Timmy elbowed him and grinned. “Yeeeeah, dude. That’s the way to be. He’s a party and a half.” He watched Timmy text and speak everything out loud. “Colt… is totally… into hanging out, dude. Yeah? That work?”
When he nodded, Timmy hit Send and waited for a reply.
“Kyle says, ‘Great. Bring him to karaoke tomorrow night.’” Timmy looked at him. “Cool? This karaoke thing he does? It’s more like open mic night. It’s all theater peeps, and it’s total talent.”
He nodded. Open mic night he understood. He’d spent most his life picking for anyone who would listen. He sang, wrote, played—if it was music, he was there.
“I’m telling him you’re in.” Timmy texted, grinned at something that popped up on the screen, and put the phone away. “You have a date,boo.” Timmy winked at him.
“Lookit me!” He gave a holler, and all the folks stared.
Timmy gave him a fist bump and took his arm, steering him into the club.
2
“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.