Blame It on the Bass (5 page)

Corbin Smith, award-winning screenwriter and Levi’s long-term partner, cocked an eyebrow at them both, and it was only then that Sonja realized the bar was thrumming with excited whispers. “So tell us, Levi,” he said, his gaze sliding from Levi to Sonja and back to Levi again. “Just what
is
going on?”

Chapter Three

Corbin had never hurt as much as he did the morning he and Levi had buried their baby daughter and her mother. All he’d wanted was to look into his lover’s eyes and find something to ease the hurt, some solace.

Instead—as so many times before—Levi had shut his emotions away, locked them from the world. It was too much for Corbin.

Too much.

Unable to cope with not only the loss of a family almost his, but also Levi’s inability to share his pain and grief, Corbin had withdrawn. Pulled away.

It was meant to make it easier for them both. It had seemed Levi didn’t want to grieve, and Corbin couldn’t look at him without needing to do so.

It had been a stupid decision.

One he regretted every goddamn day.

And yet, as those days had rolled into nights, as those nights had turned into weeks, Corbin hadn’t know how to find his way back to Levi. Hadn’t know if he
could
. How could he find the solace he needed when Levi refused to share his grief?

Which meant Corbin was more fucked up than he could ever imagine, because the only person in the world he wanted to spend the rest of his life with was the bass guitarist.

Fucked up beyond measure. Because not only had Corbin’s ridiculous behaviour driven Levi into the arms of someone else, watching them kiss had affected Corbin in a way he’d never believed possible.

Jesus H. Christ, he was hard.

The last time he’d been hard over a woman he’d been in elementary school. Mrs. Pegg, the librarian who always wore stockings with seams that ran up the backs of her legs. He’d been eleven.

But now, after watching his lover, his partner and his life kiss the corset-wearing woman with the incredible rack and the defiant eyes, his cock was the hardest it had been for months.

What the hell was going on with him?

How could he be turned on by the sight of Levi kissing anyone else, let alone a woman?

“Err…” the woman said, her voice as throaty now as it had been while singing with Levi. “I think this is my cue to leave.”

To Corbin’s dismay, Levi reached for one of her hands and tugged her to his body. “No, Sonny. You’re not going anywhere. Corbin on the other hand…”

Levi’s glare clashed with Corbin’s. Corbin didn’t need the dim lights of the bar to see the hurt and anger in his lover’s eyes. He was responsible for them being there.

The woman—Sonny?—shook her head. “Don’t
no
me, Stan. And don’t drag me into the middle of this. You think you can tell me what to do after not seeing me for this long? Fuck that.”

Corbin couldn’t stop the admiration at Sonny’s feisty ire. Was it wrong to like her already? Even though not a second ago her tongue had been firmly in Levi’s mouth? A mouth, in Corbin’s opinion, that was strictly his to worship?

“In fact,” Sonny went on, the steel in her voice growing stronger, “take a look around you. Remember where you are. You’re giving everyone here a great show. The kind that will end up on Twitter. Do you want that?”

Levi’s jaw bunched. And still he didn’t move. Or release Sonny’s hand.

Corbin shot a glance at the dark shadows of the immediate vicinity. The music had started up again only a few moments after Levi and Sonny had left the stage. Someone else was now singing their heart out to an old boy-band song, but the bar’s patrons weren’t paying much attention. Most watched the little
show
he and Levi and the woman in Levi’s arms were putting on with avid interest. More than one, Corbin noticed, held their smartphones up in the unmistakable I’m-recording-this-for-prosperity position.

He bit back a groan. Damn it, when he’d followed Levi into the karaoke bar he hadn’t planned on this.

He’d come home after spending too many days mourning in L.A., with the intention of telling Levi he was sorry. Of asking the man to please tell him of the grief in his heart. To begin the healing process with him, where Corbin wanted to be.

But the apartment had been empty.

And then, from the large living room window, Corbin had spied Levi walking along the wharf their home was built on and had run after him.

