Chapter 11
CHAPTER 11
Duncan
“All right guys, take five,” Lou calls over the loudspeaker.
I’m half certain the guys can hear my heavy breaths like an echo. I haven’t gone this hard on a rehearsal in a long time, and that fact is not lost on me as my heart races, sweat soaking my sleeveless West Coast Choppers shirt.
Eddie and Corpse all but disappear the moment Lou’s voice comes over the speaker, like they just can’t wait to get the fuck out of here. I know from the countless articles, that the record company signed Felix as a solo act, and later he was given an actual band, with Corpse, Eddie, and Sully on the roster.
I can’t help but sense some sort of disdain, or perhaps even annoyance on their part for their frontman.
While I know I shouldn’t give a shit if everyone in the band is kosher with one another, it does break my heart a little that Felix doesn’t have the same camaraderie with his bandmates that I did with mine.
He’s a lone wolf with a microphone.
I glance over at a surprisingly cool looking Felix, who is most certainly not sweating buckets like I am. He stands off the side, setting his guitar down, his back to me.
My gaze falls on his sinuous curves, remembering exactly what they looked like all sweaty and lathered up with oil.
I try to force the thoughts from my mind, if only because I know it’s not professional, but also because the very thought of Felix in his Playgirl spread makes my cock throb .
Which is something I’m not entirely sure I want to unpack at all, given the circumstance of my employment, or the fact I barely know the guy, or the fact that I haven’t felt attracted to any man except Issax, and that I attributed to drugs, alcohol, and Marci.
“Something you want to say, McKay?” Felix’s voice hits my ears, snapping me out of my weird daydream.
“Uh... not really.” The heat is too much to bear. I remove my shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from my face as Felix curses under his breath.
I find my breath as I use my shirt to pat the sweat off, finding Felix’s dilated pupils staring up at me, shirtless and dying of overexertion.
In contrast, Felix sports his signature hot pink shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and black ripped jeans, tattoos on display, wispy blond hair all disheveled from his head-banging no doubt. I can’t argue that it’s a good look on him. The stark coloring mixed with his tattoos, his piercing blue eyes, and his silver lip ring are the icing on the cake.
The fact Felix doesn’t look high, and he doesn’t smell like vodka, tells me not only was he early to rehearsal, but he is likely sober, too, which I gather is probably not as normal an occurrence as it probably should be.
Before I can say anything, Lou enters the studio, pulling both of our attention.
“I have a proposition for you two,” Lou declares as he offers us both bottles of fresh, cold water. I nearly knock him over as I grab mine. Felix comes to stand next to me, and I can feel the heat pouring off of him as he swipes his bottle from Lou’s hands, chuckling and mumbling something incoherent under his breath.
Lou laughs as he takes a seat behind my drum set—or more accurately, Felix’s drum set—and focuses his steely gaze on the both of us. .
He might not look hot—well, temperature wise, anyway—but he can’t hide the scent of sweat and heat. Mixed with his pricey cologne, the scent makes my damn cock twitch, again.
What the hell is wrong with me today?
“Shoot,” Felix nips.
Lou leans back on my stool, twirling one of my drum sticks as he sets his gaze on me.
“Well, after your stint on the morning show, it seems folks are dying to hear more about this tour and it’s star-studded replacement.” Lou flashes a smirk.
Instantly, I feel flushed as he raises his eyebrow at me, because I know that look far too well.
“Uh huh.” Felix gives Lou a skeptical look between loud gulps.
I break Lou’s gaze for only a moment as I watch Felix’s Adam’s apple bob with his loud, thirst-quenching sounds, sidling away from him, my hands holding my shirt strategically in front of my unruly cock.
Now is certainly not the time!
“So I was thinking...” Lou pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect. “A late night stint on Romano’s show, say tomorrow night? The both of you? Felix can dish about the tour, and Duncan you can dish about Hollow Pointe and your revival of a career?”
My blood chills, which given my heated state, is no small feat.
I hate interviews. I’ve never been good at them, and for the most part, Isaax took all of the credit for those when we were in the band. Every now and then, I’d get to say something—usually something to help build up the star of the show—but no one ever really cared about what I had to say.
Aside from Hollow Pointe , I’d barely scratched the surface with doing press when I was working on my solo album, but since the initial reaction didn’t seem to pick up the way Lou and the record company wanted it to, all that fell to the wayside, and not long after Hollow Pointe disbanded, anyway.
But despite my ill-fated confidence in doing press, I know how important it is to get ahead of a story.
I lean against the wall, my gaze settling on the tall, lean, rockstar feigning nonchalance as he shrugs.
“Tomorrow night, huh? Seems a little impromptu even for you, Lou.” Felix sucks down another gulp of water.
