Chapter 4
Colton
Colton dropped his bag as he entered his condo after practice.
He lived near downtown, which was about a forty minute drive from the practice facility.
The condo was stark and sterile; white walls with minimal artwork, a cream sofa and armchair, along with a large TV mounted to the wall.
A spacious kitchen rounded out the living area, and a short hallway led to two bedrooms. It had a spacious balcony along the side wall, with a nice view of the downtown skyline, a grill, and outdoor seating.
Colton liked his condo, but he hadn’t put much effort into making it a home. Maybe one day he would, but for the time being, it was just a place to sleep.
He picked up his guitar, dropped onto his sofa with a big sigh, and began aimlessly strumming some notes.
He was no expert, but playing guitar always helped him relax and unwind.
He started playing in high school, when he was really stressed during exams. Feeling his fingers on the strings gave him a tactile release, and even all those years later, he could feel the stress and anxiety leave his body, flowing into the strings of the guitar, every time he played.
As he continued to strum, thoughts of Dean and their shoot last week randomly entered his mind.
He smiled at the thought of their time together. Filming a video was a hell of a lot more fun than he had expected.
He was totally not what I expected.
In his mind, when he heard the word ‘DJ’, Colton envisioned a completely different picture of Dean, long hair, lots of tattoos, kind of grungy and messy looking.
Dean was none of those things. He had the clean cut all-American boy-next-door look…
chiseled jaw, dimples, cleft chin, with brown hair cut short and tight on the sides but left longer and slightly wavy on top.
He wasn’t the same as the other spoiled, petulant rock stars and musicians Colton had met over the years.
And he was assuredly not like any of the nauseatingly vapid celebrities he’d met through his fiancée.
Colton felt a flutter in his stomach at the thought of Dean. That’s odd. He thought. He’d never had that sort of reaction to anyone, man or woman. Maybe it was just gas.
Colton continued to mindlessly strum his guitar, still replaying the memory of the video shoot.
Dean was level-headed, composed, and down to earth.
He seemed genuinely happy and totally likeable.
And he was so sweet with Tommy. It was confusing.
Colton thought gay men didn’t like children.
Yet, Dean was friendly and completely natural with Tommy.
And the way Tommy looked at Dean with big doe eyes, it had been clear he was meeting one of his idols, and that was really cool to see.
Colton's brain homed in on how Dean would bite his bottom lip, Colton wondered if it’s something he inadvertently did when he was thinking. Either way, it was really cute.
He wasn’t wearing underwear.
Colton thought of Dean changing into his football gear. He recalled the muscles…so many muscles. Muscular thighs, thick calves, washboard abs, and nice, defined pecs. He'd had to work really hard to get a body like that.
Colton had never laughed that much at practice. Dean was easy to talk to and, strangely, Colton felt completely relaxed and comfortable around him. That never happened. Most people outside of his teammates got under his skin and annoyed him.
Colton shook out of his musings. He realized he’d stopped playing his guitar and was full-on daydreaming about Dean on his couch.
What the fuck?
Colton returned to strumming, thoughts of Dean still bouncing around his brain. As he hit a sour note, he wondered if Dean could help him with his guitar.
He reached for his phone and searched for Dean on Instagram.
He found @DJDVLN and followed, then took some time to scroll through his posts.
there was a vast array of shirtless thirst traps with millions of likes, of course.
There were also multiple reels of Dean playing guitar, or piano, and singing.
Cool! Colton thought. Maybe he can help.
Dean was an international superstar, he wasn’t exactly taking on clients for music lessons at the local annex, but Colton decided to roll the dice and send him a DM.
Colton: Hey Dean! It’s Colton Merrick, from the video shoot last week. I was wondering…I always wanted to see the inside of a real music studio. Could I get a tour of your studio?
He imagined it would be an hour, hours, maybe even a day before he got a response from Dean. To his surprise, three little dots began bouncing right away. Then Dean’s response came through…
Dean: Hey Colton! Great to hear from you. Sure, I’d be happy to show you around my studio. My studio is actually in my home. Give me a call at 408-000-2010, and we’ll set something up.
After he received Dean’s message, Colton felt a sense of unease settling in. I’m not sure I want to go to his house. Colton thought. Maybe I shouldn’t do this.
