Starting From Zero (Starting From Series Book 1)

by Lane Hayes

  I hiked the palm-lined driveway toward the two-story modern home, pausing to admire the mini garden of succulents surrounded by pristine white pebbles. Everything was so damn clean. Like Disneyland or someplace where they had someone assigned to jobs like “rock caretaker,” I mused with a laugh as I raised my hand to knock. The massive glass-paned front door swung open before I had a chance.

  I jolted and stepped backward to check out the golden curly-haired vision posed with one hand bracing the jamb and the other on his hip. For some reason, I had assumed Charles Robertson was much older. This guy was young, blond, and very fabulous.

  “There you are! For fuck’s sake, I’ve been waiting for you!”

  “Hey there. I’m Justin. Nice to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.

  “Yes, I know. Come in. I wanted to brief you beforehand, but I’m running out of time. This way.” He clapped aggressively, then grabbed my wrist and pulled me across the threshold.

  I yanked out of his hold and scowled as I removed my sunglasses. “Hang on. What do you mean, ‘brief me’?”

  He huffed impatiently and set his hands back on his hips. I amended “fabulous” to “bossy” in my head and gave him a thorough once-over. He was roughly my age and kind of petite. No more than five eight, tops, with a compact physique. His floral shirt was see-through in parts and tucked into a high-waisted pair of khakis he’d rolled at the hem. I noted his bare feet in the red leather loafers and absently thought he might be the only person on the planet who could pull off that look. He reminded me of a frustrated tango dancer waiting for his partner to catch up.

  He pursed his full lips and regarded me thoughtfully before shrugging. “I mean, I want to give you a little background.”

  “Okay, but who are you?”

  “I’m Charlie. And I’m going to change your life!”

  “Charles Robertson?”

  “Yes and no. The important thing is, I know all about you and what happened with Gypsy Coma and…I’m going to help you. Think of me as your fairy gaymother. Come on.” He spun away, leaving me in a cloud of expensive smelling cologne in the middle of the foyer.

  I glanced up at the enormous contemporary glass chandelier hanging above a round marble-topped table, then caught my reflection in the ornate mirror leaning against the wall. I looked confused as fuck and so out of place, it hurt. My borrowed blue oxford shirt was too big across my shoulders and my “nice” jeans were worn at the crotch. Everything about this situation was off.

  How did someone who looked and acted like Charlie, aka the Mad Hatter, know anything about Gypsy Coma or me? This world didn’t mesh with dark indie bands with cult followings. This house belonged to the country club set meets so-called respectable business elite. And Charlie looked like a pampered West Hollywood pretty boy. But what the fuck did I know? Nothing yet.

  I moved into the adjoining great room and scanned the bookshelves flanking the wide bank of windows. I paused to admire the grand piano before fixating on the impressive views of LA in the distance. The vibrant water met the blue sky at the horizon, showcasing the city in a picture-perfect light.

  “Oh, my God. Are you coming or not? It’s like I’m talking to my ex!”

  Charlie tapped his foot and motioned for me to hurry up.

  “Are you really sharing secrets about your sex life?” I asked impatiently.

  He snickered lightly and shook his head. “I don’t have much of a sex life, and that’s fine for now. My former one was a bit too zealous…if you know what I mean. My ex popped Viagra the way a yoga mom drinks kombucha. He was one of those four-hour-erection guys.”

  “Um…o-kay.”

  “I read up on the phenomenon once. Apparently erectile dysfunction drugs shouldn’t affect stamina, but for him, it did. I swear I don’t know how many times I stared at the ceiling, willing him to finish the fuck up.” He held up his hand and lowered his eyelashes dramatically. “I know what you’re thinking. And you’re right. I have no filter. It’s like I accidentally drank truth serum at birth. It’s a real problem every once in a while, although occasionally it works in my favor.”

  He spun away and disappeared around the corner. I hurried to catch up to him, craning my neck to take in my surroundings.

