Running with Scissors (15 page)

out the window. So did Jude. He folded his hands on the

table and watched the scenery go by, but he couldn’t get that

exchange out of his mind. It had been just like a real jam

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session, when everything lined up and the music was playing

itself. When everyone was on the same wavelength, as if they

could predict every beat and chord before it was played, and

the music just . . . happened.

Right up until Connor had shushed them like a pissy

coworker.

Jude scowled out the window. Maybe he and A.J. could

give it another shot when Connor wasn’t there. Hell, maybe

when they were alone. After al , A.J. seemed to like joining

him whenever he went out for a smoke, and there usually

wasn’t anyone else around.

But things like impromptu jam sessions on tables and

armrests, those weren’t something he could plan any more

than a couple of musicians could plan what would happen

during a real jam session. Moments like that either happened

or they didn’t.

He just hoped A.J. wanted it to happen again as much as

he did.

As he always did during sound check, A.J. held back, but

he no longer gave Jude the impression of a passive, shy kid

who didn’t belong there. He was halfway between—he was

shy and uneasy, and he was a fearless rock star ready to unleash the inner beast. The tank top he wore tonight was loose and

ragged, with a tear in the col ar that brought to mind Bruce

Banner’s tattered clothes after shifting back from the Hulk.

Jude turned away. He needed to . . . What was he doing?

He absently strummed the bass’s strings and snapped back

into reality. Right. Tuning. Sound check. Idiot.

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He adjusted his earpiece and concentrated on the task

at hand, even though every tap of drumstick to snare echoed

through his bones and distracted the fuck out of him.

Fortunately, if there was anything in the world that could

pull most of his focus away from A.J., it was the music, and

he made it through sound check without making a complete

ass of himself.

Now he just had to get through the show. Knowing how

A.J. let loose and went ful -on Hulk during a show . . .

Fuck.

But there was no bailing tonight—especially not on the

grounds of how much he wanted to fuck the drummer—so

with a prayer for strength and restraint, he went onstage with

his bass and his bandmates.

Show time. I’ve got this.

He managed to keep himself focused on the music and

not tripping over cords or equipment, at least until “Hold

Fast.” As it did every night during this piece, the spotlight

shifted to A.J. for the drum solo, and Jude . . .

Jude stared.

The air itself seemed to vibrate with every smack and

crash. Sweat flew off A.J.’s arms. He played like a man

possessed, oblivious to what that did to Jude’s pulse. Or

his dick, for that matter—watching someone play like that,

especially someone as smoking hot as A.J., was more of a

turn-on than it had any right to be.

Jude tore his gaze away again, which was about as effective

as having his back to a man who was fucking him. He couldn’t

see A.J.’s face, couldn’t see the hunger and sweat, but he could feel every impact and the feverish frenzy that drove A.J. and

made all the fans go crazy.

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Bass. Play the bass. Get your head out of your ass and do

your job!

He took a swig of cold water from the bottle he kept

behind his amp. This was madness. He wasn’t a fifteen-year-old

boy who got turned on if the wind changed direction. Or

got distracted at the memory of their middle-of-the-night

conversation. And the way the streetlights had played on

A.J.’s features, highlighting his cheekbones and picking out

the blue in his eyes. And how a failed attempt to go to sleep

had mussed A.J.’s spiky hair, leaving it somewhere between

stage-ready and bedhead.

Jude. Focus.

By the grace of God, he made it through the show. After

everyone had cooled down and put instruments in their cases,

the rest of the band headed back toward the stage to watch

Schadenfreude for the billionth time, but Jude stayed in the

ready room. He needed a minute to catch his breath and pull

himself together.

He ran a hand through his wet hair. Even pouring a bottle

of cold water on himself hadn’t done a damned thing to

snap him out of this. He could barely see straight. This was

getting out of control. Even Connor had never had this effect

on him, not even in the early days when they were fucking

every chance they had and could barely finish a conversation

without making out.

I’m losing my mind. That’s all there is to it.

Maybe I just need to get laid.

How long has it been?

Something raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

He turned around.

A.J. stood in the doorway, a pair of drumsticks in his

hand. His precisely applied eyeliner was smeared now, and his

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gaze was fixed right on Jude. He hadn’t accidentally happened

by. He’d come here on purpose. He’d come looking for Jude.

As the thumping bass of Schadenfreude’s set reverberated

down the walls and across the floor beneath their feet, A.J.

came closer, eyes still locked on his. He wasn’t flinching away from this eye contact like he often did, but silently daring Jude to look away.

Jude couldn’t have looked away if he’d wanted to. He

stared back, feet planted and mouth watering.

Please let me be reading him right.

He couldn’t hear anything over that bass. Couldn’t even

hear his own beating heart, but God, he felt it, and it beat

harder and harder as they stared each other down like this.

Less than an arm’s length from him, A.J. tossed his

drumsticks on the heap of gear by the wal . A drop of sweat

rolled down his temple, and Jude followed it with his eyes,

watching it trace a muddy line through the smeared makeup

over his cheekbone and down to his jaw. It hovered there for

a second, clinging to the faint hint of five-o’clock shadow, and then fell to A.J.’s col arbone before it slid beneath his ripped collar.

Jude’s eyes flicked up again, and met A.J.’s.

A.J. grinned. Jude ran his tongue along the inside of his

lower lip.

And God in heaven, A.J. came closer.

“Thought I’d find you back here,” he whispered, his voice

nearly disappearing into Schadenfreude’s sound.

“You did.” Jude swallowed. “Now what?”

“Don’t know yet.” The distance between them narrowed

farther, body heat and energy crackling in the remaining

space.

