Beautiful Disaster

Citation preview

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER

…Corey pulled back the comforter, exposing pristine white sheets that still looked ironed. Ian hadn’t slept in the bed at all. As Corey eased between the covers, the sheets cool on his skin, he frowned and tried to forget about the girl in his own bed down the hall. What the fuck was he going to do about that in the morning? He didn’t know. Leaning back against the pillow, he pulled the comforter up to his armpits and looked at Ian, who sat in the chair watching him. Watching him. So he still existed. He was still real, still alive, still here. “The bed’s big enough for two,” he murmured. “I’m fine,” Ian replied, but suddenly he didn’t look fine to Corey. He looked sad and old and alone, and not fine in the least. With a sigh, Corey rolled his eyes and let a slight whine creep into his voice. “Ian. There’s plenty of room.” To emphasize his point, he patted the empty space beside him. When Ian didn’t reply, Corey said, “This is your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to. Is that what you want? It doesn’t matter to me. Just as long as I don’t have to go back to—” “Fine.” Ian hoisted himself out of the chair and stumbled to the bed. Sitting on the edge farthest from Corey, he kicked off his shoes and glared at the floor. “You happy now? You got what you wanted, Corey. You fucking happy?”

“Jeez.” Corey didn’t say another word as Ian began to undress, slipping out of his shirt and tugging down his pants until he stood in just his boxers and undershirt. As he reached across the bed to cut off the lamp, his shadow fell over Corey, blocking the light from his eyes. Then the room plunged into darkness, and the bed shook as Ian climbed beneath the covers…

ALSO BY J. M. SNYDER All Shook Up Beautiful Liar Beneath A Yankee Sky The Bonds of Love Crushed Matching Tats A More Perfect Union On Company Time Persistence of Memory The Positions of Love Series: Books I - XII The Powers of Love The Regent’s Knight Under A Confederate Moon Wanted With This Ring

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER BY J. M. SNYDER

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.AmberQuill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2008 by J. M. Snyder ISBN 978-1-60272-418-1 Cover Art © 2008 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

This one’s for my boys.

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER

BEAUTIFUL DISASTER Corey Evans stared into the darkness of the hotel room and wondered if he had even opened his eyes. He didn’t remember waking up. Maybe he was still asleep, and this warmth he felt curled against his back was just part of a vivid dream he would forget in the morning. Then shadows resolved themselves on the far wall, dim light slipped between the curtains and illuminated the blank TV screen, and he knew he was awake. And the breath that fanned his neck couldn’t be ignored. He tried to picture her face in his mind and couldn’t. All he saw were the lights from the stage, blinding him during the performance. All he heard was the roar of the crowd, the 1

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screams that somehow grew louder every time he opened his mouth or wiggled his hips or flashed his pearly whites in a sincere smile. She had been an anonymous face among a group of anonymous fans, all reaching out to touch him, to hold him, to grab him as if he were Christ and their only savior. She had had the prettiest eyes, a light shade of brown he knew he had seen before but couldn’t place. She had curly hair the color of chestnuts—he remembered that much. And a round ass that screamed to be entered. So he singled her out and let her believe tonight she’d be one of the lucky ones. He had meant to kick her out of bed when he was finished, and he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. Now she breathed against him, her body uncomfortably warm beside his, and he needed out. He needed to get away. Just a breath of fresh air, he told himself as he tumbled out of the bed. He tugged on his boxers and a T-shirt, and didn’t glance back as he navigated the dark room, heading for the door. Out in the hall, he squinted in the bright light and stumbled toward the floor lounge and the promise of a stiff drink, something harsh that would steel him when he woke her up and told her to leave. Something, anything, to dull the ache inside him at the thought of seeing her tears. God, how many of them cried when he turned them away? He didn’t know, didn’t care anymore. They only wanted him because he was pop sensation Corey Evans, one half of 2ICE, the biggest pop duo on the radio at the moment. Pronounced “twice,” they were number one on the Billboard charts this week with their latest single. 2

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And number one in download sales, with two albums that had already gone platinum, to hear their manager tell it. And currently on their second U.S. tour, which had sold out stadiums across the nation. These fan girls didn’t give two shits for who he really was, who he thought he was, who he wanted to be. So fuck them. Fuck them all. He’d get drunk and kick her out, and tomorrow it would be another pretty face, and maybe this time he would remember not to fall asleep beside that one. The floor lounge was dark and Corey slipped through the doorway, a shadow among shadows. He opened the small fridge and found it empty. Fuck. It was late—too late. And he was alone, and cold, with nothing to warm him. A large window ran along one wall, and another nameless city stretched away beyond the glass. Where was he again? Had he ever even known? Closing the refrigerator door, he stared out at the city lights that sparkled like stars set in the dark buildings behind the glass, as unmoving as a painting. Without realizing it, he moved closer to the window, arms crossed before his chest to still the small shivers running through his body. The night loomed enormous out there, the city huge; in it, he was nothing more than one tiny soul. One person amid the lights and the darkness and the night. He wanted to lose himself in a bottle right now, curl up in warm alcohol, and forget about everything until the sun shone again. Behind him came a soft cough, and he whirled to find his 3

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band mate Ian Coltraine slouched on the loveseat, staring at him with bright eyes that burned like embers in the darkened lounge. In his hand was the bottle of Jack Daniels Corey had been looking for, and from the level of drink left, Corey thought Ian had been nursing it for some time. “You’re blocking my view, sunshine,” Ian said, his deep voice low and more than a little slurred. Corey sighed. “You want to share that?” When Ian held out the bottle, Corey sank to the cushion beside him and took it eagerly. Ian’s hand was hot beneath his, and Corey realized how cold his own fingers were from the brief touch. Then Ian let go, and Corey almost dropped the bottle. “Careful,” Ian said. “That’s all there is.” Corey nodded as he sipped at the warm liquor. It coiled around his tongue and slipped down his throat, blazing a heated path in its wake. When it folded into his stomach like a flannel blanket, he wiped his mouth and handed back the bottle. “How long have you been here?” Ian shrugged and took another swallow. “Long enough to wish I wasn’t.” Corey watched his friend’s throat as he drank, and suddenly the cold fell away from him, leaving him hot and sweaty as he noticed for the first time just how close Ian sat. Mere inches away. Heat radiated from him like a small fire. How can he be so warm? Here in the dark and the cold and the night, here alone. What keeps him burning here? One strong hand rested on a denim-clad leg, the fingers 4

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curled slightly, and Corey wanted to take that hand in his own, feel those fingers in his. Just to see if Ian was really beside him, here in this hotel room. Just to make sure Corey wasn’t the only one alive tonight, awake in the darkness. But as he reached for Ian’s hand, his friend asked, “What’s her name?” Corey’s hand froze in mid-air. “I don’t remember.” He frowned at Ian’s hand, so close yet so far away, out of reach. He sighed and, lowering his hand to his own bare knee, bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Jesus, Ian, I don’t even know if I asked her.” Ian barked a short, humorless laugh. “She gone?” “No.” Corey rubbed at his eyes. “Can I have another drink? Please?” Ian’s face was an unreadable mask. His eyes burned like twin flames of light; Corey suddenly felt sad and alone and afraid. Of what? he wondered, but he took a deep, hitching breath and tried to concentrate on the bottle in Ian’s hand and not the intensity of his friend’s stare. He didn’t want to know what Ian might be thinking about him right now. He didn’t want to care. At length Ian asked, “You think you might keep this one?” “No,” Corey whispered. He blinked back the sting in his eyes and shook his head for emphasis. “No, Ian. The bottle? Please?” With a resigned sigh, Ian handed him the whiskey and watched as he gulped down a mouthful of the liquid fire. Corey let the liquor bite his throat and wash away the horrible 5

