by Jodi Payne
He smiled. He loved the city at Christmas. “The big stores do all these elaborate decorations in their windows along Fifth Avenue; they’re amazing. And there’s a big tree at Rockefeller Center. And the Empire State Building gets lit up red and green.” He kissed Colt’s temple. “Oh! And the Rockettes!”
“We can see everything. I want to see everything with you.”
“You will.” Maybe this would be the year he stopped putting himself through Christmas Day with his parents. “We could put a tree up at my place. Decorate it.” That would be a first for him.
“Oo-eee! That would be something. I ain’t had a tree in a long time.”
“Me neither. I’ve never had one at my place at all.” He suddenly could picture them, running strings of lights with classic Christmas carols playing in the background—Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, Andy Williams. “Where should we put it? The front hall? The den near the fireplace?”
“The front would let other folks see, but we’d see it more near the fire.” Colt turned his face, smiled up at him. “Why not?”
“Why not, what? Put it in the den? It’s for us, we’ll put it there.”
“Why not you ain’t had a tree? No time? Have you ever had to be the Nutcracker?”
“Oh, no. I’ve danced in the show, I don’t know, four or five times early on in my career. Ensemble parts usually, but I danced Cavalier once, and I was a swing for the Mouse King in another production. But I’ve never been the enchanted toy himself, no.”
He set his empty mug down on the bedside table. He didn’t think Colt would let him ignore the question again. “You haven’t had a tree in a long time, either, you said? I’d guess our reasons might be about the same. Christmas is beautiful outside the house, out in the city where you can look and enjoy it and celebrate. Inside the house it’s just… lonely. I always say I don’t have time. I might if it mattered.”
Colt nodded. “I been on the street for a while, then I went from that to fancy-assed hotels, huh? Home is where my guitar is.”
He never really thought about his place as home, maybe because it used to belong to his parents. For all that it was beautiful and comfortable, it could be a big, lonely place, and he often felt more at home outside the brownstone than in it.
“I’m happy you’re keeping that guitar here. We’ll make some of our own kind of fun for the holidays this year. What do you make for Christmas dinner in New Orleans? We could each pick a couple of things we like, right?”
“You mean a réveillon, cher? We could have ourselves a wee feasting.”
“A wee feasting? I don’t feast small, baby.” He laughed. “What’s a réveillon? Like, a party?”
“Is a lovely supper—turtle soup and turkey, barbecue shrimp and croquembouche. But we can make whatever makes us happy and have candles on the table to wake the light up and welcome the bébé.”
“Turtle soup? Oh, you have to make that. I’ve never had it.” The waking the baby part he’d just let his lover have if he wanted it. Hopefully Colt didn’t want to go to church or mass or whatever too. He might burst into flames. “Candles sound great, you know I love that stuff. The shrimp sounds fantastic too. I have to have some potatoes, though. And something green. Brussels sprouts or spinach or something.”
“You ever had brussels sprouts fried? Oh, that’s heaven.” Colt hummed softly, then chuckled for him. “Of course, I’d be happy to sit with you and eat corn flakes.”
“We are not eating corn flakes on Christmas. But I hear what you’re saying.” He plucked the coffee mug from Colt’s fingers and set it on the table alongside his. “Are you getting hungry, baby? You want to take Timmy out for something greasy?” He leaned in and stole a light kiss.
“Hash browns and eggs.”
He loved how Colt said “aigs.” Loved it. He nodded. “French toast and sausage. And more coffee. And then we can walk of shame back to my place.” He did need to work. Just a little at least, or he wouldn’t feel ready to dance tonight.
“No shame. None.” Colt swung around onto his lap. “You gon’ let me play while you dance?”
He smiled and ran his hands up Colt’s sides. “Sure, if you want to. I just need to get a workout in. I’d love that.”
Whoever it was that told Colt he was just ordinary hadn’t ever seen the view Kyle had right now.
“Me too. I love to see you move. It’s like magic.”
“It’s not magic. Just like your music isn’t magic. It’s passion. It’s obsession and hard work. Nobody else has to know that, but we do. This thing we have going, though? You and me? That is definitely magic. I have no idea how we made this happen.”
