She beams at us. “Another one of X’s recipes of course. I wish he could see the two of you enjoying it. He always thought you were both too skinny.”
It sends a pang of grief through me. Xavier Marshall was not related to me or Jacks by blood, but he was family in the truest sense of the word. He looked out for us, took care of us, loved all of us like family. I miss him like crazy.
“I wish he were here too.” I squeeze Natalie’s hand. “I miss him.”
“Me too,” Jacks agrees. “Babe, will you help me with the dishes?”
Natalie goes to her room to call her girlfriend after dinner, though I think it’s as much to give us some space alone as it is to talk to Bex.
I wash as he dries, and he starts humming the damn song. I don’t know why it upsets me so much, but I glare at him, and he bursts out laughing.
“You can’t share something that pretty and catchy around a couple of musicians and not expect it to get in our heads. Come on, Ritch. You had to know we’d all be humming it for days.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug, still uncomfortable. “Maybe it’s been so long since I’ve created something, I forgot how it feels. The uncertainty.”
“It’s a beautiful melody.” He sets his towel down and puts his hand on my shoulder, right at the crook of my neck. I always love it when he touches me there, and like this. Like he can smooth out all the rough patches in my soul and make them something special for him. “It’s got your energy in it, that twitchy wildness, but it’s full of sweetness too. You’re going to turn it into a beautiful song, and I can’t wait to hear it. Even if we never play it on stage, it’s a part of you, and I’m going to love it. I already do.”
There’s a lump in my throat suddenly, and tears threatening. I try to sniff them back, but he strokes the side of my neck, and a few of them fall. His other hand comes up to wipe them away as he stares into my eyes and makes a shushing sound. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, babe. I’m here.”
I suck in a huge breath, shake my head. “I know. I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
He pulls me into him, rubbing his face against mine, and it feels so good to hold each other like this. I’ve missed him so much.
“You’re grieving,” he murmurs, his voice thick with tears.
But I’m not. I haven’t lost anyone. I’m sulking because I almost did. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Be here. With me. Help me finish these dishes and then take me home.”
We say goodbye to Natalie while she’s still on the phone, and she gives us each a quick hug before we go.
And then we’re in an Uber, and my arm is around Jacks, and his head is on my shoulder. It feels so different from the last time we were in a car together, and so much better.
He holds my hand as we walk to the apartment door, only letting go to unlock it and push me through. He unfolds our bed and pushes me down on it, pulling his clothes off as he goes and revealing the body I love so much. Soft hair swirls dark against the pale skin of his chest and belly. Tattoos—all done by Teri—curl up his arms, hiding many of his scars. He’s got a naturally slender build, but he’s strong from hauling kegs around, and kneeling over me on the bed, he looks like a dark-haired God come to steal my soul.
And he can have it.
He kisses me deep and slow, his tongue sliding silkily into my mouth, his hands tugging insistently at my clothes. My shirt comes off and lands on the floor somewhere behind us. He’s grinding into me steadily and lighting up every nerve ending in my body.
I moan into his mouth, unable to stop myself. It feels so good to have him touch me like this—like we’ve never been broken.
“You feel amazing,” he murmurs, shoving his hands into my hair and kissing the side of my neck, trailing tiny bites down, down over my collar bones to my chest. He bites harder on the muscle over my heart, and I shudder, arching up against him. I can’t get enough of his teeth.
“More,” I beg, and he bites again. I don’t care if it bruises. I don’t even care if he breaks the skin. I want souvenirs of his lovemaking on my skin.
He kneels up to get at my belt, and I let him strip me the rest of the way. Finally, we’re both naked, tangling limbs in each other and touching everywhere we can reach.
His hand strokes my cock, and his lips brush my ear. “I won’t leave you alone,” he says, his voice cracking on the last syllable. I look up into his face, surprised to see tears shining in his eyes.
