Once his platform was level with the rest of the stage, the lights started flashing in a crazy pattern and the drummer counted in the first song. The lights all snapped out, with a single spot focused on Carter as he turned around and started singing the opening notes of the first song into the microphone in front of him.
The thousands of people in the hall became nothing but background noise. We locked eyes, and he was singing only to me. It was a sultry, bordering on dirty, song about relentlessly wanting someone from across the dance floor. I figured he probably always started with this song, but it seemed a little poignant right now with his gaze never leaving mine. His hands caressed the mic stand, his hips keeping time with the beat in a way that left nothing, and everything, to the imagination. He belonged up there. The crowd loved him, and I had no doubt in my mind that this was exactly where he needed to be.
The first verse blended effortlessly into the chorus, the band picking up speed and Carter’s voice sailing over the vocal runs. Oh Christ, this was the worst kind of foreplay. My cock perked up in my jeans from his dirty words and his gravelly voice alone. His tight jeans stretched over the significant bulge in the front of his pants. The way he was circling and thrusting his hips subtly with the beat of the song was mesmerizing. Eventually the climax of the song crashed down, the cymbals ringing out over the applause.
I was stunned by how the boy I’d known had transformed into this pure magnetic force on the stage, sharing his gift with the world. Even when we were talking earlier, he was down-to-earth and completely ordinary. If I hadn’t known him, had passed him on the street, I never would have predicted he would come alive like this in front of the lights. But I did know him. I knew about the thousands of hours he spent practicing when we were younger. I knew about the hundreds of calls he made to get a handful of gigs at seedy clubs. I knew about the blood, sweat, and tears he had poured willingly into making this happen for himself. Out of all the millions of people wanting to make music for a living, to be the showman at the front of the band, he was talented enough and driven enough to make it happen for himself. I had never been so proud.
Carter
THE show went on in a fairly typical way. Nothing but that one pair of emerald eyes staring at me intently, making it different from any other of the dozens of shows we had played over the past few months. But those eyes were distracting as hell. I stumbled over my words a few times in the first song, forgetting momentarily that it was my job to sing in front of all these paying fans. Fortunately my boys covered for me, and probably nobody on the other side of the stage noticed. Dean, our bass player, shot me a look after the third slip, wordlessly asking what the hell was wrong with me tonight. I tried to focus more after that, reluctantly peeling my sight line off the angel near the front row to focus on the rest of the onlookers.
I stopped about three or four songs in to drink some water, addressing the crowd while I stalled to sip the tepid liquid.
“How’s everyone doing tonight?” I spoke into the center microphone.
A cacophony of screams and variations of “good!” echoed back to me. I liked to have a rapport with the audience. Telling some off-the-cuff stories and interacting with the band made it feel like a more personal experience than phoning in the exact same show every night. That was one of the reasons I’d decided on the spur of the moment to open with “Dance Floor” tonight, instead of the song we usually started with. Well, that and I was feeling more than a little inspired by someone I was in a similar situation with.
After a little more stage babble, we launched into the rest of the set, blowing through song after song. Honestly, it was one of the few nights I just wanted it to be over. I so rarely had plans after the show, and more often than not, it was getting on a bus and hightailing it to the next venue while trying to rest my voice as much as possible. The glamorous life of a rock star.
We finally hit what would be the last song of the night. I wanted to introduce this one in a special way while respecting Chase’s privacy and not giving away to a couple thousand people that he was actually in the house tonight. I took another swig from my water bottle and started to speak.
“So, this is the last number in the show.”
A collective “awww” rose from in front of me.
“I’m sorry! I wish we could stay all night too! We’ve loved being here with you, New York, and I’m sure we’ll be back again soon. This last song’s a personal one to me, and we recently won a really big award for it.”
Cheers erupted when the audience figured out which song we were going to close with. I unclipped the mic from the stand and walked over to the piano. I shot Beau, our keys player, an apologetic look for impulsively kicking him off his instrument.
While I had always gravitated more to the guitar and considered it to be my primary instrument, I had written this song on the piano, and it always seemed to sit there nicer than anywhere else.
“It’s about longing and fear and hope, and ultimately about accepting yourself. It’s something I’ve struggled with for most of my life, but recently, since I’ve been open about it, I’ve realized there is far more love in this world than hate. The support I’ve received from people from every corner of the country has been far greater than the ugly words of the few bigoted trolls who hate me simply because I exist. And yeah, it’s taken me a long time to get here, but things are pretty good right now.” I looked helplessly at the boy in the front row who had unknowingly inspired my words. “This song is called ‘Next to Me,’ and like always, this one’s for Chase.”
