure.” Trevor tried to look apologetic.
“Lay off,” Jalen growled. “We’re all trying.”
Well, that was . . . unexpected. People didn’t usually defend Trevor.
“Maybe we need a little break?” Carson put a hand on Carter’s shoulder. As far as Trevor was concerned, Carter needed a choke collar, not a soothing touch, but then, he’d always hated yappy purebred dogs—like frat boys and his brothers and all the other guys he knew who lived to bark in Trevor’s direction.
“Sure,” Arrow said.
“A little sparkling water or cappuccino will help you, babe,” Carson said, still stroking Carter. Carson was apparently under the delusion that they were big-shot stars. Trevor had no such illusions—this wasn’t Perfect Harmony, the show he’d been on last summer. Here, their group was the property of the show. Indentured servants really. They got room and board, but they had zero input on wardrobe, set, and song choice, and only the most limited flexibility on choreography and delivery. But that didn’t stop Carson and Carter from trying.
Buzz. Trevor’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Time for an energy bar. He had alarms for eating and alarms for his meds. No way did he want to be on shots, but managing on pills and diet alone was a delicate thing.
“That’s the third time your phone has buzzed,” Carter said with a nasty quirk to his mouth.
“Yeah. Just a message alert.” Trevor tried to act nonchalant. “You know, a break does sound good.”
“Yeah. Go find your latte.” Jalen made a shooing motion with his hand. He hopped up to sit on the same step as Trevor, glaring at Carter like Trevor’s unofficial bodyguard.
Trevor fished his protein bar from his pocket—a little squished, but he hadn’t been able to haul his bag on set. He broke off a small piece and held it out to Jalen. “Want a bite?”
“Nah.” Jalen mock shuddered. “Those things are nasty. You trying to bulk up or something?”
Trevor made a noncommittal noise. Was he that scrawny?
“’Cause I gotta tell you, man, those energy bars are not the way to go. You want to start lifting. That’s the first step. There’s a pretty nice gym in the basement of the house. Good set of weights. I gotta keep my routine up.” He flexed his biceps. Yeah, Jalen wasn’t in any danger of losing those.
“Eh. I’m not really big on exercise. Gym class sucked.”
“Well, luckily for you, no one makes adults repeat PE.” Jalen clapped him on the shoulder. “Lifting is nothing like gym class. No bullies.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” Trevor asked. The bullies remark made his legs shift restlessly. He didn’t need more reminders that people saw him as weak—so weak, they just automatically filled in a painful past and bullies. Not that he’s wrong . . .
“Because you’re my boo?” Jalen clapped him on the shoulder. “And we’re on set?”
“You’re a good actor.” Trevor pulled loose. He was still smarting from Jalen’s earlier I can pretend anything comment. “But thanks for sticking up for me.”
“Oh that.” Jalen waved Trevor’s grudging thanks away. “I can’t stand to see people picking on the small—on anyone really. I told Dawn I’d play nice, but Carter doesn’t get to be an asshole.”
“Ah.”
“Besides, I figured out your secret.” He rocked his shoulder against Trevor’s.
“Excuse me?” He did his best BenDeLaCreme-level outrage.
“That. That right there.” Jalen smiled smugly. “You must have hit an A sharp right there.”
“So?” The back of Trevor’s neck went warm and itchy.
“So. You haven’t been anywhere in that range on takes. You keep hitting the notes flat. At the top of every riff, you get this close”—he held up his thumb and forefinger—“and then you sell it short. You’re deliberately not hitting the run.”
“Aren’t you the one who can’t read music? You sure you should be giving me advice?”
“I’ve got ears.” Jalen shook his head like he was disappointed in Trevor, which was beyond ridiculous. “It’s like you’re purposely staying in a lower register. You can go higher—but you won’t. Why?”
“Look, no one wants to hear a squeaky-voiced chipmunk, okay?”
“Squeaky-voiced chipmunk? You on dope? Chicks love guys who can sing like girls.” His eyes were wide, like Trevor was nuts for not embracing his inner Adam Levine.
Trevor’s voice professor at Mount Monticello had said something similar—that Trevor had a gift and that he should look to Freddie Mercury and other high tenors and celebrate his range. But the guys who could pull it off were sexy, manly guys with a gritty tone—Trevor lacked the tats and the street cred. Instead, when he sang in his true octave, he sounded like an overgrown boys’ choir member. All he needed was the choir robe and the clasped hands. No, butching it up was the only choice.
“Maybe this is the best I can do.” He sounded like a sullen kid, but damn, Jalen’s disappointment was far more uncomfortable than his antagonism.
“No, it’s not.” Jalen’s tone was mild but emphatic. Turning to meet Trevor’s gaze, he cocked his head to one side, resting his chin on his palm. He hummed softly under his breath.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Trevor resisted the urge to squirm away. Jalen studied him with the same sort of intensity Trevor’s microbiology professor had reserved for a particularly interesting microbe.
“Trying to figure you out.” He hummed a little more, a strange variety of sounds, but man, his rumbly baritone was soothing. “Trying to figure out what your jam is. We’re going to try an experiment.”
“My jam?” Trevor ignored the experiment comment. The only experimenting he wanted to do with Jalen was the naked kind he wasn’t allowing himself to dwell on. Didn’t matter that Jalen wasn’t Dawn’s secret boyfriend—Trevor was still convinced Jalen was merely playing at gay.
“Your jam. What you listen to to feel better on a shitty day. What you sing in the shower. Who you’d trade your shoes to see in concert.”
“I don’t have—”
“Sure you do. Now, it’s not an a cappella group. That’s work for you, not your chill-out music.”
Damn. He’s good. Trevor worked to keep his face neutral.
“In fact, we can probably rule out all groups. Ditto male singers. You have issues with dude singers.”
“I do not—”
“Do too.” Jalen silenced Trevor’s objections with a sharp look. Damn. If he ever turned that look on someone with a dirty command . . . “Now, it’s probably a diva, but which one do you stan for?”
Love Me Tenor Page 4