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taste in his mouth, the tumult of images in his mind. When he handed the bottle back to Ian, his friend asked, “Are you going to be okay?” “Maybe.” Corey doubted it. Right now there wasn’t enough alcohol left in that small bottle to give him the courage he needed to go back to his room. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he rested his feet on the edge of the couch and curled into himself. He’d stay here. Right now he just wanted to snuggle into the warmth of the couch and the alcohol and forget everything else but the city shining beyond the window. He started to lie down when Ian said, “You aren’t staying here.” “Why not?” Corey didn’t need Ian to tell him what to do. He could stay here if he wanted. He could lose himself in the night and the lights and the stars if he wanted. “You don’t want to go back?” Ian asked. Corey shook his head. “I can’t. I just… I can’t.” Ian sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Swaying a little, he held his hand out to Corey and frowned down at him. With wide eyes Corey looked up at his friend, at the offered hand. “Come on,” Ian said, his deep voice gruff with drink. When Corey didn’t move, Ian motioned for him to get up. “Come on,” he said again. “You aren’t staying here.” Cautiously, Corey let his hand slip into Ian’s. The fingers were warm in his; they were real. And soft, softer than he had imagined they would be. “Where…?” Ian hauled him off the loveseat and stumbled back. “You can sleep in my room.” 6

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Corey tried to pull his hand out of the hot grip but found he couldn’t. He didn’t know if it were because Ian wouldn’t let go, or if his own fingers refused to uncurl. “Don’t worry,” Ian slurred. “I don’t bite.” Corey laughed. “You promise?” Ian finished off the rest of the whiskey and dropped the bottle into a nearby trashcan. The barest hint of a smile curved his lips, and Corey felt flushed and hot again because he had been the one to put it there. *

*

*

Inside Ian’s hotel room, a single lamp shone beside the bed, its maroon lampshade casting a dull red glow that made Corey feel safe. Here it wasn’t as cold as his own room. Ian’s bags sprawled open on the floor, bottles of cologne and shampoo and deodorant cluttered the top of the dresser, and clothes littered the wingback chair by the window. It smelled warm here, masculine, no traces of the faint floral perfume that choked him in his own room. He thought maybe he could crawl beneath the sheets of Ian’s bed and fall asleep without worrying who he needed to be to the person beside him. Pointing at the bed, Ian said, “Help yourself.” Corey looked at him, wondering if it were just the alcohol that added the hint of sadness he heard in his friend’s voice, but Ian didn’t meet his gaze. Instead he headed for the chair and, scooping the clothes off it onto the floor, sank into its cushiony seat. He studied Corey with hooded eyes, unfathomable and incredibly bright in this dusky light. 7

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“Well?” Corey pulled back the comforter, exposing pristine white sheets that still looked ironed. Ian hadn’t slept in the bed at all. As Corey eased between the covers, the sheets cool on his skin, he frowned and tried to forget about the girl in his own bed down the hall. What the fuck was he going to do about that in the morning? He didn’t know. Leaning back against the pillow, he pulled the comforter up to his armpits and looked at Ian, who sat in the chair watching him. Watching him. So he still existed. He was still real, still alive, still here. “The bed’s big enough for two,” he murmured. “I’m fine,” Ian replied, but suddenly he didn’t look fine to Corey. He looked sad and old and alone, and not fine in the least. With a sigh, Corey rolled his eyes and let a slight whine creep into his voice. “Ian. There’s plenty of room.” To emphasize his point, he patted the empty space beside him. When Ian didn’t reply, Corey said, “This is your bed. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to. Is that what you want? It doesn’t matter to me. Just as long as I don’t have to go back to—” “Fine.” Ian hoisted himself out of the chair and stumbled to the bed. Sitting on the edge farthest from Corey, he kicked off his shoes and glared at the floor. “You happy now? You got what you wanted, Corey. You fucking happy?” “Jeez.” Corey didn’t say another word as Ian began to undress, slipping out of his shirt and tugging down his pants 8

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until he stood in just his boxers and undershirt. As he reached across the bed to cut off the lamp, his shadow fell over Corey, blocking the light from his eyes. Then the room plunged into darkness, and the bed shook as Ian climbed beneath the covers. Corey lay on his back and stared at the ceiling, blinking to assure himself his eyes were still open. He waited until Ian settled into a comfortable position before he turned toward his friend, who had rolled on his side facing away from him. All Corey could see was the slump of Ian’s shoulder outlined against the dim glow of the curtains. “Ian?” “What?” His voice was muffled, his mouth probably buried in the pillow. Clearing his throat, Corey asked, “Are you mad at me?” For a moment he didn’t think Ian would answer. Then Ian sighed. “No.” Corey released a shaky breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Good.” Now that the lights were out and Ian was just a shadow in the darkness, Corey’s mind couldn’t stop turning, and he didn’t want the silence that surrounded them to get inside. He wanted to hear Ian’s deep voice, soft and comforting and slurred, wrap around him and hold him close. He wanted to hear Ian’s steady breath drown out the tick of the alarm clock and the sounds of the city beyond the drawn curtain. “Ian?” he asked again. “What?” Ian replied, gentler this time. “Talk to me.” Talk to me and make me real. Make this 9

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real, so I’ll be able to look back on it when I’m alone and scared again and know for a few moments at least I existed to someone as just Corey and not anything else. Please, Ian. Please give me that much. Ian chuckled. “You wanted me to get into bed so we could sleep. Now you want me to talk to you? What do you want me to say?” “Anything.” When Ian didn’t answer, Corey prompted, “What were you doing in the lounge?” “Drinking,” Ian said. Corey grinned. “I know that. What were you thinking about?” “You,” came the soft reply. “Really?” Corey frowned at Ian’s back. “Me? Why?” Ian sighed. “I don’t feel like talking right now, Corey, okay? I just don’t.” Corey bit the inside of his cheek and wondered why Ian would be sitting in the dark of the floor lounge, drinking whiskey and thinking about him. “Ian—” “Corey,” Ian said, “now I’m getting mad.” “I’m sorry.” Corey pouted in the darkness and vowed to shut up. Ian sighed again. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’m just tired. Can’t we go to sleep?” “Okay.” Corey closed his eyes and tried to remember what the girl in his room looked like, but the only image in his mind was Ian. He tried to picture her face, her eyes, her hair, and each time he thought he had it right, she morphed into his 10

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friend, sitting alone in the dark, drinking and thinking of him. Corey hoped they had been good thoughts. He didn’t know what went on in Ian’s mind anymore, but he hoped Ian only thought nice things about him. He wondered if Ian pictured him as the golden-haired heartthrob the press tried to market. He hoped not. He hoped Ian at least could see how real he was. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Ian thought he was real or not when Ian said, “Corey, stop it.” “Stop what?” Corey asked, confused. “Stop pouting.” Ian rolled onto his stomach, turning toward Corey. His eyes shone in the darkness, and his arms hugged his pillow. His elbow brushed Corey’s shoulder. “I can hear you thinking. Get to sleep.” “I can’t,” Corey admitted. “Can I ask you something?” Ian blinked and stared at Corey’s mouth. Corey tried to resist the urge to lick his lips and couldn’t. When his tongue darted out to wet them, Ian sighed. “What is it, Corey?” “Why don’t you ever…” Corey shrugged, rustling the sheets. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ever invite any of the girls back here?” Ian laughed. “You mean why don’t I fuck the fans?” That’s all it was, wasn’t it? Fucking the fans. Because they were there, and they were willing, and for a short time at least, they made Corey feel important, and special, and maybe one day they’d make him feel real. Ian murmured, “They don’t interest me.” “Why not?” Corey wanted, needed, to know how Ian 11

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managed without that. Because then maybe he could manage, too. Closing his eyes, Ian burrowed his head into the pillow, and at first Corey didn’t think he’d answer. Then he was afraid Ian had fallen asleep on him and wouldn’t answer. But finally Ian whispered, “Because I like to think maybe there’s something more out there, Corey. Maybe there’s something meaningful for me. Something real.” Something real. Corey sighed and closed his eyes. *

