“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Silence settled then, but, miraculously, it wasn’t an awkward one. It felt like they were back to normal. Was that possible? Probably not. Not in any real way. It couldn’t be that easy. But it was nice to pretend for a while.
“Why was the show shit?”
Oh, right. Jesse had forgotten about that. The foul mood he was in earlier had slipped away, bled out of him with his actual blood, maybe.
“The video projection was messed up, so we had one screen blank a bunch of the time.” But that wasn’t his real issue. He was pissed about that yes, but ultimately the problem had been him. “But the bigger deal was I missed a bunch of cues. Last night too.”
“What happened?” Hunter asked.
“I don’t know.”
He did, though. He knew exactly what had happened that had thrown him so utterly off his game.
You did. You happened.
It had been five days since Hunter had examined Jesse’s toe over FaceTime.
In the meantime, they had talked five times: every night around midnight. Just like old times.
Only not.
They talked about everything. How the shows went—they were getting better. Hospital life and politics—they were the same.
Well, not actually everything.
As Hunter pulled into the parking ramp of the Buffalo Marriott, part of him was afraid they were never going to address the elephant in the room—the “elephant,” of course, being the most spectacular sex of his life.
Not to mention the sleeping afterward.
Oh, the sleeping. Wrapped up tight in Jesse’s arms, his chest rising and falling against Hunter’s back, making him believe for those few moments before sleep took him that everything might be okay.
If the night of the gala had been Upside-Down World, and life before the gala had been whatever the opposite of that was—Right-Side-Up World, regular life—Hunter was currently in limbo. Stuck in a purgatory of uncertainty. He felt like he was on a seesaw that had frozen, perfectly and perpetually balanced on its fulcrum. He needed something to happen. Someone needed to kick that seesaw and get it moving again. He almost didn’t care what the result of this day was as long as there was a result.
Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. Part of him feared he would accept whatever ambiguously defined scraps Jesse offered him. Anything to keep him around.
No. He wasn’t doing that again.
Hunter was going to kick the damned seesaw. He wasn’t leaving Buffalo without getting some goddamned clarity about what he and Jesse were to each other.
When he reached the lobby, he pulled out his phone. I’m here.
Avery and her parents and sister had driven down earlier in the day and attended the sound check—Jesse had sent pictures of Avery palling around with the band onstage. They’d invited Hunter to drive with them, but he’d had a couple of afternoon commitments at the hospital he couldn’t reschedule, so he’d set out later in a rented car.
Besides, Avery and family were driving back to Toronto tonight after the show.
Hunter needed his own car.
Maybe.
He didn’t even know if Jesse was still in the hotel. The border crossing had been backed up, and Hunter was later than he’d planned. It was already seven, and he knew the band generally aimed to be at the venue about the time the opening band started, if not earlier, so it was very likely they were already gone.
He jumped when Jesse’s text arrived, even though he’d been staring at his phone.
Tenth floor. 1007.
The elevator disgorged him into an empty, softly lit hallway. He had no idea what to expect. He knew that while the other four guys doubled up and roomed together on the road, Jesse always got his own room. “It’s my band,” he would say. But Hunter got the impression the guys sort of free-floated among their rooms and those of the crew. So they might well be together now. He might be walking into the midst of the band and hangers-on in their preshow mode. He might have to examine Billy’s butt. He was prepared for a crowd.
Or maybe Jesse would be alone. It was unlikely they would launch right into The Talk before the show. Hunter wasn’t enough of a dick to force a discussion an hour before Jesse had to perform in front of tens of thousands of people, but, hey, if Jesse wanted to talk, Hunter was prepared to talk.
He was not prepared for the door of room 1007 to open and for a leather-clad arm to snake out, grab him by the shirt, and yank him inside.
He was not prepared to be shoved up against the door and kissed.
“I thought you’d never get here.” Jesse took his mouth off Hunter’s only long enough to mutter those words, and then it was back, hungry and insistent, licking the seam of Hunter’s lips until they slid open. As Jesse’s tongue made its rough intrusion into Hunter’s mouth, Hunter moaned, thinking suddenly of Jesse’s dick doing the same thing. Jesse fucking his mouth.
This was a bad idea.
This was the opposite of seesaw kicking.
Even as the rest of his body roared to life, Hunter lifted his arms, intending to push Jesse away, but when his hands hit that leather jacket, when they felt the solid mass of chest underneath it, the intended shove turned into something else.
His stupid hands grabbed the jacket like they wanted to ensure its owner wouldn’t flee. Which was probably redundant, given that Jesse and Hunter had their tongues in each other’s mouths.
Jesse was still holding on to Hunter’s shirt with one hand too. So there they were with fistfuls of each other’s clothes, making out like the world was ending.
It felt like flying.
A loud knock on the door behind his back brought them crashing down to earth.
“Jesse!”
Hunter leaped away from the door like it was made of glass and whoever was on the other side could see what they were doing. Jesse didn’t let go of him, though. When Hunter moved, Jesse adjusted, pivoting with him and lowering his forehead to Hunter’s.
“Jesse, are you in there?” It was a feminine voice. “We have to go!”