  The house was unreal. It had high ceilings, light wide-planked flooring and seemingly more windows than walls. Modern art and prized instruments were displayed on any free wall space or in random nooks. Guitars, violins, a stand-up bass. I was pretty sure I saw a harp too. I didn’t know anything about furniture, but nothing looked particularly comfortable. Chic black leather sofas with clean lines but no real cushioning juxtaposed with funky, bright-colored chairs. Every room looked like something out of a fancy magazine or a TV show about ridiculously beautiful people who had more money than sense. If Charlie told me we were on a movie set, I would have believed him. It was hard to imagine that anyone actually lived here.

  Charlie sailed into a wide corridor surrounded by windows on three sides with his head held high and flashed an encouraging smile before pointing at the pool.

  “Gray is on the roof. I’ll call him down now.”

  Yep. He was nuts.

  “Who is Gray?” I asked, frowning.

  “Your future employer. This is his house, his collection. He can tell you all about it.”

  “And how is this going to change my life?”

  Charlie cocked his head and set his hands on his hips. “I don’t have time to go into that now. I’m running late for class. We’ll have to chat another time. Let me introduce you.”

  I moved to the window and tapped my finger against the glass and squinted. “Is he the naked man playing guitar?”

  “Where?”

  I gestured toward the figure sitting with his legs crossed on the pool house roof. His head was bent over an acoustic guitar, which might have hidden swim trunks or a Speedo. I couldn’t be sure from the distance.

  “Ugh. Why does he do this? It’s January, for fuck’s sake!” Charlie groused as he stomped outside and yelled to the man on the roof. “He’s here, Gray. Can you come down?” No answer. “Gray?”

  “Give me a sec,” the man replied.

  I crossed the pool area and glanced up but couldn’t see anything. The light was directly behind Gray, sending long shadows across his face. But he had a nice voice. Deep and raspy…and vaguely familiar.

  I shaded my eyes against the glare to get a better look. It didn’t help.

  “Who is this guy again, and why am I here?” I whispered as the man headed for the ladder attached to the side of the pool house.

  “Gray Robertson,” Charlie said.

  “And he’s your dad who needs help filing…what?”

  “No, he’s my godfather, and he needs someone to organize his record collection. It’s a recent acquisition and it’s massive. He wanted me to do it, but I suggested you.”

  “Why? You don’t know me.”

  “I know of you, and that’s almost as good.” Charlie gave me a tight-lipped smile and lowered his voice. “Here he comes. Remember, we’re friends from the club.”

  “What club?”

  “Vibes,” he hissed.

  I was about to respond, when the man approached, holding an acoustic guitar in one hand. He was still hidden in the shadow so I couldn’t quite make out his features, but I could tell he was tall and muscular and…not naked.

  He wore blue swim trunks with a funky print and a pair of beat-up black-and-white checked Vans. And he wore them well. In fact, he seemed to be in really good shape. For someone his age, I added in my head to lessen the weirdness of admiring a potential employer. Whatever. It was true. He had a thicker build reminiscent of a football player with broad shoulders and sun-kissed skin. I fixated on the dragon tattoo that wrapped around his torso and the gorgeous Gibson guitar he held before pasting a smile on my face when he stepped into the light.

  “Hi, there. I’m—holy fuck. It’s you.”

  I dropped my hand and stared at t
he guy I’d thought about nonstop for the past two weeks. Hell, the guy I’d woken up in a cold sweat dreaming about a couple of hours ago. And though my brain was already working out logistics of probability and quickly coming to the conclusion something weird was happening here, the rest of me…including my dick, was incredibly pleased to see him again.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding equally baffled.

  “I don’t know,” I replied in a daze. “Um, Charlie said something about a job and—you live here? Gray. This is…odd.”

  Gray shot a curious glance at Charlie and rolled his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “Yes. Some kind of strange coincidence.”

  Charlie opened his mouth in a comical O and cast a wide-eyed look between us. “You know each other? Well, this is crazy. Just nuts. I’ll let you two catch up while I—”

  “Not so fast.” Gray grabbed Charlie’s elbow before he could escape. “What’s going on?”

