Syncopation Page 9

  “It’s ready, Jake. I don’t want them to peak too early.” He turned to Colt. “You’ve been quiet.”

  “I ain’t going to interrupt your working, cher, not for love or money.” Colt touched his wrist, the caress enough to draw goose bumps over his arm. “That was cool. I appreciate you letting me see how all this works.”

  It took as little as that. Wow. “It was nice knowing you were here. It was a long afternoon, but you said you wanted to see the crazy, so… that was pretty crazy.”

  “Who’s this, Kyle?” Danny slid up beside them and leaned against the seats. God. Danny.

  “Lover.” Jake offered helpfully, obviously having no idea what he was doing.

  He sighed. “This is Colt. Colt, Danny.”

  “Lover, huh? You got a new one?” Danny looked Colt up and down, and Kyle just knew Dan was going to be a bitch about this.

  Colt held out one hand and smiled. “That he did. Pleased.”

  Pleased? He looked at Colt. Steam was building up behind his ears, but his lover was playing it cool. Okay.

  Danny took Colt’s hand and shook it, smiling back in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nice hands. Musician? Where are you from?”

  “N’awlins. Blues man.” Oh, that drawl dropped down into third gear, almost, but not quite, offensive.

  “Oh, how cute, Kyle. You’ve found yourself a Southern belle.”

  “That’s enough, Danny. Your pirouette needs work.”

  “Funny.” Danny stood up. “Nice to meet you, Colt. Enjoy him while you’ve got him. He’s not going to keep you.”

  He stood as well, fingers balled into fists, so ready to give Danny a taste of the carpet. But Danny didn’t test him.

  “See you tomorrow, Kyle.” Danny winked at him and headed for the back of the theater.

  “He’s a little bitch today, huh?” Jake shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t know you… you know.”

  “Mm. Yeah. Hell hath no fury…. Jesus. I’m sorry, baby.”

  “No worries. I ain’t got nothin’ to prove, and he’s been all working and emotional and shit, I’m sure.”

  “He might be tired. That’s no excuse, but you’re kind to make them for him.” He had no idea things were still that raw for Danny. Or maybe Colt was right and Danny was just seeing if he could get a rise out of either of them. Either way, he felt like an asshole. Not about Danny, about Colt. “You ready to get out of here?”

  “Surely. You all done for the day?” Colt winked at him, all grins.

  “God, yes.” He reached over and gave Jake a pat on the shoulder. “Noon tomorrow? Ish? I’ll text you.”

  “You’re the boss. Night.”

  Jake, he knew, wouldn’t be leaving for another couple of hours at least. But it was better than midnight. “Come on, you. Get me a drink.”

  “Yessir. My pleasure. What’s your poison?” Colt grabbed his guitar and threw it over his shoulder.

  “Hm. A shot of Colt, warmed up in the hot tub.”

  “Ooh. Lucky for you, I got that lined up for you.” Every warm, sensual smile relaxed him.

  “Aw. So sweet. Always thinking of me.” As soon as they’d cleared the stage door, he tugged Colt against him and took a kiss. Colt melted into him, unashamed and eager, one hand creeping up around his head to hold him close.

  Something was definitely happening here. Three days apart, busy as hell, and he still missed this man, this kiss, like crazy. And it wasn’t about the sex, though that draw was undeniable; he’d felt the pull as soon as he’d seen Colt in the lobby a few hours earlier. Colt just had this kind, gentle, genuine-self thing going on that fascinated him.

  This felt like the real deal, or what he thought was the real deal, as insane as that might be.

  “You’re delicious.” He smiled at Colt and let himself sink into those dark eyes.

  “I’m sure hungry, so I’ll take it. Take me home to love on you, feed you some?”

  “Yep. Come on.” He led Colt down the alley and out to the street where it was easy enough to get a cab. They might get stuck in a little traffic, but he didn’t have the patience for the subway. It didn’t take too long to get home, and the first thing he did was open the liquor cabinet. “Margaritas?”

  “Works for me.” Colt’s hands landed on his shoulders, fingers digging in.

