Page 41 of Bassist With Benefits
“You were sitting three feet across from me, Alan. We had spent the night together. A really fucking incredible night. Do you know how hard it is not to lean over and kiss you? Or hold your hand? Or just touch you?”
Alan stopped and slowly nodded. “Yeah. I do. Don’t you think I want to snuggle on the couch with you sometimes?”
“Well, why don’t you? Would it be so fucking bad if the guys knew?”
“Knew what? What exactly are we supposed to tell them? That we’re fucking around?”
Jeremy’s defenses rose like a tidal wave. “Is that what we’re doing? We’re just friends with benefits? Is that all this is to you?”
“No. I didn’t mean it like that. Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck’s going on between me and you yet. We’re obviously more than just friends with benefits, but we’re not suddenly married either.”
Alan’s words, as sharp as a fucking machete, hacked away at Jeremy’s heart. “That’s a really nice way to commit without committing. We agreed we didn’t want to fool around with anyone else, which is a huge fucking step, for both of us. But you don’t want to tell anyone.”
“Look, Jeremy, we’ve been best friends for over 10 years. This is new. I’m still trying to figure out what to call it. And when I do, you’ll be the first to know. Not them.”
Alan walked ahead, leaving Jeremy with his heart hanging in the air trailing after the man he loved. “What a jerk.” He wasn’t sure if he was referring to Alan for being so noncommittal or himself for getting so overly emotional and vested in a relationship that he knew was trouble before it began.
Alan stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror. Tight jeans, Vans, and a T-shirt that hugged every muscle in his chest with sleeves that stopped right at the cut above his biceps. He slapped a leather cuff bracelet on one wrist and a chain with a skull pendant around his neck. He ran his fingers through his hair and stepped from the bedroom, ready to go and pissed off as all fucking hell. He hated the idea of going to The Bear Bar, but he’d be damned before he let Jeremy go to that place without him.
The music hit Alan as soon as he opened the door. Ded’sAnti-Everythingscreamed with rebellion and the parallel slapped him in the face. Nothing could ever go smoothly in his life. Everything he did always had to go against the grain. He couldn’t just fall for a regular guy. No, it had to be his best friend.
Jeremy and Derek were in the living room, standing around the bar and having a drink for the road. Derek was wearing a black and gray kilt. It was his go-to piece of fuck-me attire. The ode to his Scottish heritage made the occasional appearance on stage, but it was clear that tonight Derek was expecting a blowjob under the woolen garment.
Alan exhaled a disgruntled sigh that came out as a loud grumble. The unexpected noise made Jeremy and Derek turn toward him with a laugh.
“Are you practicing your bear call?” Derek asked, pouring another glass of Jack Daniels and offering it to Alan. “Glad you changed your mind and are coming with us.”
Alan took the glass and tossed back the alcohol in one swoop. The harsh burn added to the agitation that was churning around in his stomach, and he answered with a smart remark. “Yeah. Is that how I should get a bear to kneel under my skirt?”
“It’s not a skirt. It’s a kilt. And you don’t have to call ‘em.” Derek flipped up the hem of the kilt, but not high enough to see his pecker, which was sure as shit swinging freely underneath. “You put this thing on and they’ll beg to see what’s under it.” Derek swallowed his drink. “The car’s waiting downstairs.”
Only two members of Bulletproof’s security team met them outside the hotel room door and escorted them into the elevator. It was a new team that had only joined them in New Orleans a few weeks ago, and Alan wondered why the change. The old team knew the routine – at least one bodyguard per person when they were going in and out of the hotel.
Alan still couldn’t believe they were really going to this place, and he knew that the scowl stuck on his face gave away his annoyance.
Derek slung his arm over Alan’s shoulder. “Why the long face? We’re all getting laid tonight. You should be smiling!”
Alan put on a broad grin that was so fake even he had to laugh. At least it eased the tension that was gnawing away at him. After all, what did he expect Jeremy to do? Tell Derek that he only wanted to fuck Alan? A flutter hiccupped in Alan’s chest as he realized that, yes, a part of him wanted that to happen. The other part was pulling him into hiding harder than it had when he was a closeted pre-teen.
Fans were starting to collect in the lobby now that Bulletproof had been at the hotel for a few hours. It wasn’t a mob scene – yet – but they really needed more than two bodyguards, especially since Derek was wearing that damn fuck-me kilt. There was something about that thing that made men, and women, totally lose their inhibitions. More than one hand reached out and grabbed Derek’s ass on their way through the lobby.
Apparently hotel security had kept most of the fans outside, so they were unprepared for the onslaught of people that rushed at them as soon as they exited the hotel.
“Derek!”
“Alan!”
“Jeremy!”
Voices shouted their names. Someone tugged on the sleeve of Alan’s T-shirt and almost ripped it. A hand grabbed a chunk of Jeremy’s hair. Another hand pulled on Derek’s kilt. The limo was a good 20 feet away, and the two bodyguards were overwhelmed. Fans swarmed in on them, pushing and shoving. They were jostled into one another and basically shoved into the limo with the door almost slamming shut on Derek’s kilt.
“What the fuck?” Derek yelled. “That was ridiculous!”
“Is everyone alright back there?” the driver asked.
“Barely,” Alan answered. “Where’s our security guys? They need to come with us.”
Fans were banging on the windows, so Alan couldn’t really hear the driver.
