by Ashlyn Kane
Ari gave him a knife and free rein over the fruit and turned his attention to the eggs.
Starting with half a cantaloupe, Jax cut off wedges, sliced into them, and then ran the knife along the rind to detach the pieces. As he worked, he considered the problem of a date in which Jax provided food.
He couldn’t take Ari home, not without coordinating with Hobbes, who’d been hollow-eyed with exhaustion lately. Jax wasn’t going to risk interrupting his sleep when Hobbes was already not getting enough of it. Not to mention, why sleep in Jax’s old queen-size when Ari’s plush king sat waiting for them? Equally, Jax couldn’t really afford to take Ari out. Well, he could afford a McD’s feast, but that seemed inappropriate. He certainly couldn’t afford the chef’s table at one of the city’s best restaurants.
Jax washed the grapes and considered the apples. Should he cut those too? A glance at Ari showed that he was scrambling the eggs still. Apple slices it was.
And sure, you didn’t need money to make a date special, but special usually involved a place of meaning or something of significance. Jax and Ari didn’t really have that yet. Well, other than the bar, since that’s where they met. But what was Jax going to do? Serve Ari homemade meals on Murph’s bar top?
Jax paused, the knife halfway through an apple.
Huh.
“Done,” he said as he finished with the apples.
Ari pulled the pan off the stove and divided the eggs between two waiting plates. “As am I.”
They put the plates of eggs and fruit on the table. Ari added slices of bread, the cheese, a pot of honey, and a pot of tea. Then they settled in to eat.
Breakfast was comfortably quiet. Jax didn’t even feel the need to fill the silence. It struck him once again how well matched they were.
“So,” Jax said, picking up a grape, “what are you up to this week?”
Ari cleared his throat. “Actually, Noella has asked me to come to Toronto.”
Jax tilted his head. Noella was… “Your producer?”
“Yes. She wants me to come up for a few days so we can discuss my next album in person. I believe she’s also interested in recording some of it and talking to potential vocalists.” Ari sighed. “They called this morning. I leave early tomorrow and won’t be back until Sunday.”
“Oh. That sucks.”
“Succinctly put,” Ari said wryly.
Made worse by the fact that undoubtedly Ari would be working while Jax was free, and vice versa. Jax huffed. “Well.” He pasted on a smile. “We’ll just have to make the best of today.”
ARI HAD spent enough of his life in hotel rooms that their impersonal nature no longer registered. A part of him found it soothing to be in a space with no memories and no distractions. It usually put him in the right mood to compose.
Or it had, before this last tour.
His record label had put him up in the Fairmont, one of Toronto’s most exclusive hotels. In fairness, this one was decorated well beyond what anyone would call impersonal. It was warm and inviting and spacious, and the room service menu left nothing to be desired.
Ari missed Jax before he even started to unpack.
A car picked him up just before lunch and brought him to the label’s corporate offices, where a receptionist so fresh-faced she could’ve been Theo’s younger sister directed him to a conference room. Noella was there, along with Julia, her boss, and Tom, her assistant.
“You made it.” She raised her eyebrows. “I was afraid we were going to have to send out a search party.”
She basically had—they’d hired a car to retrieve him from London. Ari’s distaste for driving was well-known. “I always honor my agreements,” he protested.
“Uh-huh, save it for someone who didn’t already extend your album deadline.”
Before Ari could defend himself, the necessary pleasantries intervened—handshakes, and then Tom offered to procure refreshments. Ari would make do with the water on the sideboard.
The business luncheon was productive. Ari approved the usual session musicians he preferred to work with. Paul from the art department came in to talk about album art. Ari and Paul batted a few concepts back and forth, and Paul went back to his office to make magic happen.
And then Noella called for a car to bring them to the studio.
“I want to get the majority of ‘Alice’ recorded,” she said. “I think it’s going to be huge for you to do so many songs with vocals, but we need music to bring to potential vocalists, and the sound quality of what you sent is going to give people the wrong impression.”
Ari would have been the first to admit his recording technique wasn’t up to snuff—he usually didn’t even bother with a proper mic. He certainly didn’t have any sophisticated software. He was kind of a Luddite.
