Chapter 18 #3
Lowering the glass with a hum of pleasure, he meets my gaze. His tongue sneaks out to lick the tea from his lips, his teeth bite down on his bottom lip before it springs free. He’s still staring at me when he takes a deep breath and another, quieter, hum slips out of him.
“Huh.” The soft noise from the other side of the table snaps me back to the present, where Toni is still in the room with us.
I sit up straighter, sneaking a glance at Toni, whose gaze darts back and forth between me and the man at my side. “I didn’t realise how much you like tea, Johnny,” he says in a deceptively innocent tone. “I thought you more of a coffee man.”
With a shrug, Johnny steps away from me. “Coffee is my go-to, but tea is good.” He tips the glass back and finishes the last swallow. “Damn, I was thirsty.”
“Apparently so,” Toni says, before turning those blue eyes on me. “You should have some too, Calum. You’re looking rather thirsty yourself.”
My mouth opens, but I have no idea what to say.
“I should get back,” Johnny mutters, placing the glass on the table before rushing out the same way he came in.
Barely breathing, I turn back to Toni, whose wide gaze is still locked on me.
I stare back. Struck dumb by the raging hard-on I’m sporting beneath the table.
Toni bats his long lashes. “I saw nothing. I know nothing. I will say nothing.”
My eyes narrow. “There is nothing to know.”
“Exactly.” He gives me a slow nod, even as his lips roll inward, as if the secret he’s stumbled upon is already trying to squirm its way out.
Charmaine chooses that moment to return, holding a thick black folder in her hand. “Where’s Johnny?” she asks, looking around.
“I think he’s going to grab the folder later,” Toni tells her, before lifting his glass. “I’ll have more tea if you don’t mind.” The corners of his mouth tick up in a secretive smile. “I’m suddenly feeling a little parched.”
* * *
JOHNNY
This is not the way things were supposed to go.
It’s been five months, and I’m supposed to be over this bullshit.
Calum and I weren’t even together that long, or that much.
I counted once. In the middle of a restless night, desperate to convince myself this obsession with him is crazy, I counted up every hour we spent in each other’s company, including the time we spent asleep in my bed.
It was less than 24 hours. Not nearly long enough to justify this gnawing ache I have to get closer.
Life has become a never-ending tug of war. My body pulls towards him… endlessly. My brain recites the reasons why I have to hold back. I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want him to regret the night we met. When he kissed me under the midnight sky.
All this longing inside me… it has to go somewhere.
I tried to tamp it down, ignore it, deny it.
Nothing worked. Until I allowed it to bleed into my music.
The relief was raw, but immediate. It’s a way for me to reach out to him without hurting anyone.
Give of myself without indulging my selfish ways.
It’s led me to depths of creativity I didn’t know I possessed.
My normie hours are still spent at the pharmacy, of course. I still have lunch with my parents every second Sunday. But the remainder of my time is devoted to the music.
Ned meets me in that creative space, every time.
Whatever he and Toni have going, it’s given my friend his confidence back.
The rock star in the making I knew in high school is finally off his leash, and he’s blossoming into a man who is so fundamentally…
himself. I’d be envious if I weren’t so damned happy for him.
The joy in his wildness clashes with my frustrated hunger every time we write together.
It’s demanding work, somehow exhausting and effortless at the same time.
Some of our sessions are disjointed and messy, dismissed as worthy of a dumpster fire.
Other times, a turn of phrase clicks with some twist in a melody, and suddenly we’re erupting in goosebumps, or fighting tears, or just grinning at each other like a couple of lunatics.
This is what I’ve always dreamed of. The freedom to spend hour after hour chasing that madness, finding its echo in my strings, and playing it back to the world.
Calum has given this to me. He’s made the dream real in a way I struggled to do for years.
We’re playing more shows than ever, gaining traction, and our new single launched like a rocket, both on the streaming services and off.
After all these years of slog, we’re finally being played on goddamned national radio.
Which is why I can’t screw this up. I have to keep us safe from all the ways I would ruin it for the both of us.
The occasional stolen moments we now take—in backstage shadows, and car parks—have to be enough.
A minute here, a minute there. Never touching.
Sometimes barely talking. They’re all I can have.
I know I should look for someone else, another body to pour my frustrations into. Plenty of offers have come my way, from women and the occasional man. I’ve turned down every one. The thought of touching anyone who isn’t Cal, allowing them to put their hands on me in return… it leaves me cold.
What does it say about me, that I’d rather go to bed alone every night and ache for the one man I can’t have, then experience something real with anyone else?
* * *
CALUM
I shouldn’t be watching him like this.
I mean, I have to be here. As Fifth Circle’s manager, showing up at the studio on the first day of recording for their full-length album is part of the job. But the staring—let’s call it what it is, I’m ogling him—is unfair.
It’s not like I don’t have plenty of work to keep me occupied.
On top of managing Fifth Circle, I’m still assisting Arthur with a number of his artists.
Plus, I recently signed another act to Rush.
Jonas and Angela Starling are a brother and sister duo who made me want to weep with joy the first time I heard them sing.
Adding to my portfolio has, of course, doubled my workload.
So, yes, I’m a very busy man. Which is why I shouldn’t spend the entire day sitting beside the sound engineer and staring through the control room window while my clients spend hours perfecting a song that makes my toes curl and my heart strings tie themselves into messy little knots.