*

*

The first thought that crossed Ian’s mind when he became aware that he was awake was, Please tell me I didn’t let him spend the night. Last night was a blur to him—the show, the screaming fans, the bright lights, the girl who had caught Corey’s eye and latched onto him like she would never let go… Ian had seen the triumphant look on her face when Corey led her to their limo. Once back at the hotel, Ian tried to drown that “I got what I wanted” look in the bottle of Jack he kept in the fridge for that sole purpose. To wash away the sticky residue that always clung to him after a performance, when he had to run through the gauntlet of hands reaching for him, eyes begging to be noticed, hair and nails and girls he didn’t need, didn’t want to see. He always kept his gaze straight ahead on Corey’s back, and no matter how much it hurt, he could never look away when Corey picked his queen for the night. Always beautiful, always young. Always so blatantly female, big tits and big ass. 12

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Always something Ian could never hope to be. So he chased the blues with the whiskey and hoped to make it through another lonely night. Only something had happened, hadn’t it? Something he’d dreamed about and ached for but had never managed to put into coherent thought until he’d heard the fridge open and knew he wasn’t alone in the lounge anymore. When Corey stepped into view, arms wrapped around himself, Ian waited for the alcohol to settle and his blood to stop racing before he said anything. Because what if it were just some whiskey dream, crawled from the bottom of the bottle? What if Corey weren’t really there, and when Ian spoke, this ghost of his friend would disperse like the dry ice they used on stage? If it had only been smoke and mirrors, if there had been no reply, Ian didn’t think he could’ve made it through the rest of the night. But it had been Corey. And it hurt to see the confusion in his eyes, the longing for something he couldn’t put into words. So Ian asked about that girl because he wanted to see just how bad his friend had wanted her. And were you happy with what you got? He doesn’t even remember her name. Does that satisfy you? In some way, yes, it did. Because Corey knew Ian’s name. He remembered it. And the fact he couldn’t be bothered to remember hers made all the difference to Ian. That was why he had offered Corey a place to stay. Now, in the pre-dawn light of morning, Ian wondered if Corey had really taken him up on the offer. Catching his breath, Ian listened, his eyes still closed. 13

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There it was, a slow, steady breathing somewhere beside him. So that wasn’t just something he drank up last night. Corey was here, in his bed, next to him. Ian opened his eyes and turned to look at his friend. Corey’s face was half hidden by the comforter. Ian could see strands of dirty-blond hair peeking from the sheets. The porcelain forehead smoothed and even in sleep. Those straight eyebrows above closed eyes Ian knew from memory looked like the depths of the sea. Long eyelashes, curled and thick like a girl’s, throwing small shadows on pale cheeks. And a hint of those ruddy lips, cast in shadow by the drawn sheets. Fuck you, Corey. The thought came unbidden, and Ian couldn’t stifle it. Tell me how it is you can be so damn beautiful and not even know it. “Corey,” he whispered, nudging his friend beneath the blankets. He tried not to imagine where his hand was right now on Corey’s body, because everything was soft and warm and it infuriated him. Anger crept into his voice. “Corey. Get up.” Corey groaned and clutched the blankets tighter. “Gimme a few more minutes.” Ian rolled out of bed. As he stood, a wave of nausea washed over him and he pressed one palm against his temple, willing away his hangover headache. He wondered if Corey knew where he was, who he was with, this early in the morning. Did he even recognize the sound of Ian’s voice? Ian didn’t think so. He clicked off the alarm clock before it could change to 6:00 and shatter the stillness. “Get up, Corey.” 14

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“Ian, please,” Corey sighed, curling deeper into the blankets. “Ten minutes. That’s it.” “Ian, please…” The words rang in Ian’s mind, bringing a smile to his lips. So Corey knew who he was. He didn’t think he was still in his own bed, where that girl was waking now and wondering what had happened to her golden idol. “Ten minutes,” Ian conceded. As he walked around the bed, heading for the bathroom, he smacked at where he imagined Corey’s butt would be beneath the covers. The way Corey scooted into the center of the bed gave him some small satisfaction. In the bathroom, Ian turned on the glaring lights and frowned at himself in the mirror. Beneath a shock of dark chestnut curls, his light brown eyes were red this morning, puffy and bloodshot. He rubbed at them, then stretched, his undershirt pulling up to expose a sliver of pale skin. “Fuck you,” he growled at the mirror, sticking his tongue out at himself. It was white and coated with a bitter taste, and Ian squirted a healthy helping of toothpaste onto it, hoping to brush away the alcohol and sour remnants of last night. As he rolled the paste around in his mouth, he stripped off his boxers and undershirt and leaned his naked butt against the cold ceramic counter. Sticking his toothbrush into his mouth, he ran the water in the shower. He waited for the hot water to kick in as he brushed his teeth, watching the shower curtain dance beneath the hail of water that hit it. When a healthy steam rose over the 15

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top of the curtain, Ian stepped into the shower, the water hot and invigorating as it pelted his body. He let it wash away the sticky sweat from last night’s performance, the caustic stench of alcohol that clung to his body, the memory of lying so close to Corey in the bed with a small no-man’s-land between them as wide and lonely as the Grand Canyon. Turning his face up into the hard spray, he spit out the toothpaste and pretended the hot tears squeezed from his eyes were just water from the shower. When the water became laced with ribbons of ice, Ian turned off the faucet and climbed out of the stall. He wiped his face and dried his hair, his ungentle touch leaving the curls sticking up from his head in dark corkscrews. He rubbed down his body, soaking up the water beaded on his skin like sweat. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he wiped away the steam from the mirror and looked again at his red-rimmed eyes. It was the shampoo that got into them, he told himself, making them look as if he’d been crying. That’s all it was. Shampoo and the alcohol and the fact that he hadn’t gotten much sleep. He clicked off the light and the throbbing in his head subsided. Cool air curled around his legs as he stepped into the room, where Corey still hid beneath the blankets and stared at Ian with wide eyes. “Get up,” Ian murmured. “I’m up.” Corey had the blankets pulled to his chin, and he watched Ian bend to retrieve a change of clothes from the bag on the floor. “Ian?” “What?” Ian walked over near the window, out of Corey’s 16

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line of vision, and let the towel fall from his waist. He kept his back to his friend as he stepped into a clean pair of underwear. Tugging the briefs up over his butt, he frowned. “What, Corey?” He looked over his shoulder and saw Corey’s gaze in the mirror above the dresser, watching him openly. Ian felt his cheeks flush, and he pulled on his jeans quickly, covering his naked legs. Once they were zipped over the bulge at his crotch, Corey asked, “Can I use your shower?” “You have to go back to your own room.” Ian pulled on a T-shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. “I don’t want to,” Corey said. “Corey, don’t do that,” Ian warned. Turning, he frowned at Corey as he put on his deodorant. “Don’t do what?” Corey sat up, the blankets falling from his chest to pool at his waist. With his disheveled hair and wide eyes, he looked much younger than his twenty years. Sometimes it was hard for Ian to remember they were only a few months apart; how could Corey seem so boyish and innocent when Ian knew what went on in his room after their shows? “Don’t pout.” Ian began gathering his stuff, shoving bottles and clothes into his duffel bags. “What are you going to do, take a shower here and put on the same thing you wore to bed? How smart is that?” “I don’t want to go back,” Corey said, his voice low. Without looking up, Ian knew he was pouting again. He could hear it in Corey’s voice. 17

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“You have to.” Ian tugged at the zipper on his bag. A sweater peeked through the opening, catching on the zipper, and Ian shoved it down, pulling the zipper until it closed. Corey sighed. “Will you come with me?” “Corey…” His friend looked at him with those bright, trembling eyes and Ian was lost. How could he hope to say no? “Fuck. Get the hell out of my bed. Come on.” When Corey didn’t move, Ian slapped his leg beneath the comforter. “Come on, Corey,” he said, perturbed. Then he led the way to the door, Corey hurrying to catch up with him. *