I started to play, the first verse only my voice and the keys rising up to soar together, with the band not joining in until the chorus. I hadn’t thought through the positioning on the stage when I decided to play this one on piano tonight, but being seated at the piano forced me to sit with my back almost directly to Chase. While I cursed myself for not realizing this, I probably wouldn’t have gotten through the song without my voice breaking if I’d been able to sing it directly to him.
Chase
I SAT stiff as a board when Carter started to play “Next to Me,” not wanting to miss a note. By the end of the first verse, I was barely holding myself together, only maintaining my composure so as not to draw any attention. I had purposely not listened to the song since his award speech, where he let the world know his inspiration.
The song was a ballad, so different from most of their music. Simple in its melody, with the lyrics doing all the heavy lifting. It was almost more poetry than music, the words telling the story of our childhood living next door to each other from a slightly different perspective than my own but filled with the same tension and want I had always thought was my experience alone.
I realized while listening to his words that this was real. Not that I hadn’t believed him earlier when he’d told me he’d had feelings for me in the past, but this put a face on it. A million different emotions washed through me as the song drew on. It was such a beautiful and personal piece; it seemed too intimate for a rock band that sold itself on noise and sex. But at the same time, it fit. It fit Carter’s voice perfectly, and it fit what I knew of him, both as a boy and now as this grown-up version of himself.
The last chords faded away into the night, and there was a stillness. Six thousand people sat in complete silence for a full heartbeat before the applause started. The feelings overwhelming me made it difficult to focus on Carter when he finally turned from the piano to thank the crowd and say good night. Our eyes locked for a split second before he walked off the stage, and I knew he had seen how moved I was by the words he wrote.
The crowd started to file out of the venue when the lights came up a moment later, breaking the spell for the thousands who got to leave and resume their normal lives. People rushing to catch trains, to drive back to their suburban homes, or to tell coworkers about the show the next morning around the water cooler. For me it would never be that easy.
I waited for a good ten minutes in my seat. I was grate
ful I had the time before someone came to get me, as I was feeling a little shaky on my feet, and I wasn’t sure whether I could walk in a straight line fast enough to follow. Cory (or Cody) brought me back to Carter’s dressing room. I thanked him and did a quick wipe of my face to make sure there were no residual signs of my emotional reaction to the final song. Before I could knock on the door, it swung open, and Carter was once again standing in front of me.
“I thought I heard voices out here,” he said, before I could stutter out a greeting.
“Just me,” I responded awkwardly and obviously as he stepped to the side to let me in and shut the door behind him.
We were standing closer than before, neither of us making a move to separate.
“So what did you think?” he whispered, with far less confidence than he had shown moments ago in front of the crowd.
“You were… amazing,” I breathed back, struggling to find the words to express how his performance had changed so much I thought I knew to be true.
We were like magnets, inexplicably pulled together. Unconsciously shifting our weight from one leg to the other so we seemed to draw closer with every passing moment.
“Yeah?” He smiled at me shyly.
He was near enough now that I felt his body heat radiating against me. We stared at each other. I barely wanted to blink in case I missed a second. He raised his right hand slowly, as if to give me a chance to stop him. My breathing was labored, lungs working in overdrive even though we were standing still. The back of his fingers grazed my cheek softly. I leaned into his touch, trying to imprint this moment forever in my brain.
He took the last step to close the distance between us, sliding the string-calloused fingers of his other hand along the back of mine, linking our fingers together.
“Chase,” he whispered as his right hand cupped my cheek and he looked questioningly at me.
I whimpered quietly, unable to find any words as his mouth finally reached for mine. My mind went blank when he kissed me gently. His lips were impossibly tender, his movements slow and encouraging, and I could barely do more than breathe him in. His left thumb made leisurely circles over the back of my hand, his hand on my face holding me steady while he took me apart piece by piece with his soft lips. It was unquestionably the most sensual moment of my life.
“Chase,” he said again against my mouth, breaking the kiss.
He carefully pulled back, long before I was ready for him to, searching my eyes for any sort of clue as to whether he had read me right or not. I swallowed, and we both stepped back a half step, smiling shyly at each other.
No, he hadn’t read me wrong at all.
Carter
I COULDN’T wipe the stupid grin off my face. Nothing in my life had ever felt as right as kissing Chase. Call it selfish, but even with the thousands of people in the audience tonight, his approval was all I cared about.
Banging on my dressing-room door made us both jump and broke the spell we were under.
“Carter, you still in there? Gotta be out in ten!” Cory shouted through the door.
“Okay!” I called back.
I inhaled deeply, not wanting to go back to real life.
“Are you hungry? Can I take you to dinner so we can talk?” I asked, far more nervous than I should have been considering he already let me kiss him just a moment ago.
He nodded. “Yeah, I could eat.”
I quickly grabbed the last of my crap, knowing that if I forgot anything, I could get it at the show tomorrow night. It was unusual and a privilege to be playing back-to-back shows at the same venue. And the luxury of a real bed in a hotel tonight, instead of my cramped bunk on the tour bus, was something I had been looking forward to all day.
