Chapter 15
VAN
My phone started ringing and pinging at six a.m. and didn’t let up.
I was used to the concert day chaos, but I was normally better rested.
And therefore, in a better mood.
But it had taken me forever to fall asleep last night.
No surprise why.
Brodie had blown my mind, teased my cock, and jumpstarted my heart.
Fuck, my heart was racing like a marathon runner ever since he touched me in that club, and it had yet to slow down.
When we got back to the hotel last night, I had a mind to invite him up to my room because I didn’t want our day to end. I wanted more touching, more teasing, more talking.
We were still us, but that crackling chemistry was flowing stronger than ever, snapping and sparking with every look and every laugh.
I was ready for that first kiss, but I wanted time to savor it.
So, when his phone began to chime with text messages from the band, and I had work to catch up on, we said a quiet goodnight in the hallway and went our separate ways.
It had never been so hard for me to walk away from anyone or anything.
All those previously suppressed thoughts and curiosities when it came to my sexuality were unleashing at an alarming rate now.
My imagination was running as wild and hot as my pulse.
I lay in my big, empty bed hours later, under the cool cotton sheets, and pictured Brodie on top of me, under me, beside me.
I’d trace every inch of his striking tattoos with my tongue. Then I’d pin his arms to the bed and make him mine, his legs wrapped around my hips, his tongue deep in my mouth.
Brodie was headstrong and defiant, but with me, he was also soft and sweet.
In my fantasies, I was the one in control, and he submitted to me. Only me.
In bed. In the shower.
In front of the window, on the couch, on the tour bus…
I took my throbbing cock in hand and jacked off. I was leaking so much pre-cum, that the sheets were already a mess.
I reached across to the nightstand, desperately seeking my bottle of body lotion. I squirted a good amount in my hand to create a smoother glide.
One slick rub later, I groaned out loud as pleasure consumed me. It was so fucking good.
Not as good as Brodie’s callused fingertips would feel against the sensitive skin of my dick. And my balls.
Oui. Yes. More.
Feet flat on the mattress, I pumped my hips as my strokes got faster, my moans louder.
How would it feel to slide my dick in the heat of Brodie’s ass, between those taut, smooth cheeks? Yeah, I’d seen his bare ass a time or two (more) on tour. It was high and round and fucking perfect. I wanted to pound that ass until he screamed my name.
My previously slumbering sex drive was revved up and ready to fuck.
One, two more tugs, and I was coming in a rush all over my stomach, my hand, the sheets. Pleasure suffused my entire body as I cried out Brodie’s name, fucking my fist frantically.
What a mess, but goddamn, I hadn’t come that hard in, well, a very long time.
Calmer, satiated, I finally drifted off and woke up five hours later. My hand was stuck to the dried cum on my stomach.
I rolled out of bed and hopped in the shower. Where I wanked off again. This time to the image of Brodie on his knees, sucking my dick deep in his throat.
Finally wrung out, I finished washing up and got dressed.
Oddly enough, I was still hyper as hell. I ordered room service and got to work.
Work, remember? That’s why you’re here.
I confirmed the final press details, the after-party schedule, and texted Ace to get his feedback on any other potential tech issues at the venue.
I sent a good morning text to Brodie at ten a.m. since I knew he always went to bed late and slept in.
Well, I sent the text at ten.
But it took me an hour to write it while I paced the room like a teenager with a first crush.
Morning gorgeous. You ready for today?
No shit, that took me sixty minutes to compose. I’m a songwriter, didn’t you know?
Then I waited. And waited. He was probably still asleep.
An hour later, he replied.
Brodie: You’re the gorgeous one. Sorry for the delay. I just got up. I couldn’t fall asleep last night, and it’s all your fault. Tell me I’m not the only one.
You’re not. What the hell have you done to me?
Brodie: Oh honey, we’re just getting started.
Honey? A hot thrill zipped through my body at that endearment.