Lou grins. “Let’s just say I know someone in need of a favor.”
“I’ll do it,” I utter, stuffing down my concerns, if only because I know the more attention we can bring the tour, the more successful it will be, and the better press we can build around this thing, the more money we all make.
And that’s why I’m doing this in the first place, right?
Felix shoots me an intrigued look as he roves his gaze over me. Almost as if he is sizing me up, or trying to decide if I’m just being a kiss-ass.
I wonder how much he actually knows about me, or my relationship with his manager.
“But this isn’t about me and my revival of my career. It’s about Felix, this tour, and the music.”
Lou nods, his grin looking too much like the Grinch when he’s plotting to steal all the Whoo Hash on Christmas Eve.
Something else is going on, but I know Lou will only give bits and pieces until he feels we need to know the full story. If I hadn’t worked so closely to him long ago, I would’ve found his look suspicious, but as such, I trust Lou.
So, I trust whatever he needs to use me for, however he needs to do it, it will definitely be beneficial for everyone.
“Of course. What else would it be about?” Felix counters with a shrug.
Lou snickers. “Excellent. I’ll confirm with my contact. I will arrange for transportation to pick you both up and take you to the studio. I’ll be in touch with those details.” He removes himself from my stool, slapping me on my cold, sweaty shoulder.
“Thanks, McKay,” he says quietly, and my nerves return the moment he leaves Felix and I alone once more.
Felix cocks his head, some stray blond strands of hair falling in his bright eyes, his pouty lips parted, as his gaze pins me to the wall.
“I take it you’re a XL?” he says, making me whiplash from the sudden change in topic.
“Huh?” I ask, dumbfounded.
Felix crosses his arms, still holding his water bottle. The motion draws attention to his sleeves of tattoos, but also shows off the lean muscles there, hidden beneath the ink.
Coupled with his hot pink shirt, his bright eyes, and his pouty lips, I can totally see why Bobby said all the girls in his school are head over heels for Felix Hart.
He has bad boy written all over him, but something tells me, underneath all the substances, he’s not as temperamental as he seems.
That the self-destructive Felix is a cover for something else. A coping mechanism, but for what I’m not sure.
“Your shirt size. I’m guessing you are a t least a XL. We’ll need to get you some... appropriate... attire. For the shows, and of course, tomorrow,” he says, finishing off the water.
“Oh, uh, actually I wear a 1X in shirts, because I like them a bit roomy. But I’ve got stuff.”
Felix twists his lips. “Uh huh,” he says as he makes a beeline toward me. He stops inches away from me, looking me up and down as he cocks his head to the side.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” he utters, his voice dropping an octave. The tone is smooth, velveteen almost, and makes my skin crawl with goosebumps.
I flash my gaze down to his lips, noting the shimmering silver lip ring he’s sporting today. Up close, I can smell the strong scent of his cologne and his natural musk, and I have to fight the groan that wants to escape my throat, or the instinct within me to grab him and throttle him against the wall.
The way he’s looking at me is challenging, almost as if he’s baiting me.
Like he wants to piss me off or something.
“You should take a break, old man. You look like you’re going to have a heart attack,” he says with a smirk as he nods to Lou in the other room.
“I’ll be back in an hour, then we can resume rehearsal, yeah?” he commands.
Lou grumbles something incoherent to my ears, which are ringing, and I swear I can hear my heartbeat, it’s that loud.
Felix grins back at me like a Cheshire cat. “See you later, Duncan,” he says with a grunt, his voice dark and full of torment.
Before I can answer him, he slips away, through the door, leaving me and my stiff cock alone, once more.
What the fuck did I just agree to?
I look at myself in the mirror, modeling off the clothes Lou had sent to the house, per Felix’s instruction.
I normally wouldn’t wear the color purple, but I have to admit the velvet blazer is actually pretty stunning, and makes me look slightly slimmer.
“Wow, nice digs, Dad,” Bobby chirps, pulling my attention.
I turn around, seeing him in my bedroom door frame, arms crossed, leaning against it.
“Yeah, well, guess I gotta look the part. Can’t have me and all my faded band tees on the late show.”
Bobby shrugs. “That may have passed in 1985, but it’s 2023, Dad.”
I smile as he chuckles.
“You better be in bed when I get home. Asleep,” I say as sternly as possible.
Bobby only rolls his eyes.
“If you think I am not staying up to watch my dad on Joe Romano, you are sorely mistaken,” he says, flashing me with a smile, and I can hear the pride in his voice.
“I don’t need you sleeping in and slacking off. That’s how it starts, you know,” I state as he enters my bedroom.