*

*

Out in the hallway, the light was harsh and stale. Ian shielded his eyes, rubbing his forehead as he strode down the quiet hall. All of the doors were closed, and he doubted anyone else was up yet. Another ten minutes and the wake-up calls would start, and Ian thought they should have the girl out of Corey’s room and on her way home before anyone noticed she was still around. He threw an angry glance back at Corey to make sure he followed. How do you get into this shit, Corey? And how did I get involved? Like you don’t know, came the whispered reply from somewhere inside him. Ian stopped in front of Corey’s door. “You got the key?” he asked, holding out his hand. The blank look on Corey’s face made him groan. “Don’t tell me you left it inside.” 18

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“I don’t…” Corey patted his chest, his stomach, his hips, as if he were fully dressed and the key hid in one of his pockets. Fear flashed through his blue eyes, and then he grinned. “I’ve got it.” “Where?” Ian asked. Corey reached down the front of his T-shirt and pulled out the small keycard, hanging with the security pass he wore on a chain around his neck. Pulling the chain off over his head, he handed it to Ian. “You’re going in first,” Ian said as he unlocked the door. “Why?” Corey countered. When Ian looked at him, he couldn’t hold onto his anger. In his rumpled clothes, Corey looked so vulnerable, so alone and out of place in this posh hotel hallway. “Fine.” Pushing the door open, Ian kicked aside a pair of Corey’s jeans, left on the floor in his haste, and flicked on the overhead light. He didn’t want to see her face, and he hoped she wasn’t going to cry, because he didn’t think he could take that right now, though it would serve Corey right to see her tears in the cold light of the dawn. Even though it would hurt him, it would be worth it, just to let Corey know he couldn’t keep pulling this shit. Stepping into the room, Ian steeled his heart. “Alright, sugar, rise and shine.” The bed was empty, the covers thrown back, the pillows tossed aside. Ian glanced at Corey, then at the open bathroom door. The light inside was off, and he didn’t think the girl was in there. Corey entered the room. “She’s already gone.” 19

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“No shit.” Ian threw the keycard onto the bed and started for the door. “Next time kick her out yourself.” “Wait.” Corey caught Ian’s arm as he passed, stopping him. Ian frowned as he met Corey’s expectant gaze. “Can’t you stay for a minute? Just until I get my stuff together?” “Why?” Ian didn’t want to wait. Right now he wanted to crawl back into his empty bed and forget Corey had slept in it last night. He wanted to lie under blankets that still smelled like his friend and bury his head in the pillow where Corey’s scent still lingered. He wanted to lie there until someone banged on his door and told him to hurry up, get a move on, they were leaving. Then he’d find an empty seat on the plane and sleep to forget last night had ever happened. But Corey was looking at him with those beguiling eyes, the hint of a pout on those full lips, and all thoughts of going back to his room left Ian’s mind. “I’ll just be a minute,” Corey said. “Please?” Without answering, Ian plopped down on the bed and stretched out to stare at the ceiling. When Corey didn’t move, he asked, “Well? You gonna get your shit together or what?” “I’ll just be a minute.” Ian sighed and tried not to breathe in the stench of stale perfume hanging like a miasma over the bed. He tried not to notice as Corey moved around the room, glancing at him as he picked up his clothes and stuffed them into his bag. Beneath his breath he hummed a song Ian recognized but couldn’t place, and Ian closed his eyes against the pain that beat in his head in rhythm with Corey’s tune. “Let me jump in the shower 20

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and then I’ll be ready to go.” Ian heard the bathroom light click on, heard the faucet creak as Corey turned on the water, heard the shower blast like pebbles against the ceramic stall, and he forced himself to stop the images that flooded his mind. Don’t think it, Ian. Don’t think about the clothes he slept in that are now on the floor, don’t think of him stepping naked into the shower stall, and don’t you dare think of the water trickling down his body right now, or all the whiskey in the world won’t be enough for you tonight. So just stop it. Stop it now. Soon the pounding of water against the vinyl shower curtain was too much to bear, and Ian pushed himself off the bed, holding his head with one hand. He needed aspirin. He yanked open the drawer of the bedside table and winced at the scrape of the wood. He needed something stronger than aspirin, if he could find it. More whiskey maybe, or hell, a bullet to the head. Anything to make it all stop. In the drawer, a tube of lipstick rolled toward him, only to stop against an open package of condoms. He slammed the drawer shut. Standing, Ian leaned in the doorway of the bathroom and glared at the shadowy shape on the other side of the opaque shower curtain. “Corey?” “What?” “You got any aspirin?” A million milligrams sounded about right. “In my shaving bag.” Corey stuck one soapy arm out of the curtain to point at the small kit sitting on the counter. Ian 21

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stumbled into the steamy room and shook the contents of the bag into the sink. An electric razor, a small bar of soap, a bottle of the cologne he favored—Ian opened the bottle and inhaled the sporty scent, the sharp sting cutting through the fog in his head. He considered dabbing a bit onto his wrist but then he’d smell like Corey all day and he didn’t think he could handle that today. Finally he found a small prescription bottle. When he opened it, pills spilled out across the counter top. He scooped up four and popped them into his mouth as the shower cut off. Filling one of the complimentary paper cups with water from the sink, he turned as he threw back the drink. From the corner of his eye, he could see the shower curtain move. Then it pulled back, rattling along the shower rod, and Corey stood there, naked and wet and dripping, hair plastered to his head, his arms, his crotch… Ian choked. God, he didn’t need to see that right now, it was bad enough he thought about it but to actually see Corey standing there, looking at him so blatantly—Ian rushed from the bathroom, head pounding in his hands, and cursed himself for ever opening his mouth the night before. Fuck. He wiped the water from his chin and swallowed down the bitter taste of aspirin that lingered in his mouth. Why, Corey? You knew I was there. Did you think I wouldn’t look? Did you think I wouldn’t care? Well, why should he care? They’d seen each other naked plenty of times, in dressing rooms around the world. When had Ian started to turn away from Corey whenever he dressed 22

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or showered? When you realized you wanted something more. Something real. Something you knew none of the groupies could give you. And it’s your own stupid fault for letting him stay the night. “Ian?” Corey’s voice was unsure, laced with concern. “You okay?” “Fine,” Ian replied, coughing a little. “I’m just fine.” He felt Corey approach, his steps silent on the hotel carpet. Ian saw their reflection in the mirror above the dresser, Corey dressed in nothing but a thin towel that left little to the imagination. One hand hovered at Ian’s back, as if he wanted to touch him but was afraid. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Ian covered his eyes with his hands. “I’m fine,” he said again. When Corey’s hand brushed his shoulder, Ian shrugged it off. “Just get dressed, okay? Please? Just get dressed and let’s go already.” “Sure.” Ian turned away, his eyes shut to resist watching his friend. *

*

*

As Corey dressed, he kept an eye on Ian’s stiff back and wondered what he’d said or done to piss off his friend. Nothing he did this morning could bring a smile to Ian’s face. Corey felt horrible enough about the girl last night, and leaving her in the room alone, and not having the guts to kick her out himself, and just a small grin would be enough to brighten his day. Just a tiny smile to know Ian wasn’t thinking the same terrible things about him Corey thought himself. 23

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Maybe it was that watching him dress thing, but when the towel fell away from Ian’s waist, Corey couldn’t not look. He had seen the smooth, pale flesh and his mind just went blank. He couldn’t look away from the round buttocks, so girlish, so meaty, or the curve of skin, the strong legs, the… Stop it. This is Ian, your best friend. At least he has the decency to turn away while you dress. You didn’t have to watch him. And even if you couldn’t stop yourself, you didn’t have to get turned on by it. Corey pushed that thought away, ignoring the brief ache in his groin at the memory of Ian’s reflection in the mirror. So maybe he was a little ticked at that. Corey could see how he might be, and he wanted to apologize but didn’t know how to bring it up without making things worse, because Ian hadn’t even mentioned it. And maybe it was that pulling back the shower curtain thing, which Corey thought about two seconds too late, when he saw Ian’s eyes go wide and his gaze drift down there… Another flame licked at his crotch and he willed it away. He wouldn’t let himself think things like that, not about Ian. With an angry tug, he pulled his shirt down over his head. Shit, I can’t win for losing today. “Okay,” he said. “I’m ready.” Ian turned from his study of the wall and frowned at Corey. There was something in his eyes that made Corey want to beg him not to be too mad, but then Ian glanced around the room and the desire passed. “You have everything?” Ian asked. 24

