Chapter Two
Cooper
Fuck me, it’s been a day.
I love it, every second of it. Working at Plucked, the only music store in Taunton Falls, isn’t exactly living the dream, but it’s close enough for now.
Especially on new stock days. Cracking open a fresh shipment…
the metallic twang of new strings mixed with wood polish…
it’s better than coffee. And in between customers, I get to test every guitar before it hits the shop floor.
Gotta know how the merchandise handles before selling it, right?
Rubbing my eyes, I stare at the computer screen, the system frozen for the tenth time today as the bell over the door dings. I grit my teeth and jab at the keyboard, not bothering to even look up at whoever’s come in.
“Sorry, we’re closing,” I say.
It’s always like this before Christmas—parents pricing guitars for kids desperate to learn, wives hunting for gifts for the man who “already has everything,” and the last-minute shoppers looking for something for the uncle who still talks about his old band days.
“Come back tomorrow if you’re after the new Fenders. Be quick, though; they’re already half gone.”
“What if I’m not here for the Fenders?”
My fingers hover over the keyboard, and for half a second, my thoughts blank, the voice I know as well as my own short-circuiting my already fried brain. Because that voice is in Denver, not here, definitely not until next week. My head jerks up so fast, my knee bangs on the stool beside me.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, a slow smile creeping onto my lips as I stare at Declan standing by the front door, silhouetted by the soft winter sun shining from the glass behind him.
His dark hair’s a mess, his winter coat zipped under his chin, his hands stuffed inside the pockets.
The complete picture of a cool-as-fuck future hockey star. “You’re not meant to be back yet.”
“Got an early flight this morning,” he says casually, but his grin totally gives him away as he steps farther into the store, hands fiddling where I can’t see them.
I’m moving instantly, taking off around the counter, sneakers practically kicking up dust at my heels as I cross the floor, not bothering to play it cool and tame my excitement.
Throwing myself at him, my arms band around his neck, my legs clinging onto his waist, wrapping around him tight when he catches me.
“Jesus, Coop,” he laughs out, the sound muffled by my shoulder as he stumbles. “You trying to kill me?”
“You’re here.” I grin into his neck before pulling back enough to look down into his brown eyes. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home.”
“Wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, mission accomplished. Best Christmas present ever.”
We stare at each other, unable to contain our smiles, his hands cupping my thighs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I should drop down. Anyone walking past the front windows could look in and see us in our precarious position, only adding fuel to a fire that’s already burning.
People in this town talk. A lot. We both know that.
It probably doesn’t help that I’m so touchy-feely in public, but I like affection, and I like showing it.
And Declan doesn’t care. So, I don’t hold back. Why should I?
Declan is my person, my ride or die, my best friend forever.
The whole reason this started in the first place.
One kiss after that party senior year cracked open an idea I didn’t know was hiding in the recesses of my head.
Why didn’t I think of it before? Two queer kids in a small-as-hell town, best friends since, well, forever, the both of us figuring who we are…
so why not figure it out together? With someone safe, with someone I trust inside and out.
It’s not complicated.
We made the rules early. No strings, no drama, no expectations.
We’ve got too much riding on our futures for anything less.
Him, the next hotshot NHL player, and me, the amazingly brilliant, world-touring, stadium sell-out future rock star.
And we’re not going to let anything, or anyone, get in the way of that.
So maybe I should get down, but I won’t.
Not when he’s warm and solid and here. Not when his hands tighten on my legs, his lips a little chapped from the flight, his hair sticking up in that wild, flattened way it gets when he’s slept against the window for too long.
And definitely not when my fingers, somehow already in his hair, tighten, pulling a low groan from the back of his throat.
The sound draws my gaze to it, watching as he swallows, the rise and fall oddly captivating.
“Cooper,” he says quietly, and I’m moving before he can say anything else.
Our lips crash together, a tangle of teeth and tongues, a messy burst of need that’s been simmering inside me for days leading up to him coming home.
I’m not stupid; I’m sure a good-looking guy like Declan is hooking up on the regular in Denver.
I mean, that’s what college is all about.
But when he’s away, I lock myself down, my focus one hundred percent dedicated to music—recording demos, writing songs, inquiring to labels—each second of my day that I’m not working at Plucked or singing in The Lost Compass, our local bar, is allocated, so there’s no time for anything else.
And I swear, it’s like all my sexual energy gets stored, and the second I see him, I can no longer contain it. With the way his tongue spears into my mouth, tangling and dancing with mine, drawing all kinds of noises from me, I don’t think he minds.
Holding me up like I weigh nothing, he dominates the kiss, making me moan, unable to stop my hips from grinding, loving the way his fingers dig into my muscles.
He pulls me deeper into him, his coat crinkling between us.