Colton allowed his mind to wander into a dark place, fueled by gay stereotypes and stupid television plotlines.
What if he tried to get me drunk, or drug me, and take advantage of me?
Colton huffed and shook his head. You’ve met the guy. You know he wouldn’t do that. Just call him.
Sometimes, Colton had trouble thinking for himself. All his life, he’d been told what to do and when to do it by his parents, trainers, and coaches. Playing football was predictable and organized. Colton didn’t have to think that much, just perform.
Quite often, he felt more like a puppet or a machine than an actual person.
There was no time to analyze whether or not he should have juked left instead of right, or if he could have run that pick play differently.
His coaches would tell him if he did it right, wrong, or if he could have done it better.
Yes, practice and games were structured, and Colton didn’t have to think too much, but relying on that structure his whole life meant sometimes it could be crippling for Colton, to make a decision on his own.
Fuck it! I’m calling. Colton grabbed his phone and dialed the number.
“Hey, Dean, it’s Colton.”
“Hey, man, how are you?” He let out a small laugh. “Your message was funny.”
“What was funny about it?” Colton scrunched his brows, not understanding Dean’s comment.
“Your message said ‘it’s Colton, from the video shoot’. Did you think I wouldn’t remember who you were?” Dean teased, laughing again.
Now Colton got it and let out a little chuckle.
“Ah, makes sense. Sorry." After an awkward pause, Colton continued. "Anyway. I wanted to see a real music studio and maybe pick up some tips on guitar. If it’s too much trouble, I understand.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you play guitar. That’s awesome! I’d be happy to help.”
There was a pause on the call…
“But I need to be completely honest with you, Colton. You should know, before you come over…I’m gay.”
Colton grinned, immediately feeling more at ease.
“Fuck man, I already know that.”
“Oh…okay. Great! I just didn’t want you to feel I was being dishonest. Or, you know, inviting you to my place under false pretenses, to try and lure you into my dungeon of passion.”
“Uh, do you have a dungeon?” Colton asked.
“Of course, all gay men have a dungeon. But I gave my sex slaves the day off today, so it’s empty right now. If you’re nice, I’ll show it to you when you get here, maybe let you play with some toys.”
Colton honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious.
“I think I’ll pass.”
“Fine! Be that way. I’ll text you my address.”
To Colton’s surprise, Dean’s place was really close to the stadium and practice facility. He lived in a beautiful old eight-story brick industrial building on the waterfront that had been converted to residences. Dean was in the penthouse.
Colton checked in at the security desk, stepped off the elevator on the top floor into a small lobby area, and rang the doorbell.
Dean answered the door wearing tight-fitting designer jeans and a blue t-shirt with ‘Balls Deep Plumbing’ in white letters across the chest. His t-shirt was tight enough to show off his chest and frame his biceps. He looked like a walking billboard for sex.
Colton felt a stutter in his breath and was immediately caught off guard by his reaction. He reset quickly with a smile. “Nice shirt, man.”
Dean cracked a devilish grin. “Thanks, come on in. I’m just finishing up with a vocalist. We’ll only be another five minutes.” Dean escorted Colton around the corner to his music studio.
Inside the studio, the walls were painted a slate-blue color.
On one wall, there were several framed gold and platinum records, all hanging in rows.
Another wall had been designated to guitar storage, each carefully lined up and hung, waiting for their next session.
Underneath the guitars was a full DJ deck, set up for practicing his live sets, Colton guessed.
There was a large desk in front of a window with a massive console on top full of buttons and knobs, and a MacBook Pro just off to the side.
All around the console were benches, stools, and large, plush, swivel chairs.
On the other side of the window was a soundproof area with a keyboard, drum kit, and microphones set up, ready for making music.
Dean introduced Colton to Dina. She was a young vocalist, about Dean’s age, very pretty with short blonde hair, dressed in black yoga pants and an oversized striped shirt hanging off one shoulder.
She looked like she had stepped straight off the set of the movie Flashdance.
Dina had just recorded some vocals for Dean’s new song.
“We’re just about to listen to the finished product,” Dean explained to Colton. “You’re getting an exclusive sneak peek!”
“I’m honored.” Colton smiled.
They each took a seat in a swivel chair and Dean started the song.