Indigo Knights: The Boxed Set

by Jet Mykles

  Noble came to the rescue, standing. “Yes. Freddy’s leaving. C’mon.”

  “Oh.” Freddy dropped the remainder of his danish on his plate and stood. “I, uh…yeah.”

  Noble’s voice retreated. “I’ll call you a cab. Let’s get you dressed.” He led Freddy upstairs.

  Which left Lance alone with Shelby and this man he was dying to know. He stood, ready to make his own introduction if necessary.

  It wasn’t. Once Freddy was gone, Shelby’s tone rose to its usual level of bored disdain. “Lance, this is Gordon McCarty.”

  The vision reached across the corner of the table to shake his hand.

  Lance hoped his grin wasn’t too dopey as he reached to grip the hand. He was about to say…what? He didn’t know. But Shelby wasn’t finished.

  “He’s now The Might’s manager.”

  Hand in Gordon’s warm, dry grip, Lance felt his jaw drop and his eyes bug out. Gordon clearly found this amusing. He squeezed Lance’s hand, then let go with a warm nod of greeting.

  Gaping like a fish, Lance had to look at Shelby for confirmation. All he saw was his boss’s back, as Shelby was already in the kitchen, retrieving an empty mug from the cabinet.

  “What?” he called, needing clarification.

  “I’m the band’s new manager,” answered a voice thick and rich as honey.

  The sound recaptured Lance’s attention, and he was again staring into eyes so deep they might drag him in. He was ready to do anything that voice said as long as it was said while the two of them were alone and naked. Bed preferred but optional.

  That wide, delectable mouth curled into a wry grin. “You look surprised.”

  It took effort to recall the relevant conversation, but Lance finally found his voice. “I…am.”

  “Sorry if it’s too much of a shock. I hope it’s not an unpleasant one.”

  That grin was infectious and stirred things low in Lance’s belly that a full night of fucking Freddy hadn’t managed to stir. This guy wasn’t even really his type. Sure, he liked dark hair and a toned body, but he tended toward smaller, prettier boys. While Gordon was clearly quite pretty, he was definitely not a boy. “Not unpleasant. Just…unexpected.”

  Gordon nodded, glancing at Shelby, who was pouring coffee. Small, classy silver rings hugged earlobes that Lance wanted nothing more than to suck. “He thought you might be surprised.” Those eyes were back, looking at Lance. “Mind if I get a cup?” He jerked his head toward the kitchen.

  “Uh, no. Help yourself.”

  Lance sat heavily and watched as Gordon joined Shelby in the smallish space between the island and the two walls of kitchen counter and appliances. A manager? What had brought this on? Shelby was an autocrat, a dictator. In the four years Lance had been with him, he’d never given up one iota of power. It had taken him most of those four years to come up with an appropriate lineup of musicians he deemed worthy to record The Might’s first album. Shelby didn’t accept or seek out gigs at clubs or venues other than Fletcher’s, because he knew he couldn’t control every aspect of the performance at a place he didn’t own. What on earth had possessed him, after all this time, to suddenly acquire a manager?

  Shelby returned to the table before Gordon. “So whose is the boy upstairs?” he asked too casually as he selected a pastry. “Yours or Noble’s?”

  Lance glanced behind him, but Gordon’s attention was on pouring creamer into his mug. “Mine. I guess.” Didn’t seem prudent to mention Noble’s other two since they were gone anyway.

  Shelby shook his head as he sat back in a chair. Not bothering with a plate or napkin, he bit into the pastry and ignored the flakes that fell on his sweater. “I still don’t understand. You weren’t gay when I hired you.”

  Gordon heard and glanced up at that. He met Lance’s gaze, smiled, then returned to his task.

  Lance made himself concentrate on Shelby. “I wasn’t?”

  Shelby’s eyebrows rose like he actually cared. “Were you?”

  Lance shrugged, then leaned forward to resume his own breakfast. “I’d never tried it before.” Which was true. It’d never occurred to him to fuck a guy until Noble had made it seem like a good idea. He couldn’t say he was sorry for his friend’s push to the gay side.

