All Note Long (23 page)

And singing that song, the way he'd written it, no adjustments needed, well, that had been powerful sauce, cleansing and intoxicating in the same measure. It didn't matter if Lucky hadn't heard it yet—singing about a
guy
to an auditorium full of people who applauded the song same as if he'd sung about being hung up on a cute cowgirl had shook something loose inside Michelin. It truly was okay that he was gay. Okay that his muse brought him cowboy-done-me-wrong songs and okay that his heart thrilled to get to sing about who he
really
liked.
Loved.
Didn't matter that he hadn't known Lucky that long. His heart knew the truth, and he'd been helpless to put anything less than the full force of that emotion in his song.

But now that the post-performance adrenaline was wearing off, he needed Lucky something fierce. He had to dig for his cell phone in his wardrobe bag. The ringer was off, but had a new message. Actually, he had dozens of messages but only one he cared about.

Oh, thank god. Michelin's sinuses burned as he typed out a reply.

The reply came less than thirty seconds later.

Michelin drummed his fingers on his leg.

Phone still in hand, Michelin made his way out of the dressing room. Tons of people milled around the backstage corridors, waiting for the last few acts to perform. Michelin had performed this venue before, both as part of Speed Kills years ago, and more recently as a solo artist, so he knew how to wind his way around all the obstructions to get to the heavy double doors that led to the rest of the theater. As expected, a security guard was posted at the door and a throng of fans hoping for autographs or something a bit more personal waited on the theater side.

Michelin had to open the door to speak to the security guy and wasn't prepared for the fans calling his name and trying to get his attention.

“Sign my shirt!”

“Sign my back!”

“I love you, man.”

Hell. No easy way to speak to the guard and then duck back through. He took the Sharpie the first girl held out and scrawled his signature on her shirt. Shook a few hands, signed someone's skin, and then—

Right there in front of him. And Lord, but he hadn't wanted a public reunion. All these people had cell phones and he heard more than a few clicks.

“We're going to be tomorrow's gossip,” Lucky said, gesturing at the crowd around him.

“I don't care,” Michelin said and pulled Lucky toward him. He couldn't wait one second longer. Covering Lucky's mouth with his own, he swallowed Lucky's sound of surprise.

The crowd whooped and hollered, and Michelin still didn't care. A flash went off, and a couple of would-be
GoZZip
reporters tried calling out questions, but his whole focus was on having Lucky back in his arms. He tasted like strong mints, unrestrained hope, and everything Michelin had been missing all damn week. He couldn't get enough, and neither could Lucky, who wrapped his arms tight around Michelin, locking them together until the need for oxygen finally made them break apart, breathing hard.

“Okay,
definitely
tomorrow's news.” Lucky laughed. “And way to make me feel like the rest of the groupies—”

“Never that.” Michelin gave him a quick but firm kiss to silence that thought. “Tell me you'll come home with me.”

“I'll . . . oh crap. The dog's at my mom's house. As is my car. I rode with my cousins and friends. We knew parking around here would be nuts.”

“I'll take you to your mom's to pick them up,” Michelin said, more than a little desperate to be alone with and talk to Lucky.

“Actually . . .” Lucky's eyes narrowed and his head cocked to one side as he thought. “Tomorrow's that party for my
abuela
. The one I told you about? You could come with me tomorrow—”

“Yes.” Whatever it took to get Lucky back in his house, in his bed that night, he was game for.

“Well, all right then. Let me text my friends.” Lucky's gaze slid sideways at Michelin, a wary, almost timid look at odds with his usual confidence. Yeah, they still had plenty to talk about and the future still seemed rather wobbly, but right now Michelin was all about second chances.

“Sign my shirt! Both of you!” someone called from the group of people.

And alone. He was
all
about alone.

I
deally, Lucky would have jumped Michelin the second they were alone. Problem was that getting alone took awhile—Michelin had to sign autographs simply to be able to return to the backstage area, then once he was backstage, he had a never-ending stream of people needing something. An autograph. A picture. A word. A download link. Everyone needed
something.

Lucky did get to meet Michelin's mentees and friends. They crowded around outside one of the dressing rooms, circling Michelin like oversized puppies. Both the Embellish and Stand Out members seemed like great guys. But they were also
there
and full of joking and fun and keeping Lucky's tongue from being down Michelin's throat.

“Are you going to the after party?” Cody, the tall goth-looking lead of Embellish asked Michelin. He'd been the ringleader of the betting game back at the club, all those weeks ago. His teasing tone said he knew perfectly well that Lucky was jonesing to get Michelin horizontal.

“Pretty sure he's about to make his own party,” one of the look-alike guys from Stand Out quipped. “Your kiss is trending.”

“Stop being a jealous queen,” the other look-alike guy jostled him. “You're just miffed BuzzPop put them up for ‘cutest couple' the other week.”

“Hey now, Trev and I were on the list, too,” Jalen from Stand Out chimed in.

“We
know.
” The whole group rolled their eyes at him. And yeah, the brother and his cute little blond boy toy were all kinds of adorable. But the two groups could clearly joke like this all night, and all Lucky could think about was getting Michelin out of his stage clothes.

