37. Jorge
Jorge
Mine
O li is finally getting justice for everything he’s been through? Check.
Phoenix and I are no longer fighting? Check.
Eli is getting to live out his Men In Tights fantasy? Check.
And the best part? I got to be the hero and get the guy.
Yeah, I’m cheesy. I know I am, but I’m so fucking happy that it all has worked out for everyone.
Eli is going to sell his house with the help of Damien; his stupid aunt is gone with the wind, and he’s still sober. Oli and I are in love, having sexy fucking sex , and he’s now going to be playing music right beside me. My parents don’t care that I’m a little gay. I mean, what could go wrong?
After Eli’s recital last night, we all celebrated at Olive Garden like it was fine dining. My spaghetti was lackluster, and Oli was thoroughly unimpressed with his ravioli. No one was happy with their meals—no, we went for breadsticks. There just isn’t anything like those phallic puffs of garlic butter goodness. Today, though, we are dropping the bomb on Lex. I don’t think any of us are looking forward to it.
While we wait for our evil overlord to arrive, we jam out.
Let me tell you , I am aroused.
I was rocking a semi the whole time we ran through our first album because Oli with a guitar is my new favorite thing to look at. He has memorized all the parts with ease, playing them like he wrote the damn things. Michael is so salty about it. We’ve been teasing him for the past two hours. I’m trying some new screaming techniques, but I don’t think I’ll ever be the next Will Ramos. Some of these sounds make my ears bleed, and not in the metal way.
“Time out!” I say into the microphone, ogling my boyfriend for a beat longer than appropriate.
“What the hell was that noise?” Kelly asks, slapping her ear. “Sounded like a dying whale.”
“I was experimenting , alright?” I defend myself.
Oli lets the guitar hang by the strap at his side and my dick tingles. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, dark jeans, and his work boots. That dirty blond hair is in its signature knot at his nape, and his beard is freshly trimmed down close to his skin. I want to lick him.
“Jorge!”
“What?” I yelp, spinning to see who’s yelling at me.
“We are going to go through Strange Lad, no?” Devon asks.
“Right. Yeah.”
“Stop eye-fucking Oli,” Phoenix growls, pointing with his drumstick. “It’s giving me nightmares.”
“Did you forget about all the nights I heard you phone-fucking Eli? Payback’s a bitch, bebe.”
Michael shakes his head and starts playing. We all scramble to join in. As the music gets going, I fall into my groove, living and breathing this shit. I love singing. I love my band and my life. I don’t know what I did in a past life to ensure I’d get lucky in this one, but I send a silent prayer to whoever that person was. I sing the lyrics I wrote all about Oli and me directly to him. He holds my eyes, knowing the truth behind them—hell, everyone probably does now. But for us, it’s a love song for the ages.
Our journey together, how our friendship deepened, grew, and blossomed into something gorgeous. He waited for me for so long, and to think I was always within arms’ reach of the best thing to ever happen to me, completely blind to it. I know he doesn’t resent me for my ignorance. I know he understands that we were always meant to be together, just not then. I needed to go through my life drowning so I could remind myself that I knew how to swim.
And he needed me to show him how.
I love you , I mouth to him during Michael’s solo. He blushes deeply and says it back.
On our third repeat of Strange Lad, my euphoric, happy-go-lucky mood tanks because the studio door flies open. Lex appears like some tiny demi-god, swathed in black leather and creepers. His perfectly coifed auburn hair reflects in the LED overhead lights. And his eyes bounce over each of us. The music dies. Kelly walks out from behind her keyboard, rushing out of the sound booth to start damage control.
“Here we fucking go,” Devon grumbles, following after her.
Like scared kids, the rest of us scramble out of the booth. And Lex is already losing his shit. “---not in the fucking budget , Kel! What am I supposed to do with a whole extra body?”
“We need a whole extra body,” she tells him simply, keeping her cool.
Lex pinches the bridge of his nose, physically vibrating with rage. “If any of you would have informed me about the lineup change, I could have prepared. I could have put off signing you fucks.”
“What?” I gasp. “We got signed?”
“No shit? With who? When?” Phoenix demands.
Devon stays oddly silent, watching Lex like a hawk.
Sighing heavily, Lex looks at us. “Kingsport Records, Overheaded by Arkham Records.”
“Who is that?” Oli whispers.
“ Huge label in Europe, well, Arkham. Kingsport is US-based. Ever heard of Artificial Suicide?” I whisper back.
He nods.
“They are signed with Arkham.”
“Are you two done whispering?” Lex snips. “As I was saying, now, I have to factor this troublemaker into the budget.”
“What fucking budget, Lewis?” Devon demands, finally having enough.
“The tour budget, moron.”
“Lex, stop, alright? I get you’re upset, but this isn’t the way to handle it,” Kelly tells her shitty cousin, who is also the best at his job. God, I want to fire his ass so hard.
“What damn tour?” Phoenix asks. “Like, you can’t just spring that shit on us, either. We all have lives. We all—”
Lex pins my best friend with a look straight from the bowels of hell. “You all want to be famous musicians, no? Badass metal band? Then do what I say. I can only do so much dealing with a group of overgrown teenagers bitching and complaining and fighting all the damn time.”
“I swear to god,” Devon snarls, taking a step forward, but Michael slaps his arm across Devon’s chest.
“What?” Lex glares at Devon. “What are you going to say? There’s nothing to argue here. I’m fantastic at my job. Thanks to yours truly, you all now have a shiny record label with a pretty sizable bonus, four promised albums, and a world tour starting here . Do you know anyone else that could get that done, Devon? No. I don’t think so. So shut your mouth.”
“I see why you didn’t want to sit next to him,” Oli murmurs.
“I heard that, new kid.” Lex doesn’t look at us, though. No, his eyes are only for Devon, who is turning bright purple with rage. “As I was saying, this wouldn’t be such a huge deal had I known ; any tidbit of information would do. Seeing as I manage you all.”
“It was kind of last minute,” I explain. “We were going to tell you once we jammed out and made sure we all meshed.”
Lex scoffs, fucks with the cuff of his leather jacket. “You need to have the new album recorded, mixed, and ready by the end of summer. The tour starts in January. Get it fucking done.”
I gape, Oli frowns, and the rest of my band looks ready to dismember him. “Oh, and you, new guy. Don’t go starting bar fights anymore, yeah? It makes the rest of the band look like a bunch of scoundrels who can’t control their impulses.” He pauses and flicks his eyes over Devon. “We already have one of those who gives off those unseemly vibes.”
With that, Lex turns on his heel, storming out of the studio, and I cling to Oli. “I told you he was mean.”
Michael lets go of Devon. “Just let it go, man.”
“I’m sick of him. Sick of his fucking pompous little bullshit. And to call out Oli like that? Like he did it on purpose?”
“We need him,” Phoenix says. “I don’t like his attitude either.”
“I’m done letting him walk all over us, man. Done.” Devon slices his hand through the air. “You all might be able to let it slide, but I won’t. I refuse. He’s going to get knocked down a peg.” He grabs his jacket, slides it on, and stomps out.
“Well…,” I start, laughing awkwardly, “We got signed. Yay!”
There is a unanimous groan throughout our studio.
Oli pinches my chin, stealing my attention. "Kitten, read the room."
I pout. "It's my job to lift everyone's spirits."
He shakes his head, sliding his palm over my cheek. "Not today. Today, you're mine."