“Yes! Give me two seconds.” Jesse sighed and finally let go of Hunter—but slowly, like his hands didn’t want to.
“That’s Amber,” he said to Hunter, glancing at his watch with one hand and using the other to pinch the bridge of his nose. His voice had come out all scratchy. He cleared his throat before saying more. “The others are already at the arena. I told her I’d be late, but she freaks out if we’re not there by seven thirty. I guess she decided to stay and play babysitter.”
It was probably a good thing. Hunter wasn’t sure that incendiary kiss would ever have ended otherwise. And the more they kissed, the harder the postshow seesaw tipping was going to be.
Jesse made his way over to his bed, grabbed a knapsack, and was back at the door before Hunter could catch his breath. His eyes raked over Hunter.
Hunter forced himself to meet Jesse’s eyes, though it was oddly difficult. They hadn’t made eye contact yet, not really—the instant lip contact had precluded it.
“You okay?” Jesse asked. “For now?”
Hunter nodded.
Jesse flashed a small, wicked smile and opened the door to reveal a petite brunette dressed in jeans and a crisp white blouse holding a clipboard. “Jesse, I’m not sure what you were waiting for that was so important that I couldn’t . . .” She trailed off, her eyes sliding over Hunter.
“Amber, this is Hunter. Hunter, Amber.”
“Oh!” Amber was surprised, but quickly covered it, extending a hand to shake Hunter’s. “Right. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You too,” said Hunter. “Nice to finally meet the boss around here.”
Amber grinned and gestured for them both to come into the hallway. “I like him,” she said to Jesse, who just smirked.
Amber produced a lanyard with a badge hanging from it and handed it to Hunter. “This is an all-access pass. It will get you in anywhere. Do you want a ticke
t, or do you want to watch the show from the wings?”
“Oh, I want a ticket.” Hunter might have no freaking idea what was going on between him and Jesse, but he wanted to see the full show. He’d watched enough live footage of Jesse’s shows on YouTube, seeing him prowl around the stage, flirt with the audience, transport them to another world with his talent.
No matter what else happened, there was no way he was missing that.
Jesse was glad Hunter had chosen to watch the show from the audience.
It was funny to think Hunter had never seen him live. But, then, when would he have? Their current tour hadn’t hit Toronto yet—the Canadian leg of the tour came after the US. And Jesse and Hunter had only known each other a year. Not long enough for him to have been around for previous tours.
It just felt like they’d known each other forever.
Egomaniac that he was, he was determined to put on an amazing show. Blow Hunter’s mind.
He did kind of wish, though, that Hunter had elected to sit with Avery and her family in the luxury box Amber had arranged. But no. Hunter had opted for the second of two seating options Amber had offered: the front-row seat.
Which meant Jesse could see him.
Like, constantly.
All he had to do was look over there.
Which he was trying not to do more than, oh, twenty times a minute.
He was hyperaware of Hunter. It was incredible to see him smiling and singing along, gazing up at the stage. Shit, it was almost as good as when he was gazing up at Jesse with his lips around . . .
Fuck. Jesse was the one on stage, but he felt like Hunter was the one sucking up all the energy in the vast space.
He had to stop this.
He moved over to the other side during a long interlude when he didn’t have to sing. He didn’t usually do that during this song, so he was probably throwing the guys for a loop, but whatever. It was his band; he could do what he liked.
There. That was better.
Arenas, he had learned, weren’t like smaller venues. You had to be “big” in an arena. Make the kid in the nosebleed section feel like you were singing to him. There was a certain energy that flowed between the performer and the audience that you learned to cultivate. It was like a dance. A two-and-a-half-hour love affair. The quality of the music mattered, yes, but the overall success of a show depended more on the way that group energy flowed.
And that was only going to happen if he paid attention to the audience. To the entire audience. Not just one member.
He mostly managed. Until the encore. The first song of the encore set was “When You’re Mine.” Their big hit off the current album.
Hunter’s song.
He tried not to look at him. But then, as they were playing, he started thinking about the storyboards for the video. The plan was to cut between him gazing out the window at a rainstorm, flash to “happier days” with him and Kylie dancing and kissing in the rain, and, of course, the requisite “concert” shots, which were, in this case, the band playing on the roof of the building Jesse had been brooding in earlier. Then, in the end, it would start to rain on the band, and Kylie would emerge onto the roof and they’d kiss in the rain some more.
It would be visually striking and dramatic. The director had a great portfolio. There was no doubt Kylie’s presence would set tongues wagging in a way that would get people talking.
It was a good concept.
It was also total bullshit.
It made him so fucking angry.
So angry he started to lose his place in the song.
So he gave in. Capitulated. Looked at the person who should have been, but never would be, in the video.
The only person in the audience.
It calmed him right down, to see Hunter’s rapt face. There was a crescendo in the song where the lights turned out to the audience. Jesse usually took the opportunity to scan the entire arena, to marvel at the fact that they were here. That he’d really made it. That he was a fucking rock-and-roll star.
But today he just looked at Hunter. Let himself look and look and look.
Let a big, goofy, guileless grin spread over his face.
