Chapter 27
brODIE
After a long soak in the whirlpool tub, we headed back to bed and passed out cold.
Between the concert, the afterparty, and then that spectacular round of sex, our bodies finally succumbed to sleep.
I woke up early.
I thought maybe I was still dreaming, but then I shifted, and the throbbing ache in my ass was all too real.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I snuck back into bed before Van woke up.
I drifted off again and opened my eyes an hour later with Van wrapped tight around me.
I turned over and woke him up with soft kisses.
We made out for ages and enjoyed mutual morning orgasms.
Trust me, frotting, not coffee, was the best way to start your day.
Van ordered room service—gorgeous eggs benny with crab and spicy béarnaise and a basket of beignets—and we ate our breakfast in bed while watching a movie.
It wasn’t that different from how it was when we were on the road. We often shared meals together, including early morning meetings in hotel rooms.
Except, now we were naked.
I was going to insist on a clothing-prohibited rule from here on out.
And, of course, all during breakfast, our phones kept buzzing.
We ignored them. For a while.
Once we were done eating and the phone calls started to come in, Van finally relented and checked his phone.
“Surprise, surprise. Missed calls from Greg, our PR rep back home, and numbers I don’t recognize. Most likely, the media,” he muttered, tapping on his phone.
I finished up my last cup of coffee and glanced at my phone. It was mostly text messages from the guys asking how the rest of the night went.
I replied “great” and left it at that for now. I was still reeling from the fact that Van and I were lovers. I truly had no words.
“Did they leave any messages?” I asked.
I hoped to fuck that Greg was going to mind his goddamn business. What Van and I were to each other was private and I wanted it to stay that way. For now.
Van tapped his phone. “No. But I got an email from a reporter looking for a comment about the concert.”
“What do you mean? We gave our interviews last night.”
“Listen to this article I was tagged on,” Van scooted closer and read aloud.
“Who is Ivan Cross? The Wayward Lane concert last night was a surprise for fans in New Orleans in more ways than one. The impromptu event included a new song performed by lead singer Brodie James and a songwriter named Ivan Cross. The heartfelt duet had the entire audience, including yours truly, swooning. The video of that performance has gone viral on social media, with fans clamoring for more. James introduced Cross as a songwriting partner, but he is, in fact, the band’s manager.
Given their chemistry on stage, there’s speculation about what type of partnership they really have.
However, James was later pictured with his date for the night, model and actor Colm McDade. ”
I rested my head on Van’s shoulder. “I guess the date was a good idea after all. That’ll keep the tabloids guessing for a while.”
“I hope so.” Van passed over his phone. “This is the picture of you and Colm from last night. Hopefully, that will quell the firestorm.”
I glanced at the picture. It was a good shot but practiced.
No one else would be able to tell, but I could.
My heart wasn’t in it. Neither was Colm’s.
“I’m not sorry I asked you to perform with me. And I’m really happy about the reaction to the song. The fans loved it. If the reporters want a comment, they can wait until the song is officially recorded and released. You and I are no one’s business but our own.”
“Maybe you should put some thought into who you’d like to record the song with. Then we can steer the press toward that.”
“I liked Ace’s idea. I want you to record it with me.”
Van nearly dropped his phone into my coffee cup. “You can’t be serious.”
“I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I wasn’t.”
“Greg isn’t going to allow that. I’m not a professional singer.”
“Greg can go fuck himself. Our performance is already viral. This is what the fans want, and that’s what we’re gonna give them.”
“Can’t you record it with Holls? Or maybe another singer who would complement your voice?”
“No.”
“Brodie—”
“You’re the manager, Van. Make it happen.”
Van ran a hand through his hair and tugged at the ends. “Fuck. You are the reason I now have gray hair amongst the brown.”
“Good. I have a thing for sexy silver foxes. Or, one in particular.”
Van took my cup and put it aside, along with his phone.
Then he playfully pounced on me.
I pretended to fight him off, but really? Who was I kidding? He could manhandle me and pin me to any surface, any time.
After we tussled and he won (I let him), he looked down at me with serious intent in his blue eyes. With his dark morning scruff and his lips swollen from my kisses, I couldn’t help but stare back. Van was so beautiful he made my chest ache.
He was disheveled, happy, relaxed.
Too often, he was tense and stressed, always working on solving problems so me and the guys could be the stars and do our thing. But he couldn’t keep up that pace all the time.
