Syncopation Read online

  Chapter Two

  “KYLE!”

  Tuesday night in the city was slow compared to the weekends, but there was always fun to be had if you knew where to look.

  “Hey, Kyle! You’re late, man.”

  It was even more fun when you had a regular crew who were glad to see you whenever you walked through the door.

  “Jenny, pour Kyle his usual and put it on my tab.”

  “On it, moneybags,” she shouted back. Kyle was convinced Jennifer was the best bartender in town.

  “Aw. Gregory, you’re too good to me.” He hurried over and gave Greg a kiss.

  Ali took his arm. “Why are you late, baby?”

  “We had an injury tonight. I had to hang out and make plans to rehearse in a replacement in the morning.”

  “Oh, that sucks.”

  “He’ll be okay. Back by Friday, I bet. He just needs some rest.”

  Greg brought him his amaretto sour and put it in his hand. “Now it’s a party!”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  The crew was all well and good, but he had one eye on the door. The injury thing was a big fat lie to cover for the fact that he’d actually showered after the show and made himself date worthy. Timmy had texted—they’d been at some other club across town and were on their way.

  He’d gotten a good long look at the guitar player with his short, dark curls, bird-black eyes, full lips, and those arms. Colt Boudreaux’s arms were pure muscle, made to make music. He’d been enamored of the entire package since the minute they’d met yesterday.

  “Are you singing tonight, Kyle?”

  “I don’t know yet.” He could carry a tune, and he wasn’t shy, but he did have a date after all, so he needed to leave the evening’s plans open. “Where are we… oh, I see Mig and Trixie. Is there room for a couple more over there?”

  “Go pull up some chairs. Ky. There’s always room.”

  “Awesome.”

  He could have waited another day or two before stopping by and bugging Timmy at the studio about his next project, but he knew Colt would be there working, and he was trying to cause a little stir by showing up there today—before their date. He wasn’t above a little drama if it served a purpose, and he’d managed to catch Colt’s eye and flirt a couple of times through the soundproof glass.

  He hoped Colt would be a little wound up when they arrived.

  The little glances, the twinkle in Colt’s eyes had reminded him somehow of a curious, quick bird. He was dying to find out what was going on in that mind. He’d find out eventually. At the moment he was more interested in Colt’s body. All that rich, tanned skin was calling to him.

  He’d just claimed a few seats and was chatting with Mig and Trixie when Timmy showed up. Colt followed behind him, looking around, taking the place in. Timmy, no surprise, headed straight for the bar.

  He hung out in his seat, watching, waiting. He’d made his move with the invitation. He wanted to see what Colt’s would be. He was pleased when Colt walked right up to him with a warm, open smile, an outstretched hand. “Hey you. Comment ça se roule? You good?”

  He stood up and took Colt’s hand, returning his smile and digging deep for that high school French. It didn’t help him much. “Uh… I’m well. I’m glad you came.” He went in for the cheek kiss, figuring that was a good middle ground for a little more than strangers but not quite friends.

  “Thanks for the invite. You need a drink?” Colt’s fingers burned in his; he could feel each and every fingertip. He wasn’t in a hurry to let go.

  “Thanks, my buddy Greg hooked me up. But Jennifer’s solid. She can make you anything you want. No lie. People try to test her all the time.”

  “’M a beer man, though I have had a hurricane or hundred, no lie.” The cadence of Colt’s voice made him want to nod, to bounce along. “Be right back, eh?”

  “Sure. I’ll keep your seat warm.” He opened his fingers, not so much letting go as letting Colt slip free, calluses making his palm tingle. He watched the man walk away, admiring the easy stride, the tight little ass.

  Timmy chatted with Colt for a second, then brought some fruit-garnished bright blue concoction over. “I’m here….”

  “You are!” God, Timmy would drink literally anything. “Listen, thanks for—”

  “Timmy!” Trixie waved, and Mig got up to give Timmy a hug. “Come on and sit.”

  Timmy gave him a wink and headed off to sit with his buddies. He glanced back at the bar to find Colt smiling and having a conversation with Jenny while she pulled his beer. Friendly guy. He loved that.

