The Limelight

by Louisa Keller

  My pulse notched up and I swallowed thickly. “I’m glad…that I met you too.” Behind Levi, Carson and Leo exchanged a knowing look. I blushed and hurried to amend my statement. “That we all met you, I mean.”

  Levi reached out to clap me on the shoulder, his eyes bright. “Thanks for inviting me to spend the night.”

  Carson cleared his throat and caught Leo’s eye. “I think I’m going to turn in. How about you, Leo?”

  Leo glanced at Levi and me once more, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m calling it a night. See you guys tomorrow.”

  “Night,” called Levi as they vacated the room. He got up and took Leo’s empty seat on the sofa, patting the cushion next to him. “Join me?”

  My stomach flipped. I stood up slowly, taking a deep breath and willing my heart to stop pounding. I settled myself next to Levi, but kept my eyes cast downward, fixed on my hands in my lap. I wasn’t used to this kind of attraction…immediate and undeniable.

  In the past I had always dated friends, people I had known for months or even years. I wasn’t the type of guy who enjoyed hooking up with strangers, or meeting people online. I preferred good, old-fashioned courtship where I knew that I was dating someone I could trust. It was beyond unusual to find myself inexorably attracted to someone I had just met.

  “Do you need to go to sleep too?” I asked, hoping against hope that he would say no. “I know you have an early flight.”

  Levi shrugged. “I can sleep on the plane.”

  “For real?” I asked. “God, I can never fall asleep when I’m flying.”

  “It’s one of my many talents,” Levi said, winking. “One time I fell asleep before takeoff and didn’t wake up until after we had landed. I’m a pro napper.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “That’s not just talent, it’s sorcery. Are you some kind of sleep wizard?”

  Levi smirked and learned forward. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

  “Well if you do have some kind of magic sleep powers, I wouldn’t mind a good night’s sleep. I’m practically a chronic insomniac.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Levi, a smile in his voice. “The first thing I would recommend is unwinding before bed.”

  “Unwinding how?” I asked.

  Could he possibly mean…?

  “Oh, you know, with a book or a podcast or something. Maybe watch a documentary.” Levi gestured toward the TV. “Want to pick something out?”

  I grabbed the remote and pulled up Netflix before selecting a nature documentary and turning back to Levi. “Documentary: check. What’s next?”

  “Well,” said Levi, “next you get into a comfortable position. Lying down is best…here.” He lay on his side right on the edge of the couch, leaving room for me behind him.

  I stretched out along Levi’s back—my heart in my throat—and laid my head down on the couch pillow. The heat of Levi’s body against me was delicious.

  “Like this?” I asked, my lips brushing the back of Levi’s neck.

  Levi hummed appreciatively and reached back to grab my hand. He pulled it so that my arm was wrapped securely around his chest and linked our fingers. “Just like this.”

  Christ, I thought, we’re cuddling. I’m not going to survive this.

  “And we just…”

  “We just watch the documentary,” said Levi. “And then we fall asleep.”

  A flash of relief bolted through me. As much as I wanted Levi—and oh god, did I ever want him—I was afraid. The thought of sleeping with someone I had just met made me feel as if the cogs inside my brain were jamming. No matter how much attraction I felt, my anxiety outweighed it. And Levi, fearless and outgoing and intuitive, must have sensed that. He probably did not realize it at the time, but by falling asleep in my arms that night—without expectations, without pressure, without offering his body to me completely—he set the stage for the trust that would fuel our entire relationship.

  I lost the thread of the documentary quickly. My attention was completely focused on Levi…his warmth, the weight of him in my arms, the even cadence of his breathing as he began to drift off. Maybe it was the fact that it was early morning and we had been up all night, or maybe it was just something about Levi’s presence, but I found myself slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. My last waking thought was that everything about that moment felt undeniably right.

