Chapter 9 #2
He flipped Joshua off and ripped open a bag of tortilla chips. “Smart ass. Turns out that bar-backing helps you meet people, and a lot of people like to get friendly with the guy who knows the members of two amazing music groups. So yeah, people.”
Joshua was kind of jealous of him for knowing people.
He’d been on the shore for about a month now, and he barely knew anyone except for the people he worked with and Lincoln’s friends.
Sitting around had started driving Joshua crazy, so he applied and got a position in a warehouse that shipped to half-a-dozen different surf shop locations up and down the shore.
The physical labor was a nice change from poking around computer code all day long.
“Is something else bothering you?” Lincoln asked.
“No.” Other than his lingering feelings for Van, and not knowing if he wanted to return to his IT job later in the year, things were actually okay for a change. “I miss Benji, I guess. But I always miss him when he’s on the road.”
“I get that.” Lincoln started arranging bowls of chips to his liking. “It’s hard when the one you love is a thousand miles away for half the year.”
Joshua rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you get it for sure. You with the boyfriend who lives a couple of blocks away, when he’s not overnighting it here.”
Annoyed for no good reason, he stalked into the living room and fiddled with the iPod dock and speaker that would serve as their entertainment for the night.
Guests were due in the next ten minutes or so, and Lincoln had the food under control.
A couple of decorations had been tossed up, including a huge helium balloon in shape of the number 20, and another that said “Happy Birthday.”
The living room was also spotless, thanks to Lincoln’s obsessive need to keep a clean house.
Mostly Joshua didn’t mind it, but sometimes he didn’t appreciate a lecture from his roommate about a single dirty cup in the sink.
He fluffed the pillows on the couch, mostly for something to do until people arrived.
Even though the party wasn’t a surprise, Emmett had been told an arrival time thirty minutes later than everyone else.
It was Lincoln’s way of making a fuss over his boyfriend by giving him a grand entrance.
Emmett would probably blush bright red and try to hide, but the affection in Lincoln’s plan was obvious. Sometimes the pair was nauseatingly adorable together.
The doorbell rang. Fate decided to mock Joshua that night, because the first three guests to arrive were Adrian, Melody, and Van.
Joshua hated the lurch his traitorous heart gave at the sight of Van, dressed up in khaki pants and a black polo that made every angle of his face sharper, more distinct.
“Hey, you,” Melody said, all chirpy voice and sunny smiles. She handed off a bottle of Smirnoff. “My contribution to the BYOB.”
“Thank you.” Joshua moved so they could come inside. He left the storm door open, the screen door shut, so people didn’t have to keep using the bell. The night was mild enough that it wouldn’t affect the electric bill too much.
A waft of Van’s spicy cologne prickled across Joshua’s nose, and perked his dick up.
He ignored it and took the vodka into the kitchen, adding it to the small assortment of liquor and mixers.
No one expected a drunken kegger tonight, but he and Lincoln wanted folks to let loose a bit if they chose to.
With Van there and already affecting him, Joshua was planning on a couple of drinks.
He nearly cracked the bottle right away to steady his buzzing nerves.
“Melody, right?” Lincoln asked, head tilted at the bottle. “She’s a sucker for vanilla vodka.”
“Who’s a sucker now?” Melody asked as she breezed into the kitchen, a stunning figure in a tight blue dress, her curly brown hair perfectly styled. Just enough makeup to highlight her pretty features. She looped her arms around Lincoln for a hug. “Hey, honey. How’s the head?”
“Very good, actually, thanks for asking. How’s the apartment hunt going?”
“Ugh, slowly. But Van’s been so sweet about letting me crash on his couch while I find a place that’s right.”
Joshua left them to their conversation, only to find a few more people had arrived.
Van seemed to know them, so they probably frequented Off Beat, and Joshua tried to remember names.
The living room quickly began filling with guests, so he turned on a party playlist on the iPod.
It helped tune out the sound of Van’s voice, of which Joshua was hyper-aware.
Large gatherings like this were not Joshua’s forte.
He’d attended his share of work functions over the years, and he’d spent most of them near the bar, trying to blend into the wall.
Occasionally he’d find a hookup. Tonight that wasn’t possible, and he was still working on the whole “making new friends” thing.
Because that worked so well with Van.
Joshua went into the kitchen and poured himself a drink.
Van had tried not to stare at Joshua when he first let them into the house.
The guy cleaned up well; even dressed down in tight jeans and a blue Fading Daze band tee, he was a walking temptation.
He was also nervous, if his careful avoidance of speaking with Van was any clue.
Not that Joshua had a reason to be nervous around Van.
Van didn’t poach on other people’s boyfriends.
Didn’t matter that watching Joshua from across the living room threatened to give him wood.
Van engaged in conversation with folks he knew from Off Beat and other venues.
Some were aspiring musicians who took advantage of the open-mike nights and occasional karaoke.
A few were really good, so it made sense that they’d gravitated toward Lincoln. The guy had connections.
The birthday boy arrived at seven thirty, and Lincoln and Melody immediately fussed over him, much to Emmett’s red-faced chagrin.
The kid hated attention, but he’d bear it for Lincoln, who wanted to do something fun for his boyfriend.
Van had never had anyone fuss over him like that on his birthdays, not even when he was a kid.
Back then he got a hug, a card, and a savings bond.
Bonds he hadn’t taken with him when he left, because he didn’t know where the old man had stashed them while they matured.
Whatever. He shoved away the old, timeworn memories of his former life. They didn’t matter.
Drinks were passed around, shouted offers made. Van was standing near the archway leading into the kitchen when Emmett appeared, smiling, with a red cup of something in his hands. “You want a drink? Adrian’s a good mixer.”
