by Jet Mykles
Luc arrived and they had the sound check, after which Luc and Johnnie immediately disappeared. Darien, bless him, started talking to Hell, so Brent slipped away and found his own way back to his room. One of the perks of staying in the hotel where they were playing was that he got to shower and change in his own room rather than one shared with the other guys. Tonight, he counted that as a blessing.
In the privacy of his own shower, he realized that he’d probably have to talk to Hell. Explain that things just wouldn’t work out between them. Hell was a smart guy. He’d understand. It wasn’t that Brent didn’t find him attractive -- he most certainly did -- it was just that any kind of relationship, even if it were only sexual, would just spell problems for the band. And those were to be avoided at all costs.
Hell would agree, and he’d get over it quick enough. In no time, he’d have his own following and would forget about any kind of interest he had in Brent. Brent knew it would happen.
It always did.
Back in high school ...
“Luc doesn’t stay cooped up in his room all day.”
Brent kept watching his hand at the neck of the guitar, determined to get the fingering right. “I’m not Luc.”
“You’ve got that right.”
He ignored Sue as she threw herself down on the couch next to him. A cloud of the cheap, flowery perfume she bathed in settled over him.
“I’m bored.”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go to the mall.”
“You go ahead.”
“You come with me.”
“No, thanks.”
“Luc’s there.”
“I know.”
He heard her growl. “Why can’t you be more like your friend?”
“If you want him so much, why don’t you go find him?” He knew the answer, of course. She couldn’t have his friend. Not at the moment, anyway. Luc had a supposed girlfriend Rosanne was not only built, but she was also sixteen with her own car. And she put out. She’d taken Luc’s cherry, which had earned her Luc’s undying devotion for at least a few months.
“Nancy lied to me,” Sue pouted. “She said you’d be fun.”
Nancy. Luc’s ex-girlfriend, who didn’t put out and had ended things with Luc in a huge fight. The only reason Brent had ever agreed to go out with Sue was because of Luc and Nancy. Now that those two were apart, the flaws in the current relationship were making themselves known. Among other things, Brent was damn sick and tired of hearing about how he wasn’t Luc. It wasn’t anything new, of course, but it was doubly irritating when it came from his so-called girlfriend.
“You quit baseball; you never want to go out.” That pout was really getting on his nerves. “All you want to do is sit here playing that guitar. And not even very well.”
He grimaced, finally looking up at her. She was cute enough, with lots of rich chestnut hair and big brown eyes, but cute didn’t make up for the attitude. “Go away and stay away.”
She glared. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“Is there anything to break up? You don’t like me anymore.”
She stood. “I never liked you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He bent his head over the guitar and didn’t watch her flounce out. It was a relief to have her gone.
Two hours later, the front door opened seconds before Luc’s “Hey!” sounded.
“Hey!” Brent called back from the living room.
Luc stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned, headed in the direction of Brent’s voice. Brent was relieved to see the guitar case in his hand and no girlfriend in tow. Luc grinned, shoving a hand through the long auburn curls at the top of his head. The sides were shorn close to his head, exposing the new gold hoops he wore in both ears, thanks to Rosanne’s suggestion. “I saw Sue at the mall,” he said as he came to sit on the coffee table. The guitar case was dropped on the floor by his booted foot. “She says you broke up with her.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay.”
“Heck yeah. I was sick of her.”
Luc grinned, bending over to open the case and retrieve his bass. “Awesome. I’ve got a girl for you to meet.”
Brent sat up straight. “No more girls.”
Luc cradled the secondhand bass guitar in his lap. “Huh?”
Brent scowled, tossing his head to get his curly black bangs out of his eyes. “No more girls. I don’t want you to set me up.”
“But who you going to hang with when we go out?”
“I’m not going out with you.”
Luc snorted, busying himself with the frets, sublimely uninterested in Brent’s protest. “Sure you are.” His grin was wolfish. “We’ve got to get you laid.”
“No.”