I settle on leaving the top button of my black, silk shirt—that probably cost more than I could afford on my own—unbuttoned, because it feels less constricting.
Even though the size is right, the fit leaves me feeling half naked. It’s tighter, more tailored, and I am somewhat self-conscious that it draws attention to my not-so-tapered waist.
Bobby stops beside me, wrapping his arm around me, his face beaming with pride.
“Ah, but if I fall off the wagon, won’t I just be following in my father’s footsteps?” he teases.
I settle my hand over my chest, straightening out the smooth fabric. “I want more for you, you know.” I stare at the man in the mirror. I’ve trimmed my beard, gelled my hair. Trying to look “the part” of someone in Felix’s band, and not a former member of a hair metal band.
I can’t remember the last time I cleaned up like this willingly, but I know how important appearances can be, especially on television.
Bobby smiles. “I know, Dad.” He says the words softly, like they are made of glass.
My phone dings, breaking the moment, and I see that it’s Lou, telling me my transport should be arriving any minute.
I turn to hug my son, gripping him like he is a life raft. And maybe in some ways, he is.
I always thought I’d be the one in this position, fixing his cufflinks, straightening his tie before a big date, or even the prom.
But Bobby never goes on dates, and as far as I knew he hasn’t been asked to the prom.
“Knock ‘em dead, Dad,” he whispers in my ear, before letting me go.
“Abso-fucking-lutely, kid.” I chin up, channeling confidence that I’m not sure I really have, but hey... fake it until you make it, right?
The minute I step foot onto the set of the late night show, it all comes flashing back.
Memories of Hollow Pointe ’s musical guest spots, memories of me underneath the bright, hot lights while Issax went on and on about whatever topic his drug-induced high took him on.
Me, under those bright lights while hosts asked me about my solo career—the one that never happened.
You can do this, I tell myself.
It’s for the show.
“And this is your dressing—” My guide and I stop in front of what I assume to be my dressing room, but it looks like a science experiment gone wrong. There is a crew of men in overalls and suits with masks walking through the doorway, with their arms full of pipes and cleaning products.
“Excuse me, what’s going on here?” My guide, a sweet, young woman who, in my opinion, is far too cheerful to be working this late at night, asks a passing worker.
I can’t help but glance back and forth between her and the man in her line of vision, and for a moment I fear for him.
Tiny and sweet as she is, she looks like she could kill him.
“There was a complaint about something in the ducts, we investigated and found a small family of raccoons.”
Raccoons?
“You do realize we have a show to put on...” she growls, her eyebrow twitching.
The man in question crosses his arms, unfazed by my guide’s rising anger.
“Noted. I was told to block off this room until we’ve trapped all the raccoons. So, I suggest whatever it is you need to do, you do it somewhere else.”
I can feel the tension rising, so I do the only thing I can think of.
I step in.
“It’s fine, I don’t need a dressing room. I’m already dressed, anyway,” I quip, trying to joke and lighten the mood as my guide’s phone goes off.
She shoots a glare at the raccoon handler, then back at me before tapping away furiously on her phone.
“Not to worry, Mr. McKay. We’ll just have to stick you in with your bandmate until show time.” She says the words as if they are a punishment, rather than a solution, and I sigh, knowing it’s best not to fight.
I follow her through the winding halls, down corridors, until we come to another dressing room. The sign outside the door reads Felix Hart .
“I do apologize for the inconvenience,” she says, looking at me with big eyes that pray I won’t complain to her boss.
I reach out and pat her shoulder lightly, offering her a soft smile. “Shit happens. I promise, it’s fine. Don’t worry.”
Something in her gaze shifts at my words and she nods. “Th–thanks. Felix’s room should be stocked to his preferences, but if there is anything you need?—”
“I’ll call. Really, I’m fine. I don’t need much,” I assure her, and this seems to do the trick as she smiles, taking her leave.
I rap my knuckle on the door, but I don’t hear anything.
Maybe Felix isn’t here yet.
I open the door, slipping in, and immediately regret it.
I close the door fast, with a slam, as I am met with the sight of Felix. In his fucking underwear.
His long, lithe frame on full display, including the left and right loops of the infinity symbol that curl from beneath his hips, is like a train wreck.
I can’t look away, nor can I stop the curse that falls out of my mouth.
“Jesus Christ, Felix, put some fucking clothes on.”
Felix laughs, and the sound is some cross between haughty and lighthearted.
“What’s the matter, Duncan? Does my immaculate form make you self-conscious?” he taunts.
I scoff at his overconfidence.
I wouldn’t call Felix immaculate by any means. The man could use a cheeseburger or two...
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I bite back as I begin to make my way to the couch, but Felix stops me by getting in my way.
