Chapter 15
GIVE IT ALL
Why is he so fucking hot?
I’m distracted, and everyone is taking notice.
The director keeps barking at me to headbang, but I’m too busy staring at Lex’s perky ass.
He’s wearing his signature pair of skintight pants and a pretty blouse that's just sheer enough to be fashionable without being inappropriate. The popped collar frames his smooth neck, and don’t even get me started on the full face of makeup.
Granted, he needed to apply more than usual due to the nice shiner beneath his right eye, but it only amplified his natural beauty.
Having spent time on his face this morning, his hair is soft, natural, and lies in fluffy waves atop his head. I want to rub my nose in it, run my fingers through it.
He’s talking to one of the other camera guys who isn’t filming us currently, and every so often, he smiles sweetly at him. I wish he’d smile like that for me.
Maybe stop being so horrible to him, then.
I shake the thought away and focus on the director. My attention lasts maybe ten minutes before I seek him out again. I stare after him while the spare camera guy leads him out of my line of sight before fingers snap in front of my face.
Fuck.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Michael barks. All string instruments are supposed to have a revolving shot where we headbang and pretend to play the same fucking song that’s been on repeat through the speakers.
I made sure my mohawk was done by 5am just for this reason.
“Sorry,” I mutter, adjusting my strap. “I’ll lock in.”
“This is the eighteenth take, man. Come on!” He slaps my side and hurries back to his spot.
Not wanting to upset him, I ignore the sheer fucking yearning to find our little red-headed manager and get the shot done. I headbang hard and actually play the rhythm parts of the song even though I’m not plugged into my amp. It’s all for show and part of me revolts against it.
In all of our other videos, we played the fucking song. But no. Kingsport wants all synthetic shit, valuing image over metal.
Despite the way it grinds my gears, I’m relieved to get the knuckle bump from Michael and that proud smile only he ever gives me.
My heart swells knowing I made him happy.
That twinkle in his pretty blue eyes and flush from whipping his blonde locks around threatens to chub up my cock, but I quickly squash that sensation.
Straight. Not for you.
It was torture keeping my hands to myself during the movie last night.
Sharing space in daylight is one thing, but at night, in bed with a pretty little something beside me, I was suffering.
Lex kept tangling his legs in the sheet, squirming, face bright pink the entire time.
It made me picture other things tangled around him, securing him, exposing him.
I wonder if Lex would let me tie him up.
“What the fuck is that look?” Michael says, horrified.
Shit.
“Sorry. Thinking about…stuff,” I rasp and walk away from him.
My issues have tripled.
Michael is walking around shirtless, chewing on gum, and making those defined jawbones pop. Lex is naked, in the shower, and I’m squashing my very inappropriate boner with my bass, pretending to play it.
Having the two of them in anything resembling a home environment is a bad idea for both my heart and my dick. Especially because Michael comes to stand beside me, his crotch only a few feet away from my head, and those thick abs clenching every time he breathes.
“Which one for tomorrow?” He holds up two shirts.
I suck in a harsh breath. “Does it matter?”
“Of course! I want to look my best.”
You already do.
“The red one.” I point at the shirt dangling from his right hand. It’s one of our brand t-shirts. For the other portion of the music video, we’re emulating a concert scene.
He drops the black one on Lex’s bed, pulls off his backward cap, and I nearly moan seeing the tuft of hair under his arm. I bet it smells like his sexy deodorant and him.
“Are you sure? Won’t I stand out too much?” He holds up the red T to his chest and examines it.
“I have neon green hair, dude. We all stand out.”
He snorts. Then shakes his head. “Nah. Not the red. Too flashy.” He goes back to his suitcase and pulls out the neatly folded shirts.
I lock in on his wide back, the dimples at its base, and how his jeans hug his ass.
I need the shower asap.
If I weren’t trying to be semi-decent to Lex, I’d already be banging on the door, demanding he hurry up.
Neither of us will admit it, but something changed last night—a white flag was raised, even if nothing was said.
Our hate dynamic is comfortable and familiar, but this new version—him openly accepting my company—stirs up old feelings and a dangerously thin thread of hope.
Can I really let it go? Put the past in the past?