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“I think so.” Corey hefted his bag over one shoulder and risked a bright smile. Maybe if he smiled first, Ian would smile back. “The rest of the tour’s probably already left. You ready?” Ian snickered, and even though the corners of his lips just turned up a little bit, it was enough of a smile for Corey. “You kidding? They’re probably still asleep.” A knock on the door interrupted him. “Or maybe not.” “Evans!” came an angry shout from the other side of the door. Corey groaned. It was Butch, one of the bodyguards and most likely the one who had escorted Little Miss What’s-HerName out earlier this morning. “I know you’re in there. Open up, man.” Ian sank to the bed and sighed. When Corey didn’t move right away, Ian said, “You might as well open the door. He’s not just going to disappear.” Corey dropped his bag to the floor and hurried to comply. Out in the hall, the huge bodyguard blocked the doorway, his wide girth obscuring the light. “Butch, hey. What’s up?” Butch shouldered his way into the room and glared around, nodding at Ian. Ian raised one hand in a halfhearted gesture. Turning to Corey, Butch said, “You gotta be more careful, man. That girl—” Corey sighed. “I know.” He was tired of hearing about it already. So he’d left her in the bed. So what? She was gone when he came back, and he didn’t even have to say goodbye. No harm done. He’d 25

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remember next time not to fall asleep beside her. He’d toss her out right after he threw away the condom. Hell, maybe even before then, if he thought of it. He didn’t want to see the hurt and judgmental look in Ian’s warm eyes anymore, the one he’d put there when he asked Ian to come with him back to his room. He didn’t need to see the pain in those eyes because it cut into his heart too much. “I’ll be more careful next time.” One huge hand held a fistful of gold chains out to Corey, whose eyes widened at the jewelry. That pendant looked familiar, and the kink in that herringbone, that was the necklace his mom had given him last Christmas. “What’s all this?” Butch motioned for him to hold out his hand and dropped the jewelry into his open palms. As he untangled the chains, Corey swore under his breath. “These are mine.” He looked at Butch. “Where did you get these?” “Your girlfriend,” the bodyguard sneered. “Thought she’d get a pretty penny for them on the street, I suppose. Or took ‘em as a fuck trophy.” He shrugged, a small avalanche as his shoulders rolled. “If a half-eaten piece of toast can sell for thousands on eBay, how much d’you think she’d get for that?” “Shit.” Corey held the chains up for Ian to see. “Do you believe this? The bitch…” “It’s your own damn fault,” Ian replied. Corey gave him a sharp look, but Ian’s eyes were closed so he didn’t see it. He’s hung over, Corey reminded himself, but the lack of concern in his friend’s voice stung. Butch spoke up. “You gotta take better care of your girls, 26

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Evans.” “She’s not my girl.” Now it would take him the rest of the day to untangle this mess she’d made with his jewelry, and the audacity, the boldness, of just scooping up his shit and walking out with it annoyed him. He’d rocked her world, picked her up and spun her around and made her think she was da bomb for a night, and this was the thanks he got? Well, fuck her. Fuck all of them. He didn’t need that petty shit. It was going to take hours to get these chains separated. “Ian…” Without a word, Ian pushed himself off the bed. Corey watched with unbelieving eyes as his friend left the room, slamming the door behind him. “Where’s he going?” he asked the bodyguard. A disinterested mask had fallen over Butch’s face, the “I just work here, I’m not seeing any of this until it endangers you, then I’ll respond” mask he wore whenever he was on duty. Corey felt his eyes burn, and he tossed the mess of chains into his bag, tugging the zipper shut. He was upset because that girl tried to steal his gold, upset because she’d wanted a souvenir for the night and didn’t give a rat’s ass about him, upset because… Because Ian is pissed at me and I don’t know why. Even though it was the truth and it hurt, it made him feel a little better to at least stop lying to himself. Because I made him mad and I don’t know what I did and how am I ever going to say I’m sorry if I don’t know what I’m sorry for? “Can you get my bag?” Corey pushed past the bodyguard 27

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and left the room. He didn’t wait to see if Butch would do as he asked—right now he just wanted to find Ian. He didn’t even know what he’d say when he caught up to him, but he knew he wanted to make everything all right again. He couldn’t look into those sad eyes and see the pain coiled up inside his friend like rolls of barbed wire around his soul. He just couldn’t. Out in the hall, their manager Dean Summers stood at the door to his own room, fiddling with the doorknob, an overnight bag slung over one shoulder. He looked up at Corey and grinned. “I hear you kept one all night,” he said, winking. “She that good?” “Fuck you,” Corey growled, heading for Ian’s room. Dean laughed. He’d been with 2ICE since the beginning, when Corey and Ian had been fresh from high school, two young men who’d won a nation-wide singing competition to create a new pop duo. The guys’ attitudes didn’t phase him. “That’s the spirit, kid. When someone asks you something you don’t want to answer, tell ’em to fuck off.” Corey ignored him and knocked on Ian’s door. “Ian, open up.” When there was no response, he pounded with the side of his fist. “Ian, open this door.” He felt hot breath against his neck, then Dean’s voice whispered into his ear. “He’s not there.” Whirling, Corey pushed his manager away. The man was old enough to be his father and, though married, creepy in a way Corey couldn’t quite place. He always seemed too eager to hear all about Corey’s bedroom exploits the next day. 28

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“Where did he go?” Corey wanted to know. Dean shrugged. “Took his bag and left. I’m guessing he’s in the limo, or on his way there.” He cocked one eyebrow at Corey. “Where we’re supposed to be. Flight leaves in a half hour, remember?” Corey bit the inside of his cheek. “I don’t believe you.” How could Ian already be gone? Dean shrugged again and headed past Corey for the elevator. “Suit yourself.” Ian wasn’t gone. Corey wouldn’t believe it. But the door behind him didn’t open. When Butch came up to him, his heavy overnight bag in one hand, Corey took the bag and strode down the hall after Dean, angry Ian hadn’t waited. *

*

*

Dean’s wife Kate leaned against the wall, a thin cigarette held to her lips as she stood just out of view of the fans mobbing the hotel lobby. Her frown deepened as Ian approached. An overnight bag rested between her high heels, and her hair was pulled into a tight dyed-red bun at the nape of her neck. Behind her frameless glasses, her eyes were heavily lined with black kohl. With a grimace Ian thought might be an attempt at a smile, she said, “You look like shit.” “Good morning to you, too.” Ian dropped his bag at his feet and rubbed his temples. That comment Butch made about Corey’s girls had knocked the breath from him like a punch to the stomach. He couldn’t stand there listening to them talk about Corey’s exploits as if they were one big joke. He closed 29

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his eyes and saw Corey again, naked, wet, standing in the shower stall… Kate frowned at him. “Damn, Ian. You need some Visine or something. Your eyes are red as shit.” “Really.” Like I don’t know. Ian leaned against the wall and sighed. He could hear the crowd beyond the security guards, past the roped off walkway leading to their limo, and right now he didn’t think he could deal with this. He didn’t know how he was going to walk out there and wave and smile and pretend nothing was wrong when his head throbbed, his eyes wouldn’t focus, and his mind still lingered on the image of Corey in the shower. Extracting a pair of sunglasses from her handbag, Kate handed the shades to Ian. “Here, put these on. God, you look awful.” “So you keep saying,” Ian groused, but he slipped on the shades, draping the world in a veil of soothing darkness that eased the ache in his head a little. Behind them the elevator opened and Corey pushed past Dean in his haste to get out, a scowl on his face. “Ian—” Then he noticed Kate and the scowl deepened. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he pouted and threw himself against the wall. His bag hit the back of Ian’s thighs. “Never mind.” Dean laughed and clapped his hands together, eager to get going. “We ready? What’s with the shades, pal?” “Shut up,” Ian replied. It was too early for Dean’s banter. But Dean just grinned and tried to see over the security 30

