My cock finally began to soften when thoughts of who he might run to next crept in. Another guard? God, I hoped not. I’d never considered myself to be a jealous man, but just thinking about him on his knees for one of the other guys brought that red haze back again. That was the benediction for my erection.
But sleep still proved hard to find.
Tossing, turning, and punching the pillow into the right shape to cradle my head, none of it helped. His face hovered in every corner of my mind, emerald eyes alight with glee when he was laughing, or closed, with his face tipped to the heavens while he played. A glorious enigma bathed in the red and orange glow of the lights that illuminated the stage. Hell’s own wayward angel reigniting every desire I’d ever had.
Lying there in the dark, staring up at that gloomy gray ceiling, there were only two thoughts on my mind. How they nevermade hotel curtains that closed properly enough to keep the damned streetlights from streaking in, and holy shit, I was in love with him.
Chapter 9
(Kit)
The vibe tonight was just off; there was no other way to describe it. Onstage, we’d been solid as hell, but the moment we’d stepped down, Draven started issuing instructions about who was going where. Jagger, Kayden, Dash, and Johnny were the only ones who looked happy, but then they were heading to a local radio station to do an interview and impromptu acoustic set, while Rebel, Mickey, Robbie, and I were headed to a private pub where a group of fans awaited us.
Welcome to being a rockstar.
The only one excused from the night’s activities was Ozzy, and only because he had a flight to catch in a few hours so he could meet with the specialist treating the arthritis in his hands. It was getting worse; we could all see it. As much as I loved landing my dream job, I hated that for him. I’d only been with the band for a handful of sets, and already Ozzy had readjusted the amount of time I spent on stage, giving me more time up there. Social media had been abuzz with a bunch of wild rumors about why, some of them total conspiracy theories. One person thought I’d blackmailed my way into the band; another suggested that I was Ozzy’s secret love child.
I was still catching shit from the rest of the band, as well as the members of Damaged Saints, over that one. The absurdity alone was mind-boggling. Not only had Ozzy been out and proud for his entire career, but I was only ten years younger than the man, even if my looks made it seem closer to fifteen. The whole thing was utterly ridiculous, though I was beginning to learn that many things about the lives we lived drifted toward the bizarre.
Trailing Rebel across the room, I nearly bumped into him when he stopped to talk to Draven, and man, did he sound pissed. I’d have gone around if there was space to do so, but there was a bottleneck of people heading for the exit, and without one of them moving, there was no way past them.
“Dude, this wasn’t in my plans for the night,” Rebel grumbled.
Draven rolled his eyes and started typing on his text-to-speech device. Judging from the way he was jabbing the thing with his stylus, he was beyond pissed.
“I couldn’t give two shits what was in your plans for the night; you are not skipping another appearance.”
“Even if I’m not feeling it?”
“Then you’d better start feeling it because this is a paying gig. The folks at the pub paid for a private afterparty, and that is a commitment you will fulfill, and without the surly attitude we’ve all been forced to deal with this week.”
“This is bullshit! I’m working on new music, not fucking around.”
“And you can work on it after you're done at the pub,” Draven typed back. “Conversation over!”
Rebel looked positively miserable as he stepped past Draven and headed for the door, Sully glued to his hip, a new development I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the reason behind. Hoping it wouldn’t be overstepping to try and cheer him up, I slung an arm over his shoulder on the way to our bus.
“Look on the bright side,” I said. “It’s a pub; that means halfway decent food.”
“Not always,” Rebel replied, heaving a heavy sigh, but he didn’t shove my arm away, so that was something. “There’s a couple places back home that even the roaches avoid.”
“Kryspin’s!” I declared, wrinkling my nose at the memory of the place.
“Exactly.”
While I was snickering as we climbed the steps of the bus, Rebel was silent and brooding as we grabbed seats across from where Mickey and Robbie were already seated. Robbie kicked his foot and Rebel jerked his head up and flipped the man off.
“What’s up with you?” Robbie asked. “I’ve never seen you get pissed off about going to a party.”
Another sigh, and Rebel crossed his arms, huffed and resumed staring at the floor. “Things change.”
“Okay, so what did?” Robbie asked.
“Just… doesn’t this bother you?” Rebel asked, body so ridged I wondered if it hurt him to sit that way.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” Robbie said.
“Our lives aren’t ours anymore. Privacy is pretty much nonexistent. I feel like a fucking puppet dancing to someone else’s tune!”