Page 8 of Bulletproof
Brandon continued his introduction. “Behind me, master of the double bass, Alan motherfucking Delgado!”
The adrenaline bled from every pore in Alan’s body as he assaulted his Pearl kit. The walls shookwith twin beats as he hammered his double bass drums. His sticks sailed across his toms and pummeled his cymbals. He stilled them, silencing the blast of sound that filled the room, then jumped onto his stool and threw his sticks across the stage and into the audience.
Brandon chuckled into the microphone as he straightened up from a squatting position. “I was ready that time. Toomany close calls with the back of my head have put me on high alert.” He took a step closer to the apron. “And I’m Brandon Bullet. Together. WE. ARE. BULLETPROOF!”
Black confetti rained from the ceiling. Gold Styrofoam bullets shot from the T-shirt launcher, spraying the audience with giant oversized replicas of the band’s logo, before rolled up T-shirts ejected into the crowd.
“You’ve been fucking awesome, Los Angeles!” Brandon yelled into the mic.
Derek threw a handful of guitar picks into the crowd before he, Jeremy, and Alan joined Brandon at the front of the stage. Arms draped around each other’s shoulders, they bowed as one to the screaming crowd. “Great fucking show,” Brandon said, slapping Derek on the back, but Derek wasn’t paying attention.His eyes were all over the place, searching for Travis. But the man was gone.
The afterparty taking place in Derek, Jeremy, and Alan’s suite was rockin’. The music shook the furniture with a righteous beat, alcohol flowed freely, and a cloud of pot smoke floated above the crowd. Reckless was hereand Travis was somewhere in the mix, but Derek was playing it cool. Since he didn’t get to speak to the guy after the show, he made sure Felix extended an invitation to Reckless, specifying that their lead singer’s presence was requested at the afterparty. Felix, Bulletproof’s vigilant manager, had given Derek the side eye, unhappy about his pointed inclusion of Travis, not because he suspectedany kind of physical attraction or sexual chemistry between the two. Derek knew Felix well enough to know that the band’s neurotic manager was more worried about the trouble the two of them would get into together, and Felix obviously had good cause for concern.
Derek kept going back and forth on whether or not he should sleep with Travis. The little voice in his head kept tellinghim it was a bad idea. Travis seemed so out of sorts, troubled by his newfound fame, and filled with personal issues. Derek knew it wouldn’t be just a quick fuck or a series of random hook ups. There would be repercussions, and it made him unsure if he wanted the trouble. The other little voice in his head reminded him of the warm feelings that the intense discussion with Travis had stirred insideof him. The exchange of meaningful conversation, and hearing Travis bare his soul, ignited something in Derek’s heart. The guy was completely opposite the shallow groupies he usually spent time with, and it made him realize that talking about something that mattered was not only refreshing, it was therapeutic.
“Hey, buddy.” Brandon came up beside Derek and slung his arm over Derek’sshoulder. “What are you doing standing here by yourself? You usually got a guy on his knees by now. Are you waiting on Travis?” Brandon asked, a teasing smile on his lips.
Derek gave his friend a playful shove in the chest. “Knock it off.”
“Hey.” A voice from behind crooned in Derek’s ear.
Derek jumped at the sound of Travis’ voice, which immediately filledhis chest with lightness and made his heart beat faster. “Hey, back at ya.”
Brandon tipped his beer at Travis in greeting, gave Derek a sly wink, and discreetly walked away.
A whistle chirped past Travis’ lips as he did a sweeping motion around the room with his eyes. “So this is what a mega rock star’s penthouse looks like. Pretty fuckin’ posh, dude.”
Travisclinked his beer against Derek’s, and it reminded Derek of the way he always shared the same gesture with Brandon, Jeremy, and Alan. He knew it was an age-old salute practiced around the world, but it was kinda their thing.
“I’d be satisfied with my own room,” Travis admitted. “I’m stuck sharing a room with Ricky.”