He pulled Colt’s face down closer for a kiss.
Colt smiled at him, dark eyes glistening, so warm.
“Okay, baby. Clothes. I don’t guess you have an extra toothbrush? Should I ask Timmy?” He gave Colt a playful little shove to get him moving.
“There’s a bunch in packages in my bathroom. I asked if the guy before me was a hoarder, and Timmy just laughed.”
“Sounds like he was fond of spontaneous overnight guests to me.” He got up, looked around at the floor, and snorted. “My stuff is everywhere. I was pretty drunk. Huh?”
“Just a little. You’re a cutie when you’re a little around the bend.”
He laughed. “Oh God. I’ve been told I flirt like a fiend. Sorry if I was over-the-top.” He remembered most of it. He was way over-the-top. But Colt seemed to enjoy it, so he didn’t really feel that bad about it.
He found his jeans on the floor and dug his shirt and scarf out from under the comforter.
“You flirted with me, so I liked it.” Colt’s fingers trailed over his ass, teasing him, playing him.
“See? You were in the right place at the right time. I told you.” He brushed Colt’s hand away, laughing. “Get your clothes on, Cajun. Timmy’s probably hungry.” Timmy was a bit of a stoner. He was always hungry, wasn’t he?
“Timmy’s always hungry. Him and the green? They are close friends.”
Kyle shrugged. “There are worse things.” Though you had to wonder why someone as successful as Timmy used so much. He was the studio’s head engineer. He had to take home a nice check. He’d be living high on the hog if he wasn’t high on the green.
He pulled his jeans on commando and headed into the bathroom to find one of those toothbrushes.
When he came back from the bathroom, Colt was singing to Timmy, teasing him. The sound echoed through the apartment. Okay, that was adorable. He was pleased to find Colt dressed at least. Timmy was blushing, which was even more adorable. He caught Timmy up in his arms and danced him around the living room.
“Kyle!”
“Come on, Timmy.” He grinned and winked at Colt.
“Seriously? I don’t dance.”
“What kind of dancer would I be if I couldn’t give you a lead you could follow?” He spun Timmy, moving to Colt’s improvised song.
“You goof.” Timmy did follow, though, didn’t he? And he smiled as they danced.
“Uh-huh. Hey, you’re actually pretty light on your feet, Tim. Are you keeping secrets from me?”
“Shut up. Whoa.” Timmy laughed and let Kyle dip him right in front of Colt.
Colt pulled a face, the expression silly enough that they all cracked up.
“You want something greasy for breakfast, Timmy? Colt and I want to take you out.”
“Yeah? No strings?” Timmy grinned at him.
He laughed. “Hell, no. I’m much too jealous to share.”
“You ain’t interested in my skinny ass, boo. You like them big and beefy.”
“Yeah. They need to be, like, three of you, dude.”
Kyle grinned. “Good to know.” Not that he knew anyone available that fit that description. But he had eyes. He found his boots and stomped into them. “I don’t know this neighborhood. Where are we going?”
Timmy looked at Colt. “Waverly?”
“I’m easy, so long as there�
��s breakfast.” Colt wandered up to him and smoothed his shirt down.
“Waverly sounds good.” He barely got the last word out before he kissed Colt. “I need more coffee.”
Timmy rolled his eyes at them and grabbed a jacket. Kyle hooked an arm around his lover’s waist, feeling a need to keep Colt close, and followed the guy out the door.
Chapter Eleven
“LORD, Y’ALL! Welcome!” Colt bounced a little, tickled to death that Norv and Ryder had made it in. He’d told them to meet him over to the studio, because it was easy to find and they’d booked the same hotel he’d used, so it was a quick walk.
Between his studio work, his work with Kyle, and this, he was fixin’ to be as busy as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking competition.
Norv grabbed him up, spun him around. “Cajun! I heard you’d got lost up here in this scary place.”
“Ain’t all that scary, not really.”
Ryder shot him a look from under the brim of his cap. “It’s damn big.”
