Page 41 of Street of Dreams
Jake’s blood surged, and he took control of the kiss. His probing tongue found its way inside of Mac’s mouth, and he pulled Mac closer. Liberation consumed him with power as they mashed their mouths together. Never had Jake experienced something so profound. He wanted to live in it. Revel in it. And he did.
Without the pressure of putting on a pretense, Jake let his guard down. All the anger. All the hate. All the frustration. All the bullshit disappeared, and calmness washed over him.
A broad smile spread across Mac’s face as soon as the kiss ended. “That was nice.”
“Kiss me again,” Jake whispered.
The second kiss came slowly, even though Jake wanted it to be rough and impatient. Their mouths began to churn into one another, making Jake’s heart thump wildly, and he fell into the kiss without restraint. It made him feel alive and filled him with so much joy that he began to smile and needed to break the kiss. “I can’t believe we’re making out in front of everybody.” Then he kissed Mac again.
“I have to get backstage,” Mac said, reluctantly breaking the kiss. “I’m going on in a few minutes.” He took Jake’s hand and led him to the front of the stage. “I want you right here, so I can see your face when I sing tonight. Oh! I almost forgot the best part. I have a band!”
“A band?” Jake asked, with surprise. “Where’d you get a band?”
“It’s really just a drummer and a bass player. These two guys approached me at the beginning of the week. They said they got one of my CD’s from Skylar and have been adding rhythm to some of my originals. They’re awesome.” Mac was speaking quickly, his eyes growing larger with each sentence. “Wait until you hear how good they are. I’m going to have a live band behind me now, like a real singer.”
At the mention of Skylar, Jake grew uncomfortable, and the freedom that had him riding high for the last 15 minutes suddenly took a nosedive. Skylar was a link to South Side and a reminder that he needed to be careful where Mac was concerned. This club and the people in it were an escape. Skylar was real, and that reality could have severe consequences. “Is she here? Skylar?”
Mac understood right away. “No. I told her it would be better if she skipped this show. I told you that no one you knew would be here, and I meant it.” Mac kissed Jake again. “I gotta go on. Stay here.”
Mac disappeared and left Jake standing alone at the front of the stage. He didn’t know where to rest his eyes. He’d never been in a room full of gay dudes before. The open displays of affection, the inhibition, and the animation going on around him, was so fucking refreshing. There were no testosterone-fueled arguments or loud, crass behavior. Everyone was having a good time, and it was a relief to just be himself. He let out a cleansing breath and actually felt his muscles unclench for the first time in a really long while.
The lights dimmed, Mac walked on stage, and he started speaking into the microphone with ease. There were no nerves or hesitation. Mac was pure confidence as he addressed the crowd with his guitar across his chest.
Jake wasn’t paying attention to what Mac was saying. He couldn’t get past the sight of Mac under the spotlights, wearing that hot-as-fuck kilt. When Mac started to sing, Jake watched with a hypnotic stare. Mac looked as if he’d been doing this his whole life, which, in essence, he had. But not like this. There was a new swagger in his demeanor, and he owned the stage as he strutted across it with confidence fueled by the audience.
Mac’s hair blew around his face in a wild spray of crimson, and his biceps flexed as he pressed chords into the neck of his guitar. But his voice . . . his voice had a new gravelly tone to it. A raspy growl like sandpaper, and it was hot as hell. And the hem of his kilt kept flapping with every step, sending Jake’s hormones on a wild ride.
In the past, Jake had only seen Mac perform alone. Now, there were other musicians on stage. The bass player was a standout, not only because of his zebra-striped pants, because of the way he rocked back and forth while he thumped on his instrument. The drummer was an animal. He hit the drums like a maniac. Together, the two of them pulsed the rhythm throughout the room, and the song took on new life. The three of them sounded like professionals and like something you’d hear on the radio. The performance was 60 minutes of raw talent. An ear fuck and an eye fuck. Mac was a fucking superstar.
When the set came to an end, the place was in an uproar as everyone cheered and clapped. Mac thanked the crowd, then jumped down from the stage with his guitar still across his chest. He received pats on the back and compliments about the show. All eyes were on him, but he ignored them all as he headed straight toward Jake. There was a sheen of perspiration on his cheeks that made his peaches-and-cream complexion glow.
“You’re a fucking rock star,” Jake said, as he wrapped his arms around Mac. “I don’t even know what the fuck to say. I’ve watched you play for years, but never anything like that. You came alive on that stage. And with the band behind you . . .” Jake blinked. “It was incredible.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
“Since when am I ever nice?” Jake stepped back and looked down at the kilt. “Tell me the truth. You don’t have anything on under that kilt, do you?”
Mac smiled. “Just my socks and boots.”
Jake staggered back and placed his hand over his heart. “You’re killing me.”
“Come home with me tonight.”
It wasn’t an invitation. It was a statement, and the forcefulness of it made it impossible to turn down. They’d never spent the night together before, and it scared Jake, but refusing wasn’t an option.
“Morning.”
Jake woke to the most beautiful voice in the world, and it put a dreamy smile on his face. “Morning.” He lifted his arm, inviting Mac into his embrace. As they snuggled together underneath the fluffy comforter, contentment and well-being washed over Jake. “I could stay here all day.”
“So, stay.”
Jake let out a soft chuckle at how Mac made everything sound so simple. “Don’t you have a job or something?”
“I don’t have to be at the pub until six.”
“What do you usually do all day?”
Mac looked up at Jake. His hair was messy and wild and so fucking sexy. “You know what I do. I play on Street of Dreams.”