“Are you crazy?” He laid his hand on the strings and stared at Brent. “This girl’s a sure thing.”
“Maybe for you.”
“For you, too, man.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Luc.”
“Brent.”
They glared at each other for a moment before Brent sighed. He gestured at the guitars. “Do you want to do this or not?”
Now ...
He wasn’t even bitter, replaying the memory in his head as he finished his shower and got dressed. Sue was the first to drive home to him that girls only wanted him because he was connected to Luc. Like if they couldn’t have the real deal, then the best friend was just as good. Except he never was just as good. On his own, he didn’t have what it took to keep a girl’s interest. He simply ran out of things to say to girls, which just pissed them off.
Luc had eventually gotten him laid shortly after they’d gotten into their first band at age sixteen. Dorine was the lead singer and very sexy. She would also, by her own admission, sleep with almost any guy. The occasion had been severely anti-climatic. Much to Luc’s dismay, Brent had made do with his own right hand until right after they’d finally hooked up with Johnnie and Darien and formed Heaven Sent. That next time, the sex was more of a celebration than any reflection of either party, and he’d actually had a good time with Amber. He’d even slept with her a few more times before she’d moved on to a drummer from another band.
And that was the story of his life. At least his love life. He was either one night’s entertainment, a stand-in for someone else, or he was more Heaven Sent’s guitarist than a real person. Of the three, he preferred to be the latter and even played that up from time to time, but it did get old pretty quickly.
“And it’s the same deal with Hell,” he told his reflection as he checked himself out in the mirror after he was finished dressing. “Nothing new.”
Mind made up, he decided he looked okay. Crisp white slacks, black belt, loose black tank top, and new white Nikes to concede to the black-and-white theme of tonight’s show as well as the venue.
Humming one of the new tunes, he draped his white button-down shirt over one of his bare arms, saving it to put on until after Jen, the makeup queen, was done with him. Because although he was capable of dressing himself, he knew he was not capable of applying the makeup that was required.
Theo was waiting for him in the suite’s main room, watching television. “Ready?” he asked, looking up.
“Yep.”
Theo used the remote to switch of the television as he stood. “You have your glasses?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Try not to lose them tonight, huh?”
Brent glared over the top edge of the frames of said glasses just after he put them on. “Smart ass.” He was thankful that Theo was used to him and didn’t make a big deal about what had happened that afternoon. When he’d gotten back, he’d shown concern, then dropped it, just as Brent preferred.
“I’m just saying ...” Theo continued with a smirk as they left the suite.
They made their way downstairs and through a labyrinth of back hallways. Brent was okay, casual and relaxed, until Hell’s melodic laugh filled his ears, distinctive eve
n though he wasn’t the only one laughing. Brent froze in the middle of the largely deserted hallway deep in the bowels of the Weiss, amazed by the immediate tingle in his balls at the very sound of the cherub. Well, wasn’t that absurd?
Theo stopped mid-sentence a few steps ahead and turned. “You okay?”
He blinked at the man, then smiled. “Uh, yeah.” He nodded at the open doorway ahead. “That the dressing room?”
Theo glanced over his shoulder, then back at Brent, frowning slightly. “Yeah.”
Brent nodded. “Right.”
Hell laughed again, and Brent fought not to shiver at the gorgeous sound. What was up with that? He so wished he’d had a chance to talk to Luc before seeing Hell again, but it hadn’t been in the cards. As part owner of the club as well as part of the starring act, Luc was pretty busy.
Theo was watching him with a weird look, so he must be acting strangely. Fuck it. This was stupid. It’s not like Hell was going to attack him or anything.
Maybe.
Shit.
Determined, Brent smiled at Theo, then breezed past him into the brightly lit little room.
“Gotta hand it to Johnnie, though,” Darien was saying somewhere to Brent’s right. “Not a hell of a lot of people could have pulled off the rest of the show holding his fly closed.”