  Oh, hello. That felt like heaven. He loved what he did, and he really didn’t find it that stressful most of the time, but four days of work, dancing, and all the concentration had him pretty tight, and his body was tired. He sighed and let his head drop forward, his hand going slack on the cabinet door. “That feels amazing, baby.”

  “Good.” Colt began to sing for him, soft and low, the words nonsensical.

  He let the cabinet door swing closed. He didn’t really want a drink now; he just wanted more of this. He swayed into Colt a little and reached back, resting a hand on Colt’s hip for balance.

  “Come on, cher. Let me love on you before we take our drinks to the tub.” Colt led him to the sofa and eased him down before straddling his ass and going back to massaging his shoulders and crooning to him.

  He didn’t fight any of it, just settled right into the couch with a long sigh and listened to Colt sing. Was it just the other night that his lover wasn’t sure how to feel about a simple hand massage? The man learned fast. Not only were those hands strong and sure, but he could feel the affection in them. He relaxed and let Colt take care of him for a bit, it felt like it was doing them both good.

  Colt leaned down against him, covering him, lips soft on his nape.

  “Mm. Hey.” He bent his head forward, offering more skin. “I think my spine’s gone to jelly.”

  “Good deal. You been working hard.” Those kisses kept going, one after another.

  He nodded, eyes half-lidded, and breathed deep. “Yeah. ’S good, though. The work.”

  “So good. Love to see it.”

  He’d invite Colt to see more soon. Maybe final dress. Definitely opening night. He’d ask—when he woke up.

  Chapter Eight

  COLT SAT on the floor of the kitchen and started writing. He did okay in the country music arena and even better with the alt-country guys in Austin.

  It paid a chunk of bills, that was for sure. It was easier with a partner, though—someone to bounce ideas off. Maybe Norv and Ryder could come out here for a week. Between the Texan’s speed and the Georgia boy’s way with a hook, they could bang it out.

  He stopped, shot off a couple texts, then set back to his own work. He was thinking love song, but a little dirty, a little wicked and wrong. Something you’d dance to in the corners of the sawdust-covered dance floor where the neon lights didn’t reach.

  Oh.

  Oh.

  Where the lights don’t reach.

  Fucking A.

  Hours went by, and the sun went down while he was sitting there. He didn’t need to move, though. Kyle had the hall light on some kind of timer, and he found himself in the perfect spot to write in the slice of amber light spilling in through the kitchen door.

  “You’re in the dark, baby.” That was where he was when Kyle sat down beside him, warm hands sliding up under his shirt. “I guess I needed a nap. You must be starving.”

  “Mmm.” His eyes crossed at the heat. “I was having a work. You feel good.”

  “What is that?” Kyle hugged him close with one arm and looked down at his scribbling. “Are you writing?”

  “I am. I sell them pretty good, as a rule.” He liked writing songs just fine.

  “May I?” Kyle picked up his notebook and looked it over, then kind of bopped his head to a silent beat and hummed a few lines. “I like it. Kind of raunchy too.”

  “Yeah. It’ll play on the radio, not too bad, but enough kids will want to sing it.” The guys could help him redneck it up some.

  “You’re that sure of yourself, huh? I like it.” Kyle kissed him lightly behind the ear. “Confidence is sexy as hell.”

  “Well, I
mean, it’s a good hook.” And a singable melody that didn’t require a bunch of yodeling.

  “It is a good hook. I can’t wait to hear you play it.”

  “You want I should?” He let his fingers move, singing the first verse and the melody, letting the bluesy smoky feel loose.

  Kyle swayed beside him—his lover never could sit still when there was music playing. “Oh. That’s got a wicked groove. I love listening to you sing.”

  Oh, that was sweet to hear. It wasn’t his best thing, but he could carry a tune in a bucket. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome.” Kyle leaned in and kissed his cheek and then stood up. “You keep on, I’ll listen and make some pasta for dinner. We can have a soak after.” Kyle turned on a couple of lights to work by but left the kitchen mostly dim.

  Colt kept on keeping on for a bit, but it seemed more fun to help Kyle and touch and caress.

  “You know this is a knife I’m holding, right? Don’t distract me. I might chop off a finger.” Kyle tossed a bunch of fresh herbs into a pot with some simmering tomatoes, then put the knife down and turned to face him with a smile. “You want to put a big pot on to boil?”

