Page 38 of Bassist With Benefits
Brandon was the first to exit the car to a reception of ear-piercing screams. He stood there for a few seconds, taking in the fans and waving. His body blocked the door and Derek punched him in the ass. “Can the rest of us share the red carpet, your highness?”
Brandon reached inside the car, grabbed Derek by the arm and pulled him out. He put Derek in a friendly head lock, and Derek retaliated by scissoring his arms around Brandon’s chest, but it was a vain attempt. His arms never made it all the way around the brawny singer’s massive pecs, so Derek just gave up. Watching Bulletproof’s magnetic singer and lead guitarist goofing around sent the fans into an outrageous bout of caterwauling.
Jeremy covered his ears and placed his head on Alan’s shoulder. “Make it stop. Please make it stop.”
Alan left a peck on Jeremy’s head. “Easy, pumpkin. We’ll just run inside so our ears don’t explode.”
Jeremy smiled up at Alan. “Pumpkin?”
Alan shrugged one shoulder. “That’s what my head feels like. Figured yours did too.”
It was so easy for them to share coy, playful banter without arousing suspicion. It was something they’d been doing their whole lives. It had always carried a sexual undertone for Jeremy. The play fighting and wrestling had started as a way for Jeremy to share physical contact with Alan. He would never have risked their friendship back then by admitting his true feelings. He couldn’t believe he finally had the nerve to admit his true feelings now. It felt like a dream, and he couldn’t stop smiling, even though he felt like there was an ice pick in his head.
Alan rested his hand on Jeremy’s thigh. “We’d better get inside before Felix comes looking for us.”
The crowd of boisterous fans had gravitated toward Brandon and Derek, who were now near the entrance to the record store, so it wasn’t as loud by the open door to the limousine. “Let’s make a break for it,” Jeremy suggested. They both darted out of the car and laughed as they zipped past the line of fans and into the store. The short sprint sent a rush of blood to Jeremy’s head. “Ow.” He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples so his brain would stop throbbing. He was in a surprisingly good mood for someone who was so hung over that an hour ago he would have welcomed death as an alternative to the pounding in his head.
A store employee ushered them to a long cafeteria-type table with four chairs. Brandon sat first, then Derek, then Alan, and lastly, Jeremy. Four bodyguards from Bulletproof’s security outfit lined the wall behind them. Jeremy looked at the line of burly men and nudged Alan. “A little excessive, don’t ya think?”
“You know Felix, Mr. Over Cautious. He’s probably just making a point because of what happened outside.”
The doors opened and the fans behaved, thanks to Felix’s no-bullshit reputation when it came to Meet & Greets. If anyone pushed, cut the line, or rushed at the table, they were out. There were no second chances, and the fans knew it, some of them firsthand.
Twin Media filmed the line, and a journalist interviewed random fans. Small groups of four or six at a time approached the table, starting with Brandon and working their way down to Jeremy at the opposite end of the table in assembly-line fashion. A young couple from the present group was enamored with Derek and holding up the line, leaving Jeremy waiting. He waved at some of the fans, causing a small outcry. At least his headache had abated enough so he didn’t wince at the volume of their voices.
Jeremy played with his marker. He clicked the cap on and off and rolled his eyes while he listened to the guy and his girlfriend gush over Derek and his killer guitar riffs. Jeremy looked at Alan, who was sitting between them.
Alan had the perfect profile. His short hair framed his face, exposing a strong chin and rugged jaw. The scruff of razor stubble gave him just the right amount of edge. Above the masculinity of the lower half of his face sat those exquisite silver eyes.
A ruffle of adrenaline sped through Jeremy’s veins. He moved his hand under the table and rested it on Alan’s thigh.
Alan’s head snapped in Jeremy’s direction. “What are you doing?” he whispered, fighting a grin that threatened to give them away.
Jeremy answered by moving his hand further up Alan’s leg, dangerously close to Alan’s cock.
Alan’s eyes widened and he looked down at the table. He licked his lips and inhaled sharply, afraid to move.
Jeremy traced tiny circles with his middle finger on Alan’s inner thigh. He had no idea how far he planned on taking his little walk up Alan’s leg, but his cock was tingling at the little game secretly taking place under the table.
Shit. One of the cameramen approached them to film the fans gushing over Derek, and it was too risky to continue fondling Alan’s leg. He flicked Alan in the balls and quickly withdrew his hand.
Alan grunted and jumped. “You’re fucking dead.” He laughed and shoved Jeremy in the shoulder, and Jeremy fell out of his chair. “Oh, shit!”
Jeremy was on his back on the beige carpet, staring up at the florescent light.
“Hey, man. Sorry.” Alan offered his hand and pulled Jeremy to his feet. A muscular arm supported Jeremy with tender care to make sure he was steady. “Since when are you so dainty?” Alan asked with a laugh. “I gave you a little shove.”
A tingle ran through Jeremy’s chest, and his cock thickened at the strong hold Alan had on him. Jeremy stared at the thick band of muscles in Alan’s neck. The guy was built like a fucking brick wall. “Why are you so fucking strong?”
Alan grinned as they stared at one another, their faces only inches apart, sharing the same breath, their eyes communicating with one another. The spark that ignited between them and the exchange of heat that transpired consumed Jeremy. Everyone was watching them – the guys, Felix, the fans, workers at the record store, and the film crew.
It would be so easy to kiss Alan right now, in front of everyone, and make his feelings known. He could tell Alan and everyone else that he had loved this man since they were teenagers. But it wasn’t the right time. And it fucking killed him.
No matter how many cities Bulletproof visited, or how many shows they played, each held their own unique energy. Above the noise of the boisterous crowd, over the throaty sound of Brandon’s signature scream, and beyond the twang of Derek’s Fender Stratocaster, nothing stood out more than the beat of Alan’s drums. It thudded in tandem with Jeremy’s heart and thundered in his ears as beautiful as a tidal wave crashing onto the ocean’s surface.
Derek and Brandon faced one another at the front of the stage, encased in a cone of white light. They fed off each other’s adrenaline and taunted one another with aggressive lyrics and pulsating riffs. Their rapport on stage was electric, and everyone in the room felt it. They went shoulder to shoulder, sharing the music between them. Derek suddenly bumped Brandon, knocking him slightly off balance. Brandon retaliated with his heavily-muscled shoulder, and the guitar player staggered several feet away before he threw his head back and laughed. Their eyes challenged one another for a few seconds, and then they each charged at the other and collided with a massive chest bump, with Derek pulling his guitar out of the way at the last second.
Jeremy’s eyes went to Bulletproof’s prolific drummer, and a privileged exchange took place between them. The give and take they shared propelled the music. The boom of Alan’s double kick drum guided Jeremy’s baseline. They were locked together by the rhythm, united, pulling and pushing the song forward.