My phone rang, but I didn’t recognize the number.
“Ivan Cross speaking.”
“Morning, Mr. Cross; it’s Colm McDade from Helix Talent. Bandit Music emailed my agent about the Wayward Lane concert and afterparty. I’m the one who’s been chosen to accompany Brodie James.”
The voice on the other end of the line was like a bucket of ice water.
My raging libido cooled at the thought that this Colm guy might be a better match for Brodie than I ever could be.
“Oh, yes. Sorry I haven’t been in touch yet. You were on my list of calls this morning.”
My very last one.
“No worries. I should’ve texted or emailed first, but given the time, I thought it best to call and get everything organized,” he responded.
“Of course, and thanks. Can you arrive at the venue around seven? Text me upon arrival, and I’ll head out to meet you and provide your pass.
The concert starts at nine, but the guys always do a meet and greet for VIPs.
You can also have a meal with them in the break room before showtime.
Then, after the concert, you come backstage, and you and Brodie can leave for the afterparty. ”
“Sounds awesome! I’m a huge fan, so this is a total honor for me.”
He sounded like a genuinely nice guy—good manners, enthusiastic.
I hated him already.
“Good, great. But no statements to the press, okay? You pose for pictures and give your name, and that’s it. If they ask how you know Brodie or where you met, ignore them. Any of that line of questioning you leave to me. Understood?”
“Of course. I’m good with my role. I’ve done these types of events before.”
“Perfect, then you know the drill. I’ll send along the NDA for you to e-sign and return to me. And that’s it. Do you have any questions?”
“What should I wear? Some celebrities are very particular that their date is coordinated. Especially on Halloween.”
“The band is dressing up in Day of the Dead makeup and costumes. If you could do something similar, that would work. But don’t fuss. We realize this is last minute.”
“Cool. And I’m really looking forward to meeting Brodie tonight. All the guys in the band, of course, but yeah, this will definitely be in my top five memorable dates.”
Me too, but not for the same reason.
“See you tonight, Colm.”
“Cheers.”
With that out of the way, I fired off the NDA and took care of the rest of my emails.
Some of the press at the concert were invited to take pictures for the first hour of the afterparty. I got their credentials verified, and then I texted Brodie to remind him to be on his best behavior.
Right.
Just got off the phone with your date. Seems like a nice guy. Give the press the shots they like. But no comments. Keep it about the event and the charity we’re supporting.
Brodie: You mean, no pics of him grabbing my ass? Wait. I forgot. Only you’re allowed to touch my ass from now on.
My dick perked up at that idea.
Funny. Hand holding, arm around the waist, or side by side for the photo ops.
Brodie: I’ll stand side by side, but I ain’t holding his hand.
Maybe we should forego the duet. I’m not sure about the optics.
I was nervous that I was going to fuck up on stage. And more importantly, I was concerned that everyone in the audience, my boss included (via video), would know something was up between Brodie and me.
I wasn’t ready to answer those questions, not when we barely knew the answers ourselves.
We’d done a shit job of hiding our bourgeoning flirtation in front of our security staff yesterday, but singing? Together?
That was special to me. Intimate.
I didn’t perform for audiences on a regular basis. When I did, I tended to wear my heart on my sleeve.
I hoped to fuck he didn’t want to sing “Sideline” together.
Watching him sing it the other day was just the way I’d imagined. He gave it his all and put so much emotion behind the words it took my breath away.
I wasn’t sure I could watch it again, never mind sing it.
With him. To him.
Brodie: The duet stays. You, me, and “Sideline.” And I don’t give a fuck about optics.
Fuuuuck.
And if the media starts asking questions?
Brodie: I know how to say no comment. You just worry about you.
What do you mean?
Brodie: Try not to eye-fuck me too much.
But I’ll be singing with THE Brodie James. I don’t think I can help it.
I waited for his response, watching the three dots appear and then disappear.
Brodie: Good