  “Surely can.” He whistled as he wrestled the pan into the sink and filled her up, and then he hauled it to the stove and got heat under it.

  “You okay with chicken sausage? It’s pretty good. It’s supposed to be Italian-style, but it’s spicy as hell.” Kyle gave the sauce a stir and then pulled a deli-wrapped package out of the fridge.

  “I am. I eat anything. I like food, but spicy’s my favorite.” He grabbed Kyle’s butt and squeezed.

  “Yeah? I got something spicy for you right here, my rockin’ Cajun lover.” Kyle pressed back and rocked his hips like they didn’t belong to the rest of his body.

  “Uhn.” Tell him he shouldn’t drop to his knees and just lick.

  Kyle laughed and slipped away from him, dancing across the kitchen. “You’re so easy, baby.”

  “Well, what good is playing hard to get?”

  “None. None at all.” Kyle was still giggling as he tossed the sausages into a frying pan on the stove. “I just haven’t ever known anyone like you, Colt. You’re just… wonderful. That’s what you are. Joy and wonder.” Kyle tangled their fingers and smiled at him. “I know, I’m melodramatic, right? I don’t care.”

  “Look at them dance in the pan. I love that sound.” Colt leaned and took a quick, hard kiss that Kyle returned, nipping at his lip.

  “Water’s boiling,” Kyle sang to him and gave him a mischievous grin.

  “You making noodles? You want something to drink?”

  “Yes, penne. You want wine? Something else? I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”

  “Is there something that you think will go?” He liked himself a glass of wine; he loved how it felt on his tongue.

  “I always like red wine with a red sauce, myself. There’s a pinot noir in the cabinet.” Kyle pulled a plastic package from the fridge, cut it open, and carefully dumped the pasta in the boiling water.

  “Pee-no.” He drawled it out, playing with the word, making himself laugh.

  “There’s a bottle opener on top of the cabinet, goof. Glasses in the hutch.”

  “You got it. You shoulda seen the first time I tried to use a corkscrew. I pushed the cork all the way down in the bottle.”

  Kyle laughed. “You can bring it to me, if you’re feeling insecure.” Oh, that lilt was dripping sarcasm.

  “Shut up, dork. I done opened me a bunch of bottles since.” He pinched Kyle’s ass on the way by.

  “Ow!” Kyle hammed it up, faking injury. “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious. I’m not a lightweight, but I don’t think I’ve even seen you tipsy yet. Hm. Maybe that’s tonight’s goal. Get Colt drunk.”

  “I’m a silly drunk. It don’t happen much, though. You got to watch yourself in a bar.” He knew how to pace himself.

  “Well, this is not a bar, and I could get into silly. I’m more of an esoteric drunk. Everything becomes very interesting. Deep.” Kyle winked at him. “And then I usually end up making out with like, whoever I’m sitting next to.”

  “Well, then, you’d best sit next to me.” Because he wanted that making out done with him.

  “Ooh. I like that attitude. I will sit next to you every time, lover.” Kyle hovered close, watching him open the wine, and chuckled. “Or if I forget, you can cut in.”

  “Believe me, cher. I will.” He was willing to work for what he wanted.

  Kyle leaned in, lips close and offering. “Mm. I love that kind of talk. It’s hot.”

  He took that kiss, letting it wash over him.

  Dinner somehow made it to the kitchen table despite all the flirting and wandering hands and the heat between them. Kyle served him up a big plate of pasta and covered it with the garlicky pomodoro that had been simmering on the back burner.

  “So, you said your songs do pretty well. How come you don’t record them yourself? Or do you?” Kyle slid over the plate of sausages and refilled their wineglasses.

  “I ain’t much of a singer, and I’m less of a performer. I like getting lost in the music, you see, and a singer has to know the audience is out there.” He loved the way music spoke to him, but he didn’t need the crowd. He didn’t mind them a bit, but it wasn’t why he played.

  He played because his soul needed it.

  Kyle nodded and forked up some noodles. “I get that. I know what you mean because I’m like that, though sometimes I can’t completely forget the audience either.”

  “Do you have to, like, look at them? The audience, I mean.”

