by Jet Mykles
“Well, at least you’re not into bestiality.”
“No.” Lance sipped at what had been Noble’s drink. “Not into anything these days.” He felt the hesitation more than saw it, only because he wasn’t looking. But the question was coming. Rabin was trying to figure out how to ask. So Lance took pity on him. “You know that feeling you’ve got with Izzy?”
“Yeah.”
“I had that.” Lance ran a finger along the rim of the glass, watching as he did it. “I had a…good relationship.” He glanced up so Rabin could read his expression. “And I blew it. Completely fucked it up beyond recognition.” He dropped his gaze back down, but his fingers were just resting on the rim of the glass now. “It still hurts.”
“Shit. I’m sorry.”
Lance shrugged. “My own fault.”
Another hesitation. This time Lance let Rabin work it out. “Do you date at all now?”
It was still early in their friendship, so Lance expected the question and had a ready answer. “I never really dated before. Just fucked around. A lot. But”—he sat back, the vinyl of the booth seat sighing under his weight—“no.”
“How long’s it been?”
Lance smiled, knowing the reaction that would come. “Almost a year.”
It took a second to sink in. “Almost a year since…?”
“Almost a year since I’ve had sex with anyone else.”
He had to look up to see the expression. It was one of the few joys of his situation. It usually started with a blank stare as whoever it was decided if he’d just said what he’d just said. Then, when they realized he had, the wide-eyed denial. No, he couldn’t possibly have said that. How could anyone not have sex for a year? Reactions varied from there through reasoning, further denial, or outright disbelief.
Lance wasn’t surprised that Rabin went the reasoning route. “Wow. Really?”
“Yep.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Sure. But it’s not like I really know. I just don’t feel like it.”
“Ever?”
He felt his mouth twist into a mocking half smile. “Nope. I get the urge; then I just kind of lose interest.”
Rabin was frowning at him, thinking.
“All the important parts work, by the way,” Lance assured him. “My right hand works just fine.”
The frown dissolved into a laugh. “Well, there’s that, at least. But… Bloody hell.”
Lance shrugged.
“Does the other guy… Guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Does he know?”
“No.” Actually, Gordon might know, but Lance didn’t think he cared. “That doesn’t matter anyway. I missed the boat with him.”
“But that’s quite a sacrifice.”
“Not really. Not in the grand scheme of things. I mean, hey, war? Famine? Government spending? Those are big. Me not dipping my wick isn’t a big deal.”
“So is this a forever thing?”
“Who knows? I don’t fight it anymore. If it happens someday, it’ll happen.” He chuckled. “Drives Noble crazy, so there’s a bonus.”
Rabin laughed. “Yeah. I could see that it would.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Does it bug you? About me?”
“What? No. It’s your life, man. I’ll be honest—it seems kind of extreme.”
Lance shrugged agreement.
“But it’s really none of my business.”
To say Rabin’s reaction was a relief would be an understatement. Lance knew his behavior wasn’t normal, but he’d given up trying to change. It’d happen eventually.
They strayed to other topics for a while.
Noble showed up at the end of the table. His shiny green locks were draped over the right side of his head, the shaved left shining in the colorful lights. His button-down was open to reveal everything from his navel to the toad tattooed above his pec.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
Rabin spoke. Lance didn’t. They both stared at the young man standing beside Noble, because it certainly wasn’t Danny. No, this one was short, with bright orange hair, or so it looked under the lights. He had a cute pixie face and a wicked smile. He might even have had freckles.
“This is Carlton.” Noble had his arm around the guy’s shoulders, and all of his attention—both of their attention—was on Lance. “Carlton, this is Lance.”
The cute guy leaned in to extend his hand. “Hi.”
Lance shook his head with some trepidation. The look on Noble’s face told him what this was.
“Lance,” Noble began as though he was speaking to a child, “you want to dance with Carlton.” He nodded for emphasis.
“I do?” Lance didn’t like to dance in general. Then again, Noble didn’t particularly mean on the dance floor.
“Yes.” Carlton leaned over the table toward Lance, both hands spread over the surface. He got his face as close to Lance’s as possible without crawling over the table. “You do.”
Lance met Carlton’s eyes calmly. “You’re cute.”
“Thank you.”
“But no, thanks.”
Carlton put on a pout. “Why not?”
“Not interested.”
“But—”
“If you’d like to sit, I’d be happy to talk.” Lance indicated the empty space beside him. “I’m sure we could get along well. But that’s all we’re going to do. Talk.”
Carlton opened his mouth, then closed it on a confused frown. Over his head, Noble speared Lance with a disapproving glare.
“But…” Carlton tried the grin again. It should have been tempting. It wasn’t, really. “I’m easy.”
“I’ve no doubt. But you’re not getting laid here. Best spend your time somewhere else.”
At that, Carlton stood up and faced Noble, looking for guidance.
But Noble was still glaring at Lance. He shook his head. “Really?”
Lance met him glare for glare. “Really.”
“You are so fucking sad.”
“You keep reminding me.”
With a disgusted snort, Noble turned. In one motion, he wound an arm around Carlton’s shoulders, spun him, and led him away.