“I know,” I draw him back down to me, and roll him over so I’m on top. I kiss him deep and slow, taking my time the way I used to back when he was new to me. I trace the lines of his beautiful face with my fingertips, then tangle them into his hair. My sweet Jacks.
I slide a hand over his pierced nipple, barely grazing the metal but twisting my hand slightly as I stroke across that taut nub. He groans and arches into my touch, hungry for sensation.
“Jesus, Ritch, are you trying to kill me?” He laughs into the quiet, and I shake my head as I dive into another kiss.
We thrust against each other, and it’s so much better than good. It’s sublime. I dig under the sofa for the lube and slick our cocks, holding them together in one hand.
“Like this?” I ask him, and he nods, arching into my hand as he does. Like this, like that, keep going. Jacks and I can read each other’s bodies so easily by now, but I still love to ask, to have his desires confirmed.
I love to watch his face while we’re fucking, to see all the tiny ways he falls apart. First, he lets down his guard and his eyes get needy. Then he starts to lose himself in pleasure, and his lips fall open as he gasps for breath. When I can get him to completely lose control, he can’t keep his hips still, or his hands off me, as he chases more and more sensation.
Tonight, he wants it all. I rub our dicks together in my hand, stroking us steadily while he moans and thrusts into my hand. Finally, he grabs the lube and shoves it at me. “More.”
“Do you want me to—?”
“Fuck me,” he demands, then grins at me. “Please?”
“Anything you want, Jacks.” I spread his thighs and pour lube over my fingertips, sliding them over his hole and teasing inside him. He holds his legs behind his knees, and it looks like he’s on display for me—once again a fallen God, tempting me to fall too. I thrust a finger deep and slide it over his prostate. He shudders and lets out a ragged groan. I can’t wait. I pull my fingers away, add more lube to my already slick cock, and press inside him.
He tenses up, but I’m ready for that. I kiss him gently, holding myself still until he relaxes and I can slide inside. His eyes scrunch shut until I’m fully inside him, then they open and he smiles at me, his beautiful face lit up with pleasure. I thrust experimentally and he gasps.
I can hardly believe I’m inside him like this, the heat of his body surrounding me so tightly. A tide of pleasure surges in my guts and I thrust again, helplessly caught up in him.
“Just like that,” he says before I can ask, reaching for his cock. “And go hard.”
I wanted to make him lose control, but instead, it’s my control slipping away as I fuck into the tight heat of his body. He works his cock and writhes as I find a rhythm that works for both of us, grinding with each thrust. The intensity builds quickly—too quickly, because I want to build a house and live in this moment. Pleasure spikes when he makes a tortured noise. His teeth dig into his lower lip and then he cries out. I feel the hot splash of his release on my chest, and I’m gone. I chase my own pleasure deep in his body. My orgasm hits me suddenly and hard when he bites my shoulder—the ecstasy drawing up from some deep well in me.
I collapse over him, finding myself again in his slow, sweet kisses.
“I love you so much,” I tell him. “You own my soul.”
“I’ll keep it safe for you,” he smiles sweetly at me, running his hands along my sides. “Just imagine if you had found some other fellow who kisses you in bathroom hallways and isn’t a headcase
.”
“You’re the only one I want to kiss in bathroom hallways. And you’re not a headcase.”
“I love you, Ritchie. I meant it when I said I won’t leave you all alone.”
I roll us onto our sides and cuddle him to my chest. “I know. Please promise me you’ll tell me if you need help.”
“You’re my lover, not my therapist, Ritch. I’m not going to burden you with this shit in my brain. It’s too much. I—I worry this is all too much for you.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “I want you to tell me if you need help, even if I can’t be the person to help you, okay? Do you think I don’t know how close you are with Nat? I love her for how she takes care of you.”
He shrugs against me. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“I’m not your dad, Jacks. I’m not going to punish you for having feelings.”
His eyes close and a pained expression washes over his face. “I know you’re not my dad.”
“Are we okay?” I ask, and it weirds me out to ask that after sex, but everything about us is weird right now.