Hell laughed. He stood at a huge, six-foot-wide counter to Brent’s left, leaning toward the big mirror that stood at least four feet high on top of the ledge. His hair was curled and shiny about that sweet round face, and the dark purple braid down his back was secured with a different rhinestone band. The black pants he wore were snug and laced. Laced. Up the sides. The pale skin of his legs, from his low-cut, pointed boots to his waist, was bared by a two-inch-wide strip, held together by crisscross lacing. The waistband of the pants rode low with more lacing instead of a fly, and his cropped, shimmery white top rode high, exposing a toned, hairless belly. The sleeves of the top billowed over his arms in poet sleeves, gathered in frilly lace at his wrists, but the V-neck was wide and low to expose a good amount of his chest. He turned, mascara wand still held up, as Brent entered. The huge violet eyes were lined with black, making them look even larger. Expertly applied makeup gave some definition to those round cheeks and gave the smiling cupid lips an inviting shine.
“Did that really happen?” Jen, the makeup lady, stood a few feet away from Hell, arms crossed and butt propped on the edge of the ledge.
“God’s honest truth,” Darien crowed. “Brent, tell them.”
Brent tore his gaze from Hell to smirk at the drummer. Darien wore almost the opposite of Brent’s outfit, black slacks and a white tank top. The tank showed off his muscular arms rather nicely. His straight blond hair shone, and makeup had made his dark eyes lustrous. He sat on the arm of a solid new couch, his socked feet on the seat cushions. Drumsticks were already in his fidgety hands, and he probably wasn’t even aware of the beat he tapped out on his knee.
“Are you telling that story again?” Brent asked, affecting a nonchalance he really wanted to feel. He avoided looking at Hell as he made for the chair beside Jen.
“Ha!” Jen barked, pointing at Darien as Brent sat down. “That didn’t happen.”
“Brent!”
Brent laughed as he reached up to pull off his shades. “Actually, it did. Johnnie’s tried his best to figure out how to do it again on purpose, but he hasn’t quite managed it.”
“See?!” Darien laughed while Jen scowled at him.
Brent set his shades on the counter. Looking up in the mirror, he couldn’t help but see the cherub’s gaze fastened on him, warm appreciation in those impossibly colored eyes. His heart flipped at seeing the small, approving smile that curved Hell’s lips.
“Nice outfit,” Hell purred.
Self-conscious, Brent ducked his head, draping his shirt over the arm of the chair. “Thanks,” he murmured.
“You okay?”
Brent blinked at him as Jen took a brush to his hair. “Huh?”
“This afternoon.”
“Oh. That. Yeah, I’m good. Just needed some time to chill.”
“Oh, yeah, man!” Darien piped up behind them. “I heard about what happened. That bites. Was it bad?”
Brent met Darien’s eyes in the mirror. Like Luc and Johnnie, Darien didn’t have a problem with the press or the fans. The reason he wasn’t in as many interviews was because he talked too much instead of too little.
He smiled at his friend. “It wasn’t fun, but it’s over.”
Darien’s brown-eyed gaze kept hold of his for an assessing moment; then the drummer grinned that wide grin. “Well, they didn’t tear you apart, at least.”
Brent rolled his head. “Yeah. At least.”
He couldn’t avoid meeting Hell’s gaze in the mirror again, noticing how the cherub watched him carefully. When Hell knew he had Brent’s attention, he smiled, then very casually went back to applying dark purple mascara to his long lashes.
Darien was saying something behind them about one of the interviews he’d done that afternoon, his patter filling the air more solidly than the alternative rock that was playing low over the speakers mounted in two of the room’s four upper corners. Brent latched onto what he was saying to avoid thinking about Hell.
When Hell finished his makeup and went back to sit with Darien, Brent was amazed to see the change in his expression. The dark, secretive assessment melted away into burning, wide-eyed curiosity. Come to think of it, the same thing had happened at the press conference and in a number of little ways since Brent had known Hell. One minute he was the innocent, wide-eyed cherub; then the next he was more a calculating imp. He seemed to wear both masks with equal comfort and looked like he could switch between them with alacrity. So the question was, which one was he? Brent was guessing the imp.