He makes a rough sound, not quite a moan or a laugh, the noise rumbling through his chest to mine.
“What?” I chuckle, moving to kiss along his lightly stubbled jaw, shivering as the scratch of hair makes my lips tingle.
“I forgot how needy your heavy ass was.”
“So, stop teasing and kiss me again,” I breathe, flicking my tongue along the seam of his mouth.
He sighs like it’s a hardship before giving me what I want, but holy hell, does he give me what I want.
This time, though, he’s not in a rush, like he’s relearning the shape of my mouth.
He walks us back until my ass hits the top of the counter, and I grunt as he steps between my legs, his hands sliding up my back.
Touches slow from here, and our kisses become softer as he trails his fingers up my spine until they settle on my neck, playing with the mess of blond curls at the base. Breaking away, his forehead rests against mine, eyes closed as he catches his breath.
“Well, that was some welcome home.” I huff out a laugh.
His hands linger on my legs for a beat longer before he steps back, dragging a hand down his face. “Didn’t mean to get so carried away.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. But next time, give a guy some warning so we don’t accidentally film some amateur porn scene for the security cams.”
I nod toward the little red light flashing in the corner, and a laugh pulls out of him, low and gruff, too close to a groan.
Like the idea of getting caught lingers in his mind longer than it should.
Hunger flashes across his face, quick but unmistakable, heat dropping straight to my balls.
His cheeks flare red, and he drags a hand over his face once more, shaking off the thought.
“Yeah, I’d say that’d be a hard one to explain to your boss and my coach if that ever came out.”
“Good thing he never reviews the footage, huh?” Hopping off the counter, I straighten my shirt. “But it would be pretty rock ‘n’ roll, though. Future rock star’s first sex tape? Bet it would go for millions.”
“Sure, drag me into a PR nightmare before either of our careers really start, why don’t you.” He grimaces, and I already know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. “Heard anything back yet?”
“Not yet, but still hopeful,” I say, crossing my fingers.
Truth is, every time I send off another demo, I tell myself it doesn’t matter if I don’t hear back right away, that I’m not expecting anything, but it’s a lie.
That flicker of hope, the one that goes in alongside my demo as a hidden attachment, gets stolen each time I’m met with silence or a polite, “thanks, but no thanks.” I tell myself I’m used to it, that I know it could take years to get my big break, but in reality, I’m not.
I just wish someone would give me a shot.
This isn’t about fame. It’s about proving I can be somebody, the way Declan is with hockey.
Ever since I was a kid singing along with Bruce Springsteen on Mom’s stereo, it’s been the only thing that’s made sense. School was noise, everything else background static, but music? That was the thing that stuck, that made me feel alive. The one place I didn’t have to try so hard to fit in.
And maybe that’s what scares me the most about being stuck in Taunton Falls. This could be it. All I’ll ever be. Just a guy selling other people’s dreams across the counter instead of living my own.
My throat pulls tight at the thought, a slow, choking pressure I try to swallow.
“Your time will come, Coop,” Declan says as he steps closer to the counter.
“I know,” I tell him, voice deceptively cheery, because I don’t want my constant rejections to bring down the mood.
Not when he’s come home early, and that means I get more time with him over the winter break before he has to head back.
“Enough about my stagnant career. What are we planning to do tonight? I want to monopolize all your extra time while you’re here. ”
“Wish you could, but you’ve got work tonight.”
“What?”
Smirking, he raises an eyebrow. “The Lost Compass? Singing?”
“Shit,” I grumble, glancing at my watch. For a guy who lives and breathes music, especially my gig every Friday and Saturday at our local bar, forgetting all about that is next level.
One kiss and Declan Cohen’s stolen my ability for basic memory recall.
“You going to come watch?” I ask, grabbing my leather jacket from under the cash register and tugging it on.
“Even better, I asked Simone for some extra shifts while I’m home and figured I’d swing by and see if you wanted a ride?”
“Aww, look at you being all thoughtful,” I tease. Holding open the front door, I watch as he walks through and then I lock up behind him. It’s ridiculous how familiar this feels, him waiting for me to close up shop like we’ve done it a hundred times before.
“Don’t get used to it,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulder as we step out into the cold, leading me toward his beat-up truck, the same one he’s had since he could drive.
“Too late,” I say. “Already planning on adding it to our joint tell-all book deal when we’re all famous and shit.”
He laughs, puffing out a white plume of fog into the winter air, and I grin so wide my cheeks hurt at the sound. Sliding into the passenger seat, I watch him from the window as he makes his way to the driver’s side. Declan’s home, I’m about to play, and for once, life doesn’t feel so bleak.
Guess rejection emails don’t hit as hard when your best friend’s back in town.