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Heart thumping against his ribs, he put a hand on A.J.’s

waist. A.J. pulled in a breath, but didn’t pull away. In fact, he reached up, and his cal used fingers curved around the back

of Jude’s neck, sending electricity straight down to his curling toes and right back up to his balls.

“So you were looking for me.” He moistened his lips again

as A.J. drew him closer. “You must’ve had something on your

mind.”

Even closer.

“Yeah. I did.”

Their lips brushed. Jude shivered. “You know this is a bad

idea, right?”

“Yeah. I do.” A.J. pushed him up against the wall and

kissed him.

Jude mirrored A.J. and gripped the back of his neck. All

that passiveness and shyness had gone out the window, and

this side of A.J. . . . God, it was hot. He was cautious bordering on timid most of the time, but put him onstage or turn

him on, and he was a beast. Jude could only imagine what he

was like in bed—naked, with privacy and lube and
please don’t
stop
, and Jude prayed like hell they made it that far.

He slid his hands down and into A.J.’s back pockets, and

A.J. groaned, pressing his hips and that thick erection against him, and kissed him even harder. His chest rubbed Jude’s

nipple piercings through his shirt, turning his knees and spine to liquid.

Oh fuck. This was even better than he’d fantasized about.

The onstage beast was nothing compared to this turned-on,

demanding, trembling A.J. who had him pinned to the

cinderblock wal . His fingers dug into Jude’s skin, and when

he slid his hand up into Jude’s hair, he gripped it tight enough 116

to hurt, which almost dropped Jude to his knees right then

and there.

Above them, the music dimmed and then stopped,

and though the whole place still vibrated with the roar of

the crowd, other sounds made themselves known. Roadies

moving equipment around.

And voices. Familiar voices.
Nearby
voices.

Shit!

He broke the kiss. “We shouldn’t.” He held A.J.’s shoulders,

not sure if he was pushing him away or keeping himself from

going back in for more. “This is . . .”

“I know.” A.J. looked over his shoulder, oblivious to how

much of his throat he was baring, and how much Jude wanted

to kiss and taste every inch of skin from his torn col ar to

his jaw. As A.J. faced Jude again, his expression was quickly

edging toward the uneasy kid, leaving the “who the fuck

cares?” drummer behind.

Jude took his hands off A.J.’s shoulders.

“Yeah. We . . .” A.J. stepped back. “What now?”

“I’m . . . We really . . .”

“I should go.”

Jude nodded, curling and uncurling his fingers at his sides

as he fought the urge to grab A.J. and reel him back in. He bit his tongue because the only thing he wanted to say was
No,

you shouldn’t leave
, and he knew damn well that one of them needed to go before this went too far. Which it already had.

Without another word, A.J. walked out, and Jude sagged

against the wal . He wasn’t terribly well acquainted with that

thing called restraint, and he fought hard to keep himself

from running after A.J.

That kiss was everything he’d fantasized about. Aggressive.

Frantic. There’d been no sign of shy A.J., and every sign of

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that primal beast of a drummer, and for the life of him, Jude

couldn’t understand why they weren’t pounding each other

into the ground right then. He should’ve been bent over that

stack of amp cases, taking every inch of the hard-on he’d had

pressed against his hip, but he wasn’t.

Because that would get us booted out of the band. Because

Kristy would kill us. Because—

“Jude?” Shiloh startled the hell out of him, and his eyes

flew open. “You okay?”

Oh shit. What if A.J. hadn’t left? Or she’d walked in like two
minutes ago? Fuck!

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah. Just, uh, tired.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Needed a few minutes to

decompress.”

She eyed him, then shrugged. “Back-to-back shows can

get pretty draining. You’ll get used to it.” She nodded toward

the stack of black and silver boxes beside him. “Could you

hand me my makeup kit?”

“Yeah. No problem. Here.” He handed it to her, and a

moment later she was gone.

He pushed himself up against the wall again. Shit, that

was closer than it should’ve been.

And not nearly as close as he’d needed it to be.

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urprise, surprise—A.J. couldn’t focus on
anything
.

sThere was no going back after that kiss. What had been

tasted could not be untasted, but that didn’t mean they dared

take it any further, and at least they both had the good sense

to stay away from each other after that show. They didn’t

look at each other when A.J. returned to the bus and found

Jude smoking outside. They were careful to stay as far apart

as possible while they were on the road next day. When Jude

started idly tapping his fingers, A.J. folded his own just to

keep from joining in. The minute the bus was parked at the

next venue, Jude hurried outside for a smoke and A.J. took off

to find food.

He wasn’t even sure what city they were in. Not that he

needed to know. The only ones who had to know that for

sure were Shiloh and Connor, and that was just so they didn’t

shout out “How’s it going, Minneapolis?” while they were

onstage in Chicago. All he needed to know was that there was

always food near a venue, and tonight, finding that food gave

him a reason to stay away from Jude.

Except it would only be a temporary reprieve. Tomorrow,

the next day, the day after that—sooner or later, they’d have to 119

be in the same space again. The bus. The stage. Their sleeping

area. Maybe in time, it would get easier. Maybe once the

novelty wore off and he found someone else to lust after.

Today, though, an hour or two away from Jude didn’t

do him a damned bit of good, because every time his vitals

started leveling out again, he and Jude would be in the same

room again, and he’d be all over the place. Again. By the time

they were wrapping up sound check, A.J. was on the verge of

losing his fucking mind.

Thank God he could drum in his sleep. They’d be onstage

shortly, and at least he could trust muscle memory to carry

him through the show when his brain was all
Jude, Jude, Jude
.