(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (14 page)

Antonio looked at Cary, who shrugged in resignation. “It’s fine, Massi.”

Massimo followed happily after Roberta, disappearing into the kitchen a moment later. “Sorry,” Antonio said. “I didn’t mean to invite us over for dinner.”

“I don’t mind. You’ve fed me more than a few times—it’s the least I can do. Besides, it’ll make Roberta happy.”

“I take it you don’t have many dinner guests, then?”

That would be an understatement.

“No. Not many.”

As in, none at all. Ever.

“I’m flattered.”

“Papà!” Massimo ran out of the kitchen, panting breathlessly. “Signora Roberta says I can help her make the rice too!”

“Are you going to work hard?” Antonio winked at Cary.

Massimo nodded with a somber expression and bounded back to the kitchen, his feet barely touching the floor.

“You think it’s all right?” Antonio asked after Massimo had gone. “I don’t want to put Roberta out.”

“She loves kids. Her son lives near Rome, so she only sees her grandchildren a few times a year. And let’s face it, he’s cuter than me and a hell of a lot more interesting.”

Antonio walked over to Cary and kissed him. “That all depends on who you ask.”

“Then let me ask. Why do you find me interesting?”

“Other than the obvious? Because I think most people would find your career choice an interesting one.”

“Other than the obvious. I find it hard to believe someone who handles the business end of things for artists and musicians finds my career very fascinating.”

“Then you’d be wrong,” Antonio said, taking a seat on the couch and waiting until Cary joined him there. “Why do you think I do what I do?”

“Because it pays well?”

“Only in part, caro.”

“Then why?”

“Because I have no talent at all. I can’t sing. I can’t paint. I have no artistic ability whatsoever. But I adore all of these things. What better way, then, to enjoy it all?”

“Why do you love it so much?” Cary heard himself wonder aloud.

The question seemed to take Antonio by surprise. “I’m not sure. But I often wonder what it would be like to express myself the way an artist does. Or a musician.” He reached out and put his arm around Cary’s shoulder. “You told me once rock and roll makes you feel ‘dangerous’.”

“That was true,” Cary said in a defensive tone. In spite of Antonio’s acceptance of all his lies, Cary still felt guilty.

“I know. It’s why I bring it up now. But what you didn’t have the chance to tell me was what your
own
music makes you feel.”

Cary hesitated.

Antonio, perhaps sensing that hesitation, took Cary’s hand. “You know the expression ‘the journey is the destination’? You don’t need to know the answer, caro.”

D
INNER was delicious, and after some cajoling, Roberta reluctantly agreed to join them. Dessert was a delicate lemon flan, and while Roberta worked on the dishes, Cary set Massimo up in his studio with a DVD of
SpongeBob SquarePants
, which Aiden had given him for his twenty-seventh birthday as a gag gift. Massimo seemed pleased and not at all disturbed that the characters spoke English.

When they were alone in the living room once more, Cary poured them both shots of tequila from a bottle of Patrón Silver he had bought at Duty Free on his last trip to the States.

“Aiden and I watched the DVD while we polished off a bottle of twenty-year-old cognac,” Cary said with a snort. “David Somers sent the cognac as a birthday gift.
SpongeBob
is definitely funnier when you’re drunk.”

Massi’s laughter rang through the apartment, and Antonio said, “Apparently not if you’re five years old.” He took a sip of his drink and looked up at Cary with apparent surprise. “This is very good.”

“I love tequila, but don’t tell David. Between the cognac and the tea he likes to send me, sometimes I feel like I’m a bartender at an old and very expensive hotel. Not that this stuff is cheap, but….”

“My lips are sealed.”

Three rounds later, Roberta left for the evening, having exacted Antonio’s promise to bring Massimo back to help her bake a cake for New Year’s. Cary, any hesitation dulled by the onslaught of alcohol, finally got up the nerve to ask the question that had been nagging at him since the circus. “Who was Massimo? The person Massi was named after, I mean.”

Almost as quickly as he had spoken the words, Cary regretted asking them. Antonio’s expression, which had up until then been open and relaxed, was now visibly tense. Pain glittered briefly in his eyes—the same pain Cary had seen when he had asked Antonio why he was still single. But before he could tell Antonio it was okay, that he didn’t need to know, Antonio said, “It’s… complicated.” He appeared momentarily at a loss for words. “He was my lover. We were together for eight years. He died a year before Massi was born.”

“I’m sorry.”

Oh, that’s perfect! You’re “sorry?” The one thing you hated to hear when your mother died, and that’s all you can manage to say?

There was an awkward moment of silence before a very sleepy Massi stumbled into the living room a minute later. Cary was silently thankful for the interruption. He also made a mental note not to bring up the subject again.

Let Antonio bring it up
when he’s ready. You have enough skeletons in your own closet you wouldn’t want to talk about.

“We should be going.” Antonio reached down to pick Massimo up. Cary handed him the boy’s jacket and helped Massimo—who would not let go of his father to put it on himself—thread his arms through the sleeves. Then he did the same for Antonio. “I had a wonderful time,” Antonio told him. “Please thank Roberta again, for both of us.”

Cary watched Antonio walk down the hallway to the elevator with the tousle of blond curls against his shoulder. Antonio turned back briefly to smile at him and disappeared into the elevator.

Chapter 11

B
ACK
-A
LLEY
B
OY

“
C
ARY. I just got back from Korea. I hope I can see you this weekend. Call me when you have a chance, caro.”

Cary stared at the cell phone. Five days since they’d had dinner at Cary’s apartment, and Cary had pretty much given up on hearing back from Antonio. Four sleepless nights. And now this.