  Things were going to ramp up pretty soon, and the whole gang was making their way over to the tables they’d pushed together. He took a seat, guarding the one next to him for his date.

  Colt came back to him, dancing around the crowd with ease, laughing as he fought not to spill his beer.

  Kyle laughed with him. Not Colt’s first crowded bar, clearly. “That took some serious talent, mister.” He pushed Colt’s chair out for him.

  “I know some crowds, me. I been working Mardi Gras since I was eight.”

  “Whoa, really? That’s a party I need to go to sometime. I hear some wild shit goes down.” He broke out in goose bumps as Colt sat next to him, their thighs brushing together. They were pretty crammed in with so many people around just a few tables.

  “It’s something else, sure enough. The best party on earth.”

  “I don’t know, we can whoop it up here when we want to.” He winked at Colt over the top of his drink and then took a sip that went down just right. “So you’re up here for that gig?”

  “Yessir. I got me some good work with Little Mel and all. I been jamming my happy ass off.”

  Mig got up, sat at the piano, and just started playing.

  “You sounded smooth. I was watching your fingers fly. It was great. Oh, that’s Mig. He does mostly pop and show tunes.”

  “Mig. Cool.” Colt watched for a second with a grin, then turned to him. “You sang?”

  Listen to that accent. “I… uh. Well, I sing here sometimes, but no. I dance.” I dance ballet. Telling another guy that you danced ballet was like coming out. Didn’t matter how confident you were or how little it mattered to you what they thought, you were still never sure about how they’d react.

  “No shit? That’s fucking cool, man.” Colt lit up, eyes sparkling. “Like a… like fancy dancing, eh? Not the fais-dodo, but the—” He pursed his lips and snapped his fingers. “—the ballet kind?”

  Well, well. That was interesting. He turned to look at Colt, to really look at him and let the man know it mattered to him. “I dance ballet, yes.” He had no idea what a “fay-doo-doo” was, though. Except that it apparently wasn’t ballet. “You like the ballet?”

  “I like anything that has to do with music. Anything. Y’all know how to make y’all’s bodies do shit I can’t even figure. So friggin’ cool.” Colt grinned at him, not the slightest bit mocking.

  Oh, this one was interesting. Where are you from? Who are your people? How did you pick up guitar? Do you play anything else? All good questions, if maybe a bit personal yet. And he didn’t feel like asking any of them right now. What does your chest look like under that shirt, was more like it, but it seemed a little early and two drinks shy yet. “How are you liking New York?”

  Ali got up and took the mic, singing a pop song he didn’t know, but doing it well, as she did everything. Her voice was raspy and all-out rock and roll crammed into a five foot nothing package.

  “It’s something else, no? Like all sorts of worlds all smashed together. Music everywhere. Lots of folks, not so many gators. It’s all good.”

  “No alligators, plenty of sharks.” He laughed. There was music everywhere and actually, that was easy to take for granted when you lived here day in and day out. Street performers, buskers in the subways, musicals, clubs… everywhere. “It is all good. And a lot of times, people don’t even look at you funny when you dance down the street.
” He did that all the time. Most of the time without meaning to.

  “There’s lot to see. All sorts. Lots of pretty men.” Colt winked at him, looked him up and down.

  He hoped Colt wouldn’t be disappointed that he wasn’t the type to blush. “Lots. And I’ve always got my eyes open. But I’m only looking at one right now.”

  “Listen to you. I’m just another bayou baby, but I ’preciate it.”

  Colt apparently was the blushing type. The little dip of his chin and the roll in his dark eyes was lovely.

  Kyle decided to push a little harder, see what he got. He laid a hand on Colt’s thigh and slid it slowly down over the musician’s knee, giving it a squeeze. “I need another drink, bayou baby; you want something?”

  “No, sir. I reckon whatever’s fixin’ to happen, I don’t want to be high for it.” Colt spread for him, natural as breathing. “I still got me half a beer.”

  “The night is young.” He stood, trailing his hand up a muscled arm and across Colt’s strong shoulders on his way to the bar. Mmm. He liked that answer. He didn’t plan on being high for it either. Just a little bit loose. It wasn’t early at all, except by theater standards. Nothing fun started until at least 11:00 p.m. with this crowd.