“Core, we’re out of here,” I called down the hall in the general direction of the Green Room as we walked away.
We headed to the exit, the massive stage-door security guard on my tail until we safely jumped into the waiting town car.
“Thanks again!” Chase called to him as he closed the door and waved.
“What was that about?” I chuckled. “Making friends with security?”
“Oh, I met him before the show. He was the one that let me in and brought me backstage. I named him Barracuda.” He snickered.
“Yeah, that’s about right,” I agreed.
I gave the driver the address of my favorite burger joint. Far enough from the venue that we wouldn’t get stuck in the same place as the postconcert crowd. Somewhere private enough that Chase and I could actually talk without being interrupted by fans every five seconds looking to get a photo with me. I normally didn’t mind meeting people after the show; the fans buying albums and tickets were the reason why I got to play my guitar for a living, and I liked to remember that. But tonight I wanted to be alone with this perfect, adorable guy who I couldn’t believe was here with me.
We pulled up to the diner and got seated in a semicircular red vinyl booth at the back, secluded enough from the handful of other diners so it felt like we could still have a private conversation. We both slid into the center, sitting close enough that our legs almost touched under the table despite the booth being designed to accommodate more people than only the two of us. We made small talk until the waitress took our orders, and honestly, even something as mundane as listening to him talk about the weather or commenting on how horrible the wallpaper was made me incredibly happy.
Chase told me about his life while we waited for our food. His crazy friends Ty and Graham, how much he loved his classes, one of the grad students he went to school with. Jealousy pinged in me from the way he talked about some guy named Eli with such admiration. I got the sense there were feelings there, but I tried not to dwell on it.
He’d had his own life for the past few years. I had no claim on him, and as much as I didn’t like it, I was sure there would have been guys lucky enough to have earned his attention in his past. Just because I had lived almost like a monk, single-handedly debunking every stereotype about musicians sleeping with different groupies in each city, didn’t mean he hadn’t been with other people.
He talked through half of his burger, and my attention was equally fixed on his words and on the drip of mayo he had missed at the corner of his mouth. He paused halfway through a sentence to follow my gaze.
“What?” Chase said self-consciously.
“Nothing,” I managed to squeak out in response.
He poked his tongue out a second later to lick away the errant drop of sauce. Call me pathetic, or just hard up, but that three-second move of his tongue made the blood rush to my cock embarrassingly quickly. I gawked at him, slack-jawed. He smirked knowingly at me, and at least I had the good grace to blush a little.
Our attention was drawn back to our meals. He asked me about me—life on the road and outside of my job. It was always tough to be 100 percent sure these days with even the closest friends what their motivation was for spending time with me. An ill-timed photo or a misinterpreted joke posted on social media or sold to an entertainment rag had been the downfall of some amazing public figures. I liked to think that I chose my circle wisely, but I had had a couple of close run-ins nonetheless. As public as my life was, it could also be incredibly lonely. But Chase simply wanted to get to know me. Not any random faceless famous musician, not even Carter West from Inevitable Thorns, but just Carter.
We joked and reminisced about the old times long after our food was gone. He was starting to look a little drained, and I was definitely feeling the exhaustion of tonight, and five straight months of touring, catching up with me. I settled the check, and he thanked me far too much for the few dollars his meal cost. My bank account was filled with more money than I knew what to do with, and buying him a simple hamburger brought me more joy than just about anything I had purchased with my newly earned money.
We got back into the car, and my heart ached knowing that our time was coming to an end. He gave the driver directions to his apartment building, and we made our way
through the late-night traffic down to the Lower East Side. We were both quiet, not knowing what to say to each other after the conversation had seemed to flow so easily all evening.
The car came to a stop outside a decent-looking older brick low-rise, and we both got out. I wasn’t angling for an invite up or anything else to happen between us tonight. I only wanted to make sure he got home safely and I got a chance to say good night. We both exited the car. I stuffed my hands in my pockets to fight the urge to touch him.
“Well, this is me.” He laughed nervously, stating the obvious. “It was so good to see you, C,” he said.
“Chase, I….” I paused, gathering the words I prayed would be enough to convince him to continue whatever sort of relationship we might have. “I want to keep talking to you, seeing you. Tonight was… perfect in every way. I know we’re just getting to know each other again, and that I hurt you. But I don’t want this to be one night and then we go our separate ways.”
“I don’t want that either,” he agreed, though his tone was cautious. “Honestly, I’m not sure I can handle having a long-distance boyf—someone.” He stumbled adorably, clearly not ready yet to assume the label I wanted so much to be real. But he had wanted to say it. That was promising, wasn’t it?
Next to Me Page 4
