Running with Scissors (19 page)

for the door. “Duh, I’m coming.”

“Of course you are.” Shiloh smacked him playfully.

They all started for the door, but she paused. “What about

you, A.J.?”

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He shrugged. “I’m okay for now. I’ve been grazing all

morning.” He pointed a drumstick at the half-empty can of

cashews he’d balanced on a music stand beside his kit.

Shiloh adjusted her purse strap on her shoulder. “Suit

yourself.”

Connor threw A.J. a weird look, and Jude a weirder one,

but he didn’t say anything.

As their bandmates filed out of the room, Jude clasped

his fingers above his head and stretched. A.J. sat straighter,

working a crick out of his back.

“I think I will step out for a smoke.” Jude put his bass

aside. “Be back in a minute.”

“I’ll, uh, babysit the instruments.”

Jude laughed. “Just make sure mine stays out of the

cookies and doesn’t watch too much TV.”

A.J. offered a two-fingered salute. “You got it.”

While Jude was gone, A.J. sat back and stretched again.

He skimmed over the list of songs Connor had printed out.

This album was going to be amazing, even better than their

first, and he still couldn’t quite believe he was going to be a part of it. With any luck, he’d be around for the third album.

There were rumors of a world tour for that one, depending on

the success of the one they were working on now.

What I wouldn’t give . . .

A few minutes later Jude came back in, snapping him out

of his fantasies of playing Wembley Stadium and one of those

huge festivals in Eastern Europe.

Jude took his seat. “All the instruments behave

themselves?”

“The guitars are in time-out, but—”

Their eyes met, and they both laughed. Jude left his bass

where it was, leaning against another chair, and released his

breath as he sat back.

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“So how’s it feel?” A.J. asked. “Working on an album?”

Jude grinned. “Been waiting my whole life for this. I can’t

wait until we’re actually recording.”

“Hmm, so I shouldn’t shoot down your dreams yet and

tell you how tedious the recording process is?”

“You can try.” Jude lowered his hands and rested his

forearms on his thighs as he stretched his back. “And then I

can tell you about the year and a half I spent holding down a

desk. Tedious recording beats that bullshit any day.”

A.J. wrinkled his nose. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“You never had one of those jobs?”

“Not in an office, no. But I did whatever retail and

fast-food gigs I could get my hands on and still perform with

my bands.”

“Sucked?”

“Sucked.”

“I don’t doubt it. I worked at a sunglass kiosk for a few

months in high school.” Jude grimaced. “If I never have to do

that again . . .”

“You got to be one of those assholes? I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it didn’t last long.” Jude laughed. “I’m pretty good

at getting myself fired when I’m miserable, so . . .”

“Do I even want to know?”

Jude sat up again, and his smile was a little sheepish. “Let’s

just say you should check the freeways before you tell your

boss you’ll be two hours late because of traffic.” He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “The one time the I-5 was actually

clear at that time of day.”

A.J. laughed. “Uh, yeah. Helps to check out your own

alibis.”

“Believe me, I know. But hopefully, I won’t have to do one

of those stupid jobs again.” He wasn’t looking at A.J. anymore, 146

and after a moment A.J. realized Jude was gazing longingly at

the drums.

“Miss it?”

Jude jumped like he hadn’t realized A.J. was watching.

“What? Shitty retail jobs?”

“No, the drums.” He gestured with his drumsticks. “You

miss playing?”

“Oh yeah. Definitely.” Jude eyed the drum set, and A.J.

wouldn’t have been surprised if the man’s mouth was watering.

“Nothing like drumming, you know?”

A.J. fidgeted. While Jude could move between

instruments, A.J.’s only place in this band or any other was

behind the drums. It was hard not to get territorial, especially when he’d been wringing his hands over his job security since

well before Jude showed up.

Still, he couldn’t imagine being this close to a drum set

and staying hands-off, so it must’ve been torture for Jude.

Tentatively, he held out the drumsticks. “You, um, want

to give it a shot?”