  He set his empty glass down on the bar. “Jenny! Darling. Hook me up?”

  “You got it. Beer too for your friend?”

  “No, if you can believe it. Apparently he’s not the drinker I am. And he’s a date, not a friend. Isn’t he lovely?”

  “He is. Wild curls and completely new to town, isn’t he?”

  “New to town, new to me, totally new. I can’t wait to get my fingers into those curls.” He leaned on the bar and looked over in Colt’s direction. “He’s here for a studio gig, so I don’t get the impression he’ll be in town long, but while he’s here, I’m hoping to enjoy the hell out of him.”

  She pushed his drink across the bar. “Go play. Give him something to remember.”

  “On it! Thank you.” He picked up his glass, left her cash and a decent tip. After a sip of his drink, he was wondering if he shouldn’t have left her more. It was strong as fuck.

  “That’s Trixie up there on the guitar, she’s fun. And in a second, I bet… yep. That’s Greg with his slap-top drum.” He sat back down beside Colt and set his glass next to the beer on the table. He dropped a hand onto Colt’s knee, but his eyes were on the little stage.

  Colt was moving to the music, totally focused on the rhythm, leg and head bobbing, hands drumming on the table.

  He’s into it. Kyle gave Colt a smile, nodding to the beat of the music. They were just having some after-hours fun here. Colt was probably a much better musician than most people in the room, but the guy was into it anyway. That was cool. After a minute, he recognized the song and started throwing out lyrics, and Ali joined in and sang along with him.

  Soon a harmony started up, rich and low, the sound vibrating in his bones.

  Ali clapped her hands and moved over to Colt, sitting her petite little butt right in Colt’s lap. Kyle leaned in, matching Ali on the melody until she shifted up a third, giving him goose bumps. He wasn’t a trained singer at all, but he could carry a tune, and he managed the melody okay. A couple of other people joined in to back him up.

  Up onstage Trixie and Greg stepped it up a notch, and the bar just filled up with music.

  Lips brushed his ear, Timmy’s voice whispering, “You want to see something, man? Hand him a guitar.”

  The neck of an old battered acoustic pressed into his hand.

  He had no idea whose it was, but that hardly mattered; stuff ended up passed around at these things all the time. He took hold of it and gave Timmy a nod, then pushed his chair back to give Colt some room. Ali put her eyes on the guitar and got out of the way, grinning.

  Kyle didn’t have to make much of an offer. As soon as Colt laid his eyes on the instrument, he pulled it right into his lap.

  Colt bent to the guitar and music started pouring out. Kyle had to admit that Colt wasn’t trying to outdo Trixie; he wasn’t trying to steal the spotlight. Colt was joining the stream of music and… bending it, making it more bluesy, giving it a richness, a soul.

  Ali rested a hand on Kyle’s shoulder, and he looked up, listening to the way her rock style shifted in tone as well, blending with Colt’s harmony. She cocked her head at him and gave him a thumbs-up.

  He listened to that guitar and the way it made him want to move, and he realized suddenly that he might have already found the musician he was looking for to help him with his next original project. Assuming he could afford Colt. Someone with this guy’s talent wasn’t coming cheap.

  The longer Colt played, the looser the lean body got, the way Colt moved with the guitar pure, liquid sex. Oh, he intended to turn Colt inside out, see what made the musician tick.

  “Fucking hot,” Mig mouthed at him across the table and licked his lips.

  “Mine,” he mouthed back, dead serious, sending Mig into a fit of laughter. Poach someone else’s date. He’d given up singing—everyone but Ali and Colt had—as the pop song that had started all of this evolved into a jam.

  It wasn’t long before Trixie bowed out, too, but not because she couldn’t keep up. She left her guitar on the stage and perched on the edge of the table barely a foot from Colt just to watch him play, and Greg hung out a few feet away, following Colt’s lead on his slap-drum.

  They were all beginning to sweat, to move with one another, because this is what they did, wasn’t it? This was what they were made for.

  “He’s new,” Trixie said. “Something really new.”

