What We May be (7 page)
Authors: Vivien Dean
WHAT WE MAY BE
have in mind?”
“There’s a band playing called Drunk Whiskey that I want to go see. Interested?”
He’d never heard of them, but that didn’t stop a resounding, “Sure, sounds like fun. What kind of music do they play?”
“Oh, I think they’re country.”
Jared tried not to groan, though the way Rick phrased it made him smile. “You think? You want to go see a band you’ve never heard?”
“Well, the bass player is one of my patients. This is the first time in months he’s been strong enough to play, so I kind of wanted to poke my nose in and show some support. He promises me they’re good, but if they’re not, I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“I think I’ll hold you to that.”
He heard the smile in Rick’s voice. “Great. I’ll pick you up this time?”
“Sure. My studio at seven?”
“Sounds like a date.”
Jared disconnected with a smile. It didn’t leave his face even after he nearly ran into Theresa at the bottom of the stairs.
“Do we need to talk?” she asked. “Because if I pissed you off—”
“We’re good.” He brushed past her to take the stairs two at a time. “I’m feeling inspired. Let’s get back to work.”
Theresa trotted up after him, though thankfully didn’t 58
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launch into twenty questions until after he’d set down his coffee to give Kelly the once-over in the shirt he’d fitted before taking his break. It looked good, impeccable even.
Good enough, he thought, to actually merit some attention now.
“Did you call him?”
“No. He called me.” He held up a warning finger. “We’re going out again tomorrow night, no I won’t give you any more details about what happened
last
night, and I’ll apologize about snapping at you before if you promise to drop all this now.” He grinned at her smile. “Good. I’m sorry. Now tell me I’m not going to be some walking cliché if I wear jeans and boots tomorrow to see this country band.”
* * *
He didn’t have to go upstairs. Jared waited on the sidewalk, looking like sin in denim, as he leaned against the wall. His long legs were encased in faded jeans, and he wore a dark green shirt left hanging over his waistband. He 59
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straightened as Rick approached, drawing Rick’s gaze to his hips and lower, the memory of their legs twined together as they slept momentarily distracting him.
“I thought a cowboy hat might be overdoing it a little bit,”
Jared said with a smile.
“No, you look great.” Good enough to consider skipping out on Tyson’s gig even.
The suggestion was right there on his tongue, except Jared stepped to the curb and immediately hailed a cab. He looked back at Rick with such honest expectation, there was no way not to follow him into the back seat. He’d given the driver the club’s address before remembering the possibility of going elsewhere again.
He listened to Jared chatter all the way there. This was one of the things he’d discovered he liked so much during their first date. Jared had an opinion on everything, and he wasn’t afraid to share it, even if it wasn’t a particularly popular opinion. He had an energy that was the single most contagious thing Rick had ever been around. It was impossible not to react when he was in Jared’s presence.
They arrived at the club sooner than he expected. He barely saw the dingy windows, or the lack of a line outside.
Jared’s fingertips grazed across his for a split second before vanishing again once they entered. Here, they had to be a little more discreet, and Jared’s willingness to do so said more about the man than anything he’d uttered in the cab. He flashed Rick a smile before leading the way to a table near the tiny stage. A smile that said,
Follow me if you dare.
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He dared. He’d dare a lot more, if Jared gave him the chance.
They ordered beers from the top-heavy waitress who kept bending over to give him a good look at her breasts. Rick hid his smile at her obvious attempts to get his attention by focusing on the set-up on the stage. Closest to them was a worn piano, with a stool at center stage, drums practically glued to the back wall, and amps on the other side. If there were speakers, they were well hidden. He hoped they didn’t get their ears blasted off from sitting so close.
“You can come back now,” Jared said beside him. Rick glanced back to see his sly smile. “The horny waitress is all gone.”
Rick grimaced. “Was I that obvious?”
“Only to me. She’s probably going to try round two in the Get the Gorgeous Guy in the Corner to Notice Me match when she brings back our drinks.”