“Fine,” he agreed.
He and Linsey and Brian had worked together on his last album, and they were both consummate pros and easy to get along with. It only took an hour to get a good cut ready for sound mixing.
“This is different from your usual,” Linsey commented during a short break caused by the failure of one of the patch cords. Noella was fetching a replacement.
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “I like it, though. It suits you. Very ‘still waters run deep.’”
For some reason, that made Ari think of the first time he’d met Jax—unstoppable force, meet immovable object. If Ari was still waters, Jax was a tempest in a teacup.
He vaguely remembered a lesson from high school physics about equal and opposite reactions. But if he and Jax were equal and opposite forces, didn’t that mean they added up to nothing?
Oh—damn, it was his turn to say something, wasn’t it? “Thank you—”
“So,” Linsey cut in. “New muse?”
Ari’s ears heated. “Is it very obvious?”
“I think a couple of literal hearts floated out of my guitar during that solo,” Linsey said wryly. “When you get a vocal artist in here, you’re going to need, like, a fainting couch.”
Brian nodded sagely and twirled a drumstick. “You should mention it to Noella.”
“I’ll take that under advisement.”
When they finished the session, Ari bid the two of them goodbye and went back to the office with Noella, who sat down across from him with a portfolio. “So. I have a short list.”
“Are you going to tell me Bon Iver isn’t available?” he said ruefully.
Noella snorted. “Just keep an open mind, okay?” She hooked her phone up to the Bluetooth speaker in the lounge and flipped the folder open to the first page.
Noella had curated ten artists, six women and four men, for Ari to choose from, and she had audio samples for all of them, though three were artists he’d heard on the radio. He didn’t need to hear samples for those.
He’d been waffling about the artist’s gender. He’d originally wanted a man, but the fourth woman on the list had a dreamy, raspy quality to her voice that made him reconsider. It suited the song almost perfectly.
“Should I stick a pin in this one?” Noella asked.
Ari nodded distractedly and glanced at her CV. Maxi Greene. Only twenty-one, a rising star, or so the label was hoping. Her voice and headshot suggested a maturity beyond her age, with large dark eyes and pale skin over cheekbones that could’ve sliced cheese.
“We should definitely keep her in mind,” he said. The CV noted an album release slated for January.
He put two more in the Maybe pile, both men, but he was pretty sure he was going to end up going with Maxi. It wasn’t exactly how he’d thought the song would turn out, but he could already almost hear it, and he couldn’t say he was disappointed.
But when Noella was putting her phone away, she must have hit the wrong thing, because music played from the speakers again, and all the hair on Ari’s body stood on end.
“Who is this?”
Noella pulled her phone closer and touched the screen. “Aiden Lindell, apparently.”
“It’s—he?” Ari
asked. The voice was androgynous, lilting. It was a deep alto, but smooth, lacking any gruffness or cracks.
Noella tapped at her phone and, after a pause, said, “Yes. He’s—I can’t believe this—Canadian and based out of Toronto.” She looked up. “I’m guessing you want—”
“Yes.” The voice was everything Ari wanted for the song but hadn’t known to ask for.
Noella smiled. “I’ll make some calls.” Ari might have felt bad for putting her on the spot if he didn’t know that “I’ll make some calls” was Noella’s battle cry, and she was as bloodthirsty as any Klingon.
WITHOUT ARI in town, Jax found time to get bored. On Friday, before his shift, he slumped into the couch and pulled out his phone. Even mindless scrolling of an Instagram feed was better than staring at the ceiling.
Jax had followed Ari’s official account months ago. Ari didn’t do social media for himself, really—his phone, an antique BlackBerry he insisted on using to avoid straining his wrists, had an appalling dearth of apps—and his accounts were actually PR vehicles run by someone else. But Jax wasn’t going to stop following his boyfriend’s official account just because Ari didn’t actually use it.
Over the weeks, Jax had largely ignored the updates to Ari’s account, since they tended to be pictures and video stockpiled during the tour or reminders about events, products, or endorsements. Today’s picture was different.