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guards. “Damn,” he whispered, awed. “Look at this!” He waved, and someone out in the lobby saw him. An earsplitting shriek arose from the crowd, girls screaming their names like a chorus of banshees. Ian clutched his head and tried to will the pain away. With a nod at the nearest security guard, Dean slipped out into the lobby. A jaunty wave set the crowd screaming again and the barricades were moved aside as police stepped up to the ropes lining the walkway. Ian groaned. You just have to make it to the limo . It’s not that far. Just to the limo, a hundred feet, no more. Kate pushed off the wall. “Showtime.” Dean led the way, Kate right behind him. Ian felt a strong hand on his back, warm through his shirt. “Ian,” Corey whispered, “go on.” Ian grabbed his bag and lunged after Kate. Corey’s hand trailed down his spine and lingered at the waistband of his jeans for a long moment before falling away. As Ian stepped into the lobby, a smile already plastered on his face, he was thankful the sunglasses hid his eyes from the crowd. They couldn’t see his smile didn’t quite reach that far, didn’t reach into his soul. They couldn’t see he wasn’t looking at them, not at all—his gaze was stuck on Kate’s shoulders, his mind telling his feet to walk forward as if they might forget how. He was glad Corey was behind him today, so he wouldn’t have to see that smile and those eyes and the way girls swooned when he winked at them. He heard Corey’s laughter but it was muffled, far away, on the other side of the bodyguards that 31

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protected Corey as if he were the crown jewels. Ahead, hotel staff held the doors open, and Ian waved once as he stepped out into the bright light of the day. The others had stopped at the limo, waiting. Cameras flashed around them, and Ian slipped into an empty space between Kate and Dean, already smiling for the photographers. A few group shots and then they’d be bustled into the limo and whisked away to the airport. And tomorrow night it would be the same thing, all over again. Only I’m drinking in my room from now on, Ian thought as Corey stopped in front of Kate and turned, flashing that sunshine smile and waving at the girls who screamed his name. When he comes looking for someone to rescue him, it won’t be me. Then the limo doors opened and Ian found himself folded into the back seat. He slid to the far side of the car, keeping the grin on his face for the fans. Dean slid in beside him, then Kate. They all knew the routine—Corey got in last. The fans wanted to gaze upon their golden boy as long as they could. When Corey finally slid into the seat across from him, his sneakered foot nudged Ian’s boot. Easing down, Ian laid his head back against the seat and sighed. With the sunglasses on he could watch Corey without his friend knowing. That small pout still pulled at Corey’s lips, as if he thought of something so important he couldn’t be bothered to smile anymore. His eyes were troubled, and he picked at a piece of tape stuck to the window. His bitten fingernails couldn’t get under the edge of the tape, but he 32

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frowned and picked at it harder, as if removing it was all that mattered in the world. Ian knew his mind was elsewhere, because every now and then he’d glance at Ian from the corner of his eye, and that pout would tremble just enough to tell Ian Corey thought about him. Where their shoes touched, Ian’s foot burned inside his leather boot. Good. Now he can see just how horrid it feels for me when all I think about is him. Horrid like a knife in his heart, twisting with each wink, each smile, each wave that wasn’t directed at him. *

*

*

Dinner was at a Japanese restaurant management bought for the night. The flight had been long and uneventful, and Ian kept those damn shades on the whole time, so Corey was never quite sure if he were awake or asleep. So he stayed in his own seat by the window and watched Ian, and wondered if he’d ever get the chance to speak to him. About the night before. About this morning. Shit, at this point Corey wanted anything, even a comment about the weather, something to show him Ian knew he still existed. And now this. Ian sat across the table next to Dean, who nursed his third Long Island iced tea of the evening and laughed at something Kate had said that Corey missed because he was too busy being bitter. He hated Japanese food, the slimy uncooked pieces of fish that Dean gobbled like candy, the damn chopsticks he couldn’t eat with, the waitresses who spoke in a foreign language like the chatter of magpies. Corey 33

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didn’t like that he didn’t know what they were saying. He knew it was about him because the younger waitresses dropped their gazes when he looked their way. He didn’t feel like eating rice or paper thin noodles made from rice, and every damn item on the menu was served with one or the other. He wanted something meaty, something American—a juicy sirloin maybe, or a hamburger dripping with grease, something more than these grains and vegetables on his plate. He found himself staring at Ian’s muscled arm, bared by the sleeveless vest he wore. Even though Ian ate the food on his plate, Corey wondered if maybe he didn’t want something different, too. In his mind’s eye, he imagined asking Ian if what he really wanted wasn’t a run to the nearest steakhouse, and in his mind, Ian answered that he’d like that very much, thank you for asking, Corey, are you driving? Corey had them in the car, parked in front of Lonestar, country music blaring out into the night, when Ian looked across the table at him and caught his eye. He held his breath—it was the first time all day Ian had even bothered to glance his way and Corey didn’t want to lose that now. He didn’t want to say the wrong word, or look the wrong way, or even eat with Ian staring like that, eyes calculating and bright, as if he tried to figure out what went on inside Corey’s own mind. Ask me, Corey begged. He sent the thought to Ian, as if he’d overhear it, and hoped Ian saw it in his eyes. Ask and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I’ll tell you I think we need to talk, and I want to get out of here, and I want you to come with me. 34

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Instead Ian pursed his lips and took another swallow of his drink. He let his gaze drop to Corey’s plate, where Corey toyed with his food, one chopstick tracing patterns in the soy sauce drowning the rice. Then Ian turned to Dean and asked, “You guys going out tonight?” Incredulous, Corey watched Dean laugh and shovel another piece of sushi into his mouth. Was he invisible? Why can’t you ask me? Beside Corey, Kate cleared her throat. “Slow down, hon. You’re going to get sick from all that raw fish.” Ian laughed, his gaze sliding over to meet Corey’s again as he finished his drink. Ask me. Fuck, Ian. Just ask me anything right now. If I like the food, if I’m going out, something. But he didn’t. Instead he turned to Dean again and started talking about their show tomorrow. Tonight they had an evening off, nothing planned but catching up on some sleep, though from the talk around the table Corey thought maybe Dean and Kate might head out to a nightclub after eating. From the way Ian shrugged, Corey thought he might go, too. Hell, even Butch seemed to be invited. Everyone but him. What the fuck did I do? Angry, Corey tossed the chopsticks down onto his plate, where they clattered in the quiet dining room. Heads turned as he pushed his chair back, the wooden legs skidding along the tiled floor. “You know, Ian,” he said, not quite looking at his friend. His gaze rested on Ian’s arm, on 35

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the muscle bunched below his shoulder. He couldn’t raise it any higher, couldn’t look into those wounded eyes—he just couldn’t. “I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” With that, he threw his napkin on the table and left, pushing between two of the prattling waitresses. He had to get out, out of this cozy little back room with the twang of a biwa suspended in the air like baited breath, away from the eyes of his friends who sat there talking and laughing and eating and didn’t even acknowledge his presence. Fuck them all. He pushed through the swinging door beneath the EXIT sign and let the cold night air wrap around him. Seconds later the door swung open again, and Corey looked back to find Sam, one of the bodyguards assigned to him, stepping out of the restaurant. He nodded at Corey and moved away a little, just enough to give Corey some space. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, he leaned against the brick building and didn’t say a word. Corey laughed. Fuck, even the bodyguards didn’t speak to him. It was chilly outside, and Corey hugged himself as he glared at the cars zooming past, also oblivious to him. Who do I have to be to get noticed? Was Corey Evans, pop star, all he was anymore? Without a screaming fan or a breathless girl nearby, did he cease to exist? What had he been before all this had started? And would he ever get that person back again? The door behind him opened a second time, but he didn’t turn around. Probably Butch, relieving Sam so the other bodyguard could finish his dinner. Corey shivered in the night 36

