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.”