Not that Cary had called Antonio, either. They’d talked about Thanksgiving the next week at David’s, but had Antonio mentioned the business trip? Cary seemed to remember him mentioning Korea. He’d drunk far too much tequila the night Roberta had cooked them all dinner, and it all was pretty hazy in his mind. Everything except his stupid question about Antonio’s lover. Cary had just assumed he’d screwed things up again.

Face it. You’re not cut out for this. It’s just a matter of time before he figures out it isn’t only Connor Taylor who’s a lie.

He didn’t need this relationship crap. He tapped his cell, deleted the message, and sat back down on the couch. The coffee table was covered with music.
His
music. The music he would have been playing—the music he
should
have been playing if it hadn’t been for his complete and utter stupidity. The guilt over how he had neglected his cello these past few weeks roiled in his gut. He had only himself to blame. For all of this.

“After all I’ve done for you,”
his mother had said when he finally came out to her,
“you tell me
this
? Do you
want
to hurt me?”

Fucking piece of shit!
He hurled the phone against the fireplace. The back flew off and the battery landed near his feet. Just his luck; it wasn’t even broken.

“Signor Redding!” Roberta stood in the doorway of the kitchen, hands on her hips, her expression one of shock. “Are you all right?”

Great.
She looked scared to death. “Sorry,” he said as he pretended to study the music.

She eyed him with concern, then quietly picked up the phone, back, and battery and set them out on the table above the score. “Funny thing, how these phones can just slip out of your hand sometimes, isn’t it?”

“I’m going out.” He stood up and averted his gaze. He didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on anyone else’s face. The ghosts were bad enough. “I’ll be back late. Please put my dinner in the fridge.”

“But—” she began.

“You worry too much, Roberta. I’ll see you tomorrow. All right?”

“All right.”

He walked out of the room, but the ghosts followed. They always did.

“
W
HISKEY,” he told the bartender in the dim club an hour later. “Neat.”

The bar—the same bar he had come from the night he had been mugged, weeks ago—was smoky and crowded. The music from the small dance floor blared; the dancers’ bodies pressed against each other. The smell of sweat and cologne hung in the air, mixing with the powerful aroma of the alcohol in Cary’s glass. He replaced his half-empty drink on the shiny surface of the bar and waited as the warmth spread to his shoulders.

How had he ever thought this thing with Antonio—whatever it was—could work? And it wasn’t just Antonio. It was his kid. Cary wasn’t looking for a relationship, and he sure as hell wasn’t looking for an instant family. It was
this
place and places like it that made him feel alive. The sea of bodies, the primal, organic smell of sweat and musk, the tension that thrummed throughout his body, the hunger and the animal energy of the encounters to be found in this place.

“I haven’t seen you around in a while,” said a short, broad-chested man to his right.

“I’ve been… distracted.” Cary waved the cast on his left arm in explanation. He picked up his drink and emptied the remainder with one long swallow. He motioned to the bartender for a refill and felt a warm hand on his thigh.

“Too bad,” the man replied. “We’ve missed you.” He put his hand over Cary’s knee and edged upward between his legs. Cary grew hard against the heavy fabric of his jeans.

It’s been too long.

They chatted about everything and nothing, and the bartender brought Cary’s drink. He loved this, trying to focus on the conversation while his body’s needs rose to a fever pitch. The denial and the knowledge that there would be satisfaction to be had in the end, were almost more exciting than the eventual fuck.

His companion toyed with the first button of his jeans, released it, and slid his hand underneath. Flesh found hard flesh, and he felt himself zone out as his companion stroked his cock.

Way too fucking long….

Cary could come like this, but he wouldn’t. It was all part of the game he played with himself. He imagined the bathroom beyond the bar, which only aroused him more. He bit his tongue, then took another long swallow of the liquid, savoring the burn against his throat nearly as much as the hand on his hard cock.

The hand suddenly withdrew, and he started. When he looked to see what the problem was, he nearly choked. “Shit.” He was met with a familiar face, but the expression there was hard, and the blue eyes glittered with anger and something else—lust?

“Antonio, what are you—?”

His words were cut short by Antonio’s hand on his cock, squeezing and probing. Cary gasped, the sudden substitution of partners leaving him breathless and struggling for control. He managed to suck down the rest of his drink before the same hand was on his right arm, dragging him away from the bar.

“Come.” There was no room for argument. Not that Cary wanted to argue. Cary thought the entire situation was hotter than hell.

Antonio kicked open the bathroom door and shoved him inside. A man stood at the mirror, comb in hand.

“Get out,” Antonio ordered. The man’s eyes widened, but he left without comment. Antonio locked the door and rounded on Cary.

“Is
this
what you want?” His jaw was rough with stubble, and he wore a T-shirt and jeans, as if he hadn’t been planning to go out. He shoved a few coins into the vending machine to retrieve a condom, then pushed Cary into the largest of the stalls and shut the door behind them. The same stall Cary had been in weeks before, the night they had met.

Oh, the irony of it all….

“I… I…,” Cary stammered. He knew he should be angry. What right did Antonio have to come here and judge him? But he was so turned on, he could barely think straight. He offered no resistance as Antonio unzipped his jeans and pulled them down, followed by his boxer-briefs, exposing his white ass.

“You want to be fucked?”

Cary nodded. Hell, he wasn’t proud. And right about now, he was as raw as anyone could possibly feel. “Please,” he panted as he leaned on the toilet with his good arm, ass pointed skyward in open invitation.

He heard Antonio’s breath in his ear and felt his teeth bite the lobe. He moaned as Antonio yanked his head back by his hair—not too hard, but hard enough that Cary had to grab his own cock to keep from shooting his release so soon. He felt Antonio’s tongue flick around his neck, his teeth nipping at the skin from time to time, leaving small red marks. Claiming him.