“Not really, dude. The whole island of Manhattan is only twenty-two square miles.” Timmy shook hands all around. “I’m Timmy. I’m your engineer. And these are your badges. They’ll get you into the instrument room, the studios, and also the break room. Welcome.” Timmy handed them each a little white card on a lanyard that matched the one Colt was already wearing.
Norv flipped the card over and back, frowning at it. “Damn, Cajun. Is this place for real?”
“Fancy-assed, eh? Timmy’s cool. One of us. All about the music.” And he wanted to get on it, wanted to find that thing that the three of them had together. There was a deep magic that lived where they sat in a triangle.
Timmy gave him a pat on the back and headed for the control room. “I’ll be where you need me when you need me.”
Ryder looked at the lanyard and shook his head, then put the card in his pocket and pulled out a little notebook. “Let’s do it. I started a thing on the plane, maybe got legs. Fingers itch.”
“I’ll grab my acoustic.” He damn near bounced on the way. These guys were a couple of the best, and they let him in like it was nothing, like he belonged.
Norv’s chuckle followed him. “Eager to write, huh?”
“You know it. I got a couple things to share.” Maybe more than a couple, but a few of them had a real shot to make them money.
Timmy’s voice came through the speaker into the studio. “You guys the take-a-break type or the bring-food-in type?”
“We’re the forgot-to-eat type.” Norv gave Timmy a toothy grin and pulled his guitar out of its case.
“Dude! My favorite. On it.”
Norv started tuning by ear, fingers moving over the strings playing scales and patterns. “Leave it raw right now, Tim. We’ll tell you if we want a mix. Just make sure you get everything.”
“Right on. You’re the boss.”
Yeah, that was true. Norv was his fucking hero. Ryder was more like him—just a guy who had a knack for this thing. Norv was a cowboy, pure Texas down to the bone, raw and beautiful and completely Ryder’s.
Ryder dragged a stool over, sat right next to his shoulder, and leaned in, showing him a couple of rough verses.
“Oh, I like that. I like that a lot.” He doodled over the notations, singing low as he worked to pick up the hook.
“Uh-huh.” Norv leaned back in his chair and started noodling, light notes here and there that filled out and started to take shape around the rhythm of the lyric. They found their sweet spot, the harmony building itself, the bridge like caramel in coffee.
Ryder’s pipes weren’t gonna sell a record, but his way with words, his instinct for rhythm and rhyme was magic, and he sang like he knew it. Eventually the words ran out, though, and Norv’s fingers went still and quiet too. Colt grinned, knowing they were listening, letting him bring it home.
So he did. He closed his eyes and let the good Lord speak through him, giving thanks as it worked like it had, every time. They all let the last notes of his guitar fade without a twitch, and then Ryder reached out and gave his knee a squeeze.
“Cut it there, Tim, and cue it up?”
Timmy nodded through the glass, and Ryder started scribbling notes.
“That was sweet, Colt. New York’s been good to you.” Norv stood up and stretched, setting the guitar down in a stand.
“I got me a honey. He does it for me, all the way down.”
“What? A Yankee?” Norv laughed, loud. “You’re joking.”
“Not even. He’s a dancer. He moves like… y’all. It’s like he’s made of music too.”
Ryder looked up from the book he’d been scribbling notes in. “A dancer, huh?” He and Norv exchanged a look.
Norv grinned at him. “He must be pretty.”
“Where does he dance? Let’s get a beer there later.”
“Ah-law!” He started laughing, just tickled as a pig in shit. “Y’all don’ know. He’s like high-dollar fancy dancing, not for dollar bills in his garter. He got him a YouTube. Come see.” He pulled up one of Kyle’s videos, eager to show his lover off.
About halfway through the video, Norv nodded. “He’s good.”
“Good?” Ryder gaped at Norv. “He’s fucking beautiful. Jesus, Colt.”
Norv just shook his head.
“Lucky me, eh? He’s like one of them statues, but….” But so alive and fierce and funny and odd and happy.
“But he moves. Wow. Lucky you.” Ryder laughed.