Jude’s gaze darted back and forth from the sticks to A.J.’s

eyes. “Really?”

“Sure.” A.J. shrugged. “Everyone says you’re really good.

I’m kind of curious to hear you play.”

Jude still didn’t move. “But you’re . . . I mean . . .”

“One time. Just for the hell of it.”

Jude eyed him, but finally smiled. “Well, if you insist.”

“Have at it.” A.J. forced a laugh. “Just don’t tell the rest of the band.”

“Secret’s safe with me.” He took the drumsticks, and

they switched places. While A.J. stood by the seat Jude had

vacated, Jude sat on the throne behind the drums and exhaled

slowly, spinning a drumstick between his fingers as he gazed at 147

A.J.’s rig. He seemed to be scrutinizing every inch of it—

the height of the high hats, the angle of the snare. A.J.’s gut clenched—what did he think of the setup? Was it all wrong?

Oh for God’s sake. It doesn’t matter if it’s all wrong for him.

This is
my
rig. If he doesn’t like it, his bass is over there.

He rolled his eyes at his own thoughts. Every drummer

had to acquaint himself with a new setup. Jude wasn’t judging.

He was just figuring out where everything was.

Then he started playing.

A.J. had no idea how long it had been since Jude had

touched a drum, but he took to it like it hadn’t been any

time at al . A.J. could’ve watched him for hours. The man

was a god behind the drums. Or on any instrument, really.

It was impossible to look at him while he was playing and not

believe—not be wholly convinced—that he felt every beat

and every nuance like it was a part of him. He was exactly

the kind of musician who made A.J.’s pulse race even when

he
hadn’t
kissed him, jerked off to him in the bus’s cramped shower, tripped over his own feet while imagining himself

balls-deep in him.

Jude glanced at A.J.’s leg, then up at him. Puzzled, A.J.

looked down and realized he’d been tapping his fingers on

his thigh in time with Jude’s beat. He didn’t know when he’d

started, only that Jude had noticed before he did, and now

they were both playing—bobbing their heads in time with

each other while A.J. tapped out the same rhythm on his

thigh that Jude was banging on the drums.

They both grinned. Jude kept playing. A.J. kept tapping.

There was no way in hell Jude could hear the soft percussion

of fingertips on denim-covered skin, but A.J. sure could. He

felt it as surely as he felt the impact of stick to snare, and as he held Jude’s gaze, he wasn’t sure who was leading whom. If one

148

of them was leading, or if they were both pul ing the same

cadence from the ether and following that. Jude sped up. So

did A.J. Then A.J. slowed down, and Jude followed.

So much for this crush being about insecurity—Jude

was like walking, talking catnip, and playing one-on-one

with him like this, drumming together the way some people

danced together, brought all those dirty fantasies back to the

forefront of his mind.

There were so many reasons to keep those fantasies in

his head where they belonged, but every move Jude made

gave him another reason to wish they could have one night

together. Just one night.

Abruptly, Jude stopped. “Ah, that was fun.” He smiled as

he stood. “Thanks for letting me . . .”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.”

Jude held out the drumsticks. A.J. closed his fingers

around them.

But Jude didn’t let go.

Their eyes met.

Though it must’ve been his imagination, A.J. was sure he

could feel Jude’s pulse echoing down the wooden sticks and

into his own palm. He and Jude were practically touching,

and yet Jude might as well have been all the way across the

room. Too far away. Much too far.

Spine tingling with nerves, A.J. tightened his grip and

pulled.

Jude stumbled, apparently caught off guard, and when he

righted himself they were toe to toe. Damn near nose to nose.

A.J.’s pulse shot skyward.

His fingers twitched on the drumsticks. Jude’s must’ve

done the same—the sticks subtly ground together in A.J.’s

hand. Any other time, he might’ve let go or backed off, and

149

that was exactly what he should’ve done this time, but he

remembered all too well what Jude’s kiss tasted like. So many

reasons to stop this before it started. One damned-hot reason

to see where it could go.