  “Depends on the piece. Most of the time, no. I only have to look out over them, and the lights are so bright, I can’t see the mezzanine. But some of the more modern stuff calls for eye contact, or at least breaking the fourth wall.”

  “What’s that mean? Breaking the wall?” It was a neat thought, no matter what it meant.

  “Oh! Oh, it’s a theater term for stepping out of the show and talking to the audience directly. The three walls are the sides and the back of the stage. The fourth is the invisible one between the audience and the performers. Between the play and reality.”

  “That’s cool.” Okay, yeah. That made sense. Sorta like singing right to someone in the crowd when you didn’t mean it.

  Kyle traced one of his fingers. “You like the pasta okay? I know it was a quick thrown-together thing.”

  “I love it. It’s best all in one bite. This is good sausage.”

  “Yeah, the sausage and the pasta I get from this wonderful hole-in-the-wall Italian market. I’m glad you like it.” Kyle looked pleased and smiled at him. “I like cooking with you. I enjoy the way you appreciate the process as much as the result. You make it fun.”

  “It ought to be, hmm? It’s a good thing.” It meant family. Home. Good things.

  “It should. I didn’t grow up with it, though. How’d you learn to cook?”

  “My granny. She was the best cook. She spent all her days behind a stove.”

  “Oh, that’s a nice memory. Was she cooking for the family? Or was she making a living?”

  “Six of one, half dozen of another. She had a kitchen that did shrimps and all the gumbos and bread pudding. Oo-la!” He’d sit and play with his blocks while she stirred and the girls took out bowls to the shrimpers.

  Kyle laughed. “Mmm. Sounds so good! To Granny.” Kyle raised his glass.

  “To Granny! God rest her.” She was smiling down at him.

  Kyle popped up and started clearing food and plates. “We can take our wine out to the tub if you want.”

  “Surely.” Lord have mercy, Kyle was a busy guy. Always moving. Colt got up and started dishwater so he could scrub pots. This he knew how to do.

  He scrubbed, and Kyle dried, and everything was put away in no time, and Kyle was all hands after that. Strong arms pulled him into a deep kiss, making him wonder if they’d make it as far as the hot tub.

  The wine m
ade the kisses deeper, headier, and he followed Kyle like there was a string tied around his balls.

  Kyle pulled away enough to grab the bottle off the counter and his glass. “Come on, beautiful, upstairs with me. I want to get naked. Bring your glass.”

  “Got it.” He snatched his glass up and took a sip, the wine sliding on his tongue.

  They went upstairs, up the long staircase and down the hall, only instead of turning right to the bedroom, Kyle led him left out a set of double doors and into a square room with a small bar and a large Jacuzzi. The ceiling had several skylights.

  Kyle set the bottle down on the edge of the tub and turned on the jets.

  “How cha-cha is this?” He laughed, thinking about the Place d’Armes back home and how they’d sneak into the courtyard to swim.

  “I know, right? Thank Mom and Dad. This was their place before they bought the big house across the sound, and then they kept it for weekends in the city. Now they have an apartment they stay at on the Upper West Side, and they gave me this place.” Kyle casually stripped off while he was talking, tossing his clothes over the back of a wide white couch. “It’s really way too big for one person, but I can throw one hell of a party.”

  “I bet you can.” He didn’t care one way or the other, but it was neat to see all the fancy.

  Kyle made his way over, the lean, naked body catching the dim lights in all the right ways, showing off his ink. “You’re too dressed, music man.” His lover reached for him.

  He let Kyle work his shirt open, then danced him around for a bit, singing as he enjoyed the feel of Kyle against him.

  Kyle laughed softly, following his lead, moving smoothly as they rocked together. Kyle’s kiss, falling lightly on his lips, was just another piece of the dance.

  “Mmm. Cher.” He opened his jeans, stripping off so they could dance in the water.

  “That’s better.” Kyle stepped in, long legs disappearing into bubbling water, and extended a hand. “Look at you. I can’t believe you don’t get to enjoy this view. Come on, baby. It’s lovely in here.”

  “Mmm. I do like to bubble.” He took Kyle’s hand and slipped in, then settled in Kyle’s lap. Colt laughed as the bubbles got trapped between them, the popping making everything tingle.