Johnny wrote it, I know he did. The lyrics are a love letter to the night we met.
Getting lost together in a crowd, and midnight kisses beneath the stars.
The melody wraps around me as tightly as Johnny’s arms ever did.
This man doesn’t need to touch me, or flirt, or mess with my boundaries to keep me on my knees for wanting him. He just needs to be Johnny.
By the time they’re done for the day, I’m a horny wreck of memories and longing.
The four men look drained, but satisfied, as they pack up their gear.
Ned and Gavin float the idea of heading to a local pub for dinner.
Johnny nods in silent agreement. Oz elects to stay behind with the sound engineer, eager to put in another hour or two going over the day’s recordings.
“Are you joining us, Calum?” Ned asks, as I follow the other three men out into the building’s small foyer.
“Thanks, but I already have plans tonight.”
Johnny turns at my words, his gaze locking with mine as he falls into step beside me.
A sudden tension rolls off his body, and I have to bite down on the urge to explain.
It’s not supposed to matter what plans I have, or what plans he has.
We can never be together. Seeing other people is inevitable.
Neither of us deserves to be alone. The thought sends a jolt through me.
Is he alone? Has he been with someone else? Even as he still writes songs about me?
I come to a standstill in the middle of the foyer. Watch as they continue on without me. Gavin pushes the front door open, and they begin to file outside. “Johnny.”
He looks back over his shoulder, his jaw flexing as he grits his teeth. “What do you want?”
“I almost forgot…” My voice sounds strained, awkward. I clear my throat and try again. “I wanted to go over something with you.” I open my bag, pretending to rifle through it. “Before you go can I, um…” I look up at him, my heart pounding. “Can I have a minute?”
His eyes flash. With heat or anger, I’m not sure. Half turning to Gavin and Ned, who have stopped outside the open doorway, he says, “You guys go ahead. I’ll be right behind you.”
The moment they’re gone, he comes at me. I rush to back up, but the empty foyer is tiny and within a few steps I’m flat against a wall with him in front of me. Placing his guitar case down, he lifts his arms to plant a hand on either side of my head. “Tell me,” he growls.
“Hannah’s finished her exams for the year. We’re celebrating with pizza and a movie.” I shake my head. “I’m not… seeing anyone.”
He releases a breath, his shoulders sagging as his head falls forwards between us. “Fuck.”
I swallow hard. “What about you?”
Lifting his head back up, he looks at me with tired eyes. “No.”
My lungs start working again, and I take a deep breath as relief floods my body. Which is ridiculous. One of us has to break eventually. “I’m sorry about,” I gesture between us, “asking for this. I feel like I’m leading you on.”
“You’re not. I know the deal, and I agreed to it. Shitty though it might be.” His lips twitch. “Besides, I was already trying to figure out how to make it happen. You beat me to it, is all.”
My eyebrows lift. “Yeah?”
He nods, his eyes flitting between mine as he smiles. “Today was exciting and demanding and so much fun and I—” His elbows bend as he leans closer. “I need a hit of you before I lose my fucking mind.”
He’s so close. Closer than he’s been in almost six months.
His skin radiates warmth, and he smells like an orgasm waiting to happen.
Christ, I want it to happen. I fantasise about him every night and deny it to myself every morning.
He thinks he’s going crazy? I left crazy behind months ago.
“Johnny.” When he looks at me, I let him see the constant need inside me.
Ebbing, flowing, crashing one day, rippling the next.
His eyes close as he draws a breath deep into his lungs. “I’m so hard I think I could come from the smell of you alone.”
My cock pulses at his words and I release a soft groan. My body straightens, easing off the wall. No, my brain screams at me. No, no, no. I can’t give in. I can’t. But my lips are parting and I’m burning all over and this is the only man who can soothe the ache.
“Time’s up.” He pushes away from me, turning abruptly to put several paces between us. I stare at his back as he takes shuddering breaths, rakes his fingers through his hair, adjusts his pants.
“Do they help?” I ask in a quiet voice. “These minutes.” He turns to give me a look, and I roll my eyes. “Maybe not today, but usually. Do they make it easier?”
“No.” The word comes out on the back of a twisted laugh. “Do they help you?”
I huff out a laugh of my own. “They’re torture.”
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh.
“Maybe we should stop.” His brows slam down as he comes back towards me, and I rush to explain. “What’s the point of doing this to ourselves? If we can never—”
“Because I need it,” he bites out, his hands reach for my face before curling into fists on either side of my head.
“I need to get close to you, even if it’s only for a minute, even if I can’t touch.
And wanting you hurts, like on a cellular level, but it hurts so fucking good.
” We’re both panting now. Our chests rising and falling between us.
Almost brushing, but not. “It’s this sharp, elemental pain,” he whispers, “and god help me, I’m a little bit in love with it. ”
“I’m a little bit in love with you.” The admission leaves me on the barest breath of sound.
“Yes.” His lips tremble, caught between smiling and frowning. “We’ll stop, just… not yet. Yeah?”
We stare at each other for a long moment before I nod. His answering smile, though it’s slow to come, is so pure it makes my gut swoop with a flurry of excited butterflies.
“I’ll see you soon, Cal.”
He leaves me standing there, as he always does, hard and aching with my back up against a wall.