Gretchen breezed in through the open doorway, dressed in a simple thigh-length white sheathe that made her red hair all the more vivid. Behind her, Ellen, one of her top aides, complemented her in a shimmering black velvet pantsuit. Gretchen stopped mid-sentence, sharp green eyes scanning the room. She scowled. “All right. I just talked to Luc, but where’s Johnnie?”
Brent looked at her in the mirror. Darien and Hell shrugged. Jen kept brushing whatever she was brushing onto Brent’s cheekbones.
Gretchen growled, heavily made-up eyes narrowed. “Damn it! I knew it was a mistake to take my eyes off any of you after the sound check.” She checked her watch. “It’s getting late, and the biggest prima donna is missing!”
Brent grinned. “Have you tried calling Tyler?”
Gretchen blinked at him. Then smiled. “Why, no. No, I haven’t.” She turned back into the hallway, already flipping her cell phone open.
Darien smiled, twirling a drumstick with nimble fingers. “Gretchen is obviously not familiar with the honey-and-bee concept.”
“‘Honey and bee’?” Hell asked. He now mirrored Darien on the couch, perched on the other arm with his boots on the seat.
“Tyler’s the honey; Johnnie’s the bee,” Darien explained, switching to drumming a beat on his knee as he bounced the leg. “Where you find one, the other’s not far behind.”
Hell cocked his head. “Shouldn’t it be flower and bee? Bees make honey; they’re not attracted to it.”
Brent cracked up at the look of surprise on Darien’s face.
Hell’s exaggerated blinking of his big eyes told them he’d known exactly what Darien meant.
Darien grimaced, pointing a warning drumstick at Hell. “Watch it, you.”
Hell chuckled, well pleased with himself.
Luc rushed through the doorway, looking splendid in white slacks and an oversized black and white tiger-striped button-down. The shirt was open almost to his navel, all the better to display his cut, nearly hairless chest as well as the silver tiger pendant he wore. The cuffs of the shirt were rolled up to his elbows, and numerous bangles of varying materials clattered and jangled about his wrists. He made for the seat beside B
rent, arms raised to take the band off his red ponytail.
Brent narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Where’ve you been?”
Luc glanced at him as he sat, shaking his shoulder-length hair out. “I was helping Reese out with something.”
“Mmm.” Judging from the muss of that auburn hair, the glitter in his eye, and the slightly swollen, reddish cast to his lips, Brent could guess what Luc had been “helping” Reese with.
Luc caught his smirk in the mirror and returned it with a waggle of his arched eyebrows, confirming Brent’s guess.
“Hey.” The smirk melted into a look of concern as Luc turned to face him. “I heard about what happened this afternoon. You okay?”
Brent sighed. It was nice that they were all concerned, but he really wished that there was no reason for any of them to be. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Sorry I wasn’t there.”
Brent shrugged, then muttered a “sorry” to Jen, who was working on his eyes. “No biggie. Hell was there. He got a great introduction into the fucked-up psyche of Brent Rose. The rockstar who can’t stand his fans.”
“Fuck you,” Luc growled. “Not every rockstar can do the whole fan thing. Not your fault that crowds of ’em freak you out.”
“Exactly,” Hell chimed in. “At least you can perform. There are some musicians who can’t stand to be in front of a crowd.”
Jen backed up, and Brent lowered his gaze to the mirror to see Luc and Hell sharing a look. A look Brent couldn’t decipher.
Luc nodded, turning back to the dressing table to grab a brush. “Yeah. See? Hell gets it.”
“Good. Then he can join the ranks of the rest of you who cover for me.”
Luc rolled his eyes, and Darien snorted. In the mirror, Brent saw Hell just staring at him.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Luc cried, switching his attention to the speaker up above them. “Who put on this shit? Can’t we get some Zeppelin?”