The industry required you to give a hundred and fifty percent, and even then, there were never really vacations or time off.
You were always focused on the next album, the next tour, the next promo.
The next, the next, the next.
And musicians weren’t the only ones in danger of burning out.
“I’ll agree to record the song with you. But you need to give me something in return,” he replied.
“Anything.”
“We have to tell Greg about us.”
I shook my head. “He’s going to let you go since you violated the terms of your contract.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He’s been known to bend the rules himself.”
“You mean, he’s had relationships with musicians on his roster?”
Van sighed and nodded. “I don’t like to deal in rumors, but sometimes these things have truth to them. I only know this because of a claim made by one of his ex-wives.”
“No surprise there. Most people in this business hook up with each other. I’ve probably slept with half the guys on our tour roster. And, of course, there are people you meet at music awards and other events, on the road—”
“Stop,” Van growled. “Bad enough, I have a good imagination.”
I chuckled and tightened my hold on him. “Is it wrong that I find your jealousy hot as hell?”
“I’m in so much fucking trouble,” Van admitted and shook his head. “So, are we telling Greg?”
“Let’s wait until the new year. We’re not in the studio or on tour for the next two months. Let’s give ourselves some time together. Just us. Then, before we head back to work in January, we can tell him and go public and deal with all the media craziness.”
“Maybe you’ll be sick of me by then,” Van teased.
“Maybe you should stick to writing songs and not jokes,” I returned.
Sick of him? Please. He didn’t know it yet, but I would never let him go.
Then, I silenced any more of his insane thinking by kissing him.
And using a lot of tongue to get my point across.
“What are your plans when you return to Nashville?” he asked when I finally let him take a breath of air.
I was not expecting that question. Then, an idea occurred.
“I was going to stay in town for a few weeks and then go see my family in Rhode Island for Thanksgiving. But I think I’d like to go home earlier. Come with me.”
His body jolted. “Really?”
“Yeah. We can stay at my cottage.”
He smiled. “I love that place. You can see the ocean from every room, and there’s no one around for miles.”
“Exactly. It’s quiet, peaceful, private.
I had a studio built this year at the back of the property beside the pool.
It’s got these huge skylights. At night, when it’s clear, you can see all the stars in the sky.
It’s amazing. We can work on new songs and go for long walks on the beach and, most importantly, fuck under those stars. ”
“There’s only one star I want to get under,” Van teased, and I gave him a playful bite on the neck.
“So, you’ll come with me?”
“How can I say no? It sounds almost… romantic.”
“It is if you’re there with me.”
I kissed him gently and smiled. I was a total goner for this man, and I didn’t care how sappy I sounded.
“What about the guys?” Van asked.
“What about them?”
“Are we going to tell them or hold off until the new year?”
I didn’t know how to answer that one.
I did have concerns. Would my band brothers see my partnership with Van as a good thing? Holls’s concerns last night still rattled around in the back of my subconscious.
None of us had ever had any serious romantic partners that the others had to contend with. Not until now. Would they be okay if I wanted more time to myself, with Van, or would it cause a rupture between the four of us? Would it mess with our dynamic?
I guess there was only one way to find out.
I loved music and performing, but it couldn’t be the only thing in my life.
“Let’s tell them. But if Greg starts to suspect and asks them questions, I don’t want them to have to lie and cover for us.”
“Agreed.”
“So, you’ll come home with me?”
“Yes. But—”
“My butt is all yours. My butt, my cock, my mouth, everything,” I teased.
He nipped my earlobe, and I shivered. Van held me in a crushing embrace, and my cock hardened.
“But we have to keep a low profile. I’ll tell Greg I’ll be working with you on new songs for the next album. And we’ll have to bring security with us. Maybe Dawson?”
“That works. He can stay in the pool house. There’s a full bed and bath in there.”
“Well, I guess that’s settled.”
He gave me a wide grin, and I couldn’t help but capture those luscious lips of his.
“If you do get tired of me, I can stay in one of the guest rooms—”
I reached down to grab his ass and punched my hips forward, rubbing my hard cock against his. “Does this feel like I’m getting tired of you?”
“It’s only been one night. What about three weeks in?”
I shook my head at Van’s ridiculousness.
“Stop that thinking and get back to work. And by work, I mean me.”