Chapter 14
brODIE
Did I feel bad about ignoring my band brothers’s texts to spend the day with Van?
Nope. Not one fucking bit.
I texted them back after we left the jazz club and sent them pics of me and Van as we made our way about town. Holls was taking it easy after last night, Faise didn’t respond at all, and Ronin was busy hooking up with some guy he’d met the last time we were in town.
Given their replies (or lack of), I felt no guilt.
And spending the day with Van was not an opportunity I was going to waste.
After the jazz club, we strolled along Bourbon Street. Then we found a Creole restaurant a few blocks over and stuffed our faces full of crawfish étouffée and spicy grilled sausage. We capped it off with chocolate bourbon pecan pie and a couple of espressos.
I offered Van the last bite of pie, but he waved me off. I stuffed the mouthful in and moaned like the needy food slut I was. I’d traveled all over the world, but the food scene in this city was something else.
Van shifted in his seat and gave me a dark look.
“Tabarnak, could you be any louder?” he asked as he sipped his coffee.
I recognized the Quebecois swear word. Van used it when things got fucked up on tour.
“Yes, I could.”
I was about to wink at him, and then I remembered my sunglasses. Going incognito had its downside. Still, the day had been one I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Instead of winking, I took the last bite and moaned again.
Van leaned forward.
“Stop it,” he demanded and glanced at Dawson and Lennie.
They were busy finishing up their dessert and conversation, not paying us any mind.
Both guys had been great all day. They were friendly, but they let me and Van do our thing. I’m sure they caught the handholding at the club, but if they did, they showed no reaction.
They’d seen all kinds of antics that me and the boys got up to on the road and at home.
Holding hands with Van was the least of it.
“Why? I’m just giving an honest reaction. It’s not my problem if you don’t like it.”
“I like it too damn much, and you know it. You sound like you do on stage when you sing ‘Filthy Pain.’”
One of our biggest hits. It was a fierce song and full of appropriately filthy lyrics.
I always enjoyed performing that one, especially when I knew Van was watching.
One of his hands dropped below the table, hidden from view.
I smirked and leaned forward until our noses almost touched. I licked my lips and heard his sharp inhale.
“Now that I know you want me, I sure as fuck don’t know how I’m gonna hold back. If I could, I’d climb across this table and give you the best goddamn kiss of your life. Or maybe I’d slide underneath and suck your big cock down to the back of my throat.”
Van nearly dropped his espresso cup, the dark liquid spilling over the edge.
I grabbed a napkin and wiped his hand. “Careful there; I have a need for that hand in the near future.”
His neck and face flushed a gorgeous shade of pink as he shook his head. “Can we please just stop talking about kissing, sucking, or cocks? Please?”
“I love it when you beg.”
“Brodie—”
Fuck, Van growling at me like that sparked my lust like nothing else.
I smiled at him. “I want you to join me on stage tomorrow.”
“What?” he startled again.
“I’m changing the topic like you asked. I want to perform a duet with you.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a professional performer.”
“You can sing. I’ve heard you.”
“Not like you.”
“Duh.”
Van threw the napkin back at me as he tried not to smile.
My laughter let loose. I was doing a lot of that today—a sign of good things to come… in more ways than one.
“I know you’re a talented guitarist. Come on, it’ll be fun,” I urged.
“I’ll have to run it by Greg—”
“Fuck what he thinks! It’s our show.”
“He’s still your boss.”
“Not at this event,” I replied. “Come on, Van.”
Van finally nodded.
“Okay. One song. But you need to carry most of the vocals. And I need a guitar. I didn’t bring mine with me.”
“You can borrow one of my babies, but handle with care.”
“Of course. But I’m warning you: I haven’t played in a long while. When I’m songwriting, sure, but not in front of others. Not since, well, before my mom passed.”
That was three years ago.
“She was into music, right? Wasn’t she a teacher?”
A smile graced his lips. “She was. High school. She loved teaching. I learned to play the piano before I could ride a bike. There was always music in our house, whether it was the radio, or my mom on the piano, or my dad playing the guitar. She also sang in her church choir; she was a great alto vocalist.”
“But you never caught the performing bug?”
Van shook his head.
“I picked up a lot of instruments with ease, but I was good, not great. I just didn’t have that drive to be on stage.
You know what I mean, you have to want it more than anything.
But I still loved music, and I wanted to work in the industry.