Ari stood with his violin in one hand, gesturing with his bow at some sheet music with the other. Next to him, a slight young man with large dark eyes and fine features, somewhat obscured by a fashionable toque, was obviously listening intently. New collaboration. Aiden Lindell @AideL and Ari discuss vocals for Ari’s upcoming studio album. #dreamteam #thecountdownbegins
Jax started at the picture, at how Ari practically loomed over Aiden, but the kid didn’t look intimidated. Instead his body language and his fierce look of concentration spoke of something else entirely. He was eager to collaborate with Ari and make it successful.
It wasn’t that Jax doubted Ari. Even if he didn’t trust his own instincts—which, given his past, maybe he shouldn’t—Naomi loved Ari, and Murph admired him. Ari was a good man and would never betray his trust. Also he was pretty sure Afra would do permanent injury to her brother if she ever discovered that he’d done something as crass as cheat.
But that didn’t mean Jax was delusional enough to think Ari had suddenly lost the ability to recognize an attractive man when he saw one. Ari might, and was perfectly within his rights to, look at another man and think, Yeah, I would if I could. That was life. That was human nature.
And Aiden Lindell was definitely attractive.
Knowing it was a bad idea but unable to stop himself, Jax clicked on the Instagram profile.
The profile picture was artsy in the extreme—a black-and-white silhouette too tiny to be studied. The biography listed him as a singer/songwriter and gave links to the usual suspects—website, Twitter, Facebook, Bandcamp. Jax turned to the recent posts.
Some food, artsy pictures of instruments… a close-up shot of his face. Jax clicked it and swallowed. The promotional shot was head-on and showed him to great advantage. The large eyes were centered in a heart-shaped face with a cute nose and delicate but sensitive mouth. His hair was fashionably cut—the left side above his ear was shaved close, and the top was long and swept across his forehead and right cheek. In this photo, his lips were parted invitingly, suggestively, as he eyed the camera.
Fuck.
Jax would proposition him in a bar.
He scrolled down to see more photos.
It turned out that spending almost an hour internet-stalking the cute boy your boyfriend was doing a music collaboration with was not good for your mood.
At work, Jax put all his feelings in a tiny box and focused on what needed doing. First, he needed to talk to Murph about next week. Ari should be home on Sunday, and Jax had a plan for his return, but he needed Murph’s cooperation if he was going to pull it off. Cute singers notwithstanding, Jax wanted to show Ari that he wasn’t the only one who could plan a romantic date.
Fortunately, Murph would agree to just about anything if you asked him while lugging kegs around, though the look he shot Jax made it clear he knew Jax was exploiting his weakness. “I’d have said yes anyway,” he huffed as they wrestled in the replacement keg.
“Yeah, well, I’m a mathematician.” Jax grunted and nudged the keg the rest of the way into place with his shoulder. “I like to stack the odds.”
As Jax knelt to connect the tap, Murph stood and prepared the pitcher for the head. “Next Sunday soon enough? It’s getting cold enough that crowds are slowing, and the college kids are buckling down for exams. We’re probably going to have to go down to six nights a week.”
Jax hid a wince even as he nodded. That was one less night a week to line his bank account. On the other hand, at least he’d have time to see Ari and a way to host a romantic date without breaking the bank. “Next Sunday. Thanks, Murph.”
The doors opened at seven and brought the usual rush of students who wanted to get in early enough to avoid paying the cover charge but would end up spending as much on drinks. Jax scrupulously checked IDs and toned down the flirting, suddenly feeling his age. They weren’t there to flirt with him anyway; they just wanted to unwind after their midterms.
Well. Most of them weren’t there to flirt with him. That didn’t stop them from adding it to their agenda. He filled orders for a Slippery Nipple, a Blowjob, and a Screaming Orgasm for a sophomore with a blond bob and a T-shirt that read Geologists Do It in the Ash. She took the shot before she left the bar, no hands, licked the cream off her lip, and winked as she walked away with the other two.
“They get younger every year,” Jax muttered, trying and failing to feel less like a dirty old man.