I’m not sure about that one, and it’s pretty much the only thing keeping me permanently placed on team ‘lets hate Lex’ instead of team ‘we want to fuck Lex’. Without my grudge, I don’t know how to navigate him. Does he even want me to? Hell, it’s probably too late.
A loud thunk pulls my attention away from the bathroom door. Michael has some…machine on the floor beside his suitcase. The longer I stare at it, the more my eyebrows rise into my hairline. Holy. Shit.
“Dude! Did you finally get a CPAP?”
Michael tenses. Muscles flex along his back as he stuffs it in his suitcase. "No," he lies.
Snickering to myself, my cock no longer throbbing, I toss my bass aside on the bed and get up. Without his permission, I dive my hands into his suitcase while he tries to swat them away. “It’s not a big deal!”
“How come you didn’t tell me?” I demand, holding up the hose attached to a silicone thing that I’m sure goes in your nose. “It’s sci-fi as fuck.”
“It’s fucking embarrassing.”
I lower the hose and face him. His cheeks are scarlet, eyebrows nearly joined. With an aggravated huff, he snatches up the equipment, hiding it under his clothes. “You don’t have to be embarrassed,” I tell him gently. “I’d rather you not die in your sleep. You should’ve used it last night.”
“I hate that I even have to use it. I got the official diagnosis after we got back from Europe,” he tells me. “I have to hide it whenever I have anyone sleep over.”
“So you make your one-night stands listen to you snore all night?”
He shoots me a glare. “It’s either that or become celibate. Women don’t like…this,” he gestures at the suitcase.
“Maybe you’re just with the wrong ones,” I retort.
“If you had your way, I’d never date again.”
“Because you deserve better. Do any of them know you? Even a little bit? Or are you just trying to get your dick wet?”
He closes the suitcase harder than necessary, the metal teeth of the zipper clanking loudly. “What I do with my dick is none of your business, Dev.”
“I don’t get why you’re being so defensive. You were fine not two minutes ago,” I point out.
Standing up, he quickly throws on a shirt and his hat. “I’m not being defensive.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Drop it.” I know it’s a warning. The calm before the storm, but I can’t let this go.
“I’m just trying to get it through your thick skull that desirability doesn’t always have to come from appearances. You measure your worth by how many people want to fuck you.”
“I said to drop it!” The boom of his voice bounces off the walls. His chest heaves as he struggles to keep his anger in check. “You always have to bring it up—have to remind me that I glitched out. If I could, I’d have your memory wiped so you can let it go.”
Frowning, I stand as well. “How was any of that referencing Germany?”
“You know damn well it was,” he growls, finding his wallet and cellphone. “I need some air.” He storms out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind him.
My instinct is to follow him, explain that I didn’t mean anything by what I said.
This is probably the longest Michael’s gone without someone bouncing on his cock, worshipping the ground he walks on.
All I meant was that he deserves more than sex.
Someone who doesn’t care that he has sleep apnea or has to wear a CPAP.
Being able to breathe should be more important than sex appeal.
If I go after him, though, we’ll get into an even bigger fight.
We’ll say shit we don’t mean and possibly throw hands.
Worst of all, I'll become that guy again. The one who is just like my dad—solving problems with my fists and rage instead of talking. There’s only so much I can take, though, before I fucking snap.
I just got us back to fucking normal, and I’ve blown it all again.
And as if the universe is hellbent on reminding me of my mistakes, the sadist chooses now to have Lex exit the bathroom. Dressed in pretty, silky purple pajamas, he scans the room, looking for Michael, and when he realizes it's just me in the room, he gulps.
“Where’s Michael?” he asks carefully, like now that it’s just the two of us, I’ll claw into him like I usually do.
And normally I would, but fuck, I don’t want to do that shit anymore. These old habits come up fast—reminding me how hard it is to shift past them, even when I want to.
“He left,” I say, defeated and slumping onto the end of the bed. “I pissed him off.”
“Oh,” he whispers. Glancing up at him, I watch him fidget in place, his toes curling over the floor. “Do…do you want to talk about it?”
My lips part in surprise. Lex has never asked me that before. I didn’t think he would care either way.
