Cinderellis: An MM Romance Fairy Tale Retelling (Once Upon a Vegas Night Book 2)

by Evie Drae

  Ellis grabbed his wallet off the nightstand box and glanced at his frowning companion. Dammit. Not only did he face the challenge of finding a nontouristy spot that wouldn’t gross Henry out, he’d also have to endure more conversation about a topic he’d prefer not to discuss. But the scowl on Henry’s mug clearly read this chat isn’t over.

  Fuckin’ hell.

  Chapter Four

  While McMullan’s Irish Pub off Tropicana was far closer to the Strip than Cinder had intended, its dimly lit atmosphere and raucous patrons provided the perfect blanket of anonymity. Especially when they scored an empty table at the back.

  Despite the robust menu, they both landed on fish and chips with a pint of Guinness. When the flirty server, either a true-blooded Irish woman or an actress with enviable skill, bounced off to place their order, Cinder leaned back in his chair. He pulled the faded and worn brim of his favorite baseball cap down to better hide his obnoxious eyes—his most recognizable feature when he wasn’t wearing his stage garb—and tilted his chin toward Ellis. “So whataya say we shake all this polite crap and have a real conversation?”

  Despite the short distance, it had taken them fifteen minutes to get from Caesars to McMullan’s by cab. The entire way, Cinder tried prying an exchange from Ellis that went beyond the required social niceties, but his efforts had fallen flat.

  Man of a thousand words, Ellis was not.

  As if to prove the validity of that statement, Ellis shrugged and fidgeted with the silverware roll instead of making eye contact or supplying a verbal response to Cinder’s request.

  Chuckling, Cinder sat forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “Come on, man, throw me a bone, will ya? I’m starved for human interaction that doesn’t revolve around some aspect of who I am onstage.”

  The raw truth behind those last words belied Cinder’s attempt at lighthearted humor, but he kept his patented grin in place when Ellis cast a glance his direction.

  “I’m not really much of a talker.”

  No shit. Cinder sucked in his bottom lip to stop the snarky retort from popping free. He couldn’t blame Ellis for his reticence. Not everyone was as loudmouthed as Cinder. Plus, there was a clear demarcation in Ellis’s demeanor following Cinder’s careless interrogation back at the theater.

  It wasn’t his place to ask such personal questions of a man he didn’t even know. Even less so when those questions came with shocked judgment written all over them. It was no wonder Ellis had clammed up after Cinder expressed surprise over his work and living arrangements.

  Cinder sometimes forgot the silver spoon lodged up his ass wasn’t a cursed blessing shared by the world. He couldn’t afford to forget that with Ellis. Not if he wanted this friendship—or whatever it might become—to work. And he did. He so, so did.

  Resolved to act as human as possible so as not to scare Ellis away, Cinder cleared his throat and tapped his fingers to the beat of a familiar pop song playing over the steady din of the bar patrons. The group had opened for him on his last domestic summer tour. They had some impressive raw talent. No doubt they’d go far.

  The server dropped off their beers then, offering a prolonged view of her ample breasts as she bent over, the luscious mounds barely contained within a cherry-red tube top perfectly matched to the slash of vivid color adorning the pout of her lips. The shirt was so undersized it rode up her midriff while still managing to leave her cleavage spilling over the neckline. The scant scrap of fabric masquerading as a skirt did little to make up for the lack of material up top.

  Rather than attracting either man’s attention as she had so undoubtedly hoped, Cinder found his gaze drawn to Ellis, who happened to angle his own Cinder’s way at the exact same time. They both grinned, as if exchanging some unknown inside joke, and the server huffed in defeat. She checked to make sure they had everything they needed, let them know their food would be out shortly, then disappeared into the crowd.

  “So.” Cinder tried another smile and suppressed a sigh of relief when Ellis offered one in return, even going so far as to make eye contact again. “How long have you been working at the Colosseum?”

  Ellis took a sip of the dark liquid courage and squared his shoulders, as if preparing for battle. “I started there as a part-time stagehand when I was fifteen. Been there ever since.”

