Screwing the System (11 page)

“Nah, you’re all right. I’ve gotta get back into Wycombe for one, anyway. Band practice. Are there any buses going from here?”

“That’s not what I meant. Not stay for the day. I want you to stay indefinitely. It’ll be good for you. It’s quiet, and you can concentrate. I can help give you a bit of structure in your life. Make sure you work rather than scrounge off the system.”

“Excuse me?” Cosmo pulled back his hand. “Did you just ask me to move in with you?”

“That’s right. I think you need someone like me to keep you in line.”

“Well, that’s incredibly romantic,” Cosmo muttered. Not that he cared about all that mushy stuff, really, but he’d always figured by the time someone wanted him to move in, there might be a little more affection involved in the offer. And that he might have known them for longer than a week, and yeah, been in love. So sue him, he was a romantic after all. Still, Alasdair was a sexy bugger, and his house kicked some serious arse.

“Look, I’m not saying no, but what’s in this deal for you? A handy arse to fuck? Am I going to have to put out for my room and board? Coz I’ve never seen myself as the kept-boy type, I’ve got to say.”

“Sex would be part of the deal, obviously.”

“Well, yes,
obviously
.” Either Alasdair was oblivious to sarcasm, or he only heard what he wanted to hear, because he carried on earnestly.

“I’ve thought it all through. You get the run of this place while I’m at work. I’ll give you a bit of pocket money to make up for losing the benefits, and I’ll even get the pool done up for you. There’ll be a discipline structure, and I’ll have certain rules about your behaviour, which I’ll expect you to follow or suffer the consequences, but other than that, you’ll be free to do as you wish.”

Cosmo’s jaw almost hit the floor. “Pocket money? Discipline? Rules? Jesus, have you heard yourself? You think you can buy the right to order me about? Who the fuck do you think you are? Some kind of father figure?”

“If you want me to be. I think you need one.” Alasdair shrugged, but his expression was pained, filling Cosmo with a kind of grim satisfaction to see a dent in that impervious confidence.

“What? And you’re going to mould me into your vision of the perfect man? Turn me into your whore? Yeah, no thanks, Granddad. I think I’d rather go chance turning tricks on the high street.”

“Now you’re just being a brat.”

Cosmo leapt to his feet. “No, now I’m just being me. You’re the arrogant prick here. I’m perfectly happy with my life the way it is, thank you very much. I don’t care how hot you are in bed; I don’t need some posh git who’s too used to getting his own way ordering me around all the time.”

Alasdair’s nostrils flared, but he refused to rise to Cosmo’s jibes. Probably a good thing. The man could flatten him with one well-aimed fist. Still, the presumption of it all. Leaving aside the fact that Cosmo could quite happily live in a house like this rather than his present situation, and the sex had been amazing, there was no way he’d put a man he’d just met in control of his life.

“Fine. You need some time to think things through. I can see that. I don’t expect an answer straight away.”

“I’m not going to change my mind.”

But Alasdair just carried on as if he hadn’t even heard him. “I’ll drop you back home and give you a couple of weeks to consider my offer. If you want to get in contact in the meantime, I’m just a phone call away.”

“What for? A lecture about the evils of dole-scrounging?”

“Don’t be like that.”

Cosmo wanted to hit the overbearing son of a bitch, but he forced his arms to stay by his sides. “I’m calling a taxi.”

“I said I’d give you a lift.”

“Yeah, and I said I’m calling a taxi.”

In the end, Alasdair huffed and left the room. It wasn’t until Cosmo was halfway through dialling that he realised he didn’t even know Alasdair’s address. They were somewhere in the group of fancy villages to the northwest of High Wycombe, but other than that, he hadn’t a clue. And he only had a fiver in his wallet, which quite clearly wasn’t going to cover the cost of the fare back home.

He found Alasdair in the study, checking something on his phone. A pulse of lust sent a rush of blood to his cock as his gaze landed on the spanking chair. But no, he wasn’t going to change his mind. Alasdair was way too used to getting his own way. The man owed him a lift back into town, though.