Hunter smiled back.
With a burst of energy, he played the shit out of the rest of the song.
“Jesse!”
Jesse emerged from his dressing room. Usually he waited until he got back to the hotel to shower. Generally, there was a crowd assembled backstage, and depending on his mood, he might stick around for a bit and hang out, but he preferred showering in the privacy of his hotel room. But tonight, given the presence of the visitors from Toronto, he’d decided to wash his stinky body on site.
Which was good, because the first thing he saw when he stepped out into the crowded green room was Avery running toward him.
The sight of her, out in the world and smiling like crazy, just about made his heart burst like he was in a fucking Disney movie.
So, he went with the Disney theme. Instead of hugging her, he picked her up and twirled her around. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a parade of singing woodland creatures make their way backstage.
“You were so great! And I can’t believe you dedicated a song to me! This is the greatest day of my life! I posted on Insta, and I have, like, a billion comments already!”
Next up were Avery’s parents and sister, less over the top than Avery but all smiling. They’d been chatting with the rest of the band, whom he’d ordered to be on their best behavior. The guys actually seemed to be complying. Billy even had all his clothes on and had—so far—not acquired any female admirers, though the room was filled with a lot of women Jesse recognized as groupies. And Cranky Colin was autographing a poster for Avery and chatting like he wasn’t the band’s own Ebenezer Scrooge. It was a fucking Disney movie.
Of course, there was also Hunter.
They hadn’t spoken directly. The crowd was big and everyone was kind of focused on Avery, but Jesse was aware of Hunter’s every move. Saw when he made his way to the catering spread Amber had ordered up—they didn’t usually eat on site after a show, so this was all for Avery’s benefit.
Even though everyone, Jesse included, was having a good time, the minutes passed slowly. He wished he could bail. Grab Hunter and hightail it out of here.
Well, not literally grab him.
Even though that was exactly what he wanted to do.
He felt someone watching him and turned, dragging his gaze away from where Hunter was locked in conversation with Billy and Rob.
It was Colin. Standing next to him—where had he come from?—and silently watching him.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Colin said, but his brow was furrowed ever so slightly, like he was trying to puzzle something out.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Fine. Something was up with the keyboardist, but it was impossible to get anywhere with Colin when he was determined not to talk. Time for a new topic. “Thanks for being nice to Avery.”
Colin smirked. “I’m not a total dick, you know.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Hey,” came a voice from over his shoulder.
It was Hunter’s voice, so of course he whirled. Hunter was the Pied Piper, and he was the fucking rat. A perfect analogy.
“You were great.” Hunter glanced at Colin and expanded his comment. “You guys were great. You’ve really got the touch for live shows.”
Heat crept up Jesse’s neck. “Thanks.”
He was about to say more, something self-effacing, because he was uncomfortable as hell with the praise, when a woman sidled up between Colin and him. She was wearing a backstage pass around her neck, which meant someone had authorized her. She had platinum hair and big blue eyes—and she was wearing a T-shirt with a picture of his face stretched tight over her boobs. She was objectively gorgeous. And she didn’t have a press pass. Which meant she was probably your garden-variety groupie, if better looking than most.
He sighed, wondering which crew member she’d sweet-talked into giving her the pass.
“I had to come over and introduce myself.”
Here they went.
“I’m from Toronto too—I drove over for this show, and I’m seeing you the day after tomorrow in Boston. I’m like, your biggest admirer. I have a scrapbook of you.” She laughed good-naturedly and rolled her eyes at herself. “It’s like I’m thirteen or something.”
“That’s great,” he said, trying to infuse his voice with at least a little bit of genuine enthusiasm. “Thanks.”
She seemed to take his not-rudeness as an invitation—she stepped closer and laid her hand on his forearm. “My name’s Jessica,” she said, grinning and looking like she’d told a hilarious joke and was waiting for her audience to get it.
“Uh, nice to meet you, Jessica.” He stuck out his hand, but only so he could shake his arm out from under her touch. “I’m—”
“I know! Jesse. Jesse and Jessica!” She lowered her voice and put her hand back on his arm. “And I am not thirteen.”
“Right.” This was the part where he was supposed to say something flirty, something about how it was meant to be. He knew how to do that. He knew how to play the game.
He did not know how to get rid of Jessica without being a total dick.
Hunter broke through the uncomfortable silence that followed. “I’m pretty beat, so I think I’m going to head back to my room and crash.”
What? “Your room? Did you get one at the Marriott?”
Shit. Now he’d let on to Jessica that the band was at the Marriott. Not that it was a state secret—any groupie worth her salt would have that info. But still. His mind had gone soft.
Jesse hadn’t thought about where Hunter would stay. Which was kind of dick-ish, given that he’d invited Hunter to the show. He should have had Amber make arrangements for him.
Also: what? That was it? Hunter was done for the night? He tried to wiggle his arm out of Jessica’s grip without being too overt about it.
“Yep. Amber arranged one. I checked in after we . . . after you headed over to the arena.”
Why did that . . . hurt so much? Fuck it. He went ahead and shook Jessica’s hand off.
Infamous Page 18