“We’re always okay. I promise.”
I want to believe that, so I shut up and kiss him again.
Chapter Eleven
Thursday night arrives like a balm to my spirit. I arrive at Bridgeview early, swing by the bar to get some water and to say hello to Farrah, and find Teri already there, leaning on her elbows and grinning at the stunning redhead she’s crushed on forever.
When I approach, Farrah blushes and turns away from Teri, returning to the task of emptying the dishwasher. “Hey, Ritchie.”
“Hey, girl. Can I fill my water bottle?”
She opens the service door back to the bar. “Come on back.”
Behind the bar at Bridgeview is a familiar space after all these years. I navigate around Farrah with ease as she moves around, hanging the glassware. At the sink I rinse, then fill my bottle, looking out at the bar. Later tonight, the entire place will be packed with a crowd of sweaty, horny people all come to see Vertical Smile play. Well, and maybe to hook up, but ours is the name on the marquee.
I bet tending bar here pays better than serving lunch at a gastropub.
I don’t know where the thought comes from. I like my job. I’ve been doing it so long; I don’t even need to think about it. I do miss working the dinner shift since it means my schedule and Jacks’s rarely align these days. But if we were both tending bar—we’d be on the same schedule again. We could spend actual time together. We could—we could fall in love again.
“Earth to Ritchie.” Teri waves a hand in front of my eyes. “You completely disappeared for a minute there.”
“I’m sorry. Were you talking? I spaced out.”
“I asked if Jacks was with you.”
And isn’t that the question of the day-week-month-year? But I know she doesn’t mean it the way I feel it. “No, he’s coming straight from work, I think.”
She nods, then goes back to flirting with Farrah. I thank Farrah for the water, then make my way to the green room.
It’s not much of a green room, but it holds so many years of memories. I swallow against a lump in my throat as I remember an eager sixteen-year-old Jacks practically climbing into my lap the first time he came to the city to see me play. That stroll down memory lane takes me to a fancy hotel in Manhattan, lying on the bed with him and talking for hours.
Dream of freedom.
Was I the one keeping him in a cage now?
“You look like someone killed your dog.”
Nat.
“Don’t have a dog.”
“You should. If anyone needs something to take care of, it’s you.”
I laugh. “Think I’ve got enough on my plate right now.”
She flops down on the sofa and puts her feet up. The way she dresses for performances is different from her street clothes—rougher. She sheds the designer labels for a ratty, stained men’s undershirt and ripped jeans. Motorcycle boots instead of flats. Her eyeliner is smudged rather than smoky, and her hair looks like she slept on it. The jewelry is the same—studs and chains forever—but there’s more of it. She looks more at ease in her skin every time I see her.
“You look happy,” I tell her. “Bex must be back soon I hope?”
She grins at me. “She texted me from the airport. She’ll be here for the second set tonight.”
“I’m happy for you.” I flop down next to her and fold my hands behind my head. “Is she bringing friends?” Rebecca Horvath’s “friends” are the glitterati of the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous producer and a notorious actress, she was pampered and fawned over, denied nothing except the one thing she craved— a stable home. So she grew up to be the kind of woman who surrounded herself with joy and laughter and the power of human connection. A party planner, of sorts, but one with a law degree and a contact list that would make heads of state jealous.
Nat nods, an indulgent smile on her lips. “At least a few. Some model with an eye-watering number of Instagram followers and her girlfriend. So, you know, look pretty up there in case they put us on the ’gram.”
I grimace. “I think it’s too late for that.”
She laughs and looks over at me. “I dunno, the ‘scruffy guy who needs a shave and haircut’ look works for you.”
I run a hand over my scruff. It’s not that I hate shaving or anything, but I can’t really be bothered more than a couple of times a week. Nobody at the restaurant cares, and Jacks seems to like me this way. “Is it even a look though?” I muse aloud.
“It’s a look, trust me. And for people who are into that sort of thing, and there are a lot of them, it’s hot.”