But before he could make a move in any direction, Jude

let go of the drumsticks, grabbed the back of A.J.’s neck in

both hands, and kissed him.

150

the time they came up for air, Jude’s head was

byspinning.

Their eyes met.

Before a single synapse in Jude’s brain could fire, A.J.

shoved him back a step. Jude’s shoulders hit the wal , and

A.J. was against him, and then they were kissing again, and

Jude forgot which way was up.

Walk away? Stop this before it starts? Don’t jeopardize your
place in the band by getting involved with a bandmate? Any of
that ring a bell?

Not while he was pinned between A.J. and a wal , it

didn’t. Reason and logic and common sense had gone right

out the window. He had no idea what to do next, but pul ing

back and walking away didn’t even factor into the equation.

He’d been fighting this for too damn long. The hammer was

as good as dropped now. Might as well—

A.J.’s hard-on brushed his, and Jude’s mind went blank.

He wrapped his arms around A.J., grabbing handfuls of his

T-shirt as they explored each other’s mouths. His fingers slid

up into Jude’s hair and pulled enough to make his scalp burn

right as he nipped Jude’s lower lip, the sharp sting sending

151

a shiver down Jude’s spine. He moaned into A.J.’s kiss and

pulled him closer, thankful for the wall to hold him upright.

He slipped a hand under the back of A.J.’s shirt, and when

his fingertips met hot skin, they both gasped. A.J. broke the

kiss. He touched his forehead to Jude’s, panting hard against

Jude’s lips. “I’ve been . . . wanting . . .”

“Me too.” Jude swallowed. “Why the fuck are we stop—”

A.J. kissed him again. Jude slid his hand higher. A.J.

pressed harder against him. God in heaven, how had they

made it so long without doing this? Jerking off had nothing

on being pinned to a wal , kissing like their lives depended on it, hot flesh beneath fingertips and cool breath on skin.

Voices and footsteps jarred him back to reality. A.J. too—

they jumped apart, heads snapping toward the door. His

heart was pounding for an entirely different reason now as

their bandmates came down the hal , and he and A.J. quickly

adjusted themselves and separated. A.J. sat behind the drum

set, not so casually pul ing his loose T-shirt over the front of his pants. Jude took his seat too, and thanked God for the

bass across his lap as everyone filed into the room, coffee cups in hand and laughing about something.

Pulse thumping and stomach fluttering, he absently

strummed his bass as he cleared his throat. “Hey guys.”

Their bandmates murmured hello and sat down beside

their own instruments. As the guitarists got situated and the

vocalists looked over lyric sheets, Jude and A.J. exchanged

glances.

That was close.

But it was hot.

Too close.

Too hot.

“Okay.” Richie rolled his shoulders. “We ready?”

152

“Yeah.” Connor took a swallow of something—probably

tea, since his voice still sounded raw—and set the cup aside.

“We can start on ‘Fanatic’ if you guys are down.”

Shiloh grimaced. “Dude, you sound like shit. Why don’t

we work on ‘Delirium’ while you give your voice a break?”

Connor scowled but shrugged. “Works for me.” He sat

back, sipping his tea quietly while everyone else warmed up

and jumped into the music.

As the minutes passed by and the group focused on their

rehearsal, Jude still hovered in that postkiss trance, too caught up in the taste of A.J.’s mouth and the way his fingers had

pulled and dug. That kiss had left him reeling just like it had when they’d made out backstage, and there was no postshow

adrenaline to take the blame this time. And A.J. hadn’t

disappeared to take a shower—he was right here, less than six

feet away at the drum set.

The rehearsal went on, their bandmates apparently

oblivious to his distraction and unaware of the kiss that had

ended way too soon. Muscle memory was the only thing

keeping him from making an ass of himself; A.J. had grabbed

his attention and wasn’t letting go for anything.

Fuck. What now? After a kiss like that, he wasn’t just