“He’s right, you know,” Kyle said. “And it’d be hard to copy. I don’t know anyone who’s trying to play a bass like a lead guitar. I bet even Vanquished don’t have the skill to copy us.”
“We know Lee can’t play bass like that.” Tony tapped his drumstick against his lip. “We’ve got some songwriting to get done. One thing, though.”
“What’s that?” Max asked. They were trying this. They were really doing it. He could barely contain his excitement.
“Turn the volume down, yeah?”
“Worried I’ll be heard over your drums?”
“Drums are the backbone of any song. I don’t need to tell you that. If you can’t hear me, you’ll be fucked, and then this will never work.”
“Fuzzy logic. All that superhero porn is messing with your head.” Max kneeled down and adjusted the volume on his amplifier, turning it up.
“Guys, am I gonna have to put my earplugs in again?”
“Remind me why you’re in a heavy metal band, Kyle.” Tony played one of his cymbals extra loud.
“Just ’cause we’re a heavy metal band doesn’t mean we have to be deaf by the time we’re thirty.”
“For fuck’s sake, Kyle. Wanna borrow some superhero porn? Sounds like you need to chill out.”
Kyle’s face flushed. “Yeah, okay.”
“Eew.” Was Max going to be the only one in the house not watching that crap? “Can we focus on the music now, please?”
Tony shrugged. “Now who’s using fuzzy logic? If you don’t want to hear about it, don’t bring it up.” He sighed and shook his head. “And here I was thinking Kyle was the prude.”
“I’m not a prude. Fuck off, Tony.” Max grabbed the notebook from his guitar case. “You wanna hear what ideas I got for our new sound?”
“Sure, go for it.”
“I’ve got loads more lyrics and riffs written down upstairs that would work well with this.”
“Hang on,” Kyle said. “If you’re playing lead riffs, what am I supposed to play?”
“We both play lead riffs. We can figure out some harmonies that complement each other. It’ll give us a richer sound with more depth.”
Tony leaned forward, resting his arms on his drums. “I think you may have hit on something with this.”
Kyle snatched the notebook from Max’s hands and held it in the air. “We need to get to work.”
WHEN RICK messaged him the next day and Max was having a lazy Saturday breakfast in the garden after a late night figuring out their new sound, his heart leaped into his throat as he read it.
Just been told my parents are out this evening. Do you want to come over for dinner?
Before he had a chance to overthink it, he sent back: yes.
And then he panicked.
The hoodie he stole from Tony was probably overkill, but as he got out of the cab that dropped him a few streets away from Rick’s house, he rammed the hood over his head and was grateful for the additional disguise. Taking a drink of tequila from the hip flask he’d been sipping from during the journey across town helped calm his nerves a fraction, but he was still terrified of being recognized and people putting two and two together and guessing he and Rick were more than friends.
He’d only been to this part of town once before, and that had been with his dad and Tony to pick up a second-hand drum kit. Every house he walked past had white picket fences and expensive-looking cars parked outside. It reminded him of that movie The Stepford Wives, with every house immaculate and practically identical. It freaked him out a little, and he was conscious of the few people mowing their lawns staring at him as he passed.
He was beginning to think this was a bad idea.
Rick’s house was in a cul-de-sac, and his front yard looked like all the others, but thankfully there were no cars parked out front. Max practically ran up the path. The front door flew open as he reached it.
“Right on time,” Rick said and grinned at him. “Come on in.”
Max frowned and stepped inside, then shut the door behind him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” Max shook his head. “Just a bit Stepford ’round here.”
“A bit what?” Rick asked.
How could Rick have never heard of that? Rick leaned forward to kiss him, and Max immediately felt more relaxed.
“You hungry? Come on through.”
He followed Rick along the light gray carpeted hall and glanced at the gold-framed pictures hanging on the walls. He spotted one of a blond-haired boy who couldn’t have been more than about ten, dressed in a posh black suit with tails and clutching a massive trophy.
