Chapter 2
Dante
Practice is grueling, leaving everyone sweaty and spent by the end of the night. A few low groans ripple through the room as I pull out my laptop, but they all shuffle dutifully closer, gathering around like reluctant moths to a screen.
“Monica called this morning to check on our progress for the album release,” I say, skimming the latest email from our agent. “The concert is sold out, and she’s pulling strings to get some high-profile names to the launch party afterward.”
Despite the initial stress it caused, Eric and Dmitri’s public outing ended up having a hugely positive impact on the band.
Our popularity was already climbing, but the scandal hurled us straight into the spotlight.
After a few weeks of floundering just to keep our heads above water, we signed Monica as our agent.
In only a few months she’s accomplished what feels like a year’s worth of goals, but even with her help, words can’t quite capture the sheer exhaustion of it all.
Dmitri left his father’s company behind and now works with me full-time to manage the band.
He’s been crucial in helping me transition from handling every detail myself.
He’s had to push me to let go of some of the workload, and now that I have, I can finally breathe a little easier.
His work ethic is exceptional, except when Eric is anywhere in the vicinity.
Then he’s too busy sucking face to focus on anything else.
I glance up over the laptop screen and give a small nod.
Dmitri takes over seamlessly. “Preparations for the album are finished, and it’s set for launch.
We’ve combed through the music until we’re sure there are no errors, so we can finally say the retakes are officially done.
The agency has the files, and they’re ready for release as soon as we give the go-ahead.
Tickets to the concert have been printed, and the QR codes on them have been tested and confirmed. ”
Eric had the idea to bundle a digital download of the album with every concert ticket, so the QR codes now double as vouchers for the release. We’re hoping the perk gives our first-week numbers a solid boost.
Theo’s hand shoots up mid-sentence as he wiggles in his seat like he’s about to burst. “I’m trying so hard to listen to this very important information, Sticks, but can we circle back to the more pressing part of this conversation?”
“Which is…?” Dmitri asks, brows pinching together.
“The party, of course!” Theo says, shimmying again for emphasis.
“I need the details. Dress code, what swag we’re giving away, and most importantly…
” He pauses dramatically, hiking one brow at Dmitri and holding the look for several long seconds before letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“Come on, man. You’re a drummer. How could you miss that blatantly obvious cue for a drum roll? ”
Dmitri stares at him, unblinking, for what feels like an eternity. Theo stares right back, refusing to crack first, until Dmitri finally blows out a heavy exhale and drums a quick, half-hearted rhythm on his thighs.
“There we go,” Theo says, flashing a triumphant thumbs-up. “Thank you for that wonderful lead-in that wasn’t awkward or delayed in the least. Truly fine work.”
Dmitri’s face settles into a look of comical exasperation, eyes rolling as he shakes his head. The rest of us can’t hold back our laughter any longer, and it spills out in waves that cut through the post-practice fatigue.
Theo grins wide. “Who are these high-profile people that have been invited? My outfit is going to vary enormously depending on who’s coming.”
“Is that so?” Tai asks, amusement thick in his voice as he leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“Very much so,” Theo replies with a serious nod. “If it’s more of a pop-punk crowd, I’ll need bright colors and fishnets. If it’s Madonna, I obviously need cone boobs and long gloves.”
“Obviously,” Eric chimes in, deadpan.
“I can promise you it’s not Madonna,” I say.
Theo’s bright blue eyes snap to me, crinkling at the corners. “Well, since you’re being tight-lipped and hush-hush, I have one question.” He runs both palms slowly down his lithe body. “Dress or suit?”
My eyes follow the path of his hands before I can stop them.
Visions of Theo in a skimpy dress flood my mind—porcelain skin on full display, the fabric clinging in all the right places.
My heart kicks against my ribs as I try to rein my brain back in.
It refuses to listen, conjuring images of him straddling my lap with a flimsy skirt serving as the only barrier between us.
A surge of protectiveness crashes over me at the thought of anyone else seeing that much of him, and it takes everything not to let it show.
“Probably suit,” I manage, the words coming out rougher than intended.