  “You need someone to organize those records, and Justin is the perfect candidate. He’s friendly, organized, bilingual…and he knows the alphabet!” Charlie’s bright grin dulled when Gray didn’t respond. “The bilingual part will come in handy with all those Brazilian albums.”

  “Except I don’t speak Portuguese,” I interjected. “And to be honest, I’m only sporadically friendly and never organized.”

  “He has a great sense of humor,” Charlie assured Gray with a nervous laugh. “But you probably already know that.”

  “I remember.” Gray held my gaze intently.

  I was instantly transported in time to that night, chatting about everything and nothing at all with a handsome stranger, high above the lights of LA. The latent romantic in me wanted to claim this was fate…like we were supposed to meet again. Maybe we were even supposed to mean something to each other. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit the idea appealed to me on some level.

  Gray Robertson was the stuff of modern fairytales. He lived in a castle on a hill and played guitar shirtless on his roof in the middle of the day. Normal people were at work now and—oh, right…music was his work. He wrote commercial jingles. I couldn’t decide if I should google him first to find out more or if I should just start running because none of this seemed real. When I needed fantasy, I played video games and watched porn. And yeah, lately I jerked off to the memory of what we did in that bathroom. But our one-night stand didn’t give me any special rights here. In fact, in a weird way, it made me feel more uncomfortable. I didn’t belong here.

  “Me too,” I said, pushing aside my growing anxiety. “So you’re Gray Robertson.”

  “I am. And you’re Justin…”

  “Cuevas. Did you summon me or something?”

  “No.” Gray let go of Charlie’s elbow, then lifted his forefinger in a silent command for him to stay put in an authoritative manner. Charlie frowned but didn’t move.

  I glanced between them before refocusing on Gray. Well, on his tattoos this time. I didn’t realize he had so many. The dragon’s tail wrapped around his side below script that was too small to read at a distance and a set of Roman numerals. I suddenly wished I’d paid better attention to shit like that in school. M equals one thousand, right? I had no fucking clue. But I wanted to know. In fact, I wanted to know everything about him. Not just his favorite ice cream. I wanted to know his birthday, where he was from, and if he watched Game of Thrones. Important stuff.

  But I wasn’t supposed to know him or even see him again. So what the hell was going on here?

  “So this is just a crazy coincidence?” I asked dubiously.

  “Or the stars have aligned! You need a job and Gray needs help.” Charlie danced out of Gray’s reach and gave me a look I couldn’t read without serious help before hiking his thumb toward the house meaningfully. “I have to print out an assignment before I head to class. I’m sure Gray won’t mind giving you a tour of the library. Text me if you have any questions. See you later.”

  “Hold on a second,” Gray said.

  “No can do. Gotta run!” Charlie pivoted on his red loafers and hurried for the house before either of us could respond.

  Gray let out a rush of air and raked his hand through his hair in frustration. Then he pulled his guitar strap over his head and pushed his instrument behind his back. I noticed a fresh set of details at once. Weird things like his muscular calves, his trim waist, the smattering of hair on his broad, sun-kissed chest, and the rip in his ancient Vans.

  “Okay. This is…odd. Just so we’re clear, I don’t know what’s going on. But it’s good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you too,” he replied softly.

  I stuffed my hands into my back pockets and looked around the sprawling yard and the LA skyline beyond the low hedge. “Nice place. I bet this view rivals the one at the Skybar at night.”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  He smelled like sunshine and mint. The combination seemed extraordinarily appealing. I fought the urge to lean in and lick his bare shoulder when he stepped closer. It would have been a bad move. We weren’t strangers flirting over gin and tonics in the dark now. We were fully exposed. Sunlight reflected off the pool and the second story windows. It revealed more than his hot dad bod and ink. It revealed our differences. Our ages, experiences, and our places in life. Gray was obviously successful and accomplished. And I was obviously not.

  I swallowed hard against the ugly impotent feeling roiling in my gut. I’d spent a few hours with this man sharing things I rarely did because he felt like a safe harbor on a night when I needed to connect to someone who didn’t know me. Someone who wouldn’t look at my past or present and wonder when the fuck I’d grow up. For a few hours, we’d been friends and then lovers. I didn’t believe in forever. I’d had my ass kicked by real life too many times to get any flowery notions about “happily ever afters.” But I’d hoped to keep those few hours with him sacred. I didn’t want to know him and be forced to acknowledge he wasn’t just out of my league…he was in another galaxy.

