I flushed. “That was supposed to be a one-time field trip.”
“Uh-huh,” Sebastian said, eyes twinkling. “Purely anthropological, I’m sure.”
“Stop scaring him.” Max left the piano and came forward. “He’s clearly here for the music. Or for Theo. Same thing these days.”
Theo groaned under his breath. “Max. Please.”
I grinned despite myself.
Julian raised a hand in greeting. “Ah, the beauty from the bar returns. Are you here to inspire us? Distract us? Both?”
A lean guy leaned against a mic stand, his eyes accentuated by rainbow glitter and black eyeliner. “He’s obviously here for me. Understandable.” I glanced at his boots with their heels that had to be four inches or more, buttons up the front crisscrossed with laces. His black tee was emblazoned with the words BUTT SLUT, and he must have poured himself into those jeans.
I knew armour when I saw it.
Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ignore them. They haven’t been fed.”
Oliver chuckled. “He’s fine, Theo. Let the guy breathe.”
I applied names to the faces in my head, then realised there were two new ones. One guy offered a lazy salute.
“I’m Zane.” He grinned. “Andyouare stunning.” Theo coughed, and Zane arched his eyebrows. “Just telling it like it is.”
I thought Zane was the stunning one with his black curly hair, short all over, and his moustache and barely-there beard.
He wouldn’t look out of place in a fashion mag.
Butt Slut Guy grinned. “And I’m Finnley.”
The room was buzzing with pre-rehearsal energy: vocal warmups, half-finished coffees, the occasional chaotic note blasted just to annoy someone. The space was tight enough that they kept bumping shoulders, laughing, shoving each other in good fun.
Theo’s sigh could have powered the lights. “Can we begin?”
“That depends, Captain Clipboard. Are we going to work on a new number tonight?” That was Zane. “Because I think we’ve tortured ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ about as much as we can.” His dark eyes gleamed.
I bit back a grin, then mouthedCaptain Clipboard?
Theo merely rolled his eyes again.
I headed toward a chair near the wall at the rear. The teasing felt like family squabbling, affectionate and irreverent. Within minutes, the room was full of the sounds of voices tuning, laughter colliding, and snippets of half-sung riffs.
Theo stood at the centre, a clipboard in hand.
Nowthereis a man whose body language screams order.
Theo levelled a look at Zane. “And yes, we’re starting with the new piece.” He began handing out sheets of paper. “‘Ain’t No Sunshine.’ I trust there are no complaints? And I swear, ifanyoneattempts to sing it like a karaoke lament, I’ll withdraw their coffee privileges.”
“Dictatorship confirmed,” Max muttered, but most of the group chuckled.
“And before anyone asks, yes, Ihavechanged the pronouns. We’re a gay group, so we’re singing about a guy. Everyone okay with that?”
“No complaints here.” Julian glanced toward me. “That okay with you too, gorgeous?”
I grinned. “Absolutely.” I removed my sketchbook from my bag and flipped it open. My pen moved instinctively across the blank page, capturing the angles of bodies, the curve of motion, Milo’s expressive hands, Zane’s easy sway, the way Julian leaned into harmonies.
And always, at the centre, there was Theo.
His focus was absolute, sharp as a conductor’s baton even without one. When the voices clashed, he didn’t flinch, but stepped closer, adjusted, and coaxed. “No, Oliver—less chest, more blend. Zane, back off half a decibel. Liam, breathe before that pickup—yes,there.”