Running with Scissors (16 page)

From the corner of his eye, he watched Jude in the

ready room. Despite all the backstage noise, and the roar

of the excited crowd, A.J. was irrationally certain the rest of the band could hear his pulse pounding.

It was just a kiss. What the hell?

Okay, a look. And then a kiss. And then another look.

But still, just a kiss.

He was no virgin, not by any means, but no one he’d ever

touched—male or female—had turned him on like Jude did.

He had no idea what it was about him, why Jude lit up nerves

in him that no one else did, but it didn’t matter why. He did.

And A.J. wanted more. Needed more.

And couldn’t have any.

Get a fucking grip. It’s show time.

He followed his bandmates out onto the stage, and thank

God he had the music now to keep his mind out of Jude’s

pants.

He shivered as he took his place behind the drums. Oh,

he’d be able to concentrate until the end of the show, that

much he was sure about. It was after that was the problem.

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That was when he was high, trembling with the lingering

thrill of performing for thousands of people, his bones

still vibrating and his heart still racing. That was the most

dangerous time to be anywhere near Jude. Sex after a

performance was always the best, so a kiss like that while their hearts were still pumping from being onstage was bound to

be hot. It didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean that A.J. had

met his match, or that sex with Jude would be as spectacular

as that kiss had promised. That deep, relentless kiss.

Oh fuck. He was never going to get him out of his mind.

Now that A.J. had felt him sweaty and out of breath, he

wanted to feel him naked, sweaty, and out of breath. Not just

turned on, but satisfied, shaking from an orgasm, his skin slick with not just sweat, but cum.

A.J. shook himself. This was insane. Where Running with

Scissors was concerned, band members sleeping with band

members had proven to be an epic disaster; both times had

ended with someone leaving the group and the remaining

bandmates scrambling to replace him.

But . . . Jude.

He was intriguing as hell, and talented. Nothing attracted

A.J. to a man more than raw musical talent. Someone who

seemed to get it—that music was more than numbers, notes,

measures, and technical bullshit. Someone who played like he

felt it.

As the show kicked off, A.J. stole a few glances at Jude,

catching little glimpses of the gorgeous tattooed bassist as

he rocked one song after another. All the stories he’d heard

about Jude so far had created an image of a cool-as-ice guy

with unrivaled musical talent. He seemed confident most of

the time, but damn, those moments when he was alone with

his thoughts and cigarettes, or when he was facing down

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the band he’d walked away from, there was another side to

him that A.J. hadn’t expected. It was almost like realizing a

seasoned performer had a crippling case of stage fright—it

brought him down to earth and made him human, and yet

made him seem even larger than life if he could still perform

that well despite that much fear.

No wonder A.J. hadn’t been able to keep his hands off

him. No wonder he was still struggling to keep his hands

off him.

An image flickered through his mind of bending Jude

over his amp and fucking him into the ground, and A.J.

almost lost the beat.

Focus, idiot!

He scrubbed that image from his brain and concentrated

on the music. Well, no. He never “concentrated” on it—it just

took over, and he let it. He glanced occasionally at the other

band members, but carefully kept his gaze away from Jude.

No point in distracting himself more than he already was.

Movement to his left caught his eye. Without thinking

twice, he turned his head.

Richie, Vanessa, and Jude jumped in unison, bouncing to

the beat he was providing, and right when A.J. looked, Richie

and Jude exchanged glances. They were both smiling, almost

laughing—having the time of their lives.

Jude was sweaty. Disheveled. The muscles and tendons

stood out from his bare arms, fingers moving effortlessly on

the strings, and every time he bobbed his head, sweat flew

from his hair.

Dude, focus, you’re—

A.J. misjudged a stroke, and hit the snare’s rim just

right to send the stick flying out of his hand. He quickly

snatched another from the can he kept beside his seat, and

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recovered as fast as he could—people probably didn’t even

notice anything, aside from the stick spinning up into the

air and disappearing into the shadows—but onstage fuckups

mortified him.

He pulled his shit together and didn’t let Jude distract

him again. Eventually, though, he had a momentary break

between songs. While Connor worked the crowd and

Richie switched out instruments, A.J. gazed at everything he

could see from his perch at the rear of the stage. The band.

The enormous crowd that was barely visible now thanks to

the lights.

And Jude. Hovering between Vanessa and Richie,

throwing back a few gulps of water while he had a chance.

A.J. swallowed. He shifted his attention from Jude to

everything else—the band, the crowd, the lights.

This was what he’d dreamed about since the first time

he’d picked up an instrument. As hot as Jude was, and as

much as A.J. loved the way he kissed, there was no way to

make this work without risking everything they both wanted

as musicians. There was just too much on the line to even

consider it.

Jude turned, and they locked eyes for a split second, but

A.J. quickly looked away.

This had to stop.

Though, technically it had stopped when they’d pulled

apart the other night. They’d both agreed not to continue,

and they’d gone their separate ways as much as anyone could

in a shared sardine can.

Oh, but it hadn’t stopped, had it? He couldn’t focus

around Jude. Jude kept shooting him looks that sometimes

said
I can’t believe we did that
, and sometimes seemed to say
I can’t believe that’s as far as we got
. Every glance was loaded.

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Every time A.J. heard Jude tapping—and God, did that man

constantly tap and fidget and tap some more—he wanted

to join in, but he didn’t because then Connor might get

pissed off. And besides, if they started that tapping again,

he was pretty sure it might turn into erotic Morse code or

something—rhythmically undressing each other from across

the bus, every beat painting a picture of messed-up hair and

rumpled sheets.