“Look at you, all cleaned up and pretty,” he croons, brushing something off my shoulder.
I’m acutely aware of his proximity to me, and so is my cock.
Up close like this, I can smell his heady cologne, mixed with the scent of freshly washed hair, and I can’t deny it smells divine.
I glance down at Felix’s face, marveling once more at those pouty, pierced lips. He’s got a simple silver ring in, and I don’t miss the way it jiggles, telling me his tongue is playing with it.
Why that notion makes my cock twitch, I have no idea.
“Yes, well, what was I supposed to do when a capsule wardrobe showed up at my door?” I mutter as he runs his fingers down my velvet sleeve.
His eyes flash with a brightness that is clear, stable. Once again, the pain in the ass is stone cold sober, and something about that fact feels... important, though I’m not sure why.
Maybe I actually got through to him.
“I must admit, I half thought you would send it back.” He blinks, taking a step back, heading toward the dresser.
Giving me ample sight of his back, of those corded lean muscles.
I’m not shocked when I see the wings on his shoulder blades, even though his spread in Playgirl showed a bare back.
“Those new?” I ask, trying my hardest not to watch slinky Felix in his underwear like some fucking pervert.
The notion is more difficult than it should be.
I stand off his side, keeping my distance, strategically angling myself so I can adjust my cock without drawing attention.
God, that would be awkward as hell. Surely, Felix would fire my ass if he thought...
I swallow harshly as he jiggles his slacks on, watching his tattooed knuckles fasten his belt.
“The wings, I mean?” I blurt, trying to focus on anything but the way the shadows and ink light up his form.
“I’ve had ‘em for a couple years, why?”
“Just, uh... curious,” I reply.
Felix pulls on his bright pink shirt, slowly working on the bottom button as he saunters across the room, his gaze pinning me to my place.
The look on his face is predatory, but also... playful.
Like he enjoys tormenting me and making me uncomfortable.
Maybe he does.
I know that should bother me.
Hell, most of the time everything Felix does, bothers me.
So why does this feel different?
He stands tall, but I am taller.
His bright blue eyes gaze up at me as he lazily buttons the second button, pouting his lips.
“What about you, Duncan? Got any ink to show and tell? Something... new?”
I do. Though it’s not new and I’ll be damned if I show him.
The only people who have ever seen my regrettable black cat tattoo are my bandmates and Marci.
Bobby doesn’t even know I have a tattoo.
And he’ll never see it because it’s on my fucking ass.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I huff, indignant.
Felix chuckles, licking his lips. His tongue probes his lip ring, blue eyes blazing as he continues his buttoning.
My cock throbs against my tight jeans as he leans closer to me, brushing his chest against mine, and I feel lightheaded.
Part of me wants to deck him.
To push him and run as far away as possible, and tell him to fuck off and do this interview himself.
But the other part of me, the one that wins out, wants to grab him by the damn throat and show him his place in a way that is as new to me as it is familiar.
I am frozen under his gaze, but I know I need to fight for my place.
I can’t let Felix think he has the upper hand, ever.
Even if he does.
He grins sexily. “Oooh, that means you do. And it’s probably scandalous.” He licks his lips.
“You’d just love that, wouldn’t you?” I bite. It wasn’t a question, as much as it was a statement.
“Since when do you care what I like? Aren’t you just here to manhandle me and tell me what to do? Isn’t that why Lou brought you in? To handle me?”
His words are taunting, but they also make me feel hot all over.
“Fuck you,” I bark, my voice solid as I bump his chest, the motion drawing attention to my unruly cock, and immediately, I panic.
Felix’s eyes widen, as does his grin.
“Is that a drumstick in your pocket, Duncan, or are you just really happy to see me?” he drawls. His tone is dark yet playful, like he actually enjoys this exchange.
I bite back, feeling more on the spot than ever before. “Not everyone in a five-mile radius wants to fuck you, Felix.”
The moment I say the words, I know I can’t take it back.
For a sliver of a moment, Felix’s gaze softens, almost going glassy, and I feel like an asshole.
I hadn’t meant my tone to sound so harsh. I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself of that truth.
I’m also not certain that everyone within a five-mile radius didn’t want to fuck him.
Because the way he looks right now...
No.
Absolutely fucking not.
The moment of truth dissipates nearly instantly, Felix once more replaced by pain in the ass brat I’ve come to know.
“Says the man who probably hasn’t been fucked since before the invention of the cell phone.”
His words piss me off, and just as I am about to lay into him about them, a knock on the door pulls both of our attention.
“Ten minute warning, boys,” Lou touts from the other side, the door remaining shut. “Quit fucking around and let’s get this show on the road.”