  Cinder collected a trickle of overflow on his knuckle as he ran it up the side of his pint glass. When he brought the drop of bittersweet beer to his lips and licked his finger clean, Ellis’s brows twitched ever so slightly, and he downed another gulp of Guinness.

  That made sign number two in as many minutes. Could it be Cinder’s hopes of finding something beyond a simple friendship with Ellis might be less of a stretch than he’d first presumed?

  Bolstered by the thought, Cinder took a long swallow of his own beverage to hide his grin. “You must really love the work to stay there so long.”

  “I do. Some great acts have come and gone over the past decade or so, and I’ll always be able to say I was a part of them, in some small way. Including Cinder’s.” Blessedly, Ellis had returned to fidgeting with the silverware roll, so he didn’t see Cinder tense at his own name. “That guy has the voice of an angel, I swear. It must be something else being on the stage with him, huh?” Then, almost under his breath, he mumbled, “I’d love to mix for him someday.”

  When Ellis raised his gaze and caught Cinder’s, a dreamy smile pulling at one corner of his lips, Cinder’s throat closed. If it weren’t for the purity and substance behind Ellis’s words, Cinder might assume he knew the truth and was needling at Cinder for a reaction.

  But no, he’d simply been offering the most genuine compliment Cinder ever received. Because he didn’t think the artist himself was present.

  Fuck.

  He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t lie to Ellis, even if it wasn’t so much a lie as an omission. Still, in that moment, only one question would pass his lips. “Why don’t you? You’re brilliant behind that console. I saw the proof with my own two eyes. And ears.”

  Confusion morphed into pain before Ellis’s gaze fell to his lap. “It’s complicated.”

  After encountering the jackass lead audio engineer, Cinder could guess where the “complicated” came in. But before he could offer an opinion on the subject, their meals arrived. The server was less overtly flirty this time around, but she still lingered longer than necessary, and by the time she’d disappeared back into the crowd, the moment was lost.

  As was Cinder’s chance to come clean.

  The conversation drifted to lighter topics. Simpler topics. Aimless chatter Cinder rarely had the chance to enjoy with anyone other than Kumiko and Lizbeth, his two rocks on the road crew. A married couple who graciously took him on as a third wheel when his battery inevitably drained to empty and he needed real human contact to recharge.

  They split the bill for dinner, as they had the cab fare. When they stepped out of the cool interior of the bar and into the stagnant heat of a summer evening in the desert—still too early to have cooled off, but without the oppressive sun to further warm their skin—Cinder suggested they walk back to Caesars.

  To his delight, Ellis agreed, and their idle conversation continued for the hour it took to meander the three miles to the backstage entrance of the theater.

  “Well, this is where my night ends.” Ellis reached out a hand to shake Cinder’s, but Cinder paused a beat too long for comfort before thrusting his palm into Ellis’s warm, calloused grip. “I’m sure you’ve got more juice in you, but I’ve got an early morning. Thanks for an enjoyable night.”

  Cinder flexed his grip when Ellis made to pull away, keeping their contact for a moment longer before letting go. “Will I see you at the show tomorrow?”

  Ellis hummed to the negative and shook his head. “I’m a rigger, remember? I’ll be up in the fly space. I doubt you’ll see me again before your engagement is over. I’m rarely on ground level when the band is present.”

  Panic fla
red in Cinder’s gut. This couldn’t be the last time he saw Ellis. The few hours they’d spent together were among the best he’d had in recent memory. He wanted more. Lots more.

  But before he could ask that of Ellis, he needed to come clean about his identity.

  Just not tonight. He couldn’t ruin this perfect night. If telling Ellis who he really was put a wedge between them he couldn’t budge, he refused to let it happen at the tail end of such a beautiful experience.

  Which, in turn, meant he had to see Ellis again. As Henry. One more time.

  “I get being busy during show time. So am I.” Cinder shoved his hands into his pockets as Ellis rested one of his own on the door handle, his keycard gripped in the other, ready to let him into the building as soon as Cinder quit rambling. “But could we maybe plan to meet after? Or on our next day off—I mean, the next time the show’s dark? After you’re done”—Cinder motioned to the building behind Ellis—“here with your caretaking duties.”