“Wow.” Rabin watched them go, bemused. “That happen often?”
Lance sighed. “Too often. Noble is more determined to get me laid than I am.”
“I see that. Why?”
“After he introduced me to the gay side of my life, he pretty much chooses who I sleep with. Or, at least, he did.” He nodded at the slight alarm that took over Rabin’s expression. “I know, I know—it’s freaky. It’s another reason I choose to be celibate. The only guys I’ve known are the cute young things Noble picks for me. Except one.”
“Ah. The one.”
“Yes.” He shook his head. “I’m pretty bad at picking up guys myself. Reasonably good with girls, but not so much with guys.”
“That’s weird. Isn’t it supposed to be easier with guys?”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Why not go back to girls?”
“Thought about it.” He shrugged. “I’m just not interested.”
“I dunno. You go see a doctor about this? Maybe it’s medical.”
Lance laughed. “I thought about seeing a shrink but…” He shook his head. “What’s the point? The only one who’s really put out about it is Noble. I feel fine. Besides, I’ve got this new band I’m really excited about.”
That made Rabin grin. “Yeah, that’s pretty exciting.”
“Yeah. Let’s talk about that.”
Chapter Four
Past, that night
“So. You think we should call Yaz?” Noble asked, hitching himself up on one of the bar stools on the far side of the kitchen island.
“What for? Shelby already tried him a million times.” Lance bent down to check on the frozen pizza through the oven’s window. Shelby’s people cooked for the guest house twice a week and
left reheatable dishes behind for the rest of the meals. Both Lance and Noble favored the homemade pizzas, which were better than a lot of the choices they had in the city.
“He might answer if one of us calls.”
“Or he might not.”
After a full day of rehearsal with Shelby in a shitty mood because Yaz never showed, food was imperative. Shelby had been sharp, annoyed, and very vocal about how pissed he was that he had to play the guitar parts himself. Not that it mattered. He’d run them through dozens of different versions of partial songs that he hadn’t finished. Since he’d been in such a bad mood, neither Lance nor Noble had even tried to bring up the subject of Gordon and what he was going to do for The Might. Their curiosity would just have to wait.
Noble toyed with an oven mitt that had been sitting on the island. “I’m just saying, we could be nice.”
Lance took the two steps toward the refrigerator. “Or we could let him deal with his own shit.”
Noble flipped his head to clear his face of some of the forward-hanging fringe. “Yeah. You’re right. Fuck him.”
The refrigerator opened with a muted hiss. “You want a drink?”
“Yeah. One of those German beers. In the brown bottle.”
Lance hid an eye roll with the door. A connoisseur of beer Noble was not. Of course, neither was Lance, really. He just knew that the beer Shelby’s staff provided was pretty darn good. Gordon might know about beer. Had he said he’d been to Germany? Had he fucked some guy in a German hotel? Okay, stop. Reining in his thoughts, Lance started shifting things around in order to get to the bottles that were lined along the back of one shelf.
After a pause, Noble spoke. “So. When do we get to see Gordon again? I want to hear about these plans.”
Lance was glad for the cool air on the sudden flush to his cheeks. Just thinking about Gordon and how he looked in that blue sweater, the sound of his laugh… “I’m sure we’ll see him soon enough.” He took out two bottles, opened them with the opener built into the refrigerator door, then slid one across the shiny black counter to Noble.
“And Shelby said they went to school together. That makes him a blue blood.”
That hadn’t occurred to Lance. Gordon didn’t strike him as bleeding blue. “Sure does.”
“What’s up with that? He’s the polar opposite of Shelby.”
Lance checked the timer above the stove as he sipped. “You know that from, what, a ten-minute conversation?”
“Oh, come on. You can tell. Gordon’s, like, cool. Shelby’s a douche.”
Lance had to grin. “Guess there’s rich, and then there’s rich.”
Noble glanced around their swank surroundings with a jaded eye. “Yeah. I guess so.” He rolled his bottle between his palms. “When do we get to be rich?”
“Some say we are.”
“Some don’t know shit.”
“Very true.” Lance sipped and watched Gordon’s smile in his mind’s eye. “Maybe Gordon will make that happen.”
“That’d be awesome. ’Cause, y’know…the big time. Money and albums and travel and fans.” Noble’s face lit up, and his eyes went distant as he pictured it.
“Right.” He was cynical about the music business and supposed breaks, but Noble was still new enough to believe in the fabled glory of being in a rock band. Unlike Lance, he’d never been in another band, outside of a failed high school attempt. Two years with The Might had provided Noble some stability after a dark time in his life that Lance only knew about in vague terms. Lately it seemed Noble was looking out at the world, wanting to experience more of it.
They shared a few moments of silence as they drank and waited for the pizza. In the living area, the television droned, but the sound was down too low for Lance to figure out what they’d left on.
“What do you think he has on him?” Noble asked finally.
“Who?”
“Gordon.” Noble stared at the reflective surface of the tiles before him, thinking hard. “On Shelby. He has to have something, doesn’t he?”
“If that’s what you want to think.”