“Do you wanna do the party?” Michelin asked Lucky. Ever since the kiss in front of the security doors, he'd seemed all about trying to figure out what Lucky wanted. Which was sweet and just a bit infuriating. Wasn't he as desperate to be alone as Lucky?

Ordinarily, these would be the kind of guys Lucky enjoyed hanging with, and he knew his crew would kill him later for turning down the chance, but Lucky shook his head. “Some other time.”

Michelin's look of relief was possibly the sweetest thing ever. Everyone laughed, but it was still another half hour before they were in Michelin's truck.

Lucky tried to launch himself at Michelin the second their doors clicked shut, but Michelin held him off with a firm grip on his shoulders. “Not here.”

“No?” Lucky looked around the parking garage. It wasn't empty, but Michelin's windows were tinted, and he'd parked in a back row spot. “Not even a kiss?”

“Ain't neither of us stopping at kissing, and I think I've reached my limit of public exposure tonight.”

“Okay, okay.” Lucky slumped back against the passenger seat. He could tell when he was beaten. “But I'm just saying, truck sex—”

“Isn't happening.” Michelin reversed out of the space before Lucky could continue his appeal.

They had so much to talk about, and yet they both stayed silent on the drive to Michelin's house, some unspoken agreement that the heavy stuff could wait. Michelin parked at his house, but scooted out of the truck before Lucky could try again to make the case for right-here-right-now.

And once they were in the house, in the hallway between the kitchen and the rest of the house, he sidestepped Lucky's attempt to pin him to the wall.

“Man, I need a shower. The stage lights were hot, and then all the running around, and . . .” Michelin trailed off, apparently running out of ramble.

“I could care less about a little sweat, but how about some company in the shower?”

When Michelin hesitated, gnawing on his lower lip, Lucky began to suspect something else was going on. He reached a hand out, lightly stroking Michelin's jaw.

“Do you not
want
sex right now? Is that it?” He tried to pitch his voice gentle, not judgmental.

Michelin shifted from side to side, gaze doing that sideways thing again, looking both eager to please Lucky and painfully uncomfortable. “Not sure . . . just feels a bit . . .
raw
right now. So many feelings, I don't know what to do with them. I want to hold you and kiss you and talk to you and shake you and lord, I don't know what else. My head's a jumbled-up mess.”

Lucky had forgotten that sex for Michelin was entirely tangled up in his emotions. Of course he wasn't ready to jump straight into the hot and heavy reunion sex. Right now, Lucky really needed sex to ground him, to tell him what the heck he was feeling, but he hadn't done a very good job of considering what Michelin needed.

“I loved the song.” Lucky kept up his caress of Michelin's jaw and neck. Simply standing here like this was bliss.

“Wrote it for you. Came to me on the way home from a meeting.” Michelin's tongue darted out to lick at his lips. “A . . . eh . . . AA meeting. I lied to you before about not doing that. I am an alcoholic. Been sober three years now.”

“I figured. It doesn't matter to me.” Lucky moved his hand to massaging the knots out of Michelin's shoulders. “My uncle Benny is in recovery, too. There'll be beer at the party tomorrow, but it's very low key and usually it's kept outside.”

“I'm not worried about that. I usually don't have an issue being around it. Hell, in this industry you have to get okay fast with being around booze but not drinking it. That's why so many backslide. I just . . . wanted you to know.” Michelin gave him a shy smile.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to share that.” Lucky leaned in and brushed a kiss across Michelin's cheek. Not an “I want to bone you right now” kiss, but an “I'm honored you trust me” acknowledgment. He started to pull away, but Michelin grabbed his waist, keeping him close.

“I want . . . there's so much I want to share with you . . . I-I-I tried to say with the song . . .”

“I heard.” Lucky's lips brushed Michelin's neck as he spoke. “I care about you, too. You get that, right? I wasn't trying to be an asshole leaving with the dog. And I
really
wasn't wanting to make you need a twelve-step meeting. We've got some stuff to figure out, but I want to do the work.”

“I got that.” Michelin didn't pull away, but his voice still sounded uncertain. His eyes had the same nervous yet eager expression he got in the bedroom when he was waiting for Lucky to hand out the praise he had such a kink for.

Aha. That was it. Michelin needed
words.
Or rather he needed some specific words that didn't come easily to Lucky. He liked to say things with his body, and he thought he was damn good at it, both in and out of the bedroom. Lucky used the physical to work through the emotional, but it was the opposite for Michelin. Michelin needed words in order to trust the physical.

“I'm sorry, so sorry about the fight.” Lucky spoke into the crook of Michelin's neck. “I loved the song. Loved everything you were trying to say. You did so, so good. Made me
feel
everything.”

Michelin's muscles went slack and he relaxed into Lucky's embrace at last.

“
Good.
” Man, the emotion Michelin loaded into that single word. Hope. Fear. Uncertainty. Yearning. Love.