He felt Joshua’s presence before Joshua said, “Van doesn’t drink.” He came up on Van’s left side, his own cup clutched in one hand. Eyes bright and rosy cheeked, whatever Joshua was drinking was strong.
Emmett frowned. “Sure he does. I’ve seen him.”
Joshua turned to Van with a confused frown that only made him look more fuckable. “You told me you don’t drink.”
Van’s skin rippled with awareness of Joshua’s proximity. “I have a drink on special occasions, so maybe a few times a year,” Van replied. “For a bartender in his mid-twenties, that’s practically not drinking at all.”
“Doing shots with me back in June was a special occasion?” Emmett asked.
“You were having an identity crisis and boy troubles. Yes, it was a special occasion.”
Emmett grinned. Lincoln came up behind him and kissed his cheek. “Worked out well for us, huh?” Lincoln asked.
“Sure did,” Emmett said, blushing again. “So, Van, is my birthday special occasion enough for another drink?”
With Joshua still close by, the last thing Van needed was to lose his inhibitions behind a wall of vodka and sour mix. “In a little while,” he said. “It’s early yet.”
“Fair enough.”
Placated by his answer, Emmett let Lincoln lead him into the crowded living room to dance. Van tried to escape, too, but Joshua slid into his personal space, and then Van simply couldn’t move.
“Why’d you tell us you don’t drink when you do?” Joshua asked. He seemed genuinely affronted by the misdirection, which was so fucking cute it hurt.
“Because it’s easier,” Van replied.
“Easier than what?”
“Easier than telling people that going on a weekend bender could kill me.”
Joshua’s eyes widened, and a small gasp left his parted lips. “What?”
Shit, fuck, damn, why’d I say that?
Something about Joshua compelled Van to be honest about things he’d only ever shared with a few people, including Beatrice and Melody.
He glanced around, but the music was loud and no one was paying them any mind.
“Look, it’s complicated, but I have serious issues with hypertension, so I have to really watch what I put into my body. ”
Now that hadn’t sounded like a come-on or anything.
Joshua didn’t seem to notice the innuendo, though. He was staring at Van as if he was made out of blown glass, too fragile to touch. “Is the hypertension hereditary?”
“The fuck if I know.” And since that answer seemed to require further explanation, Van added, “I was adopted. I don’t know shit about my birth parents or their genes.”
“Oh. Wow. Dominic’s adopted, too.”
“Yeah, I know.” He’d briefly met Dominic Bounds the previous summer when XYZ was in town for a last-minute gig at Off Beat—right around the same time Dominic met former Fading Daze front man Trey Cooper and began a secret relationship.
He saw Dominic again this past July, when the group came together at the beach house to support Lincoln’s dream of playing music again.
The closeness of that circle of friends was a rare thing, and Van was kind of jealous of it. Especially jealous of Joshua, who was part of it thanks to his relationship with Benji.
“I’m being super nosy, aren’t I?” Joshua asked. “Sorry.”
Van shrugged. “Whatever. It’s fine.” Except not whatever, because he kind of wanted to tell Joshua more, and that didn’t happen. Ever.
The conversation stalled. Thankfully, Lincoln shouted for Joshua to help him with the cake. The party continued with singing and birthday cake, which Van politely declined. He snacked on the fruit platter everyone else was ignoring in favor of the chips and salsas.
Emmett received a handful of presents, then Lincoln plunked down on the sofa with his Q-chord in his lap, and his boyfriend poised next to him.
He proceeded to shower Emmett with affection by singing a raspy version of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Lincoln was a back-up singer, instead of a front man, but he had decent pipes and got a loud ovation from the crowd.
One of the guests had apparently brought a guitar along, which encouraged an impromptu jam session, with Emmett and others singing lead.
Van watched from the kitchen archway, glad for the entertainment that provided relief from the need to talk to anyone.
Joshua was less than five feet away, hanging closer to the wall than the musicians.
Van swore that every time he glanced over, Joshua was looking away from him.
The playing went on for a while, with participants switching out. Some of them were good, others needed more practice, but at the center of it all, Emmett and Lincoln shined with energy and happiness.
Van snapped a picture on his phone and sent it to Beatrice. She’d appreciate seeing Emmett so full of joy.
As the most recent song wound down, Lincoln looked around the room. “Anyone else want in on this? Singers? Guitarists? Anyone brave enough to try this synthesizer?”
Emmett glanced up, directly at Van and said, “Van, don’t you play the guitar?”
Van’s heart seized and his stomach soured. “Who told you that?”
“Um, Aunt Beatrice? She mentioned it once, I don’t even remember why, but she said you told her that during your interview.”
He tried to keep a hold on his temper. It wasn’t Emmett’s fault, and it wasn’t really Beatrice’s either.
During his employment interview, she’d said she asked all potential staff about their musical abilities, because she encouraged them to participate during karaoke or open mike.
He’d admitted to playing the classical guitar as a teen, and that he’d given it up.
Thankfully, she hadn’t pressed him about why.
“You should play for us,” Joshua said, all hopeful smiles.
“I don’t play anymore.”
“Aw, come on. One song? Please?”
Ugly memories swam in the back of Van’s mind, a cesspool of grief and pain, and he wasn’t going back there again. Especially not with a guy he craved standing only a few feet away. He wouldn’t risk it. “I said no,” he snapped.
The damned house didn’t have a back door, so he had to wade through a lot of people to slam his way outside, sucking in deep lungs full of fresh, night air.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Fuck!” he shouted at the starry sky.