  Ellis followed Cinder’s gesture with his eyes, his grip tightening on the knob as his gaze landed on the backstage entrance sign. “I really shouldn’t—”

  The bubble of panic in Cinder’s stomach moved to his chest, crowding his lungs until it was difficult to breathe. “I won’t take no for an answer. Come on, man, we had fun, right? Help a lonely stranger to the city and keep me company. I promise I won’t bother you at work if you promise to meet me somewhere after. Deal?”

  Eyes shifting from Cinder to the door and back again, Ellis nodded. “Okay.”

  Relief flooded Cinder’s system, and the tight band around his chest loosened. “Okay. Great. Can I have your number? Might make it easier to arrange things.”

  Wetting those plump lips until they shone like a beacon, stoking the flames of Cinder’s barely banked desire with a cruel yet undoubtedly unconscious cry for attention, Ellis swallowed. Then repeated, “Okay.”

  Cinder didn’t hesitate to yank out his cell, typing the digits Ellis offered into the messenger app on his phone and shooting off a quick text so Ellis had his number as well.

  When they parted ways, Ellis slipping into the building with a final glance, a soft smile, and a farewell nod, Cinder damn near skipped his way to the parking garage.

  His decision to stay in Vegas long-term was paying off at last.

  Chapter Five

  Ellis leaned his elbows on the handrail of the narrow metal catwalk overlooking the frontstage area and closed his eyes, allowing the music below to encompass him from all sides. Surrounding his senses. Filling his soul.

  About three-quarters of the way through Cinder’s set, there was a song that dripped with passion and heart, making exquisite use of his stunning vibrato. It had become a favorite of Ellis’s almost from the get-go, most especially because its simplicity allowed him a moment to breathe, to open himself, and to fall heart-first into the music.

  The constantly moving parts of the high-concept production ground to a halt during those three minutes and forty-two seconds. The fly space he occupied went still and quiet as a single bloodred spotlight focused on center stage, highlighting a lone wooden stool and a microphone stand. Following his third wardrobe change of the night, clad in skintight black jeans and a white ribbed tank, Cinder stepped onto the stage, clutching the neck of an acoustic guitar. As if on cue, the audience swooned into the orchestrated mood change.

  They all knew what came next, and with a soft, collective gasp, the whole theater held its breath. Then, like the beat of a heart, as Cinder rested a hip on the stool, adjusted the strap of his guitar, and drew the microphone close, the crowd exhaled as one.

  With the first note of the now familiar song, Ellis’s chest tightened. Music had always held an important place in his life, affecting him in ways he couldn’t explain. But nothing in his twenty-six years on this earth had ever latched on to his very being the way Cinder could with his haunting tenor as it trembled up an octave before plunging in both register and depth. Straight into his heart.

  He looked forward to this brief respite more and more each day, surprised to find himself curious about the man who made such soul-moving compositions. Ellis rarely cared about anything other than the music itself, but something about Cinder’s music was different. Something about Cinder was different; Ellis just couldn’t put his finger on what.

  Growing up in Vegas with a stepfather in show business, Ellis had never been impressed by celebrity. He admired the effort that went into reaching and maintaining stardom, but he could say the same thing about a lot of jobs out there. If someone put in a full day of hard work, they earned his respect, no matter what the end goal or result.

  But Ellis’s curiosity over Cinder wasn’t based on the novelty of his fame or even over the man himself. It was the music Ellis yearned to delve deeper into. It affected him in ways he didn’t understand, but he wanted to. It was like Cinder saw into a part of Ellis even he had never known was there, and he needed to know why… and how?

  He wanted to put a face to the voice if only to prove Cinder was real. To prove the responses he drew from Ellis weren’t figments of his imagination. To prove he was still capable of emotions that ran so deep they could penetrate the walls he’d built around his fractured heart after his mom’s death.

  To prove he could still feel.

  Unbidden, Ellis’s mind switched gears as the last few husky notes drifted off and the stage plunged into blackness. Bright hazel eyes and a crooked yet charmingly confident grin floated into his thoughts, sending his pulse racing and his own lips tugging into a smile.