“And I don’t fit under these tiny tables. Great.”
Jared laughed. “You don’t fit under any table.”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and the band will start before she comes back.”
“How do you usually handle it?”
“Handle what?”
“Getting hit on.”
There was just enough seriousness in Jared’s tone to know the question was genuine. “Believe it or not, that doesn’t happen that much anymore. I work a lot of hours, and when I don’t, I usually hang out with people or at places where they 61
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know I’m gay.” He glanced over at the bar and the backside of the waitress as she leaned over the counter to say something to the bartender. “Coming out was the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t have to worry anymore about hurting girls’ feelings when I turned them down.”
“You’re probably one of the few guys I’ve ever met who has positive feelings about coming out. You never had any problems?”
Rick shrugged. “Sure, I had problems. There’s assholes all over the place, including some of the people in my family. But that’s their problem, not mine. They don’t like it? Fuck ’em.”
A brilliant smile slowly spread over Jared’s face. “Now that is one coming out party I would’ve loved to see.”
When he looked like that, with so much surprised delight in his face, Rick just wanted to get down on his knees and show Jared how much he appreciated it. He’d had the same look when Rick had announced he preferred to bottom, like a kid who’d been told to get in the car to go shopping only to find himself at the toy store instead. Nothing got Rick harder or gave him more satisfaction. It was half the reason he’d gone into a service industry.
The waitress reappeared with their drinks, but Jared pre-empted her new assault by having money ready for her. Rick bit back his smile when the other man launched into a flattering assessment of her ensemble, finishing with a casual wave at Rick and the comment, “Not that the Neanderthal ever notices. You’d be better off wearing a cowbell and sparklers in your ass before he’d pay any attention.”
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She brayed good-naturedly, but only cast one more sideways glance at Rick before heading off to another table.
He watched her leave in amazement, then shook his head.
“How did you know she wasn’t going to spill your drink down your front and make a stink about the queers in the corner?” he asked.
Jared took a sip of his beer. “I didn’t. Well, I didn’t think she would, but I knew that was a possibility. She acted like the kind of girl who could take a joke.”
“Good for us.”
“Good for you. You don’t have to worry about her hitting on you anymore.”
A fact for which Rick was grateful. Leaning closer, he said in Jared’s ear, “I’ll make it up to you later. All you have to do is name the place and position.”
Jared’s sharp intake of breath made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You couldn’t have said this after the band plays?” His voice was just as low and intimate, though the angle of their heads made it look like they were just buddies sharing a private comment rather than lovers. “Now I’m going to sit here hard as a rock for the rest of the night.”
Rick smiled and sat back in his chair, letting his legs stretch out beneath the small table. It took the strain off his own erection, though thankfully it was well-hidden by his shirt hanging outside his belt. “My diabolical plan has worked then.”
Rolling his eyes, Jared took a long swig of his beer.
“You’re the least diabolical person I’ve ever met. That’s why I 63
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like you.”
The band coming out on the stage stopped Rick from replying, and he shifted his focus as the lights in the bar dimmed slightly to accommodate the musicians. He could think of a dozen reasons why he liked Jared so much, not the least of which was the way he always said what was exactly on his mind, even if it meant jumping to the wrong conclusion.
He had these ideas about Rick, mostly because they didn’t know each other well enough yet, but he wasn’t afraid to say them. That took guts. Courage. Rick respected that.
Tyson caught his eye and smiled. He was actually looking good, Rick thought. His new drug protocol was working wonders, giving him strength he hadn’t had in months. He was still far too thin, and his color wasn’t anywhere near normal, but when he’d said he was going to play this gig, Rick wasn’t going to advise him not to. Before he’d been diagnosed, Tyson had lived for his music. Rick wanted him to have it back. At least for a little while.