“Leather bodysuit with a sports coat? I like your style,” Theo says, winking as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
“No!” I blurt. The others raise their eyebrows in unison, and heat floods my face. I clear my throat, forcing my gaze back to the laptop screen. “Just a normal suit will be fine, Theo.”
“Your restraint is a buzz kill to my creativity,” he says with a sigh as he relaxes into the cushions. Dmitri continues, and I try my best to concentrate, but my eyes keep wandering back to Theo.
From the moment we crossed paths, he’s been unapologetically interested in me, and I can’t figure out why. He’s a walking dream come true—vibrant, magnetic, and impossible to look away from. Compared to him, I feel completely ordinary and unremarkable.
He’s small and slender, no more than five-foot-five, with those big blue eyes and pale, soft skin.
At first glance, he looks innocent to the point of fragility, but then he opens his mouth.
That razor-sharp tongue comes out to play, and it cuts through any illusion with effortless wit.
Whether he’s leaning fully into his femme side or channeling his inner emo rocker-boy, he’s always confident and comfortable in his own skin.
He wears whatever version of himself feels right that day without a hint of apology.
Today is a perfect example. His short pink shirt rides up just enough to reveal a thin sliver of stomach, while his fingernails are painted glossy black and his jeans are artfully distressed. It’s sweet and sharp, soft and defiant, pastel innocence edged with dark polish, and so perfectly Theo.
I can’t get enough of it.
In every other aspect of my life, I have complete control, but Theo has always been my exception. He’s the one variable I can’t predict or contain, and can’t walk away from cleanly. At the end of our tour a few months ago, the pull between us nearly overwhelmed my better judgment.
Everyone else had crashed inside Dmitri’s parents’ house, leaving us alone on that damn bus for the first time in weeks.
With the others around, Theo runs a mile a minute.
He isn’t performing—he just gets lit up and easily excited by the noise and company.
Things have always been quieter when it’s just the two of us, the energy dialing back to something softer.
We were both exhausted that night, bone-deep tired from the road, and when he hugged me goodnight, I slipped.
I kissed him.
Our lips barely brushed, a ghost of contact, before my common sense snapped back into place. “Shit, I’m sorry,” I whispered, my hand brushing across his cheek as he instinctively leaned into the touch. “I shouldn’t have done that. You know we can’t.”
“Do I?” he challenged, voice soft but steady, eyes searching mine.
“Yeah,” I answered with a sigh, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead instead—the safer place, the one that wouldn’t unravel us both. “Yeah, Theo, you do.”
His eyes were enormous in the dim light of the bus, silently pleading for more even as I forced myself to step back and put space between us.
And I wanted to give him more. I wanted to give him everything.
Those words I’ve never said out loud, and the nights I’ve spent imagining.
The future I keep locked behind every careful boundary I’ve built.
He tilts his head, a few strands of his thick brown hair falling over his eyes with the motion. Right as I’m starting to feel heat creeping up my neck for getting caught staring, he wiggles his eyebrows, blows me an exaggerated kiss, then caps it with a slow, shameless wink.
A laugh climbs out of me before I can help it, and everyone else turns to stare like I’ve sprouted a second head.
He looks extraordinarily pleased with himself, chest puffed just a little and eyes sparkling with victory as I flash him another quick, helpless grin in return.
Before my traitorous brain can spin any wilder scenarios, I tear my eyes away from him and force my focus back to the laptop screen, pretending the spreadsheet in front of me is the most fascinating thing in the world.
Twenty minutes later, the door slams, and that last bit of tension from being on slips from my shoulders. I let out a breath, letting the silence ring in my ears.
“Hey,” Theo says quietly, and I turn around to find him bouncing on his toes.
“Hey, you,” I reply with a tired grin. “I thought you left already.”
“You think I would drive off into the sunset without talking to my favorite person in the entire world? You wound me with your words, sir.”
“Favorite person, right,” I snort under my breath.
He narrows his eyes and plants one hand on his hip, accenting his narrow waist enough to remind me exactly how perfectly shaped he is. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
His other hand waves around like the answer should be obvious. “Pretend you’re not the most incredible man I’ve ever met.”
My brows shoot up. “Because I’m—”