“You ready to play that back, Tim?”
Ryder elbowed Colt with a wink and a grin.
“You know it,” Timmy came right back. “You want to hear it?”
“Y’all ready to hear this back or what?”
“I’m ready. Bring it on, Timmy.” He grabbed his guitar so he could think.
Timmy played the track back, all their ramblings in the beginning leading into something that started to make sense. Ryder bobbed his head along and made notes when he wasn’t tapping his pen on his notebook. Norv just did that thing he always did. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes closed, put his feet up and listened all the way through.
For Norv, this was where the magic happened. He had a knack for taking all their raw creativity and focusing it into something they could sell. The playback had barely ended when he sat up, picked up his guitar and started playing again without letting anyone speak.
“Better get this, Timmy.” Ryder gave Timmy a wave and got a thumbs-up in response.
Colt settled on the floor where he was comfortable, and Ryder joined him, both of them listening to Norv, making notes for the next run-through.
They were still deep into work when the lights in the studio started to flash. Timmy pressed a piece of paper against the glass that read “Food and beer in break room” in weird black bubble letters. He grinned at them.
Ryder leaned into Norv. “Can we eat, boss?”
Norv reached down, hand in Ryder’s hair. “Always hungry, Georgia Boy.”
Lord, wasn’t that pretty?
“That’s a yes.” Ryder grinned, gave Norv a kiss, then popped up off the floor and tucked his little notebook safely into his pocket. Once he was up, though, he stretched, everything creaking. “Oh, man. I’m stiff. Stupid airplane.”
“It’s a long ways from Austin, huh?”
“Austin to Dallas, Dallas to Atlanta, Atlanta to here.” Ryder rolled his eyes. “He’s a cheapskate.”
Norv snorted. “Thrifty. And you like to fly.”
“Not that much. Didn’t Timmy’s sign say beer?” Ryder was the first one to the break room.
Norv clapped him on the back, chuckling softly. “He’s still got a hollow leg.”
“Shut up. I’m a growing boy! Ooh. Cheesesteak.” Ryder snagged a whole one off the counter.
“There’s a couple of subs too. And a bunch of salads. Next time you can look over the menus before you start, and I’ll order what you like.” Timmy grabbed a container of french fries and a
Coke and sat down.
His phone started blowing up in his pocket.
Hey. Your boys get here okay?
Do you have dinner plans?
I hate this rain. What happened to summer?
Helloooooo lover
How’s it going?
All from Kyle and all at once. No cell service in the studio, the walls were too thick. He started replying to what he could.
You want to eat with N&R?
It’s raining? I ain’t seen the outside
Writing hard. I showed u off
Kyle came right back at him. There u are! That was followed by four red hearts. It’s pouring rain baby. Water everywhere. Where r N&R staying? Dinner @ my place or out?
I like raining. I can cook? At that fancy assed hotel I was at. He couldn’t stop smiling.
I would love u 2 cook. need me 2 shop text me a list. What do they drink? I have wine
“Is that your Yankee?” Ryder asked, mouth half-full of food.
“It is. Y’all want to have supper at his? I’ll make shrimp and grits, if you want.”
“Works for me,” Norv said. “Ry?”
“I can’t wait.”
Norv grinned at him. “Sounds like a plan.”
you writing good stuff? Am I going to love it?
I hope so. Miss u. Bad. Kind of stupidly bad.
Yeah. See you 2nite. Play hard. Love u.
Timmy interrupted before he could text back. “You guys plan to polish that up today? I’ve got another group coming in at eight; you’ll have to wrap by seven.”
“Y’all want to run another or stick with this one?” They could write at the hotel or at his place. The demos were what was important here. In a few days, they could bang out a shit-ton.
“I think we should leave it for now, take it home and shake it out a little. Can we get more studio time maybe late in the week or over the weekend?”
Timmy nodded. “I can slot you in Saturday night, dude.”
“What do you think, Cajun?”
He nodded. “Kyle’s working then, so I’m all yours, Timmy. Hell, I’m playing for that jazz band, ain’t I? That afternoon?”