Someone at the bar let out a sharp laugh. “What are you, twenty-five?”
Jax turned toward the voice and smiled reflexively. “Twenty-seven,” he said defensively. Well, close enough.
The man who’d spoken was handsome in a refined way, like a GQ model, and wearing a watch that belonged in one of their ads. If Jax’s estimation wasn’t too far off, he was at least in the ballpark of thirty. Now this guy Jax could flirt with.
“Oh, well, huge difference,” the guy said. “One foot practically in the grave.”
Jax’s turn to laugh. “All right, Kierkegaard. Can I get you a drink?”
“Beer,” the guy said agreeably. “Cold.”
“Coming up.”
There was a lull in bar traffic as Bruce started to charge a cover at the door, slowing the influx of patrons, so Jax had a few minutes to make small talk. “First time here?” he asked as he slid the guy a coaster.
“What gave me away?”
“I didn’t recognize your face,” Jax said dryly. “I’m in every day. Kind of a giveaway. What brings you in? Drink specials? Thirst for live music?”
“Coworker.” The guy nodded thanks as Jax set the beer on the mat. “This is his chosen watering hole, not that he’s had time to make an appearance lately with the shifts he works. When I mentioned my sorrows, he suggested I come here to drown them.”
“Well, you’re in luck. Drowning sorrows is our specialty. Anything in particular?”
The customer leaned his elbows on the bar. “What do you do for a guy whose romantic prospects are so pathetic his parents set him up on a blind date with another guy. Chaperoned—” He paused for dramatic effect. “—by both sets of parents.”
Jax whistled under his breath and reached for a shot glass. He filled it with vodka and slid it next to the beer. “Start with that, then wait for the show, I think. I’m Jax, by the way.” He wiped his hands on the bar towel and held one out to shake.
The man smiled, reaching out. “Nice to meet you, Jax. I’m—”
“Sohrab.”
Both Jax and his customer—Sohrab—turned at the sound of the familiar voice.
Jax grabbed a highba
ll glass and a chunk of ice and poured Hobbes’s usual. “Hey, Hobbes. This one of yours?”
“Unfortunately.” Hobbes slid onto the stool next to Sohrab and accepted his drink with a nod. “Dr. Sohrab Hosseini, may I present Jax Hall. This reprobate is my roommate.”
“Reprobate, wow. You get that from your Word of the Day calendar?”
“Shut up.”
Jax ignored Hobbes and returned his attention to Sohrab. “I take it the blind date didn’t work out so well.”
Sohrab shrugged. “Well, he was nice, hot, and actually gay. The problem is I’m not sure what possessed my parents to believe he’d actually be available. The guy’s kind of a local celebrity.” Jax was peripherally aware of a dawning look of horror on Hobbes’s expressive face. “Actually I heard he hangs out here sometimes. Ari Darvish? Shit, I hope he doesn’t think I’m stalking him.”
Jax’s stomach suddenly felt like it was full of liquid nitrogen. He forced himself to smile. “You’re safe. In Toronto until Sunday, or so I heard.”
Hobbes kept trying to catch his eye, but fuck that. Jax needed a break from this conversation, and for once, time was on his side. “I gotta go—almost showtime. You want to settle up, or should I start a tab?”
He took care of their bills on autopilot, the other 90 percent of his available brainpower spinning through a loop of what this might mean. Why had Ari’s parents set him up on a blind date? Did they not know he was seeing Jax, or did they just not approve? And why hadn’t Ari told Jax about it?
Jax didn’t have any answers.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He needed to get his head in the game. He sat down at the piano and waited for Naomi to come over.
After the set, Jax took a bathroom break, then found himself at the bar once again. Hobbes was nowhere in sight, but Sohrab hadn’t moved.
“So, I guess I put my foot in it.”
Jax gave a tight smile. “No, not really. Okay, maybe a bit. Mostly it was just awkward.”
Sohrab wrinkled his nose. “Still. I didn’t mean—” He sighed. “Honestly, considering I know he comes here, I probably should have held my tongue around cute white boys.”