“Is this you?” Max laughed. He remembered Isla saying Rick had been good at dancing, but hadn’t quite believed it until now. “Wow. Is that for a dancing contest?”
“Yeah.” Rick had gone bright red. He walked up behind Max and slid his arms around his waist. “That was a long time ago.”
“You were cute.”
“Were?”
Max huffed a laugh as Rick squeezed him and rested his head on Max’s shoulder, kissing his neck. “Mm, that feels good.” He twisted in Rick’s arms and kissed him on the lips, tentatively at first, but then Rick groaned and opened to him, kissing him hard and deep until they were both gasping for breath. Pressing his thickening cock against Rick, he could feel Rick’s solid length through his jeans, and he rotated his hips to get more friction. God, that felt amazing.
Max was about to kiss him again when Rick pushed him away. “Food first. We’ve got all evening. My parents won’t be back until about ten. No need to rush things.”
“Sadist,” Max mumbled, adjusting himself so he was more comfortable, and followed Rick into the kitchen—taking the opportunity to admire his tight ass. “What are we eating?”
“Steak sandwich okay?”
“Sounds good.”
Max wandered up behind him and peered into the refrigerator over Rick’s shoulder.
“Wow, you have the healthiest diet.”
It was all salad, fresh chicken, fish, and fruit. There were no bottled sauces, no desserts—no normal stuff, apart from the four-pack of beer.
Rick took out a packet of thinly sliced rib-eye steak, a pepper, an onion, and some sliced cheese.
“You want some help?”
“No. It’s okay. Drink?”
“Got any tequila?” Max grinned at him. He’d been half joking, but Rick took him seriously.
“No, sorry.” Rick frowned. “I should’ve thought to get some. Is beer okay?”
“Beer’s good.” It was probably best to stick to beer for now anyway.
Rick handed him a bottle, and Max pulled out a stool from under the breakfast bar.
“I love watching other people cook.”
“You do? How come?” Rick switched on the oven and put two sliced rolls underneath to broil while he chopped the onion.
Max rolled the beer bottle between his hands. “I like picking up new ideas and recipes.”
“You cook?” Rick glanced at him, his eyes wide.
“Yeah.” Max took a swig of beer. Rick was still cutting the onion and not looking at what he was doing. “Watch out for your—”
Rick hissed in a breath and shook his hand. “Ow, that was close.”
“You okay? Did you cut yourself?”
Examining his fingers, he shook his head. “Na, I’m good. Just scraped the skin.”
“Nice. That’s hygienic.”
“Don’t worry, none of it ended up in the food. I knew I should’ve ordered in.”
“You sure I can’t help?”
“No. I got this. What made you want to start cooking?”
He seemed to be doing better with slicing the pepper, so Max looked on in amusement. He’d thought Kyle was bad in the kitchen, but even he could make a decent Philly cheesesteak. “Dad never cooked, so we always had TV dinners or takeout growing up. I kinda got fed up with it and taught myself by watching the Food Network.”
&nbs
p; “Wow.”
Max shrugged. “I got half decent at it. By the time I was twelve, I was cooking for the three of us most nights.”
Rick threw the onions and peppers into a skillet, started them cooking, and came over to give him a chaste kiss on the lips and run his thumb along Max’s jaw. Max took a deep breath, then coughed, an acrid smell drifting in the air and filling his lungs.
“The bread!” Rick yelled and rescued the blackened rolls from the oven, dunking them in the sink with a sizzle and a tower of steam as he ran water on them. “Mom’s gonna kill me.” He flapped a towel in the air while he opened the back door, trying to disperse the clouds of smoke as the smoke alarm began to sound.
Max started laughing; he couldn’t help it. Rick in a panic was the funniest thing ever. He was usually so cool and collected.
“It’s not funny,” Rick said. “I’ve already been banned from cooking twice since I’ve been back home. Oh no, not the onions as well, this can’t be happening.”