  Gordon’s shoulders shook slightly in silent laughter. What did that mean? Could Gordon be gay? Could Lance be so lucky? Right, that’s smart. Shelby finally hires a real manager, and your first thought is to screw him? Nice, dickwad. Nice. But the urge wasn’t going away. Not when Gordon cocked his head like that, so his neck was exposed and looking positively edible.

  “Mmm,” Shelby mused, unaware of Lance’s inner dialogue. “And now you have. Thanks to Noble.” He screwed his perfect little nose into a mild sneer as he brushed crumbs from his sweater onto the floor. “Remind me again why I hired him?”

  Lance’s fist clenched. Shelby’s tone and choice of subject was enough to distract him from intimate musings. “He’s a damn good drummer.”

  With a sigh, Shelby resumed nibbling on his danish. “That he is. Lucky him.”

  With practiced ease, Lance loosened his fist and took a deep breath before he chewed the rest of his own pastry. Shelby might have gone through different guitarists in the time that Lance had worked for him, but once Lance had convinced him to hire Noble, they’d been his rhythm section. As far as Lance was concerned, he never wanted to play with another drummer again. He and Noble clicked like no other drummer he’d worked with before.

  As Gordon returned to the table with a steaming mug in hand, footsteps on the stairs heralded the return of Noble and Freddy, the latter now with his boots and jacket on. With a wary eye on Shelby, Freddy rounded the table to Lance’s side. Lance stood, and Freddy smiled up at him. “I had a great time,” he said softly before hopping up on his toes to give Lance a kiss.

  Lance steadied him with an arm at his waist and smiled. “Me too.” He stole another quick kiss—showing off for Gordon a little? Was Gordon even watching? Did he care?

  Freddy backed away, glancing again at Shelby, who was staring into space in the opposite direction. “Maybe we can do it again?”

  Lance nodded. “You bet.”

  Freddy grinned, nodded silently to Gordon, spun to give Noble a hug, then hurried out the door.

  Gordon’s expression was unreadable, damn it, his face tipped down as he sampled his coffee.

  Noble grabbed his cup from the table and went to top it off. He looked at the back of Shelby’s head, then lingered a little over Gordon’s before meeting Lance’s eyes.

  Lance kept his face neutral. But he did decide to be the one to drop the news. “Hey, Noble, this is Gordon.” As Gordon stood, already turning toward Noble, Lance added, “He’s The Might’s new manager.”

  Noble damn near dropped his hot coffee. Only nimble fingers and quick reflexes kept the mug in his grasp with just a little sloshing over onto his hand. Immediately the meaty place between thumb and forefinger went to his mouth, but his gaze darted from Lance to Gordon and back again as the news settled in.

  Gordon saw the near accident and rushed to his side, full of concern. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah.” Noble’s voice was muffled since he was still sucking liquid from his hand. “I’m fine.” He locked big eyes on Gordon when they stood just a pace apart. “Did he say you’re our new manager?”

  Lance squelched the tinge of jealousy as Gordon showed concern over Noble’s hand. All he’d gotten so far was a handshake.

  Shelby sniffed, tossing the flaky remains of his pastry onto the table. “I don’t know why you both insist on acting so surprised.”

  Three pairs of eyes turned on him, but Shelby only saw Lance’s since the others were behind him.

  Shelby gave him a familiar narrow-eyed look, not quite a glare but not that far off. “I have plans for The Might, and I don’t have time to see all those plans through myself.” The explanation was short and concise and more than he’d usually say on the subject of expansi
on. Clearly, finishing the album had altered his outlook more than Lance had realized. Shelby shook his head as he dusted off his hands. “Gordon knows me from prep school. I haven’t seen him in years, but he’s been abroad, and he’s familiar with the business. What are the labels you’ve worked for again?” he asked without turning.

  With a last look for Noble—who was now wiping off his mug over the sink—Gordon returned to the table. “I’ve been working for Gramster Records for the past year and a half.”

  Lance perked up. “I’ve heard of them.” Gramster was small, but they had a few notable acts. They were a bigger deal in Europe than in the States. “Wooster. Gun Cartel. They’re with Gramster, right?”

  Gordon smiled and took a sip of his coffee. “I worked a lot with Wooster, in fact.”

  Lance grinned, thinking of the raunchy look and sound of the new-style punk band. More scream and little melody. But they were popular in France and Germany and getting a toehold in the UK. “You don’t look like a Wooster man.”