So I did a double major in college—music and business.
And I started writing. But I couldn’t live off that in the beginning.
Still, songwriting feels natural to me and probably where my real talent lies.
And, of course, managing unruly rock stars and their crazy lives. ”
I had a mind to ask him why he didn’t write full time now, but then his phone buzzed and jolted on the tabletop, interrupting our conversation.
He picked it up and began to tap and swipe, his frown growing deeper the longer he scrolled.
“Greg’s office has taken the liberty of choosing your date for the night since you haven’t responded,” Van bit out.
I held out my hand, and he passed over his phone.
My “date” for Halloween was a stunning man with copper hair, pale blue eyes, sculpted cheekbones, and a pout that, a year ago, I would’ve had no hesitation exploring. Greg certainly knew how to pick a hot man.
I passed the phone back and watched Van’s face.
“The guy’s name is Colm McDade. He’s a twenty-five-year-old model and actor, currently starring in a reality TV show here in New Orleans.
He’s also just landed his first major movie role,” Van read out.
“He’ll show up before the concert for a meet and greet, stay for the show, and then on to the afterparty. ”
“This is stupid,” I replied. “I don’t need a date, and I sure as fuck don’t want one. Not if he’s not you.”
“This is what Greg wants. It’s one night.”
“Can I ditch this guy at the afterparty?”
“There’ll be media on hand for part of it.”
“I’m going to call Greg and tell him to shove this stupid idea up his controlling ass.”
“Maybe you’ll change your mind,” Van stared at the screen. “I’m sure, given this model’s age, you’ll have much more in common with him than with me.”
Van wouldn’t look at me.
“Don’t. Don’t do that after everything that’s happened, especially not after today.”
Van took a sip of his coffee.
“I’m sorry. I just… this, you and me, now, feels surreal. In the very best way. But still. I feel like I’m gonna wake up tomorrow, and it will all be a dream. Un rêve fantastique.”
“It’s a fucking dream, all right, but it’s very real. It’s one that I’ve thought about and wanted for longer than you can imagine.”
I rubbed my knee against his under the table, and he let out a pained sigh.
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. You say things like that, and, well, no wonder you have guys lining up outside your bedroom door,” he mumbled.
“Hookups were different. I didn’t think about or talk to them this way.”
Van shook his head. “This heartfelt side of you is fucking with my head.”
“Which one?” I teased. “And you bring it out in me. When we first met, I thought this was a simple case of lust,” I pointed between us.
“But then, as we got to know each other and worked together, the wanting never waned—just the opposite. We have a connection on so many levels and in a way that’s hard to put into words.
I’ve never felt like this about any man. Just you.”
“Brodie—” Van leaned forward and reached for me but stopped short.
I didn’t have the same inclination. Fuck it.
I took his hand and held on tight. Then I slid my fingers along his wrist and found his pulse beating fast and strong.
The conversation beside us ceased.
A shiver washed over me, goosebumps popping up along my skin.
“Love it when you say my name.”
Van bit his lip, and his head fell back like he was trying to hold on to his control. I knew mine was short-circuiting.
He withdrew his hand from mine and sat back, crossing his arms.
“Let’s leave this conversation for later. We should get back to the hotel.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” I replied, giving him a filthy grin.
Van chuckled.
“To get ready for tomorrow. You need to rest your voice, and I need to get back to work on the set schedule. I’m still worried about the tech issues. If we lose power, we’re screwed.”
“We’ll be fine, no matter what happens. But I guess you’re right. I need to get my beauty sleep. I want to be in tip-top shape for my ‘date’ tomorrow night.”
Van’s jaw clenched as he flagged down our server and paid the bill.
“Fake date,” he responded.
“That’s right. Remember that. Maybe I can pawn him off on Holls or Ronin.”
“Unfortunately, not.”
“We’ll see.”
My mind began to spin with ideas about what to do. I was tempted to call Greg like I’d threatened, but I didn’t want there to be any backlash on Van. And that’s where it landed. I was a hothead sometimes (okay, a lot of times), but now I had someone else to consider.
Whoa. That was a mindfuck. Considering someone else?
For now, I’d go along with the date request. It was, after all, for show. And showbiz was my biz. But I was determined that this was not gonna cause a setback for me and Van.
Today wasn’t an anomaly, and I wasn’t taking a step back.
There was only up from here.