“Loved the song. Love you more. It feels too soon and too scary, but I feel it, too. I do.” Lucky struggled to get the words out. It would be so much easier to tell Michelin with a kiss how he felt, but the man had written Lucky a love song. The least he could do was squeeze out three little words.

“I don't like how crazy it makes me,” Michelin whispered. “Feels like I'm gonna burn up with the feeling, like wildfire I can't contain, can't even beat back. Scares the tar out of me to feel this way about you.”

“Join the club.” Lucky laughed. “You at least can sing about your feelings. Me, I can barely talk about it. But I feel it. You're not alone in the crazy, I promise.”

Michelin's lips slid over Lucky's, tentative and questing. It felt like a first kiss, sweet, almost chaste, and not their usual desperate hurdle toward the nearest flat surface. This was all soft lips and wide-open hearts and so much hope, Lucky swore he could taste it.

“Shower with me,” he said, tugging Michelin down the hall that led to the guest room. “Only shower. We don't have to do anything else right now.”

“Why down here? I thought you love my shower upstairs?”

“I worship the shower in the master bathroom, but I want to swim after we shower. This one's closer.”

“Swim?” Michelin sounded confused. “You want to swim?”

“Yep. I want to skinny dip in the moonlight with you.” Lucky gave him another tender kiss. Maybe he didn't have Michelin's lyrical gifts, maybe he didn't have his platform for a grand gesture, but he was good with actions, and right now, Michelin needed to know that this was about so much more than sex for him. Even if Michelin's kiss was hungrier now, Lucky didn't have to hurry to the happy orgasm place. A guy like Michelin didn't just deserve all the romance, he
needed
it, and he needed someone like Lucky to see that in him, nurture and support that part of him.

He took his time undressing Michelin in the bathroom, kissing and caressing and praising each bit of uncovered skin.

“Did I say I felt weird about sex? I feel
fine
right about now.” Michelin nudged his erect cock in the direction of Lucky's head. Lucky laughed, dodging the cock as he skimmed his lips and hands down Michelin's thighs while pushing his jeans and boxers off.

“And I feel good waiting.” Lucky stood and pushed him into the glassed-in shower. The shower in the master bedroom was huge, with four heads and a steam feature, but this shower was plenty big enough for both of them, especially since Lucky planned to be spending the time with his hands all over Michelin.

He continued his appreciation of Michelin, washing the hard planes of his shoulders and back. Everything about the man was super-sized: his voice, his wide shoulders, his tall frame that disguised a surprising amount of sturdy muscle, his porn-star-worthy cut cock, and his big feelings. Lucky loved that last bit most of all, loved how deeply this man could burrow inside himself, find emotions most men ran from and turn them into something beautiful like a song.

“We're really going to swim?” Michelin bumped his ass into Lucky's groin.

“We're really going to swim.” Lucky quickly soaped himself. If Michelin got his hands on Lucky's cock, all his attempts at self-restraint would be over. And they'd done the shower frot-and-handjob thing plenty. What they hadn't done nearly enough was the full-on romance thing. Lucky realized now that he'd been holding back from what Michelin needed most—he'd been keeping part of his emotions in check, hiding the most vulnerable of his feelings beneath a veneer of swagger and lust.

“Come on.” He grabbed a blue bath sheet from the stack on the rack in the bathroom and passed one to Michelin.

“Can we compromise on the hot tub?” Michelin followed him through the guest room to the pool area. The night breeze did have a decided bite to it. “No offense to your grand plan, but shriveling my nuts off isn't high on my agenda for the night.”

“Okay, okay.” Lucky tugged him over to the in-ground hot tub at the far end of the pool, stopping to flip the switch on the wall of the pool house for the jets. “But we're not having hot tub sex.”

“Bossy, bossy.” Michelin slipped into the water. “Now who's all reluctant?”

“I just don't want to screw up our second chance.” Lucky got into the churning water and let Michelin pull him into an embrace. “This is about way more than sex for me, and I don't want you thinking your ass is the only thing keeping me here.”

“I don't think that.” Michelin moved so that they were all tangled up in each other on the steps of the hot tub, kissing him in a way that left no doubts about his feelings—or his intentions. They made out like that for a long time, water swirling around them, skin heating from their caresses as much as from the warm water. Going slowly like this made everything feel brand-new again.

And it led to little discoveries that thrilled him. Stuff he'd figured out instinctively, but never really slowed down to appreciate. Like the fact that Michelin really wasn't much one for having his nipples fiddled with, but rub, lick, or suck on his neck and he moaned like he'd been shot, muscles going all limp and pliant. And Michelin loved it when Lucky sucked on his tongue, loved aggressive kissing. He had sensitive earlobes and ticklish collarbones and his cock leapt whenever it brushed Lucky's body. Each piece of knowledge made Lucky's heart swell. The cool night air swept over their shoulders, and the stars twinkled around them, the lights from downtown a far-off glow. It was the most romantic moment of his life, and he was extraordinarily grateful that he got to share it with this man.

Eventually the kissing turned more frantic, their roving hands more purposeful, and Michelin broke away, panting. “Spunk is bad for hot tubs, right?”