Absently, he tugs at the bottom of his button-up sleep shirt, waiting patiently for my reply. Half of me wants to say yes—to take him up on his offer and tell someone how fucked up it is to pine after your best friend. But that’d be revealing truths I know Michael doesn’t want out in the open.
I can’t tell anyone how he cornered me by the restrooms in that bar, grabbed my throat like he owned it, and forced his tongue between my lips.
How he dry humped my hard cock, moaned into my neck, and trembled the entire time.
It was only when a stranger stumbled into the narrow hallway, seeking a place to take a piss, that whatever spell he was under shattered.
I’ll never forget the look in his eyes, either.
No, I can’t tell Lex that, even if I’m really touched he cares enough to ask.
“Nah,” I say with a sigh. “I’m alright.”
Lex’s eyes fall to the ground, and he nods once. “Fine. Forget I asked.”
“It’s not like that—”
“I said it’s fine, Devon,” he snaps. “I get it. You don’t have to placate me. I’m not a fucking baby.” He marches to his bed, grabs his laptop off the nightstand, and plops down. Making quick work to boot up whatever program is on there, he ignores me entirely, scowling the entire time he types.
Frustrated with myself, this night, and these two fucking men, I grab my clean clothes and take the most lackluster shower ever.
It’s like 3am, we have to be on set by 8am, and Michael stumbles into the hotel room smelling like a distillery.
A woman’s giggle catches my half-asleep ears, and I frown at the blinding light from the outside hallway.
Through my blurred vision, I catch a short dress, plump breasts, and long black hair.
Michael hiccups, curses under his breath, and grabs what I can only assume is a spare change of clothes from his suitcase.
I lift up on my elbows. “What are you doing?” I whisper-hiss. “We have to be on set in five fucking hours.” I quickly glance over at Lex, seeing him curled on his side with his sleep mask over his eyes. It says pretty boy in bright purple cursive.
“I’ll be there,” he slurs. “Go back to sleep.”
“Michael!” I call out a bit louder.
He stops by my bed and looks down at me, something swirling in his eyes. I can’t tell what it is. I sit up fully. “Don’t fuck this up,” I warn. “If you’re late—”
“Come on, sexy,” the woman purrs loudly. “I can’t wait anymore.”
The urge to gag is strong. I get out of bed, only in my boxers, and grab his shoulders. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m fucking sorry, Michael. Just stay.”
He shrugs my hands off him. “I’ll only be like…,” he counts on his fingers, “an hour.” Another loud hiccup escapes him, and the whites of his eyes are blood-red.
“You’re drunk.” It’s not a question.
The woman continues to pout and complain in the background, her voice loud and grating.
My best friend is usually the one making the right choices—at least when it comes to his career.
He’d never willingly risk the band. And while I want to believe that he’ll somehow get his shit together and get to the set on time, my gut tells me he won’t.
There’s something I’m unable to decipher in those dark blue eyes.
A warning—a call for help. If I let him leave with this woman, something bad is going to happen.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Lex stirring. His short legs kick out under the sheets. “What’s your name?” I ask the woman.
“Ally,” she chirps. “Want to join us?”
My sex-deprived brain isn’t too opposed to the idea, but not now, not with him like this. Putting on my most charming voice, I tell her, “Sweetheart, he’s barely standing on his feet. Give him a text tomorrow, okay?”
She frowns. “But—”
I shake my head just as Michael sways. I catch him, banding an arm around his middle. “Rain check, pretty girl. Okay? He’s about to pass out or puke or both.”
Her eyes soften a touch, sobering up. “Is he okay? I didn’t think we drank too much…”
“I’ll take care of him. Get some sleep.”
She nods. “Yeah. I’m tired, too. Goodnight, baby!” The door shuts with a loud bang, and Lex shoots up.
“What in the ever-loving—” He pauses after the sleep mask is ripped off. Michael is muttering, trying to get me to let go of him, but he’s so drunk his arms are basically noodles. “No, no, no!” Lex is out of bed like a flash of violet. He’s at my side, hands all over Michael.
“He can’t be drunk! Not now!”
“I’ll sober him up,” I tell Lex.
Michael groans, slumping into me. “I don’t feel good,” he garbles into my shoulder.
“I got you,” I tell him. “Let’s get you to the toilet.”