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air and wondered how far he could run before he was tackled by the guards. He wondered if he just broke away right now, how far would he make it before he was dragged back? Shit, would they even notice I was gone? Suddenly a warm jacket was draped over his arms, and he turned to find Ian behind him, hands on Corey’s shoulders. “You’re a fool, Corey,” Ian murmured. His breath curled around Corey’s cheek warmly, a hint of alcohol beneath the words. His eyes shone like fireflies in the night, flickering between their normal light hazel shade to a darker hue every time the neon sign above them flashed. “What the hell was all that about?” Corey shrugged. Ian’s arm still rested around his shoulders, holding the jacket in place. “I’m sorry.” “So you said.” Ian stuck his hand into his pocket and looked back at Sam, who was looking elsewhere at the moment. “For what?” Corey shrugged again. “I don’t know.” His voice was barely a whisper above the noise of the city. He didn’t know. He just knew he was sorry for whatever it was that had made Ian angry with him. Ian laughed. “Then why apologize?” With a sigh, Corey closed his eyes. His mind whirled with the day’s events, and before he could stop himself the words just tumbled from his lips. “I’m sorry I pissed you off, and I’m sorry about that shit this morning, and fuck, Ian, I’m sorry about the whole thing with the shower, I really am, I didn’t mean…” 37

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He let his voice trail off, not sure what he meant. “I’m just sorry, okay? Can we leave it at that?” He looked at Ian, suddenly very close in the cold night, eyes burning like embers, the edge of his lower lip caught between his teeth as he watched Corey. His gaze rested on Corey’s mouth and Corey cleared his throat, running his tongue over his teeth to make sure there was nothing there his friend might stare at. “Ian?” That pale gaze rose to meet Corey’s troubled stare. “Fine,” Ian said, his voice gruff. He stepped back, arm falling from his friend’s shoulders, and shrugged. “Fine. You’re sorry. Now come back inside and finish eating.” Corey laughed. “I don’t want to. I don’t want that shit.” “What do you want?” Ian let his gaze fall to Corey’s crossed arms. “What are you hungry for?” Corey felt a giddy warmth spread through his groin at the hint of suggestion in Ian’s words. “I don’t know.” He didn’t know, but with those warm eyes watching him, so brazen, he thought maybe he’d like to find out. He thought maybe there was something he’d been hungering after for a long time now and maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to realize what it might be. Before he could say anything, Ian laughed again. “Well, until you figure it out, come back inside. It’s cold out here and you’re wearing my coat.” Corey nodded and followed Ian back into the restaurant, slipping his arms into the sleeves of the coat. The musky scent of Ian’s cologne filled his senses, and Corey wondered again 38

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what it was he wanted. To be real. To matter to someone for something more than a pretty face, a nice ass, a great voice. Is that too much to ask? And even though none of the others looked up as they sat down, Ian winked at him from across the table and Corey felt more alive than he had all day. *

*

*

“So, Corey.” Dean leaned over the table as he sipped his green tea. “Did you figure out what you’re sorry for yet?” His eyes twinkled as if he thought Corey’s outburst had been the funniest thing he’d seen all week. Digging into the Oriental pastry on his plate, Corey growled, “Fuck you.” Dean laughed. “There’s that classic Evans wit again,” he said, elbowing Ian. “You are a man of many words, Corey. It’s no wonder the girls fall all over themselves to get to you.” “Dean,” Kate warned. “Leave him alone,” Ian said. It was the first time he had spoken since they had returned from outside. He concentrated on his own dessert and wished they could just drop the subject already. He hadn’t said anything to Corey all day because he didn’t think his friend was in a very talkative mood—he’d been quiet since they left the hotel, and Ian hadn’t imagined it might be because Corey thought Ian was mad at him. He wasn’t mad, not really. This was Corey and, try as he might, Ian couldn’t stay angry with him for long. It just hurt to 39

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see him so careless with himself and the girls and… And your heart. He took another bite of his dessert, but the chocolate tasted like dirt in his mouth. Only he doesn’t know that, does he? Because you won’t bother telling him. Ian felt Dean’s curious gaze on him, but he didn’t meet his manager’s eyes. “I’m just picking on him,” Dean said. “All I said was—” “I know what you said,” Ian replied. “We all heard you. There’s no need to repeat it again.” He turned and met Dean’s stare. He didn’t want to start anything, but if Dean couldn’t see how much Corey was not in the mood for this right now… well, Ian didn’t want to think about what he might do with the alcohol already in his system. Tension draped the air between them like a curtain. “So who’s all going out later?” Kate asked, hoping to dispel the moment. No one answered. “Ian? You coming?” “No.” Ian didn’t feel like clubbing tonight. He wanted his whiskey and a warm bed and a dark room, and maybe a radio turned down low to block out the thoughts in his head. Dean watched him a moment longer before turning to Corey. “What about you, kid? You coming?” Ian saw Corey shake his head. “No.” The look he threw Ian’s way wrenched Ian’s heart. Great. All I want is a night by myself so I can forget the way you make me feel, Corey, and you’re going to be just down the hall. Coming up behind him, one of the bodyguards leaned down between Dean and Ian. “I’m making a run,” Sam said. 40

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“Butch thought you might want something?” Reaching into his back pocket, Ian pulled out his wallet. “A bottle of Jack,” he said, handing Sam a fifty. “Maybe two. You know what I mean?” Sam nodded and pocketed the money. Looking around the table, he asked, “You guys heading out tonight?” Laughing, Dean said, “I think I’m flying solo.” “I’m coming,” Kate said, pushing her plate away. “Why don’t you come with us, Ian? You’ve got nothing better to do.” Ian shook his head. “I’m not interested.” Right now he wanted to get back to the hotel and curl up with a tumbler of whiskey and wash away the day, particularly the image of waking up next to Corey this morning in his bed. He had a feeling it would take both bottles to chase that one away. “Corey should come,” Dean said, grinning again. “You know what you need, boy?” “What?” Corey asked, suspicious. “You need to get laid.” Dean laughed as he sat back in his chair. “But wait, I forgot, you just got some last night, didn’t you? I hear she tried to rob you blind. You should know better than—” Ian stood up fast, his chair falling out beneath him to clatter on the floor. “Will you shut the fuck up?” Surprise flickered across his manager’s face. Ian had had it. He’d had enough. If he heard one more thing about that girl last night… He kicked the chair out of his way and circled the table. Holding his hand out to Corey, he said, “Give me my 41

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coat.” “Ian,” Corey said, eyes wide. The concern there was too much for Ian to bear. “Just give me the coat.” Ian waited until Corey slipped out of the jacket and handed it over. Ignoring the curious looks the others turned his way, Ian shrugged the jacket on. Kate spoke up, her voice quiet at the silent table. “Where are you going?” “Back to the hotel.” Ian pulled out his wallet again to toss a few dollars on the table as a tip—none of the others ever tipped the wait staff. Dean frowned at Ian. “Did I miss something?” he asked, turning to his wife. “I mean, I’ve been sitting right here the whole time—at least, I think I have—” “You have,” Kate affirmed. “And first Corey throws a fit,” Dean continued, as if uninterrupted, “and now you throw a fit.” He sighed, a look of confusion crossing his face. “Is this because you guys don’t want to go to the club?” Ian groaned. Turning from the table, he stormed from the restaurant, dimly aware of the bodyguard who stood up to follow him. He didn’t know if Dean played the clueless role to be cute, or if he just didn’t get it. Get what? You think he sees how you feel about Corey? Fuck, Corey doesn’t even know. And you expect Dean to pick up on it? To the bodyguard, Ian said, “I’m going back to the hotel. If you’re still eating—” 42

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“I’m fine,” came the stoic reply. Ian nodded. Of course he was fine. Everyone was fine. Even Ian lied and said he was fine, but he wasn’t, not in the least. How could he be fine when every waking thought, every sleeping dream, somehow came back to Corey? Corey, who always had a girl in his room when they were on tour. You’d think I’d be used to it by now but I’m not. I’m not. It hurts every time I think about it— “Ian?” Behind him he heard that voice, his voice, and Ian closed his eyes in frustration. “Ian, wait up, please.” “Corey.” Ian rubbed his temple with one hand. He wasn’t in the mood for this, not right now. Corey stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Ian looked up into those dark, haunted eyes and saw… what? Concern? Sympathy? Nothing more. Nothing Ian wanted to see. “Corey, please. Just let me leave.” “I’m going with you.” As Corey opened the door to the limo, Ian wanted to yell at him. Don’t you get it? It’s you doing this to me. And I know you want to help and I know you mean well but fuck it all, can’t you see what you do to me? But he said nothing. Instead he slid into the back seat of the limo, Corey right behind him, and stared out the window as they headed back to the hotel. *