  Gordon shrugged. “I clean up nice.” Boy, did he.

  Behind Gordon, Noble fluttered his hand and made a yee-ouch face that showed he thought Gordon’s words were an understatement.

  Shelby finished his coffee, then set the mug down with a clack. “Where’s Yaz?”

  “Dunno.” Noble took a seat beside Gordon. Lance tried not to scowl.

  “Haven’t seen him,” Lance added at Shelby’s pointed look.

  The boss man scowled. “Did you tell him I wanted him here?”

  Lance shook his head. “I didn’t see him before we left last night.”

  “Oh for the love of…” Shelby glared, and Lance let him, unimpressed. “Is he upstairs?”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  A disgusted grumble burbled from Shelby’s throat as he pushed to his feet, then stomped toward the staircase. Gordon and Noble watched him stalk off. Lance picked up his bear claw and bit into it.

  “Is Yaz trouble?” Gordon asked, turning back to the table.

  Noble laughed. “You could say that.”

  Lance shrugged. “He and Shelby don’t play nice.”

  Their new manager nodded, either oblivious to or ignoring the fact that Noble was sizing him up. “Good to know.” He sipped, glancing from one to the other of them. “What about you two?”

  “Aww.” Noble ducked his head and affected the Tennessee twang he rarely used. “We play real nice.”

  Gordon grinned but didn’t particularly warm to the mild flirting. “Also good to know.”

  “So, Wooster, huh?” Lance asked before Noble could continue to flirt. Last thing he wanted to watch was Noble luring the gorgeous man into his bed. He didn’t usually care, but he just didn’t want Noble to have this one.

  “Yeah. That was a lot of fun. I took them through Germany, Italy, China—”

  “China!” Flirting forgotten, Noble leaned in eagerly. “You’ve been to China?”

  Gordon happily spent the next few minutes answering Noble’s barrage of questions about where he’d been in the Far East. Lance listened with interest. Neither he nor Noble had ever been out of the country, so it was a treat to meet someone who’d traveled as much as Gordon seemed to. Lance felt something very like hope blossom in his chest as Gordon spoke of Beijing and Hong Kong. Well traveled, clearly educated, smart, sense of humor, and gorgeous as all fuck. What more could any band want from a manager? This guy could probably really take them places if Shelby would get out of his way.

  Like a black cloud, Shelby descended the stairs a few minutes later, the palpable waves of his annoyance effectively halting their exchange. “Neither of you have spoken to him?” he demanded when he reached the table, heedless of the conversation he’d interrupted.

  “Not since last night,” Noble replied.

  Lance shook his head.

  Shelby growled. “That’s it. I’m done.” He made a gesture toward Gordon that was almost but not quite a snap of his fingers. “Gordon, let’s go back to my office. I want you to look into a few things, and we can take another look at your contract.” As Gordon stood, Shelby looked at Lance and Noble. “If either of you see Yaz, call me, and tell him that his next paycheck depends on his talking to me as soon as possible.” When he turned, he almost bumped into Gordon, and that seemed to remind him: “Or you can call Gordon.” He pointed at them as he said to the other man, “You should exchange cell numbers.”

  They three of them took out their cell phones and obeyed quietly while Shelby fetched his coat. Gordon seemed more amused than anything by Shelby’s behavior, which Lance found encouraging. Those who found the humor in things got along better with Shelby.

  Still smiling, Gordon nodded his good-byes. “I’ll talk to you guys soon.”

  Shelby called to them while Gordon got his coat. “I’ll be back at”—he checked his oversize, expensive watch—“noon to rehearse. With or without Yaz.” With that disgusted tone, he opened the front door and left.

  Donning his coat and palming his gloves, Gordon tossed out one more “Bye” before following in Shelby’s wake.

  Lance and Noble stared at the door. Then they turned and stared at each other.

  “Did that just happen?” Noble’s voice was barely above a hush, as though he was afraid to mention it.

  Lance gave it some thought. “I think…yes.”

  “Was that weird? I think that was weird.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, that was a little weird.”

  “Did you know before they got here?”

  “Nope.”

  “At all?” Noble asked.

  “Nada.”

  Noble stared at the door again, like it would reveal the secrets of Shelby’s mind. “What do you think his”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“plans are?”