  Somewhere in the darkness below, Henry prepared to join Cinder onstage. He’d never told Ellis what his role was in the band, but Ellis could assume he was either the lead, bass, or rhythm guitarist, considering his reason for being at the theater on his off day was to rescue his forgotten instrument.

  Prior to running into Henry for a second time the night before, Ellis had gone out of his way to avoid looking for him when the stage lights were up. Even though the temptation had been there, he’d long ago learned to fight the urges leading him toward self-ruin.

  And yet, after spending an evening in Henry’s company, Ellis was beginning to think the benefits of a friendship with Henry might very well outweigh the risks. Even where his stepfather was concerned.

  As the pulsing beats of the up-tempo song following Cinder’s solo rendition vibrated through Ellis’s chest, he forced his thoughts away from the stage and into the fly gallery. He had work to do, and unless Henry actually made use of the number Ellis had given him the night before, miring himself in “what-ifs” about a future that might not happen held little benefit.

  As Ellis unbuckled his safety harness, all he could think about was a cold shower and his bed. The show had gone off without a hitch, but he had to get up early tomorrow to inspect the gridiron. One of his crewmates had noted unusual tension on a lift line, which meant he’d have to check every point of contact on the line set to be sure everything was in working order and to locate the origin of the hiccup before the troops arrived to prep for tomorrow’s show.

  “Did Dad tell you we’ve got another squeaky step on the front porch?”

  Ellis startled as his stepsister’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned to face her crossed-arm pout with a forced smile. “Ah, hey, Suze.” He still wasn’t used to running into Suzette at the theater, but a few weeks ago, after completing her junior year of high school, she’d started working for their dad. Already, as a seventeen-year-old unpaid intern with only a fraction of the experience, Ellis’s kid stepsister was leaps and bounds ahead of him on the career track of his dreams.

  A fact she rather enjoyed rubbing in his face.

  Stepping free of the leg loops on his safety harness, Ellis pushed his jealousy to the side. It wouldn’t do him any good to stoop to the maturity level of an angsty teen. If he wasn’t the bigger person, no one would be, not when Suzette was involved.

  He put his safety gear away before turning and offer
ing a genuine smile. Suzette’s brows remained pulled into a grumpy V. When she blew a large pink bubble and let it pop with a loud snap rather than returning Ellis’s greeting, he rolled his shoulders and sighed. “Dad mentioned the step last week, but I haven’t had time to get home to look at it.”

  Suzette screwed up her face. “Can’t you come by in the morning? Cin doesn’t go on until evening. I’m sure you have time.”

  Cin? Ellis raised a brow. Had Suzette struck up a friendship with the talent?

  He swallowed another wave of jealousy as his thoughts wandered back to Henry for the umpteenth time that day. Ray would be livid if he found out Ellis had shared a meal with one of the band members, but Suzette didn’t face the same restrictions.

  It was crap, but that was Ray. He’d never forgiven Ellis for continuing to exist after his wife passed. Hell, he’d never much appreciated Ellis’s existence in the first place. He’d always gotten in the way of Ray and Maggie’s relationship.

  At least, that’s how Ray had seen it. Nothing Ellis had ever done—none of the endless attempts he’d made to get Ray to like him nor any of his countless efforts to simply go unnoticed—had ever been enough to win over the great Ray Brunswick.

  For the first five years of Ellis’s life, he and his mother had been an inseparable team. Ellis’s biological father had died when Ellis was too young to remember, but the way Maggie talked about him, Ellis had grown up to idolize him as much as Maggie had. That is, until a new man entered her life, and rather than embody all the fatherly love and support Ellis had expected of someone taking the place of his departed hero, Ray had been… horrible.

  But Maggie loved him, so for her, Ellis had tried. He’d ignored the glares and faces of disgust cast behind his mom’s back. He’d put up with the tirades always aimed solely at him, even when they morphed from verbal attacks to physical ones when Maggie got sick. And when his mom died, he’d accepted the blame as readily as Ray had placed it on him.