  I cleared my throat and inclined my head toward the house. “Look, here’s what went down. I got an email from a Charles Robertson saying he needed someone to do some clerical work. I showed up for an interview, and here I am. I don’t know if there really is a job, but—”

  “There is,” he intercepted with a lopsided smile. “Charlie agreed to take it on, but he’s hard to pin down, and it looks like he came up with another idea.”

  “And he just happened to call me?”

  “I didn’t ask him to contact you, but I’m not sorry he did. It’s good to see you. I’ve thought about you a lot. I was hoping you’d call.”

  “I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say,” I admitted awkwardly. I pursed my lips and willed myself not to tell him I’d been staring at his number like a lovesick weirdo for weeks. God, I felt like an idiot. I had to get outta here. I hiked my thumb toward the house and stepped backward. “You know, this probably isn’t a good idea. I should go.”

  “Don’t you want to see my records?”

  That stopped me. He sounded so…unsure. And kind of nerdy. I tilted my head and I wondered if I was being punked or if “see my records” was code for something else. The hint of vulnerability I’d heard was gone in an instant, replaced by the careless disinterest I expected from a successful music guru.

  I met his nonchalant gaze and shrugged. “Why not?”

  Gray nodded curtly and motioned for me to follow him. He led the way across the pool deck to the main house via the wide glass door I’d come through with Charlie. He paused to make sure I closed it behind me before turning down the wide corridor and opening the first door on the left to what looked like a bedroom-slash-gaming room. There was a queen-sized bed in the corner but the giant television, a comfy-looking sofa, and a coffee table littered with controllers and discarded games indicated that the real action happened in front of the flat-screen.

  “I’m gonna grab a shirt,” he said, heading to the walk-in closet. />
  “Okay.”

  I perused the games while I waited. Grand Theft Auto, Fortnite, Call of Duty. I picked up Dragon Ball FighterZ and read the back of the box. Nice collection.

  “Do you play?”

  I glanced up with a wry grin and started to give a smartass reply about my videogame expertise, but I immediately forgot whatever I was going to say. Fuck, he was hot. His red plaid flannel shirt stretched enticingly as he slipped it over his shoulders. I wanted to laugh at his wardrobe choices. He should have looked like a test pattern gone wrong with the long-sleeved plaid, checked shoes, and printed swim trunks…but somehow the combo worked on him.

  Gray bent his head briefly to deal with the buttons before giving me an expectant look to let me know he was waiting on a reply. I averted my gaze from the sexy trail of fur leading south from his bellybutton and swiped the back of my hand across my mouth, hoping I caught myself before I drooled.

  “Yeah. I’m in the middle of Assassin’s Creed Odyssey right now with my roommate. He’s obsessed and he doesn’t seem to care that I kick his ass every night,” I said with a laugh before gesturing toward the bed and closet. “Is this a guest room or your room or…what?”

  “It’s supposed to be a guest room, but it’s mostly a place to hang out. My studio is down the hall, and the library is next door. I keep a few things in the closet, so I don’t have to traipse from one end of the house to the other to look for a shirt or a clean pair of underwear. When I get deep into a project, I sleep here or in the pool house. It’s easier to be close to the music.”

  “The music?” I asked, casting a curious gaze around the space. It was a teenage boy’s dream room. The only things missing were a stocked mini fridge and obligatory pics of sports idols and rock gods.

  Gray flashed a smile. Then he grabbed his guitar and inclined his head in invitation. “Come this way.”

  If the house was a fraction of its size, I would have been impressed. The modern architecture, breathtaking views, and the pervasive sense of solitude were awe-inspiring. I didn’t think it could get any better, but I was dead wrong. Gray’s in-home studio was the stuff of dreams. It was chock full of more instruments and sound equipment than I’d ever seen in person, outside of a music store. I didn’t know where to look first.