“Yeah.” Noble’s eyes opened wide over a wicked grin. “Maybe they have a torrid sexual history, and Shelby’s paying Gordon off for his silence.”
Lance burst out laughing. “I’m sure that’s it.”
Noble tapped his chin with one finger. “Trouble with that is, I don’t picture Gordon doing Shelby.”
“Could be the other way around.”
“Not a chance. No way Shelby tops that.” Noble shook his head for emphasis.
Lance grinned as he got the hot pads down from their hooks above the stove. “And Shelby’s not gay.”
“There’s that.” Noble was quiet while Lance took the pizza out of the oven, but spoke as Lance was cutting it. “I hope Gordon’s gay.”
Lance shrugged, concentrating on his task rather than any errant thoughts about Gordon’s sexuality. He didn’t want to think about it. Thinking about it made him hard. He dished out half of the pizza to Noble and the other half to himself; then both of them picked up their plates and headed for the television. Now he saw the reality show. His and Noble’s secret shame was an addiction to them. Unfortunately, this one was almost done.
“Jesus, what if Shelby’s really serious?” Noble said as they got comfortable: side by side on the couch, the remote between them, their sock-clad feet on the polished coffee table. “It’d be awesome to have a real band manager. God, maybe a tour?”
“Yeah.” Lance propped his plate on his thigh and reached for the remote control. “But only if Shelby lets him do it right.”
“Yeah.” Noble took a huge bite, blowing belatedly to cool the hot cheese. “You think he will?”
Lance chewed on a more reasonable bite. “What?”
“Let him.”
Lance started surfing channels. “I doubt it.” He had given it serious thought and refused to get excited, no matter how promising it was to have Gordon around. “Shelby’s too much of a control freak.”
“Yeah.” Noble’s disappointment sounded through. “Fuck.”
* * * *
Their hunger sated by the pizza, and brains zonked from bad television, neither Lance nor Noble moved more than their heads to look back when the front door opened. Yaz breezed in on a gust of winter chill. The Might’s guitarist looked none the worse for wear, bundled up against the weather in a thick leather jacket with a scarf wound around his neck. His riot of light brown hair had been tamed from being under a striped knit cap, which he now held in his hand. An overnight bag was slung over his left shoulder. He greeted them with a nod. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Noble said while Lance turned back to the TV. “Where you been?”
“Out.”
“Shelby’s been looking for you.”
Lance glanced over to see Yaz’s complete lack of concern. “I know,” Yaz said.
“You call him?”
“No.”
Noble rolled his eyes at Lance. “Okay.” He righted himself to face the television. “Whatever, dude.”
Without another word, Yaz passed behind them to the stairs that led to the second floor.
“Should we call Shelby?” Noble asked when Yaz was out of earshot.
“Probably.”
Lance didn’t bother, knowing Noble couldn’t resist. The drummer lasted all of a minute before his plate clattered on the coffee table and he was scrambling for his cell phone. His fingers flew over the screen as he sent a text. The phone blipped, and Noble gave a little sigh. “There.” He switched phone for plate and sat back on the couch. “I’ve done my duty.”
* * * *
Gordon showed up just under an hour later. Lance and Noble were sprawled at either end of the couch, still watching television, when the front door opened. “Hi, guys.”
Lance suppressed the grin that wanted to curl his lips. “Gordon.”
The handsome man wore the same overcoat and blue sweater from earlier. He loosened the gray scarf aroun
d his neck as he approached them. “I’m here to see Yaz. He still here?”
“Shelby sent you?” Noble asked, amazed. “Man, what a way to start a new job.”
Lance was a little surprised too. He’d felt sure Shelby would want to do his own yelling at Yaz.
Gordon just gave Noble a tight smile. “Is he here?”
Noble pointed at the ceiling. “We haven’t seen him since he went up.”
Nodding, Gordon turned away to hang up coat and scarf. “Could I ask one of you to introduce me?”
Comfortable where he was, Lance prodded Noble’s thigh with a socked foot. Noble grimaced at him but stood. “Follow me.”
Lance watched them disappear up the stairs, still wondering. Maybe Shelby was serious about this manager thing if he sent Gordon to deal with Yaz. Or maybe it was late and he hadn’t wanted to deal with it. It was too soon for Lance to really tell.
Ten minutes later, Noble was back, alone, hazel eyes alight. He whistled as he sat. “Damn. Gordon’s fucking awesome.”
“What happened?”
“Yaz wasn’t gonna answer the door, but Gordon had a key.” Noble’s face shone with excitement as he tucked his knee up on the couch to face Lance. “He let us in, and Yaz came storming out of the bedroom all pissed and shit. I told him who Gordon was, and he said he didn’t give a fuck, and we gotta get out of his room. Gordon just stood up to him and stayed all calm.”
Lance propped up on his elbow, concerned. Damn the thick walls of the guest house! He hadn’t heard a thing. “What are you doing down here?” Yaz was a lazy fuck but he was big and wasn’t a stranger to bar fights.
Noble shook his head, awe in his eyes. “I’m telling you, Gordon was in control. He asked me to leave, and I didn’t even question it till I was halfway down here.”