Beneath the table, Jared’s foot nudged his. Rick glanced over in time for the lights to go completely down, and then it was Jared’s hand covering his, as well. Jared smiled, like a shot of adrenaline to Rick’s heart, and nodded toward the stage. Rick settled back in his chair with a matching grin.
The music was loud, the bass line hard, and the singer not entirely sober, but Rick couldn’t remember the last time he had had so much fun listening to a band. Jared never let his hand go, and the heat rose between them, a reminder of the attraction that had assaulted him since first spying Jared half-64
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soaked with Mr. Jansen’s fruity drink. Rick started tapping out the beat of the music on the side of Jared’s hand, and it throbbed through his veins like hundred proof bourbon. Before the third song was done, he vowed to buy every CD Tyson’s band had. This was a night he wanted to remember.
During the set break, Tyson didn’t go backstage with the rest of the band. He propped his guitar on its stand and strolled straight for Rick’s table. Rick was on his feet before Tyson’s boots hit the main floor, and he clapped Tyson on his bony shoulder once the man was close enough.
“You look great up there.”
Tyson grimaced in mock exaggeration. “I notice you didn’t say I sounded great. That’s not good.”
“I thought that was a given.”
Tyson’s chortle rocked his slight frame. “That’s because it’s the first time you’ve ever heard me play.” His gaze slid to Jared. “And you brought a friend.”
Rick stepped back as Jared rose to his feet. “Tyson, this is Jared. Jared, Tyson.”
The two men shook hands. An unspoken understanding passed between them, one Rick wondered if anybody else noticed.
“Your keyboardist has some serious skills,” Jared commented.
Tyson’s brows shot up. “That sounds like you play.”
“A little.” Jared winked. “Lessons from Grandma Grace.
Just enough to make me interesting, not so much to lose my precious social life.”
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Their shared laughter filled their little corner of the bar.
Tyson waved toward the friendly waitress and pulled up a chair to their table.
“You look familiar.” Tyson squinted at Jared. “Do I know you, or do you just have one of those faces?”
“One of those faces. I used to model.”
“Really?” A quick glance at Rick. “Really?”
He knew what the subtext was. Not his type. Before Jared, Rick would’ve agreed with him. After Jared, he wasn’t so sure he hadn’t held on to his own biases a little too tightly, also.
“We met at the charity dinner I organized for Leo,” he explained. “They used to work together.”
It took Tyson a second before he put it together. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot Leo used to model.”
“Were you at the dinner?” Jared asked.
Tyson scoffed. “At five hundred dollars a plate? Not in this lifetime.” He flashed the waitress a smile when she set a bottled water in front of him. “How much did that end up raising?”
“Once expenses got deducted? About forty thousand dollars.” Rick sighed. “Leo had hoped for more, but it’s better than nothing.”
“More than a group of my friends could’ve raised.” Tyson jerked his chin toward the stage. “What you see is what you get.”
Jared fell oddly silent as Rick and Tyson continued to chat, and though he laughed at the right jokes, or commented when he was directly addressed, Rick could tell his thoughts were 66
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elsewhere. When the lights dimmed, Tyson scraped his chair back and stuck his hand out to Jared again, smiling as they shook.
“It was good to meet you,” Tyson said. “I hope we get a chance to talk again.”
“So do I.”
Rick waited until the band had filed back onto the stage before leaning over and saying, “You okay?”
Jared smiled. “Yeah. Why?”
“You got quiet.”
“You saying I’m a motormouth?”
Though there was a tease in his voice, Rick recognized an evasion when he heard one. But the music was starting, and this wasn’t really the time or place for this kind of conversation. He groped for Jared’s hand beneath the table and resolved to talk to him about it later. Once they had a little privacy, and it didn’t matter if he was hard as a rock just because he liked the way Jared smelled. Of course, then, there might not be actual talking as there would be other, more delightful pastimes, but even if that happened, eventually they would reach a point where their dicks were done and all that was left was getting things out in the open.