  “Nah,” Timmy argued. “He’s old-school.”

  “Old-school new?” she teased.

  Kyle didn’t really know one way or the other, but he liked it; the music, the man, it was impossible to separate the two right now. It was definitely the man that had him half-hard, though, mouth watering, hungry for a taste.

  Colt lifted his face, eyes boring into him, and the blues dropped a half step, became filthy, an unabashed come-on.

  Fuck, yeah. That was his cue. He stood up, leaned right over the guitar, and planted a hard kiss on Colt’s lips, bracing one arm on the back of Colt’s chair. Colt opened for him, lips hot as liquid fire, not even a hint of nerves. Hungry bayou baby.

  He groaned into Colt’s mouth, so ready just to tear into this guy. His friends already knew he had no shame, but all the same, someone gave him a firm swat on the ass.

  “Let the man breathe, Ky.” There was laughter all around them.

  Kyle ended the kiss as gracefully as he could manage, running his tongue along the length of Colt’s lower lip, and then leaned in to speak into Colt’s ear so he was heard over the guitar. “They’re jealous. And they should be.”

  Colt’s answer was a deep, low moan. “Oh, cher. That was just fine.”

  “I don’t know.” He grinned slyly, falling back into his chair. “I think I could have done better. Did you even miss a beat on that guitar?” Because it sure didn’t seem like it. He’d try again another time. It was good to have goals.

  Colt gave a wild, happy sound—one that had everyone in the place looking and laughing. “Lawd, lawd. You keep on tryin’. I’ll keep on likin’ it.”

  “You’re on.” He laughed along with everyone else. Colt’s energy was contagious.

  Colt was well occupied even after he finished off that song. He was mobbed by Trixie and Timmy, who were full of questions about his music and his background, and later by Ali, who chatted with him excitedly too. Colt was just as patient and friendly as could be.

  It was maddening.

  They did manage to exchange a couple of glances, and Kyle loved the promise that was still in Colt’s eyes, hot and steady like burning coals banked for a later fire.

  He wasn’t patient, though, never had been, and waiting was starting to get to him.

  Colt drank two bottles of water before someone—Mig probably, fucker—brought him a second beer, and
he drank deep, licking his lips clean, the simple act making the best kind of promises.

  “Should I get myself another drink?” he asked, perching on the table near Colt and gracefully planting his toes on the chair between Colt’s thighs.

  Ali chuckled at him. “How about I get another beer for myself?” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before slipping away.

  “Mmm. Look at all you, cher. So fine for miles.”

  Kyle could feel the touch of that gaze like it was a physical thing.

  “I can party it up with this crew all night, baby. But I’ve got a hot new toy I want to take home.” Take him home, play with him, blow his fucking mind.

  “Yeah? You want to play, cher? I’m over twenty-one and willing.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.” Cher. How wonderful was that? He dragged his foot along the inside of Colt’s thigh and stood up. “You okay with my place, bayou baby? Or would you rather your hotel?”

  “Timmy knows you. If I cain’t trust you not to try and fuck me up there, I cain’t trust you in a hotel room. Take me home.” Colt looked around, guitar in hand. “Who this go to?”

  Wait. What? “Oh. Uh. Timmy? Guitar?”

  “It’s one of Trixie’s. I got it. Just leave it on the table.”

  “My place is going to be way more comfortable. And fun. But am I hearing you have ground rules?” He leaned over and nibbled on Colt’s earlobe. “Because I have every intention of fucking you, so if that’s out, you should probably let me know now.”

  “Mmm… nah, cher. I catch just fine. I mean no trying to fuck me up, eh? No being evil to me.” Colt moved right into him with a happy little groan. “I’m ready to play.”

  Holy fuck, me too. He looped his arm through Colt’s. “I ended up in bed with the last guy I tried to beat up, so you’re safe either way.” This close, Colt smelled delicious. He didn’t know if it was cologne, or hair product, or just something specific to Colt, but it was irresistible.

  They got a bunch of cheers and laughter on their way out the door, which was par for the course. He’d have been disappointed not to be teased by that crowd. A cab pulled up almost instantly. “They like you. Get on in, baby.”