Page 39 of Bassist With Benefits
There was a new energy between the two. The excitement of playing in front of a live audience was transformed into something beyond description. The music was reborn. It took on a higher level of intensity. It rocked harder. Brandon’s voice screamed stronger. Derek’s guitar wailed louder. Alan’s drums boomed faster. And Jeremy’s bass rumbled deeper.
Jeremy turned sideways to watch Alan deliver his drum solo. The man was a beast. Strong, thick arms, and a chest that any bodybuilder would envy adorned the man’s physique. His muscles flexed with each heavy strike on the drums. In a trance, Alan focused on the drum kit in front of him and blocked out the world around him. Just then, Alan caught Jeremy’s eye for the briefest of seconds and a tiny smile crept onto Alan’s lips, before he dazed out again.
Jeremy’s heartbeat sped up and his blood surged. Watching Alan still gave him a rush. The man freely created beats that breathed cohesion. The sound shook the walls and fed life into the dead. The talent Alan had was contagious, and he constantly pushed Jeremy to follow his lead, just like when they were young and first starting out . . . . .
Jeremy was trying to come up with an original baseline, something different, something that didn’t sound like the same old cookie-cutter heavy metal rhythm as every other hard rock band. Bulletproof needed a unique sound that would get them noticed if they wanted a record deal. Writing music was hard, but it was a collaboration.
Alan created the beats that served as the backbone of the song. Jeremy added the baseline that brought the rhythm together. Derek wrote killer riffs that drove the melody home. And Brandon composed sick lyrics and sang them like a motherfucker.
The song needed to be perfect and every aspect of it was spot on, except Jeremy’s baseline. It should be tighter. It needed to connect with the beat of the drum better. It didn’t propel the song to where it should go. “It’s still fucked.” Jeremy let out a frustrated sigh. Studio time cost a fortune, and he could hear the chi-ching of the price tag adding up while he stumbled over the notes. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I don’t know why I can’t get it right.”
Alan left his drum kit and massaged Jeremy’s shoulders with strong hands. “Stop thinking about it. Play with your heart, not your head. Feel the beat of my drums and let your fingers work their magic. I know you can do it.”
The knots in Jeremy’s neck dissipated under the rotation of Alan’s thumbs. The body contact sent a hot chill down his spine. Forget over-thinking the music, all Jeremy could think about was his gorgeous drummer touching him with those magnificent hands.
Alan gave Jeremy a hearty slap on the back and then those brilliant hands were gone. “I’m gonna play through the beat for a few minutes, and I just want you to feel it in your chest. Then I’m gonna start up again, and that’s when you jump in. Let your fingers write the music.”
Feeling more confident, Jeremy nodded his head. Alan always gave him the ego boost he needed.
Alan returned to his kit, gazed lovingly at it for a few seconds, then picked up his sticks and pounded out a steady beat.
Jeremy closed his eyes and let the sound of the drum fill his ears. It beat in his chest, pumping life into his heart. That was all he needed. His fingers came alive and reworked the baseline, adding notes that followed Alan’s beats with perfect compatibility and jumpstarted the song. It was exactly the sound Jeremy was looking for, sequestered in his head, and blocked by thinking too hard. It took Alan’s encouraging words to set the creativity free . . . . .
That song had become one of their most popular hits at the time, and it grabbed Felix Osbourne’s attention when he heard the then-unknown heavy metal band in a local bar in Southern California and signed on as their manager right away. Now, watching Alan on stage in front of an arena full of people all these years later, Jeremy was filled with the same flood of inspiration. He wanted to play something different, surprise the fans and himself and his bandmates – especially Alan. He rushed toward the back of the stage and jumped onto the drum riser.
Alan turned toward Jeremy with a quizzical smile. He slowed the barrage across his toms and reduced his assault to a steady beat on his snare. “You back, bruh? What now?” he asked into his mic. “Another showdown? I guess you want me to kick your ass again.”
Jeremy knew he was no match against Alan’s drumming. The man was a superstar. But he was giddy and as goofy as a lovesick school girl. He took a pair of sticks from the bag and bumped Alan off the stool with his hip. Jeremy wasn’t a seasoned drummer, but he could keep a steady beat, and he loved to play around with Alan’s double bass drums. He kicked them both as hard and fast as he could and did his best to show off his drumming skills, but the neglected bass guitar strung over his shoulder called to him and demanded attention. He stood, rattled off a short composition of notes, then sat back down on the stool and ran the sticks over the drum kit again. He ended with a series of strikes to the crash cymbals and threw the sticks across the stage just like Alan always did when he finished a drum solo.
The fans went wild, cheering and hollering like mad, but all Jeremy cared about was the admiration that glowed back at him from his best friend’s eyes. This gorgeous, talented man inspired him so much. Not just when it came to music, everything about Alan had Jeremy’s heart and head doing back flips since they were 13 years old.
Alan grabbed Jeremy by the wrist and pulled him to his feet. The awe and wonder sparkling back at Jeremy in those expressive steel gray eyes was enough to lift him to the moon. Holding Jeremy’s arm in the air like a champion, Alan leaned into the mic. “That was fucking sick!” Alan wrapped his arms around Jeremy and hugged him with all his might. “You’re a fucking rock star, man.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sitting on the tour bus only a few feet from Alan, while acting as if nothing was going on between them, was like keeping a dirty little secret. No one knew that the coy glances and small smiles were a private exchange of lust between the two.
Jeremy was only pretending to be listening to Derek, when he was actually watching Alan, who was talking with Cam on the opposite couch. The excited smile on Alan’s face made Jeremy hang onto their conversation. He had no clue what Derek was talking about, but he did his best impression of acting interested. Luckily, Derek was a pro at conducting a one-sided conversation, so he hadn’t noticed that Jeremy wasn’t responding.
Jeremy focused on Alan’s lips and the way he scratched at a fraying string on the seam of his jeans. Alan must have felt Jeremy’s gaze, because he turned his eyes toward him. It was more than a mere glance. It was an I-see-you-watching-me flash of his eyes, and it made Jeremy’s heart jump.
Derek stopped talking and Jeremy realized he expected an answer. “What?”
“So you’re on board?” Derek asked.
“Yeah. Sure.” Jeremy waved his hand with indifference. “It’s cool.”
“Great!” Derek started scrolling through his phone, which left an exit for Jeremy. He shifted to the edge of his seat and leaned forward so he could insert himself into Alan and Cam’s conversation. “What’s that about a promotional contest?”
Cam was talking about the restaurants the four of them owned in L.A. Since none of them had any experience in running a business, there was a team in place to take care of every aspect of operating the individual restaurants. Cam voluntarily took an active role in making sure everyone employed was doing their job. This was his baby and he micromanaged every detail. Jeremy had to wonder what the hell Brandon was giving Cam in return for taking on so much personal interest in not only Brandon’s burger joint, but all four of their specialty restaurants, because the guy refused to take a penny for his troubles.
Cam spoke with a rush of excitement. “I was saying that you should think about running another contest like the one you had when you first opened the doors. I think that’s what pushed revenue so high and why you all made so much money so quickly. Winners could get two tickets to a concert and a backstage pass or something.”
“Gotta run it by Felix,” Brandon said, entering from the kitchen area with a dishtowel in his hands.
Derek looked up from his phone. “Washing dishes, Bran? Someone’s dick-whipped.”
Brandon threw the towel at Derek. “I was feeding Brandy.”
