And surely you’ll never know it again.
But you do.
Only this time, it’s in Birmingham, Alabama, and the room TJ gets is on the opposite end of the goddamned planet from yours. On my way to it, I’m caught by Fiona who asks me (while popping jellybeans) to drop by her room later to hear a couple of chord adjustments for “Down Bad For Him” she wants to run past me. Then I narrowly escape Naomi only to run face-first into Emmett, who reminds me about a cousin of his who’ll be at the next show, second row, house right. When I get to TJ’s floor, I have to hide on the opposite side of the vending machine for a group of laughing, phone-wielding fans I recognize from tonight’s show to walk by before I finally arrive at TJ’s room, though I can’t with confidence say no one tracked me. “How in the hell do these fans manage to book rooms at our hotel?” I ask TJ rhetorically when we’re already naked in bed, well into making out. He gives me a look and, loaded with all the sarcasm in the world, says, “Gosh, I have no idea. Better be careful or you’ll end up in bed with one.”
He brought more just-in-cases.
We go through all three.
He’s gonna need to come up with a new name for them, because it’salwaysthe case with us.
Against all reason, he ends up nabbing a ticket to the show in Atlanta. I enjoy the pleasure (and soul-crippling terror) of having him out in that audience full of screaming fans who would eat him alive if they knew whose face was gonna sneak into his room after the show. When I become confident he is, in fact, still unknown to anyone in the venue except me (and Raj, who clocked him before I even sang the first lyric of the first song), I pull out all the stops onstage, inspired by TJ’s presence. I do “Break My Heart and Keep It” and repeat the final chorus twice, giving Fiona a few chances to go all out with her keyboard riffs—and hot damn does she deliver. I play “Easy Path to My Heart” in the solo section, pretty much all of it directed to TJ, whose swooning eyes are the only thing I know in the world from the start of that song to its end. During “Down Bad For Him”, our latest favorite closer, Wily goes all out with the bass, and all of us are with him, whole audience included, ending the show with a triumphant roar so loud, it’s a miracle the walls of this place can bear to stay standing.
And as hard as that concert hit, TJ and I hit even harder later in the hotel room, starved for each other no matter how much we seem to get. Our eyes are locked on. His face, flushed and sweaty. Mine, cracking apart as the brink rushes forth for us both. There’s no limit to the paradise we’re creating—and this new sort of music we’re writing together.
Music no one can hear but us.
We get room service. I hide in the bathroom like a shameful secret while the lovely young lady brings in a plate of two burgers, basket of fries, spicy fried chicken wings, and two damned slices of seven-layer chocolate cake, because what the hell else do you eat after sex? Then we eat all of it on the second bed in TJ’s room like it’s a dining room table, and I feed him bites of chocolate cake, and why does every moment of our lives lately feel like something bad we’re getting away with?
“I know it’s always best for you to go back now,” says TJ, “so no one sees you sneaking out in the morning, but … um …”
I already know what he’s gonna ask. “I’d be honored to hold you in my arms tonight, TJ.”
He bites his lip. “Even if we’re … out of just-in-cases?”
“There’s other things we can do. And besides that …” I crawl over the bed on all fours and put a kiss on his forehead. “I don’t mind just snugglin’ up next to you and drifting off to sleep. Sounds like I’m in for the best damned night of rest I’ve had in years.”
He can barely fight off the cute smile swelling on his face. Had he been building up this question in his head for a while now? “I … I just didn’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”
“Too late for that.” I wink at him. “Just gotta get my phone. Be right back.” I leave him on that bed to digest our king’s feast and poke my head into the hallway to check for creepers. I slip out and pad my way back up to my room, relieved to run into no one at all.
I turn the corner and stop short.
Ian’s leaning against the wall by my door, arms crossed, flat-lipped with his glasses at the very tip of his nose.
That’s hisI’m pissedface.
I blow past all that coldness radiating off of him like a winter storm and swipe my card in front of the lock, pushing my way into the room. “What can I do you for, Ian? Droppin’ in for a goodnight kiss? Ain’t it past your bedtime?”
The door shuts behind him when he follows me in. I grab my phone off the nightstand, then discover real quick I’ve got fifteen missed calls and texts from Ian, missed call from Drew at the label, and a butt-load more notifications than I’m used to.
I also notice Ian hasn’t said a word. I look up from my phone to find him holding out his own, screen aimed at me.
On it, a picture of me and TJ at that Korean BBQ spot back in Houston.
Wouldn’t be quite so bad if I wasn’t feeding TJ a bite.
I part my lips to say something like, “So? Two dudes can feed each other for fun, big deal.”
But he swipes a thumb, pulling up another pic. TJ and I, again, walking side-by-side on the street.
Another pic, my arm over TJ’s back, laughing, face close to his.
And another. Another. Another. Then Ian lowers his phone. “I told you to be careful,” he starts.
“It’s not—” I cut myself off, crossing my arms, my first instinct being to dismiss this all away. Because really, who cares? “They’re pics of me out with just a friend.”
“Just a friend?” He thumbs over more pics and lands on one of me taking TJ’s hand tenderly into mine, unmistakably romantic, as we were heading back to the hotel. All of them obviously taken in Houston, all at the same time, probably by the same person. “Just a friend, Chase? You wanna keep insulting my intelligence?”