It brought back an old memory for Derek. On Bulletproof’s first tour as a signed band, the label had tried to stick them all in one big room. Technically, it was a studio with two beds and two pullout sofas. It also had a kitchenette, a fully-stocked bar, and a dining table. They hadbeen dazzled, but they were all too young and green to know any better. Felix had pitched a fit at the unacceptable accommodations, and demanded they each get their own junior suite. They had felt bad when they told Felix they preferred the studio since they could all hang out together, but the headstrong manager was persistent. On the next tour, Felix had procured a two-bedroom suite for them toshare, with two pullout beds in the living room. The suites had steadily upgraded with each tour until Bulletproof claimed the penthouse in whichever hotel they occupied, complete with their own private bedrooms and bathrooms. Felix admitted that he liked this arrangement the best, since he didn’t have to constantly knock on four separate doors to check on them. The man kept an eye on them as ifthey were still in elementary school. Granted, they had given him good reason over the years.
Derek could only imagine how much the label had balked at the expense of the suites and lavish amenities, before the dough really started rolling in, but having representation meant having someone to fight for what you’re worth. “This was actually Felix’s idea. He likes us all under one roof.Well, most of us. Brandon and Cam have their own suite.” He curled his fingers into air quotes. “For privacy.”
“Do I get the grand tour?” Travis took another sweep of the place with his eyes.
Derek was tempted to start with the bedroom, but decided he needed to keep his hormones on a leash where Travis was concerned. At least for the moment. A little voice inside hishead told him to tread lightly when it came to Travis Fontana, and he heeded the warning. “This is the dining room.” Derek fanned his hand out in front of him, although it wasn’t really a room, just a big open space with a huge table and six chairs. Right now the table was covered with half-empty glasses and beer bottles. A white smudge and rolled bill marked the spot where someone snorted a smallpile of cocaine. “This is where food magically appears three times a day. I have no idea where it comes from, but all I have to do is complain to Felix that I’m hungry, and a smorgasbord arrives through the front door.”
Travis’ face perked up. “I think I like Felix.”
They weaved through the crowd of people toward the living room. The faces around him held familiarity,but Derek really didn’t know most of the people there, other than the usual road crew that accompanied them on tour. The rest were hangers-on, groupies, friends of friends, and so on. He received pats on the back as he passed, accompanied by short comments about how much people enjoyed the show. He acknowledged them with a smile and a nod, until a recognizable face blocked his path. The groupie,who was part of a small crowd that followed the band from state to state, and who Derek fucked six different ways, eyed Derek with a coy smile.
“I’ve been trying to get to you for half an hour.” The groupie tugged on the waistband of Derek’s jeans and pulled him closer. This dude had some kind of magical skills, because the top button of Derek’s jeans popped open and the zipper teetereddangerously close to sliding open.
Derek pushed the guy’s hands away, which was probably the first time he’d done such a fucking ridiculous thing. “Not right now . . .” Was it John? Jimmy? Shit. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name. “I’m busy with my pal, Travis.” Derek slung his arm over Travis’ shoulder. The movement made his zipper slide down another fraction of an inch, remindinghim that his jeans were open and he and Travis were hip to hip.
The groupie looked from Travis to Derek. “I got enough to go around if you want to share.”
Travis chuckled and turned his face toward Derek, leaving a warm gust of breath across Derek’s lips. His cock chubbed. If it got any harder, that zipper was history. He removed the groupie from their path with the swipeof his arm. “Get back to me later.” Derek closed up his jeans and continued toward the living room. On the way, he slipped his hand inside Travis’, an act of affection that he probably should have skipped. The small squeeze his palm received in return made him realize how much he wanted this guy.
“The best part of the suite is right here,” Derek said when they made it to the livingroom.
Laughter boomed from Travis’ mouth. “What are you insinuating, Derek?”
Derek shifted his gaze from the sound system to Travis, who was watching three dudes groping each other on the couch. Derek leaned his elbow on Travis’ shoulder, and movement returned to his crotch. “Maybe the universe is telling us something.”
Travis turned, bringing his lips aninch from Derek’s. They both smiled, but neither made a move, and Derek wondered what the hell he was waiting for. Travis was an adult, capable of making his own decisions about casual sex. It didn’t have to mean anything, but he couldn’t get the raw and sensitive guy from the other night out of his head. That guy didn’t have the cool, carefree, unshakable exterior that Travis wore today, and thecomplexity of it kept telling Derek to stay away. Far away.