“I’ll let you give me that lift, but don’t go thinking that means I’m changing my mind about the rest.”

Alasdair just gave him an infuriating nod and walked over so he crowded into Cosmo’s personal space. “You’re welcome back anytime. Just let me know when this”—he reached around to grab Cosmo’s arse—“is itching for my hand again.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

But Alasdair stared until Cosmo dropped his gaze; then the bastard strode out of the room, leaving him standing there like a lemon.

“Come on. I’m ready to leave.”

Cosmo scowled, feeling way too much like an uncooperative teenager as he trailed out after Alasdair.

“Just here is fine,” Cosmo said, pointing to the curry house at the end of his street.

“I’ll take you to your door.”

“How the hell do you know that isn’t my door? Have you been snooping into my private life?” Christ, this man better not turn out to be a stalker.

“Job application form, perhaps?”

“Right, yeah, of course.” Cosmo sat with his arms folded, saying nothing when Alasdair pulled up outside exactly the right house. Nasher was out in the garden, working on his van. Well, putting dabs of red primer over the rust spots, anyway. The state that pile of junk was in, it would end up more red than black.

“Here we are,” Alasdair said, and Cosmo turned to face him. He wanted to apologise for being rude, but at the same time, he didn’t want to take any of it back. He was in the right, damn it. The man was moving way too fast, assuming far too much about what was best for Cosmo. He needed to back off.

But if Cosmo never got another fuck like that again… Shit, he didn’t want to contemplate that. They could have the sex without the domestic-harmony bit, right?

Maybe Alasdair could read some of Cosmo’s dilemma on his face, because the man’s expression turned wolfish and he pulled Cosmo to him, claiming his mouth like it was his God-given property. Cosmo felt his dick start to stiffen, even as his heart pounded at the thought of any of the local hoodies seeing them there. But it was okay, wasn’t it, because Alasdair’s Merc had those poncey tinted windows. He surrendered to the kiss, sucking on Alasdair’s tongue and practically climbing into his lap.

“You’d better get going,” Alasdair said when he finally broke for air. “You’ll be late for practice.”

Fuck practice
, Cosmo almost said, but he didn’t want to come across as the irresponsible kid Alasdair clearly thought he was. In the end, he just nodded, tried to pull off a nonchalant expression he had a feeling Alasdair could see right through and threw out a casual, “See you sometime,” as he opened the door.

“Bye, Cosmo,” Alasdair called in that bass rumble that quivered right through Cosmo’s bones.

As the Merc pulled away, Nasher gave Cosmo a suspicious glare. “Oo the ’ell’s that, then? Not that biker fella from last week.”

“Yeah, that was him.”

“He’s got a Merc and a Harley? Shit, you think he’d wanna sink some money into the band? We could do with a few hundred to sort the tour van out.”

Tour van. Yeah, right, because playing a few gigs a month in local pubs amounted to a tour. Next thing they knew, Nasher would be calling Malc—his kid brother and chief hanger-on—their roadie. “I don’t think he’d be interested.”

“Yeah? Maybe best not anyway. Wouldn’t want him feeling like he owned you.” Nasher ground the brush against a huge rust spot like he could somehow paint it away.

“Too right. How’s about the rest of you try and charm some rich older women instead?”

“Nah, you’re the front man. You’ve got the looks.” Cosmo wasn’t going to argue with that, seeing as how Nasher had the kind of face that made small children cry. Instead he cuffed him around the back of the head, saying, “Bloody right. Now let’s stop talking about making money and do something constructive. We’re meant to be having a session right about now.”

“Yeah, they’re all getting set up. I’ll be in in a moment. Gotta wash the brush out.”

Cosmo wandered around the side of the house to the garage. It was the reason they’d gone for the place together. The rooms inside the house were small and crappy, but the garage was a decent size for practising in. He opened the door on a cloud of bluish smoke, which tickled his sore throat. Great. Bloody Rizzo had started on the spliffs already. Cosmo sighed as he took in the familiar forms of Brett, the band’s rugby-playing bassist, and Rizzo, the dreadlocked and leather-jewellery-laden lead guitarist who fancied himself an undiscovered living legend. They were both collapsed on the sagging sofa, giggling about something as they passed the joint between them. Nasher’s drum kit sat in the corner, but they could always start without him. Cosmo clapped his hands. “Come on, then, we’re running late.” He headed over to his guitar case.