At the front of the stage, Connor turned around and gave

A.J. a subtle nod—his cue to start the intro to “Peripheral.”

Time to focus. Sorry, Jude . . .

A.J. didn’t know why he bothered trying to stay away

from Jude. It was only a matter of time, and it didn’t take

long. After their set, while their bandmates were probably

off watching Schadenfreude again, he returned to the bus

to avoid another ready room incident—and suddenly found

himself facing down the bassist.

Jude cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey.” A.J.’s heart sped up and his stomach started doing

somersaults. “What’s . . . what’s up?”

Jude hesitated, gnawing his lip. “Can I talk to you for a

minute?”

A.J. squared his shoulders. “Yeah. Sure.”

“We, uh . . .” He paused, and then nodded toward the

door. “Shit. I need a smoke.”

A.J. nodded. “Okay.”

Silently, they stepped outside, and A.J. tried to ignore

it when they stood conspicuously farther apart than they

usually did.

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He stayed quiet while Jude lit a cigarette, and gave him a

minute to get some nicotine into his system before he asked

again, “What’s up?”

Jude watched himself tap his cigarette. “Listen, um . . .” He

rubbed the back of his neck and kept his gaze down. “About

what happened . . .”

“You don’t have to say it.”

His eyes flicked up and met A.J.’s.

A.J. exhaled. “I get it. And I’m just glad you had the balls

to even bring it up. I know— We can’t let the other night

happen again.”

Jude sighed. “No, we can’t. Look, I’m sorry. I guess I just

got caught up in—”

“We both did. It’s okay.” Little by little, his heart sank—

though he knew this was the right thing, it was disappointing

as hell. “We are supposed to be professionals, right?”

“As much as anyone in a rock band ever is.”

Their eyes met, and they both managed quiet,

uncomfortable laughs.

Jude kept smoking, and A.J. kept standing there like an

idiot with no idea what to say or do next. After a moment,

though, he realized Jude was still watching him—head tilted,

brow furrowed just slightly, those dark eyes studying him

through the thin cloud of smoke.

“What?” A.J. asked.

“Hmm?” Jude shook his head and stared at the ground.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“Oh.” A mix of disappointment and relief twisted in

his stomach. So that was that, wasn’t it? They were both

professionals. Or at least, they were both going to behave

like professionals. Too much on the line, too many reasons

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to stay away from each other, and too many places on Jude’s

body that A.J. would’ve sold his soul to taste.

He blew out a breath and raked a hand through his hair.

“So, um. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

Jude met his gaze again, and shook his head. “No, I think

we just needed to clear the air.” He dropped his cigarette on

the pavement and crushed it with his heel. Then he picked

up the butt and dropped it in the ashtray. “I’m going to go

find something to eat while places are still open. You, um,

want anything?”

Just you.

A.J. cleared his throat. “No, I’m okay. I think I’m just

going to grab a shower and turn in.”

“Okay.” Jude slid his hands into his pockets, and A.J. tried

not to think about those same hands sliding into his own

back pockets the other night. “Well, um.” Jude met his eyes,

but only for a second this time. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah. See you around.”

With that, Jude headed out, and A.J. went into the

deserted bus. Alone, he rested his hands on the back of one of

the chairs and released a long, heavy breath. This was how it

needed to be. They were on the same page about it, and they’d

keep a safe, professional distance. They were doing the right

thing. Bullet dodged, crisis averted.

And the relief would kick in
any
time now.

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o matter how hard he tried, Jude couldn’t get that

n goddamned kiss out of his mind, but that didn’t

surprise him too much. Between his desk job and all the time

he’d wasted generally feeling sorry for himself, not to mention wallowing in his guilt over cheating on Connor, he hadn’t

been laid in longer than he cared to remember.

And he’d
never
been kissed like
that
.

As the bus wound its way through the Rockies, taking

them from show to show in cities he couldn’t tell apart, his

desire for A.J. intensified with every passing night. Every time he watched A.J. on the stage, he wanted him more. Every

time they passed each other, especially after a show when they

were both sweaty and shaking with adrenaline, he had to fight

even harder not to drag him into a dark corner somewhere

and throw caution to the wind.

It didn’t help that A.J. kept shooting him looks that

weakened his knees. Not just because his blue eyes were

hypnotic in their own right, but because every glance seemed

as loaded as the one he’d given him the night he’d
almost

suggested showering together.

And there were how many weeks left on this tour?

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Fuck.

He tried like hell to think about anything besides A.J.,

but . . . not a chance. The man who’d kissed him backstage

hadn’t been the timid kid who hung around the band. It was

like he’d been sitting next to Clark Kent this whole time,

thinking the soft-spoken guy was nice and hot in a cute kind

of way, and then he’d blinked and found himself pinned

up against the wall by Superman. A sweaty, disheveled,

eyelinered Superman who’d just torn up the stage like he was

born to rock the drums. And every time the shy kid tore off

the veil and became the sexually charged rock star, Jude went

a little further out of his mind.

Lying on his rack after a show in . . . hell, whatever town

they were in, he couldn’t sleep. His bone-deep exhaustion

didn’t hold a candle to the things A.J. did to him. Or rather,

the things he kept fantasizing about A.J. doing to him.

One night. Just one night. That couldn’t be too much to

ask, could it? Some privacy, a flat surface, enough lube and

condoms to get all this out of their systems? Except there’d be no getting this out of his system. One kiss had him hooked.

Spending the night together would be a point of no return.