Chased him. As he always would.

Followed him into the bar.

Found him on the stage, microphone in hand.

At the sight, Corbin’s heart had clenched. Levi’s voice always turned Corbin into a puddle of desire and need. He’d slipped into a booth to watch him sing, knowing the mellifluous sound would ease the ache in his soul. And it had. Right up until the point where Levi and Sonny had kissed.

From that point onward, Corbin’s body and emotions had fought a fucked-up battle. One not intended to be witnessed by a curious audience armed with iPhones and Galaxies and whatever the hell the cool kids were using these days.

Which made him approaching Levi and Sonny when they’d come off stage stupid.

Fucked-up.

Which is what he was.

Turning his attention back to Levi, he took a step towards him. “I messed up, Levi,” he said, keeping his voice low. Private. For Levi’s—and Sonny’s—ears only. “I know that. And I want to sort it out, but Sonny—”

“Sonja,” Levi and the woman both said at the same time, Levi’s tone flat and angry, hers strangely…broken.

“Sonja—” Corbin emphasized her name, holding Levi’s glare, “—is correct. This isn’t the place for it. We’re both public figures, Levi. I know you Australians are a little more laidback with celebrities than us Americans, but if a scene is being made…” He left the implication hanging on the air between them.

“Your boyfriend is a wise man, Stan,” Sonja muttered. “You should listen to him. Go with him now. Fix up whatever it is you both screwed up and forget about what happened between you and I.”

Levi didn’t utter a word. Nor did he move. Not until a white light flashed close by. A camera. Or a phone.

At the blinding intrusion, he flinched. He swung his stare to Sonja.

Corbin saw his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat before he turned back to him.

“Please, babe?” Corbin whispered. Fuck, whispered. Here he was, begging. A renowned Hollywood screenwriter capable of making the likes of Gosling and Tatum do exactly what he wanted with just a few words on paper, and he was begging.

Love truly did take a guy by the balls and squeeze.

“Get out of here, Stan,” Sonja ordered, slipping away from Levi with a smooth sideways step. “Go be with who you should be with.”

And before Levi—or Corbin, for that matter—could say a word, she strode away, her petite, black-clad form devoured by the darkness of the bar with but a few steps.

Corbin swallowed, a lump roughly the size of the rock of Gibraltar suddenly lodged in his throat. He drove his nails—chewed to the quick since the funeral—into the palms of his hands and turned back to Levi.

Another smartphone flash detonated to Corbin’s left, one of the irritating kind that fired three times before blinding everyone in a five-mile radius. Levi flinched.

“Time to go,” Corbin ground out, closing the distance between him and Levi to shield Levi from the intrusive flash. It wasn’t often he took charge. Not when it came to this sort of thing. Both of them had a certain level of fame, but Levi’s far outstripped Corbin’s for public awareness. Usually, Corbin let his partner deal with the attention—it was the way Levi worked—but this, right now? Nope. Someone had to make the first move and it was going to be him.

Snaring Levi’s hand in a firm grip, he threw the surrounding people a quick smile. “Think I’m going to take the rock star home,” he chuckled.

The crowd chuckled back.

Without looking at Levi, he turned and walked through the bar, smiling at any flash that fired around them. A few steps from the door, Levi overtook him.

A few steps beyond it, out on the sidewalk, the brightest flash of the night fired.

“Oi! Levistan!” a male voice called. “Who’s the chick you were kissing inside?”

Corbin’s gut churned. Christ, that was all they needed. Carl Holston. The notorious Australian paparazzo. In their faces and asking questions.

Levi ignored the man. Corbin took his cue from his lover and did the same. It was tricky. What he wanted to do was swing around, grab Holston’s camera from his hand and break the guy’s nose with it. Instead, he tightened his fingers around Levi’s and quickened his pace, hurrying as fast as possible without jogging away from the paparazzo.

Who followed.

Of course.