  It couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours later that my eyes blinked open. Levi was still fast asleep, hugging my arm to his chest. Quiet sounds were emanating from the kitchen—padding footsteps, the splash of coffee into a mug—and I slowly began to extricate myself from Levi’s grip. I managed it, somehow, without waking him, and I congratulated myself silently. I took a moment to observe Levi, his face slack in sleep, utterly unworried. He looked supremely peaceful.

  A cupboard door slammed in the kitchen and I jerked away from Levi, embarrassed at the fact that I had been staring. I made my way into the kitchen and found Dom pouring an obscene amount of cream into his mug of coffee.

  “Morning,” said Dom quietly. He was smiling softly at me, in a way that made it clear that he had seen the two of us on the couch.

  “Morning,” I muttered, opening the refrigerator and surveying its contents.

  “Looks like you…had a good night?” Dom ventured, clearly testing the waters.

  I made a noncommittal noise. “Just fell asleep.”

  “Right,” said Dom, taking a sip. “You fell asleep on the couch.”

  “We were watching a movie,” I said, pulling out eggs and turning to grab a frying pan from the drying rack.

  “Uh huh,” said Dom, clearly unconvinced.

  “It doesn’t mean anything, Dom,” I said impatiently.

  “I didn’t say it did,” said Dom, his voice a bit too innocent.

  “Oh, come on,” I said. “Give me a break, you look like you caught me with my pants around my ankles. We literally just slept.”

  Dom nodded. “I believe you. If you’d done anything else you would have taken him to your bedroom. You know, the room where you have a bed that’s actually big enough for two grown men.”

  I snorted, pouring oil into the pan. “Can we just skip forward to the part where you say whatever it is you’re clearly dying to say?”

  “Sure,” said Dom matter-of-factly. “You seem to like him.” I leveled him with a glare, so he pressed on. “It’s just been a while since you’ve looked at anyone that way. And you pretty much never warm up to anyone that quickly.”

  “So?” I asked, cracking a couple of eggs and biding my time.

  “I think you should give him a shot. Follow your gut or your heart or whatever. I have a good feeling about this.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You and your feelings.”

  “My intuition is excellent,” said Dom, undeterred. “And I make a living helping queer people learn how to have healthy relationships. So, you can take my advice or leave it, but if you want my unsolicited opinion as your friend? I think you need to allow yourself to have some fun.”

  “You make me sound like some miserable guy who never leaves the house. I have plenty of fun,” I said grumpily. “And besides, how am I supposed to give Levi a chance when he’s about to jet off across the country for a huge music tour?”

  Dom looked thoughtful. “About that.”

  “Oh god,” I groaned. “Whatever you’re about to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “That’s because you know I’m about to call you out.”

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “You never take any chances, Porter. You grew up in Salem, went to school in Portland, then moved up to Seattle with your best friends. And since then you’ve been working at the same bar, spending time with the same people, just wiling away your twenties. You’re so comfortable that you never step outside of your comfort zone and allow yourself to experience something better than your predictable life.” Dom reached out to cup my jaw, his expression pure affection. “I love you, bu
ddy, but it’s time to leave the nest.”

  I crossed my arms, frowning. “And how the hell do you propose that I do that?”

  “You still have your CDL, right?” asked Dom.

  “Yeah…”

  “So, dust it off and go drive that beautiful boy around for the next couple of months. Didn’t he say his bus driver is down for the count? You can have an adventure, get paid for it, and see if the sparks between you and Levi lead to anything.”

  “Come on, Dom, that’s ridiculous. I can’t just leave…uh…”

  Dom looked at me expectantly. “Name one thing you can’t leave, Porter.”

  I wracked my brain. Bartenders were dime a dozen in Seattle, my boss could replace me in about ten seconds. I could keep paying rent from the road. I wasn’t in school, didn’t volunteer anywhere, wasn’t a member of any local organizations. Dom was right, there was nothing stopping me. Except maybe my own anxious mind.

  Am I actually considering this? I wondered.

  “Okay, there’s not anything that I literally can’t leave,” I said, “but it’s not something people do, is it? Just up and leave one day without any warning?”