  “Don’t know.” Lance let a grin take his lips. “Looks like a good plan to me so far.”

  “I’ll say. Unless it’s Shelby’s usual crap.” They pondered for a few quiet moments. “Gordon’s pretty damn hot, too.”

  “Noble.” Lance spread his palm on the table between them and stared hard at his friend. “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “No innocent act. If he’s really gonna be our manager, our relationship should be professional.”

  Noble raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy who was drooling all over his breakfast.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, no way you’re ducking that. I know you. You never took your damn eyes off him. I’ll bet you’re so hard you can’t fucking stand.” His narrowed eyes dared Lance to deny it.

  Well, he could stand, but his arousal would show. “I’ll admit. He’s gorgeous.”

  “He’s fucking gorgeous, damn it.”

  “Okay, yeah. Still, we should keep our distance.”

  “What’s made you a prude all of a sudden?”

  Lance gave Noble a serious look. “This guy could be our ticket to getting out of Fletcher’s. To really doing something. One of us goes where we don’t need to and pisses him off, we lose that. Right?” Sounded good. Too bad he wasn’t so sure he wanted to play by those rules himself.

  Noble considered the notion. “Okay, yeah.”

  “So we keep our distance. As far as sex goes, anyway.”

  Twisting his lips in a grimace, Noble sat back in his chair. “Not gonna be easy.”

  “You’ve got plenty other guys to play with.”

  “True.” Noble contemplated his coffee while Lance finished off his last few bites. “Hell, he might not even be gay.”

  “You can’t tell?”

  “Not yet. Course”—he sipped—“I couldn’t tell about you at first either.”

  Lance dusted his hands off over his empty plate. “I wasn’t gay when you met me.”

  “Yeah, you keep saying that.”

  Chapter Three

  Present, early October

  “So you’re newly gay.” Lance lifted his glass to toast Rabin, who sat across from him at the booth’s table. “That’s
cool. So am I. Sort of.” He downed the dregs of his beer. “Just the last few years.”

  “Yeah?” Rabin had spent the last half hour telling Lance the brief and romantic story about him and his boyfriend, Izzy, who also happened to be Brent Rose’s cousin. The conversation had started with an explanation of events that led up to Gordon calling Lance to come to Chicago for the Knights, but it turned out both stories were entwined. “What woke you up?”

  Lance had to smile at the way Rabin put it. He glanced at the crowd below them. The booths in the club were on a second level, a foot or so above the dancing crowd and the bar. It made it easier to spot their waitress but not to flag her down. “Who do you think?” He turned the smile quickly on Rabin before resuming his search for the waitress.

  “Noble?”

  “Yep.”

  “Oh. Are you two…?”

  “No.”

  “But you have been?”

  Lance gave up for the moment and just set his empty glass at the edge of the table. It sat beside Noble’s nearly full glass of the same type of beer. Beer going flat since Noble was out with Danny on the dance floor. “Just a few times, years ago.” Lance slid Noble’s drink toward himself before picking it up.

  “He was your…first?”

  “Yeah.” Beer was a little flat, but it was still good. Lance licked his lips. “He was my first. But him and me…” He shook his head. “We’re better friends.”

  Rabin nodded. “But you liked it.”

  “Oh, I liked it, all right. Didn’t sleep with nearly as many women after that.”

  “But you still did? Sleep with women?”

  Lance snorted. “I slept with just about anything.” He laughed at the look of horror Rabin tried to hide. “I stuck to adult humans, though.”

  That made Rabin laugh. Finally the waitress came along, and they ordered another round of drinks for the table. Lance wasn’t surprised that the night had turned out like this so far. The four of them had proven to get along famously in the past few weeks. He couldn’t remember studio sessions that were so invigorating, so exciting, so fun. Maybe with his first few bands, but he’d been so young then, and he hadn’t known any better. Certainly they’d never had this much fun with The Might, since Shelby had called all the shots. Working with these guys was the pure exhilaration he’d always suspected he and Noble could enjoy if they hooked up with the right situation. And they finally had, both inside and outside the studio. Tonight was a case in point. Noble and Danny were out on the dance floor, living it up and scoping out their sexual conquests for the night, and he and Rabin were sitting talking. It worked.