Looking At Forever (The Rock Gods Book 4) (5 page)

Rooster crumbled up his paper napkin and tossed it at Wheland. “I’ll call a realtor and start looking for a place to get settled,” he said with a laugh.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Wheland asked. “I
like
having you here. You don’t have to find another house. Stay and we’ll continue to work together.”

Rooster sat back in his chair and held Wheland’s gaze. The smile on his face turned serious. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”

“Keep cooking for me and I don’t think we’ll have a problem,” Wheland said and smirked.

Chapter Four

Wheland and Rooster continued their routine of late breakfasts, prepared by Rooster, followed by endlessly long hours in the studio creating music together, rarely emerging upstairs except to eat. The time logged in the studio could be twelve hours or longer a day before they’d crash into bed to get some much needed sleep. Not once did Wheland feel fatigued. In fact, he’d never felt more energized and Rooster said the same. It seemed their musical collaboration was exactly what they both needed in their lives as was the friendship growing from it, too.

Four days into this work schedule, Wheland and Rooster were pulling another very late night in the studio. Rooster was sitting in a swivel chair in the sound room with Lucille, the acoustic guitar, lying across his lap. He was intently working an intricate run of chords and writing down the notes into his notebook. Wheland lay sprawled on the carpeted floor at Rooster’s feet; his head propped up by two, paisley colored pillows rolled at the base of his skull against an amp case and his long legs stretched out straight, and crossed at the ankles. He finished up the joint he had sparked moments earlier and snuffed out the end in an ashtray sitting on the floor beside his hip. Wheland closed his eyes and exhaled a long stream of the smoke.

“How much longer are you planning to work tonight?” Wheland asked in a relaxed tone.

Rooster strummed another chord and wrote it down into the notebook. “I’m almost done,” Rooster said. “Go on up to bed if you want and I’ll finish here.”

“Mmmm, no. I wanna stay and help you,” Wheland said, his eyes still closed and his words slightly slurred.

Rooster laughed at that. “You’re not really much help to me right now,” he said. “Go on up to bed and get some sleep.”

Rooster continued fingering chords on the guitar, stopping to jot down new notes until he finished the phrase. When the room fell to silence, the soft purr of Wheland’s snoring could be heard floating around him. Rooster thought of kicking Wheland’s booted foot to wake him, but the peaceful look on his face stopped Rooster from disrupting him.

Rooster’s eyes slowly roamed Wheland’s toned body. With Wheland sleeping, he could take his time and really look without the fear of being caught. Rooster’s gaze danced over Wheland’s relaxed face and the soft waves of his dark hair falling over one eye. He fought the urge to finger comb it off Wheland’s forehead before his eyes dropped to his mouth. What he wouldn’t give to taste those full lips, slightly turned up on the ends as if he were smirking in his sleep.

Wheland’s arms were draped over his stomach and chest with the fingers spread apart. Rooster looked at those long, tapered fingers; solid like so much of the man, and he wondered what Wheland’s fingers might feel like running over his flesh and dropping between his legs to circle his cock.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “You are completely oblivious to what you do to me.” Rooster slouched in the chair and ran his hand over his face. “You’re wondering why I want to get my own place, you fucker? This is why I need to move out of here,” he said, squeezing the swollen bulge in the crotch of his pants. “You get within twenty feet of me and all I can think about is how badly I want you to fuck me, in every room of the house, on every piece of furniture, and in every conceivable position, until I can’t walk straight. I wanna be able to feel that you were in me for days afterward. You wanna write music and all I can think about is fucking. Can you see the problem this is creating for me?”

Rooster dropped his head against the cushioned leather backing of the chair and sighed loudly. He closed his eyes and shook his head. The situation was getting out of hand and Wheland showed no signs of getting a clue. Unless maybe he wasn’t into dudes? That would be ironic. Considering from what Wheland had said, it sure sounded like most of his band seemed to love dick. It would be Rooster’s shitty luck that he’d want one of the few guys in Ivory Tower that didn’t.

Although it was a possibility Wheland was straight, Rooster had seen the way he looked at him. There definitely appeared to be some interest, but for whatever reason he didn’t seem to want to act on it. Seriously, what did Wheland expect Rooster to do, tape a sign to his ass saying “fuck me”? Maybe he was into hearing his lovers beg? Rooster smiled at that. He could beg. He’d done it before and he wasn’t opposed to doing it again, especially for Wheland.

Rooster’s gaze was trying to burn holes through the jean fabric covering Wheland’s groin. “There isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t let you do to me, and you are fucking clueless. You could ask to hang me from the fucking exposed beams in your bedroom and I’m down for it,” Rooster scoffed. He’d jerked off to that particular fantasy several times over the last few days. “Did you think I didn’t notice the steel hooks you have embedded in the beams above your bed, you kinky bastard? I can just imagine how many women you’ve had hoisted up there, spinning around in shackles while you fucked them senseless. Damn it!”

Rooster stood up from his chair and set Lucille back in her guitar stand. “I’m going upstairs to bed,” he grumbled. “And, yeah, I’ll be rubbing one out in the shower, first. I haven’t been this sexually frustrated since junior high. I hope you’re happy with yourself, you sexy prick.”