“Hey, Levistan!” Holston called. “Are you and Smith still together if you’re kissing women? You still gay?”

At the sight of the taxi cruising along the street toward them, its vacant light bright in the dark night, Corbin let out a relieved breath. He may have followed Levi the few blocks it took to get to the karaoke bar on foot, but they were getting out of here by taxi.

Once again without consulting Levi, he flagged the cab down, hurried to its back passenger door—still without releasing Levi’s hand—and yanked it open.

Heart beating fast, he turned to his lover. Their stares connected for a split second, long enough for Corbin to see the angry pain in Levi’s dark eyes, and then, wordlessly, Levi climbed into the back seat.

White light flashed to Corbin’s right, Holston desperate to get that last shot of his target. “Cheers, fag.”

The sneered insult was so low Corbin could barely hear it over the noises on the busy street. But he did hear it. And it was the final straw of the night.

Spinning on his heel, utilizing all the reflexes ten years of playing competition beach volleyball had given him, he snatched the paparazzo’s massive SLR camera from his hands and smashed it against his jaw. “Cheers, bigot,” he shot back, tossing the camera to the sidewalk as Holston staggered sideways.

Fuck it. If the prick wanted to sue, he could give it his best shot. Corbin was done with swallowing Holston’s annoying shit.

Dropping into the seat beside Levi, he grinned at Holston, now snarling at him from the sidewalk. “Nice camera, by the way.”

And before the man could utter a word, Corbin pulled the door shut.

The silence in the cab wrapped around him, thick and stifling. He flicked Levi a quick glance, his pulse pounding faster at the unreadable expression on Levi’s face. He swallowed. “I—”

“Bourkenbac Wharf,” Levi said, leaning forward to speak to the taxi driver.

A shiver rippled up Corbin’s spine. Not just at the tempered anger in Levi’s voice, but at the latent control in it. That Corbin still found Levi’s Australian accent as sexy as hell didn’t help either.

The trip to their home lasted four minutes. Just four minutes. Never had four minutes of Corbin’s life been so heavy with tortured silence. He sat beside Levi, wanting to tell him everything. To say sorry.

To kiss him. To see if Levi’s lips tasted different after kissing Sonja. To see if her kiss lingered on them in any way.

But he didn’t say a word. Not one. And neither did Levi.

When the cab pulled up beside the wharf on which their apartment was built, Levi opened the door before Corbin could make a move.

“Fifteen fifty,” the driver mumbled over his shoulder.

Corbin dug at his back pocket for his wallet.

Levi thrust his hand through the driver’s open window, a hundred-dollar bill in his fingers. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, mate.” The driver smiled up at him. “Always knew you were a good bloke. Let me know if that tosser back there gives you any grief. I’ll vouch for you.”

For a moment, Corbin thought the cab driver was referring to him, and then it dawned on him the man was talking about Holston. At least, he hoped he was.

“No worries,” Levi answered. He was at the locked gate at the beginning of the wharf by the time Corbin climbed out of the taxi and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Corbin’s throat tightened. His gut churned. He didn’t know what to do. Follow him? Life with Levi was amazing, incredible, but when the guy clamped up on his emotions…fuck.

He lingered on the sidewalk for a moment, willing the strength he’d felt back in the bar when he’d approached Levi and Sonja to return.

Damn it, man. Go after him. If you don’t, your relationship—

Levi turned to face him, his hand on the gate’s security lock, his stare unwavering. “Are you coming?”

Pricking heat flowed through Corbin’s body, swift and scouring. He let out a ragged breath, nodded once and damn near jogged to the gate.

Levi’s eyes held his. Neither moved for a second, just studied each other. Corbin swallowed. “Levi,” he began, his voice a cracked whisper.

Something dark, something…hot flickered in Levi’s eyes, there and gone in a heartbeat. His jaw bunched beneath his beard, his nostrils flared and then, without a word, he turned from Corbin and pulled the gate open.