17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
I lean back against to dresser in the middle of my closet and stare at the wall of colorful jackets and blouses and patterned trousers. Part of my brand. Part of who I became when I started performing. I enjoy it. I enjoy the outlandish outfits that I can pull off. They suit me. They suit my shows.
But tonight’s show is different. I don’t want to be a brand tonight. I don’t want to put on a show, per se. I want to play. I want to give the students joining me a chance to play before a crowd. The chance to shine. The chance to feel the music. The chance to know everything is possible.
I look at the pastel pink suit I last wore in Calgary. The night I met TJ. I smile. I could wear that tonight. Tonight is as much about him as it is about me. I told him playing in his arena got me thinking about this dream again. I don’t think he realizes how close to him I felt playing in that arena. I didn’t tell him that. Wasn’t sure how to express it. He told me not to let go of this dream. I grabbed that courage he offered me and here we are.
My manager will have a coronary when he finds out about this. I don’t care. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t care about what he thinks or what anyone else thinks.
Then my eyes land on the dark fabric hanging next to the pink suit. Oh my God. I forgot all about it.
I pull TJ’s suit down and let my fingers stroke across the soft wool. I smile. Will he notice? I’ve never worn anything so plain on stage before. He’ll notice that. I think. It may appear to be plain, but it’s not. There is a glen plaid pattern running through the dark charcoal fabric. The fabric is expensive and gorgeous, and the suit is custom fit for TJ’s body, not mine. Our sizes are similar enough. Same height. Similar broad shoulders. I lack those massive thighs, of course. Just the thought of those massive thighs filling this fabric has things stirring in my belly.
I can pull this off. TJ doesn’t really flirt with me anymore. The friendship way too precious to both of us. I’m pretty sure whatever desire he had to play with a man has disappeared. He’s over it. But he hasn’t mentioned a woman since I’ve known him. I haven’t spotted any photos online of him with a woman either. I have seen pictures of him with me.
My desire for him…well, I’m having more and more trouble keeping that at bay when I’m alone in my bed at night.
I’ve let Fynn suck me off, and I’ve fucked him a few times at the club, my eyes closed, and head filled with visions of TJ. Fynn knows it. Knows I’m not thinking about him. Hasn’t questioned it. We’ve always had a friend with benefits relationship. Our sex is fun. It feels good, but it’s transactional. Fynn needs me to try things out before he does them with members or trains any of the workers at the club.
I need him for a release. I don’t get mowed down by emotions and feelings and yearnings. We have sex. It feels good. It’s enough for me. More than enough. And Fynn has no desire for a relationship with anyone either.
I stroke my fingers along TJ’s suit. The vision of him in it fills my head as if it was yesterday. Standing there off stage. Proud of himself for pulling off the surprise. Hoping the big gesture moment would land him in my bed.
Honestly, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist him that night had it not been for his panic attack. Had the night not taken such a dramatic turn. I wonder sometimes where we would be if we had had sex that night. Would we be friends? Would we be together? My gut tells me no. Everything happens for a reason. Things happen the way they are supposed to. They unfold in the order they are supposed to. I consider him a wonderful friend now. I’ve also come to learn he doesn’t have many of those. Not close ones. Not ones who have seen him bottom out and helped him climb safely back up.
His infectious personality hides so much pain. Standing side by side and looking at our backgrounds…I’m the one. I’m the one people would assume had the rough life. Sympathies would lean toward me. I’m the brown kid with the accent. I’m the orphan whose alcoholic father OD’d and whose mother was gunned down during a drug dispute. Then there is the fact that my absolutely wonderfully adoring adoptive family is as white as it comes and wealthy. Not a simple scenario for a foreign-born black kid in Chicago. And I’m gay. And very good looking.
TJ, the equally handsome American boy athlete. His mother was tragically killed in a car accident, and his father has struggled ever since. He has talent in spades, and he takes care of his father and half-brother. Nobody knows about the abuse at the hands of his father. The suspicions around the death of his mother. Nobody knows how much his father tries to control his life and how much TJ clings to every shred of control he has to take care of his half-brother. That anger on the ice, it keeps him from being angry off of it. The constant fooling around and sexual appetite, it’s his escape. The panic attacks, the anxiety… I’m the only one who knows. He hides behind the infectious smile and bravado and the appearance of confidence he does not have.
I make him feel better. He is relaxed with me. When did I become a fixer? I don’t want to fix him. He doesn’t need fixing. He just needs someone to understand and care and be there. Someone to tell him everything is okay. He is okay. He’s perfect. Just like the exquisite fabric of this suit. This suit made to fit his gorgeous, perfectly honed muscular body like a glove.
I pluck it off the rack and place it in the suit bag, along with my shoes and makeup kit, to take to the concert hall with me.
“Keep your hands off of him,” I seethe, hoping TJ didn’t hear.
Fynn raises an eyebrow and smirks at me. It’s not that I don’t trust him…Fynn can be very persuasive and intoxicating and, before you know it, you’ve fallen off a cliff with him.
TJ cocks his head, and I am offered yet another smirk. My two men.
“Go,” Fynn says, placing a hand on my back and shoving me out the door. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”
“I can handle him,” TJ growls and glances at Fynn. But the growl only serves to stir Fynn up.
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” I say. “Behave,” I snap and point a finger at Fynn.
They both laugh. I want to kiss TJ goodbye. I want to lick the stubble along that square jaw. Dammit. He smiles at me, and I can see the questions in his eyes. Where is this coming from? Do I suddenly want more than friendship? Will it ruin what we have if we go there? And why the hell is this man capable of making me feel things nobody else ever has?
TJ strolls to me, squares me in front of him, taking my hands in his. My breath hitches. He shakes my hands out, forcing my arms to wiggle like ribbons.
“Deep breaths,” he whispers, his face so close to mine. “Tonight is going to be perfect.”
I swallow hard and take the deep breaths he commands. It already is , I think.
“Thank you,” I whisper back. I squeeze his hands and quickly let go to keep myself from leaning in for a kiss.