“And whose fault is that?” Rizzo challenged, drawing himself up to his bony five foot five. “We weren’t the ones who disappeared off without letting anyone know where we were.”

“I don’t need your permission to have a night out.” Cosmo refused to get drawn into Rizzo’s pissing contest this early in a session. There’d be time for that when they started playing, and Cosmo had to fight to keep Rizzo’s solos from running into overindulgent-jazz-wank length. He pulled his guitar strap over his head and checked her tuning. The old girl was only a Fender Strat copy and not a great one at that. She had a tendency to slip out of tune really easily.

“Let’s get going on ‘Life in Waiting’,” Cosmo said. He’d written it a month ago, and they’d only had a couple of run-throughs so far. If they wanted it to be ready for their gig, it was going to need a lot of work.

“Umm, Cosmo, you’re not gonna like this…” Brett trailed off when Cosmo fixed him with a glare. What now? He could see the smugness written all over Rizzo’s triumphant pose.

“We’re not going with that anymore,” Rizzo said. “Needs too much work. We all decided last night. Here’s the new set list.”

Cosmo took the crumpled piece of paper and scanned through the list of cover versions, all of which featured long lead solos and frankly uninspiring lyrics. Hits by Staind, System of a Down, Tool, Slipknot, Alice in Chains, Placebo—along with the metal classics Rizzo and Brett insisted on. “It’s exactly the same as the old set list.”

“Nah, we changed the order. Made it flow better.”

“Since when was there a band meeting last night? No one told me.”

“We all had one down the Horse. We called you. Not our fault you were off sucking some biker’s cock, was it?”

“For fuck’s sake. Nasher,” Cosmo appealed as Nasher slunk through the door and tried to hide behind his kit. “Did you know about this meeting earlier? You could have said something, mate.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Nasher mumbled, “but it was all a bit last minute.”

And this was supposed to be his best friend?

Cosmo fought down the hot ball of anger in his chest and decided to make the most of it. “Right, then. Guess we’d better get going on these. From the top?” How the hell he was meant to sing a Guns N’ Roses cover with his voice all husky he had no idea, but he’d give it his best shot. Nasher and Brett really needed the practise.

As his voice cracked in the chorus of “Paradise City”, Cosmo caught Rizzo smirking at the others.

With friends like these, who needed enemies?

Chapter Nine

“Ali. Good to finally see you here, old chap.”

Alasdair forced a smile at Roger’s warm welcome from across the hotel lobby and did his best to look businesslike and attentive, despite the fact he’d barely slept for the past fortnight. Ever since screwing things up with Cosmo.

His bed was way too empty, which was ridiculous, seeing as how it had been fine for years until Cosmo came along. The lad was worse than crack—horribly addictive and totally destructive. He couldn’t stop reading through the questionnaire, planning out scenes that were never going to happen. Not unless he could swallow his pride and do something to put things right between them.

“We missed you at the club last night,” Roger was saying, “But I expect you had something better on offer, eh? You look like a man who’s been kept up all night. Some pretty young filly, was she?”

“Very pretty,” Alasdair said, thinking of Cosmo’s pouting lips.

“Yes, they’ve got boundless energy, the young ones. I don’t blame you for turning down the company of a load of old codgers when you’ve got something like that at home.”

Alasdair nodded gravely, hoping it would be enough to derail the conversation. “Were you going to give me the grand tour yourself?”

“Absolutely. Let’s get started with the ballroom, and we’ll move on to the spa complex.”

Dashwood Hall had once been a stately home and was now one of the most exclusive hotels in the area. Alasdair made the requisite impressed noises at the crystal chandeliers, antique furniture and stunning views out over the Chiltern Hills but made sure he wasn’t overly effusive with his praise. Roger had been born to this sort of thing, after all.