That made Max laugh even harder, and he almost fell off his stool.
Once Rick had cleaned up, Max made him sit down and then took over control of their dinner. Ten minutes later, they took plates of delicious Philly cheesesteaks up to Rick’s bedroom to eat. Max climbed onto his bed and gazed around as he took a bite of his sandwich.
Rick’s bedroom was mostly bare, the pale blue walls and gray carpet clear of any clutter. In fact, there was no clutter anywhere. A large flat-screen was opposite the bed, resting on a chest of drawers. A white wardrobe was to the left of it, and the only signs of any kind of personalization were two samurai swords lying flat in a stand and some textbooks on the shelves next to the window on Max’s right.
“I had you pegged as a neat freak, but this is ridiculous.”
Pursing his lips, Rick said, “I guess it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I’ve been away for nine years. Mom redecorated right after I moved out.”
“This was the room you grew up in?”
Rick nodded.
“What was it like before?”
“Posters everywhere. My mom hated it.”
“Posters of who?” Max asked and took another bite of his sandwich, trying to picture a young Rick hanging out and being a kid in this clinical room.
“Um… Forrest Griffin, Urijah Faber, Gina Carano.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “I have no clue who any of those people are.”
“Fighters. Hot ones.” He grinned, and Max rolled his eyes. “How about you? What was your room like when you were younger?”
“Homey. It hasn’t changed much, to be honest.”
“Any posters?”
“Not ones I’d want to display. Although I may’ve had one of Slash above my desk years ago. I always wanted to play guitar like him when I got older.” Max sighed, putting his empty plate to one side and lying back. “It’s funny how things work out. I’m not even playing guitar anymore now.”
“Rick!” a woman called out. “Rick, are you home?”
“Fuck. Who the hell is that?” Max panicked, scrambling to grab the comforter, the pillow—anything.
Rick froze.
“The kitchen is an absolute disgrace. And the smell…. That’s it. I won’t have you cooking in this house again. I mean it this time.” The voice was getting closer, fast, and Max managed to conceal his face with the pillow just in time before she entered the room. Why the fuck hadn’t they closed the door? Why didn’t Rick have a lock? Why had he ever agreed to this stupid idea? He should’ve known better than to trust they wouldn’t be discovered.
“Mom, don’t—”
“Oh, sorry, love. I didn’t realize you had company. Your dad forgot the tickets for the ballet, so we had to come back. We can talk about the kitchen later. Enjoy your evening.”
Max didn’t move the pillow until the front door slammed closed. Rick breathed out heavily.
“Max, I’m so sorry. I—”
“I should go.” He scrambled to get up. “This was a bad idea.”
“She didn’t see you. There’s no way she would’ve known it was you. They’ve definitely gone now.”
“No. I should…. I should go.” That had been too close, and his heart was still hammering in his chest as he took the stairs two at a time.
“Max, wait.” Rick rushed after him, and Max paused at the bottom of the stairs, his hood pulled up and his hand on the front door. “Can we at least say goodbye properly?” He relented, his hand dropping from the handle. Rick’s arms around him were a comfort, and he hugged him tight. “I’ll figure something out, okay?”
Nodding, Max tilted his head for a kiss. They definitely needed something more secure for next time. A locked door between them and the outside world at the very least.
“THAT WAS great,” Tony shouted later that night as they reached the end of “Destroy the Silence.” The band practices with their new sound couldn’t be going any better. “‘Bass-tards’ next.”
Max felt as though he had endless reserves of power in his voice, hitting every single note with exquisite precision and playing his monster of a bass guitar with increasing ease. It might have been nervous energy after his near miss earlier, but that didn’t seem to matter. The others appeared to feed off his renewed energy, and were soon not only playing tighter than before but were also inspired to write even more new material during this session. At three in the morning, they were buzzing as they left the garage.
“I could do with a beer,” Tony said and threw open the back door, heading straight down to the kitchen.
