Page 105 of Hope & Harmony

“Magic.” And Gavin makinga lotof phone calls for him. He held out the marker to Bennett. “Will you sign it for me, Bennett York? I’m your biggest fan.” He batted his eyelashes and puckered his lips, and Bennett gave him a laughing smack of a kiss before turning him to use his back as a signing surface. The swoop of his signature, another joyful laugh, was music to Gino’s soul. When he turned back around, Bennett’s smile had softened and his eyes heated back to I-want-to-kiss-you-all-night vibes. “I take it there will be more posters coming?”

He brought their foreheads together again, lips brushing. “For that giant grin on your face? Hell yeah, baby. Hell yeah.”

CHAPTER 6

Posters were great; band members who showed up on time, ready to play, were even better. After two months on tour, Bennett had more than a few of the former, Gino gifting him one every Saturday night. Reliable band members, however, had become scarce the past week.

The wheels had begun to come off last week in Chicago. Roscoe had gone to a hockey game the night before the show and had missed the morning band meeting. Ellery had taken that as his cue to flake out of the press call and sound check for the midweek show in Madison. And then the twins had gotten so drunk in downtown Pittsburgh after the show last night that Gino had had to leave their bed at two in the morning to sweet talk a local bar owner out of pressing charges. No doubt that had cost an arm and a leg, between paying off the bar owner and anyone who’d witnessed Miles and Mason’s shenanigans.

Which Bennett still didn’t know the full extent of. Gino had given him minimal details—They’re idiots, they’re fine—when he’d returned to bed just before dawn, wrapped an arm around his waist, and drifted back to sleep. There were no salacious news stories this morning either. Nothing in the local press or in the usual gossip rags about two of Middle Cut’s band memberscausing a scene. In fact, there hadn’t been a single bad behavior story all week, no web alerts other than for rave reviews of their shows, and come to think of it, Bennett hadn’t received any SOS texts lately either.

He darkened his phone screen and set the device face down on the mattress beside him. “How have you kept everything out of the press this week?” He raised his voice so Gino in the hotel bathroom could hear him.

“Been working with Gavin and the extra handler we hired for this tour.”

“We hired a what?” He briefly ran through the roadies on tour with them in his head, landing on the newest member of the crew. “You mean Erica? The blond in the SF Giants gear who’s always directing us which way to go after the show?”

“That’s her. She’s a junior publicist in Gavin’s shop. Damn good.” Gino emerged from the bathroom, travel kits in hand. He’d insisted they get the hell out of Steel City and on to Boston before any more trouble found them; Bennett hadn’t disagreed. Sure, there was a restaurant in town they’d planned to try tonight, but hush money only went so far. He dropped their kits into their luggage, redirecting Bennett’s mind from where it had wandered. “It’s not your job to babysit the band,” Gino said. “It was wearing you down. You didn’t need that.”

Bennett snagged his nearest wrist and drew him closer, between his spread knees. “It’s not your job either.” He tugged Gino down to kneeling on his level so Bennett could get a good look at his face. In the morning sun, the bags under his eyes were dark and that little vein at the edge of his hairline was bulging with tension. Bennett gently coasted his fingers over it, then into Gino’s hair, carding through it softly, causing Gino’s hitched shoulders to lower and his eyelids to flutter closed. A couple of deep breaths later, Bennett asked, “Did you tell them to text you and not me?” Gino’s silence was answer enough. Bennett pulledhim into his arms. “Thank you for sparing me that, but you don’t get to make my life better by making yours hell. We share the load.”

“I can take a little more if it means improving your mental health. You’re enjoying yourself and this tour. You’ve been remarkable on stage, B. You’ve seemed better offstage too. I don’t want to risk that. I can’t risk you.”

He was rambling, his voice escalating like Bennett’s had that day months ago, and every muscle under Bennett’s hands had gone tight again. He needed to rest, he needed to relax, he’d needed that dinner out tonight, more than Bennett had realized when he’d agreed to forgo it. But maybe they could have dinner someplace else even more special.

He drew back and cupped Gino’s face with both hands, thumbs swiping over his cheeks. “We have an extra day now, right? Before the show in Boston?”

Gino nodded.

“Get Gavin and the handler on the phone. You’re taking the night off.”

“But—”

Bennett covered Gino’s mouth with his, shoved his tongue between his husband’s lips, and only came up for air again when Gino surrendered. “You get to enjoy this tour too. And tonight, I’m taking care ofyou.”

CHAPTER 7

Bennett drowned the last of his garlic fries in the leftover white wine broth from the bowl of mussels he’d devoured, then likewise devoured the soaked-in-delicious fries. He couldn’t have asked for a better dinner or better company to enjoy it with, Gino smiling around another bite of his lobster mac and cheese before slowly drawing the fork from between his lips. Bennett shifted in his seat, wishing like hell his tongue—or other parts of his anatomy—were the tines of that fork. “Quit teasing me.”

“No,” his husband answered with a sexy leer. He scooped up another bite and repeated the whole excruciatingly erotic torture.

This entire day had been an excruciating exercise in foreplay. Of his own doing. The runaway trip to Martha’s Vineyard, the day spent cruising around the island in their rented convertible, the date night out at Chess, the award-winning restaurant Bennett had caught his foodie husband eyeing online last week. After a day of sun, food, and wine, the tension that had been weighing Gino down had noticeably lifted, and his cheeks were pink, his smile wide, and his eyes sparking with heat.

He looked like his sexy self again, which had been Bennett’s intention, along with thanking Gino for sparing him the chaosof the past week. And for making the first two-thirds of their tour more than bearable. To his surprise, Bennett was enjoying himself.

Were there bad days among the good?

Sure, several the past week with their misbehaving bandmates.

Or that first week on tour when he and Britt had been dialing in his meds, a slight increase in one causing him to tip over into the floaty, nauseous place he hated. Gino had sat by his side in the hotel bathroom that night, the two of them plotting how to spoil their niblings that were due next month, Gino distracting him through the worst of the leveling out.

Or the week before last, at the show in Baltimore, when it had taken Bennett an extra half hour of meditation to make it on stage. He’d needed a second set break later, another breather, but to the fans, it was the Middle Cut show they came for, and to Bennett, it was manageable. It hadn’t set off a spiral or drained him for days after. Even if it had, there’d been two days built into the schedule for recovery. Gino was listening, was taking him seriously, was supporting his mental health and fighting for them. Bennett wanted to fight for them too, to show his appreciation and to continue the work of reconnecting, something they’d talked a lot about with Trish.

Gino’s knee knocked his under the table. “Where’d you go?”

“Was just thinking about the past two months.”

“You doing okay with everything?” He waved a hand in the air. “This past week notwithstanding.”

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