Rooster slowly took the stairs out of the basement and up to the bedroom level of the house. He felt out of sorts with Wheland; unsure even, and that hadn’t happened in a very long time. Usually when he was interested in a man, signals were exchanged and the same want was reciprocated. Wheland was a lot different than the other guys he’d been attracted to and that might be part of the problem here. Rooster was already closer to Wheland than he typically allowed himself to get with a potential lover. He’d said and done things he might regret if Wheland tossed his ass out of his house.

He wasn’t used to feeling like this. Hadn’t he worked through all this shit when he was young and growing up confused? Jesus! Living here with Wheland brought all that confusion right back to the surface, making him second-guess everything he said or did.

His mother was always a stickler for traditional family life and it was probably why she cried when he got divorced. She cried again when his sister left her husband and Rooster could only imagine the tears his mother shed when she learned her only son was gay. He’d never admit it to her and she’d never ask, but the truth couldn’t be changed any more than he could be a little less gay, so Rooster let it be. The last thing any child wanted was to disappoint their parents and hadn’t Rooster done that in spades? First the divorce and now he was falling for a man. 

Rooster woke late the next morning and slipped into his jeans from the night before, then went down to the kitchen to make coffee. He thought about making some breakfast but decided to wait. The house was still silent and Rooster wondered if Wheland was still sleeping on the floor of the recording studio. He shrugged it off. Wheland was a big boy. If he wanted to sleep on the hard floor, he could. After all, it was his house and therefore he was free to sleep wherever he pleased.
Too bad it’s not in the bed I’m using!

Rooster was standing outside by the railing at the patio sipping his coffee when Wheland came up behind him, barefoot and wearing beige cargo shorts and a tight black t-shirt. His dark hair moved about gently on his head from the warm breeze.

“Good afternoon,” Rooster said, giving the man a quick once-over.

Wheland smiled and Rooster felt his insides tighten.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you last night,” Wheland said.

“Don’t be,” Rooster said. “I finished what I was working on and went to bed.”

Wheland nodded and stepped closer, close enough for Rooster to smell his erotic mixture of soap and musk wafting off of him. Rooster closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to get every last bit of the scent he could. Wheland stood beside Rooster at the railing; their shoulders almost touching.

“You have a great house,” Rooster said. “I love the view of L.A. from up here.”

Wheland nodded. “Even shrouded in fog, the city looks cool from this vantage point.”

Silence fell between them. The only sound being that of a jet flying overhead and the rustling of the trees at the edge of Wheland’s property. Rooster began to feel the close proximity of Wheland and shifted on his feet.

“Did you sleep all night on the floor?” Rooster asked.

Wheland chuckled. “No, I eventually made it upstairs.”

Rooster nodded and took another sip of his coffee.

“We’ve been working too hard,” Wheland finally said. “I think we need a night out. How do you feel about that?”

“I suppose we could,” Rooster replied.

“I was thinking Sapphires,” Wheland said, his gaze directed at Rooster.

“That’s a strip club, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and they have a sweet VIP area,” Wheland answered.

Hmmm. A strip club? That wasn’t exactly what Rooster was thinking when Wheland suggested a night out for them, but then again, if it meant more time with Wheland, he was definitely interested. Even if it meant gawking at naked women.

It was almost eleven o’clock that night when Wheland drove his Porsche under the stucco portico in front of Sapphires Gentleman’s Club and stepped out to let the valet parking attendant take care of it from there.

“Welcome back,” the young man said.

Wheland handed his car keys to the valet and walked with Rooster to the front door. Two men wearing black tuxedos opened the heavy wooden doors together and nodded in Wheland’s direction. Their smiles implied they’d seen him here more than once. It seemed at every corner, Wheland was known by the staff at this posh club.

Rooster stepped inside the main room and sighed. He was excited to be out with Wheland but he certainly would have been happier going to a different place. Being in a club with half-naked women walking around wasn’t doing one bit of good to test the waters of a sexual relationship between him and Wheland. In fact, all the women were a total buzz kill for Rooster.

From a designer’s point of view, the club was something else. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling in several places and thick velvet drapes covered non-existent windows. In the center of the wide room, several round stages were connected by catwalks and surrounded by tiny cocktail tables filling most of the space. Two large cages hung at each end of the stage area with girls dancing inside them. The flashing strobe lights which flared around the club in a rainbow of colors had Rooster squinting to protect his eyes. A sound system pumped out loud thumping music that vibrated in his chest. It was like being at a concert without having a band performing. Between the sights and sounds around him; along with the smell of booze, sweat, and perfume, it was an overload of the senses and Rooster was feeling the urge to leave before they’d barely stepped inside the building.

He followed Wheland to the bar. Several people recognized Wheland and he played nice by stopping momentarily to shake their hands. Once they were against the long mahogany bar, Wheland ordered for them. Rooster watched the bartender hurry to get their beer and fill two shot glasses. When the beer and shot glasses were placed in front of them, Wheland handed one to Rooster. Rooster sniffed the shot glass, smelled the cinnamon flavored whiskey, then lifted the glass to his lips and tossed the liquid into the back of his throat. He winced at the burn caused by the whiskey and quickly soothed the fire with the chilled beer. He took another swig of the beer and watched Wheland swallow his shot before chasing it with beer.

“I take it you come here a lot?” Rooster asked, leaning in to Wheland’s ear. The soft waves of Wheland’s hair tickled Rooster’s face and that clenching feeling returned to his gut.