“What’s hot?” Jacks walks in, his mohawk still pomaded into a perfect pompadour. I itch to mess it up—to press him up against a wall and bury my hands in it while I—
“Your boyfriend.” Nat interrupts my fantasy and grins at him. “But look at you—total hipster vibe. Someone needs to mess up your hair.”
Jacks rolls his eyes and steps behind the screen in the corner. “Shit. Do either of you have a spare shirt? There’s nothing back here.”
“Sorry.” Nat and I say in unison.
I stand and duck behind the screen. “Hey.”
Jacks’s eyes widen and a smile spreads across his face. “Hey,” he says, breathless.
“Let me help you with your hair.” I back him against the wall and make good on the fantasy of a moment earlier, driving my hips into his and burying my face into the warm skin of his neck. He arches up into me with a moan, his hands falling to my waist.
“Ritchie—”
My name on his lips drives me crazy. I bite at his throat and tug his hair, then drive one hand down the front of his shirt and into his pants. He’s half-hard, and it only takes a few strokes until he’s fully hard and pushing up into my hand, his face flushed and his eyes glittering.
“What’s gotten into you?” He laughs as he wraps his arms over my shoulders.
“Mmm, nothing yet, but maybe you can get into me later.”
He shudders. “We shouldn’t—not here.”
“You definitely shouldn’t!” Nat calls from the sofa. “I’ve heard enough already.”
I laugh against Jacks’s neck and give his earlobe a little bite before letting him go. The nights that we perform, Jacks and I often can’t get enough of each other. There’s something about being on stage together, the fever pitch of the crowd, the filthy lyrics of our songs, it all spills together to make a big pool of sexual energy that ignites us both.
I know—I just know—that as long as we have Thursdays and music, we can get through anything. Maybe that’s why I’m so desperate for him. Every Thursday is a reassurance that Jacks needs me, craves me, fucking loves me.
His hair looks perfect now—not all spiked up or carefully coiffed. I pull his work shirt over his head and toss it over the screen. The light glints off his nipple ring, and I slide my palm over it, drinking in the low purr as he arches i
nto my touch.“You should play like this. Fuck shirts.”
He runs a hand over his chest. In the past, I know he’s been self-conscious about his slender build, but to me, he’s perfect. Yes, he’s thin, but hefting kegs for ten years has made him strong and wiry in a way models would envy.
“You look hot, Jacks.”
He stares at me for a long moment before finally, he shrugs.
“Okay.”
We come out from behind the screen to find Teri settled onto the couch with Nat.
“You two gonna make it through the show without throwing each other down on the stage?” she teases, and Jacks laughs awkwardly.
“We’re good.” He holds back a grin for a second then it stretches across his face as he peers at me. “For now.”
We give one of the best shows of our lives that night. Nat’s transformation into androgynous sex God switches on the moment she steps to the microphone, and Jacks is temptation incarnate with his chest bare and the tattoos on his torso and arms a blur of color as he hammers away at his drum set. His kick drum is my heartbeat.
Teri and I watch each other with steady concentration through the transitions, and when she steps up to Nat and wraps an arm around her waist, I trigger the recording that frees Jacks from his drum kit, break into my bass solo, and watch as the three of them work the crowd into a sensual frenzy.
By the time the second set is over and the encore is played, I’m so turned on I can barely see straight, and I know Jacks feels the same. When we get back into the green room, I shove him down on the sofa and practically throw myself on him. He laughs and arches up into me. Our mouths meet and our tongues tangle. Our hips find a rhythm that has me chasing heaven faster than I’d believe possible. I pull back with a groan.
“You’re killing me.” His head drops onto the arm of the sofa, and I follow it down, pressing kisses to the sweat-damp skin of his throat.
A knock on the door pulls us apart. Nat and Teri wouldn’t knock, and they’d deserve whatever eyeful they got.
I stand up and straighten my clothes, leaving Jacks a perfect image of debauchery behind me as I go to open the door.
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