Max followed behind Kyle, trooping downstairs, and was surprised to see Zoe, Lisa, and another girl he didn’t recognize sitting at the table with Sian. Panic rose inside him, but it was too late to go back up; they’d seen him and were staring right at him. It was no mistake he hadn’t seen the girls since the party on the first night they were back from their tour, two weeks ago now.
They were playing cards, and judging by the tower of beer bottles in the sink, they’d been there for a while. Tony handed beers to both Kyle and Max.
“You girls made it, then.” He grinned at Max. “Didn’t want you to think we’d forgotten you.”
“Yeah, thanks for inviting us,” Lisa said and looked at Max, who busied himself opening his beer. “We know how hard you’ve been working with the band. It’s great that you got some time tonight.”
“We do?” Max did his best not to glare at Tony. What the hell gave him the right to interfere in his life like that?
“We thought we could have some fun tonight, as we haven’t seen you in ages,” Zoe said and put her arms around the pretty girl next to her. “This is Jasmine.” The girl waved shyly at him.
His whole body went cold. How the fuck could he get out of this? His mind went blank, and he panicked. Before he could think of a good enough reason to decline them without arousing suspicion, Lisa had taken his hand and begun to lead him upstairs, followed by Zoe and Jasmine.
“Keep the noise down.” Tony chuckled and turned up the volume on the speakers.
Max followed in a daze of panic. Everyone would think it odd if he refused their advances, and he couldn’t risk drawing attention to the state of his love life. All he could think about was that he was about to cheat on Rick—after worrying so much about being able to trust him, he was now going to betray Rick—and it made him queasy. But there wasn’t a single thing he could do about it; there was no way out. It was too late.
WHEN THE lights were off and the girls asleep, Max lay awake until the dawn light shone through the blinds. He’d never felt guilt like this before. The sight of piles of clothing strewn across his bedroom floor made it even more unbearable.
Max floated downstairs as if in a waking nightmare, made coffee, and sat outside in the quiet of the early morning. Zoe and Lisa usually waited for him to contact them, so not finishing things with them had seemed like the perfect plan for now—so as to not raise suspicion about him and Rick—especially as they knew things were only c
asual. He dropped his head forward and lit a cigarette, pinching the bridge of his nose as he inhaled, and tried to calm the fuck down.
The back door rattled. “You okay?” Sian asked.
“What are you doing up? I thought you’d gone to bed.”
Sian grimaced. “Work. I’m on the early shift at the bakery. Craig’s sick.” She snatched his cigarette and took a drag as she sat down on a yard chair, yawning. “What’s going on?” She handed back the cigarette and narrowed her gaze. “And don’t you dare tell me it’s nothing. You’ve been acting weird for days.”
Max clawed his fingers through his hair. He wanted to talk to someone about all of this, but how could he? The second they found out the truth, they’d look at him differently—judge him—and that would be the start of him losing everything. Why was this so fucking hard?
“I take it the girl you’re hung up on isn’t upstairs right now?”
Max froze for a second and then shook his head. If he pretended Rick was a girl, maybe he could talk about this after all.
“Talk to me, Max.”
He took another drag of the cigarette and placed it in the ashtray. “I met someone who I think I could be serious with, but I’m not sure, it’s early days, so I haven’t told Zoe and Lisa yet, and then fucking Tony gets involved, as usual, and fucks the whole thing up for me.”
“Why didn’t you say anything last night?”
“How could I?” Max stared at Sian, his vision blurry from tears. “They were right there expecting me to carry on as normal.”
“I’m sure they would have understood—”
“No, Sian. No. They wouldn’t have fucking understood.” He spat out the words and blinked furiously, willing his emotions to bury themselves back down again.
“Hey.” Sian grabbed his hand and squeezed it as Max used the back of his other hand to wipe his eyes. “You listen to me. Look at me. What’re you so scared of? If you tell them the truth, they’ll understand. If you don’t go with what feels right, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. It’s no fun living a lie.”
Purple Method Page 13