  “I mean, it’s not like you’re sneaking off in the dead of night,” Dom pointed out. “You’re just…going on an extended working vacation. Changing careers. Who knows, maybe you’ll network while you’re there and end up driving Green Day around next year.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, sliding a spatula under one of the eggs and flipping it expertly.

  “Hey, I’m not the one ruining the eggs,” said Dom. “I still can’t believe you like them over easy.”

  “I don’t like runny whites,” I muttered.

  Dom smiled warmly. “Weirdo. Are you going to ask Levi about driving the bus?”

  I heaved a heavy sigh. “I guess it doesn’t hurt to just ask for more details.”

  “More details about what?” came a voice from the doorway. I turned and saw Levi, his hair mussed and his eyes sleepy, smiling as he leaned against the door jam.

  “About, uh, how you like your eggs,” I said, stalling for time.

  “Over easy, obviously,” said Levi.

  Dom laughed, then downed the rest of his coffee. “You guys are perfect for each other,” he said as he left the room, clapping Levi on the shoulder on his way out.

  “There’s something else,” I said as I slid the eggs onto a plate and handed it over to Levi.

  “Shoot,” said Levi, shaking salt onto his eggs.

  I leaned against the counter, biting my lip. Why was this so hard?

  “Do you have a backup driver? For the bus?”

  Levi shrugged. “I assume Cooper’s scrambling to find someone. He hasn’t texted me about it, so we’re probably going to have to hire the first person he can get to agree to the amount we were going to pay Gerald. Which sucks, because I really want this tour bus to be all about the vibe, you know? Like singalongs and rummy tournaments and I Spy. And I want whoever’s driving the bus to be part of the family, not just someone looking for a paycheck.”

  I nodded. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “It really will be. I’m so excited, man, you don’t even know. This has been my dream since I was a kid. It’s kind of surreal, actually, that it’s coming true. I mean, I’m twenty-one and my goddamn band is hitting the road. We’re going to be playing at major venues and interacting with fans and seeing parts of the country I’ve never been to before. And I’m able to do this because my life is so unattached at this point, you know? Like, I’m single, my lease is up, and I’m not chained to a desk job. It’s the perfect time for this adventure.”

  There was something about hearing Dom’s sentiment echoed by Levi just moments later that solidified things in my mind. I was in a good place to take a risk. And chances were that, if I bypassed this opportunity, another one like it might not come around.

  “I could do it,” I blurted out.

  Levi looked up sharply, surprised. “You could…?”

  “I could drive the bus,” I said. I could feel my hands beginning to sweat, my pulse racing, my ears pounding. Anxiety flooded me as the words sat between us, raw and vulnerable.

  “Are you serious?” asked Levi.

  “I…yeah. I’m serious.”

  Levi’s face broke into a wide grin. “Porter, this is amazing! Oh my god, you really want to come on tour? Jesus, you’ll be such a good fit with the band. Holy shit!”

  I blushed, the anxiety ebbing as Levi rambled on.

  “I’ll need to do a few things before we leave…I should call my boss, tell him I’ll be away for a while. Can you get me more info about the tour?” I asked.

  “Of course,” said Levi, “let me just call Cooper. He’ll send you everything you need to know. Goddamn, Porter, I’m so excited!”

  2

  Levi

  Portland, ME

  You know that feeling when you go home after being away for a long time? The sense of peace that thrums through you as you run through the fields and forests of your childhood? There are very few things I love more than that feeling. Maybe being wrapped in Porter’s arms…but that’s kind of the same thing as coming home, right?

  As I had predicted, I slept through most of the trans-continental flight. It was long enough that I managed to get a decent amount of rest on the first leg. By the time I caught my second flight I was energized and eager to be home.

  The little plane hit a patch of turbulence as it began its descent. The flight was mostly full…not that it had been difficult to fill. There were only three seats in each row—two huddled together on the right side of the aisle and one on the left. I had managed to score a seat on the left—thanks, Cooper!—which meant that I had a bit of privacy. I leaned against the window, unable to contain my excitement.

  My heart soared as the familiar landscape of Portland, Maine came into view. I had taken the short connecting flight from Newark dozens of times, in every imaginable season and weather condition, but the late spring was my very favorite.

  It was the first day of June—bright and sunny to match my mood—and my phone had promised temperatures in the mid-seventies when I arrived. I gazed down at the trees cloaked in bright green leaves and felt a sense of nostalgia rising in my chest.

  I know, I know. I’m a sap.

  But seriously, how many spring days had I spent climbing those trees, skinning my knees as I scrambled from branch to branch? How many evenings had I wiled away in hammocks strung between the sturdy trunks, reading comic books and listening to the music that would one day shape my career?

  I had always wanted to leave when my life was firmly planted in Maine, roots shooting deep into the ground. But after spending the last couple of years in Los Angeles with Cooper, working tirelessly on becoming a damn rock star, I yearned for the warm familiarity of New England. Visits home marked the passage of time, as an adult. And that day, I was going home as a successful musician, as someone who was proud of his accomplishments. I didn’t know it then, but I was also someone on the cusp of falling in love.

  I wondered vaguely if I would feel nostalgic for LA after touring for the entire summer, but I dismissed the idea immediately. Southern California was a stepping stone for me, for my future, but it would never exert the same pull as the place where I had grown up.

  Deplaning was always a positively unbearable process for me. Full of pent up energy after being cramped in a plane seat for most of the day, all I wanted was to bound down the aisle and up the jet bridge. Unfortunately, I always seemed to end up somewhere in the bowels of the plane, stuck behind a line of people taking their sweet time about leaving the aircraft. By the time I reached baggage claim, I was practically vibrating out of my skin.

  “Montgomery!” came a shout.

  I whipped around and found myself face-to-face with my best friend, Leila Dalton. She was gorgeous as ever, her dark hair falling a couple of inches past her shoulders. Our outfits were comically matched—black band t
ees and black skinny jeans that tapered down to black Converse hi-tops. We were like a pair of twin punk rockers. The only differences were that she was a couple of inches taller than me, and she was sporting a thick layer of dark eyeliner.

  “Dalton!” I cried, launching myself at her.

  “Where the fuck have you been my whole life, man?” Dalton asked, squeezing me tightly.

  I pulled back, grinning. “Oh, you know, just slumming it in an ER for like twelve hours.”

  “God, that sucks, dude,” said Dalton. “Poor Gerald. He’s gonna be okay, right?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said, “he just needs some bedrest. He’ll be fine in a week or two, but he’s opting out of the tour. I think he was just waiting for an excuse to bail on us.”

  Dalton rolled her eyes. “Jackass.”

  And I mean, she wasn’t wrong.

  I glanced at the luggage carousel and spotted my overstuffed suitcase. I hurdled past a confused gymnastics troupe who were loitering right the fuck where I needed to be in order to grab it, and hauled my bag off the conveyor belt. It clattered onto the ground and threatened to burst open as I began tugging it toward the exit.

  “Mother of god, I’ve missed this monstrosity,” I cried as we reached the car.

  Dalton owned a beat-up silver 1999 Toyota 4Runner. The thing was a family heirloom, passed lovingly down from sibling to sibling when they turned sixteen. Being the youngest of seven children, Dalton had inherited the car with its fair share of quirks; the clutch was sticky, the break refused to engage unless she slammed on it, the back seats were stained from years of spilled sodas and—when the parents weren’t looking—beers. Dalton loved the thing unconditionally, coaxing it back from the edge of breaking down time and time again. She had left it behind when we moved across the country, but her first priority on visits home was to hop into the SUV and revisit the scenes of her adolescent mischief.

  “It’s still running,” she said, climbing into the driver’s seat. I threw my luggage in back before plunking myself down in front.