* 43

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The city slipped away past the tinted windows of the limo. With his head against the cool glass, Corey watched the lights streak like wet paint across his reflection. He frowned at himself, the watery shadow boy he saw in the glass who frowned back. There were a hundred things he wanted to say right now, a hundred things he couldn’t work out in his mind by himself, a hundred things he wanted to ask Ian. Like why he’d stood up for him back at the restaurant. And why he was the only one who cared enough to come out and get him when he “threw a fit,” as Dean put it. And why he got pissed whenever anyone mentioned that girl last night… But Ian huddled on the far side of the seat, against the other window, and he hadn’t so much as looked at Corey since the limo pulled away from the curb, so there was no way Corey could catch his eye. All he wanted was a small smile, something to tell him the tension that had been building between them all day was just a product of their hectic schedule and nothing more. All day? Try all week. Fuck, since the start of the tour, even. Admit it, things have been strained between you two for a long time now. Corey couldn’t remember when he had last spent time alone with Ian without feeling as if his mere presence somehow pissed the hell out of his friend. When had that changed between them? When had their friendship, once so open, so alive, become forced and awkward? And, more importantly, why? Corey wanted to ask Ian. He needed to, because he missed the way things used to be. The carefree nights spent laughing 44

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at old movies, the hours they sat side by side on the plane between gigs and didn’t feel the need to say anything to pass the time, the smiles and jokes and glances and God, even the small touches… the way Ian used to place his hand on the small of Corey’s back whenever he edged behind him. Corey missed that. Now it seemed Ian was afraid to touch him, afraid to even look at him for too long, and Corey couldn’t understand why. And he couldn’t ask, not with the bodyguard sitting across from them. He had one chance left. He waited in the elevator, watching Ian’s reflection in the mirrored walls, that solemn gaze on the numbers above the door. Between them the bodyguard stood unmoving, his quiet presence dampening the emotions that raged within Corey like a wet cloth tossed over an open flame. When the elevator reached their floor, the bodyguard melted away, leaving the two friends alone in the hallway. Corey led the way down the corridor, his sneakers shuffling on the paisley print carpet. Behind him Ian’s boots clicked out a steady rhythm that halted when Corey stopped at the door to his room. Turning, he looked at Ian, and for the first time since leaving the restaurant, his friend looked back, his eyes twin pools of anguish. Corey unlocked his door and pushed it open. “You want to come in?” Ian looked into the dark room behind Corey. For a moment Corey thought he saw hesitation in his friend’s eyes, an eagerness, something more shining through the desperation 45

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there. He held his breath, waiting. Please, Ian. When Ian met his gaze, Corey wondered if he could read the words written behind his eyes. Please say yes. Clearing his throat, Ian grinned. “Is that what you tell them?” Corey frowned, confused. “Tell who?” “Does it always start out like this?” Ian asked. “This innocent? You want to come in, is that what you say?” “I don’t understand.” Corey’s hand slipped, releasing the doorknob. The sound of the handle snapping back into place echoed down the empty hall. “Then what?” Ian’s eyes took on a hard sheen, his voice edgy and raw. Twin spots of color appeared high on his cheeks, and Corey didn’t know if he was ready to cry or scream. “What do you say to her, Corey, to get her clothes off? Do you tell her you love her? Do you promise her forever? What the hell goes through your mind? Can you answer me that?” “Nothing.” Corey’s words fell between them like dead leaves. “I don’t think, I don’t feel. It’s not real to me, Ian. It’s not—” “Well, it’s real to me,” Ian said, angry. When Corey reached a hand out to touch his friend’s shoulder, Ian pushed it away. “It’s real to me, Corey, and it hurts. Good night.” As he turned away, Corey called his name. “Ian, wait.” “I said good night,” Ian replied over his shoulder. Corey watched him walk to the door of his own room, head down. He watched Ian fumble with his keycard, almost 46

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dropping it as he struggled to get it into the lock. He watched Ian disappear inside his room, heard the door latch behind him, and he had never felt so alone. Numb, he entered his own room. In the darkness, his anger blossomed like a flower, red and weeping and raw. “Fuck!” he cried, slamming the door shut behind him. He fell back against the door, tears stinging his eyes. What had he done to deserve this? Those accusing looks, those snide remarks, the judgmental way Ian even looked at him anymore? Corey slid to the floor, his shirt riding up his back as it scratched against the wooden door with a whispered sigh. Folding his arms against his chest, he placed his fevered forehead on his knees and couldn’t stop the tears that stung his eyes. What the fuck did I do? Since the day they had met two years ago, Corey had always felt close to Ian. Always. Maybe it was because they were so close in age, or they had both left their normal lives behind when the phenomenon known as 2ICE had taken off. It was just the two of them—two singers lit by stage lights and thrust into the public eye. The musicians who played for them changed too often for Corey to even bother learning their names, and backup dancers came and went. The bodyguards and crew were peripherals, switched whenever they started a new tour. And despite their interaction with Corey and Ian, Dean and Kate were still the bosses. They booked the gigs, they signed the paychecks. Sometimes Corey just wanted someone to listen, someone to care, someone to be strong for him when he didn’t feel like 47

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he could stand up on his own. That someone had always been Ian. Without fail. Even during the first tour, when Ian got too sick to perform, he had been Corey’s strength. Corey would have never made it through that time without knowing Ian believed he could. And now he hates me. Corey wiped the tears from his eyes. I’d stop the world and turn back time just to see him smile again the way he used to. He wanted to see that smile light up those warm eyes again; he wanted to see it shine for him alone. In his mind he retreated to Ian’s room the night before, and he could see those bright eyes sparkling like secrets. He saw those full lips curved into a wondrous smile, and he felt a pleasant stirring in his groin at the image. He saw himself leaning closer to his friend, wanting to taste those rosy lips, to feel the velvet crush of skin on skin… Stop it. Just stop it right now. But he had to admit here in the darkness of his room, with his legs pulled up tight against his body and tears cooling on his cheeks, maybe, just maybe, the idea of kissing Ian wasn’t that bad after all. A flame of desire shot through him at the thought. Maybe that’s what he had been wanting for so long now, and the reason he buried himself in girls after every show was because he really wanted to lose himself in Ian instead, and didn’t know how to say it aloud. Maybe that’s why he’s mad. Maybe he knows somehow, he sees it in my eyes, he knew before I even did. He had asked… 48

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what? “What the hell goes through your mind?” What do you think of? Corey felt his cheeks flush as he admitted in the safety of his own mind that he thought of Ian when he had sex. He thought of his friend’s pale skin, his strong muscles, his gorgeous eyes and thick hair and ruddy lips. Maybe somehow Ian knew that, and it pissed him off. To know that his friend, his best friend, thought of him in that way. Or maybe Ian feels the same. The words raced across Corey’s mind and were gone, but the feelings they left in their wake splashed like vivid color across the grayness of Corey’s thoughts. In the darkness, anything seemed possible. Maybe, just maybe, Ian got so angry with him because it hurt him to see Corey with someone else. Yeah, right. Why would Ian like him? When he knew all the secrets Corey kept from the world? When he knew the person Corey was when the cameras were off and the lights dimmed? When he knew the real Corey… The thought of someone liking that part of him, the part he kept hidden from the photographers and the fans, that thought was intoxicating. And if Ian liked him even just a little, he wanted to know. He needed to know. Pushing off the floor, Corey felt his way through the darkness to the bathroom. Without turning on the light, he ran cold water in the sink and splashed his heated face. Blindly he snagged a towel from the rack and wiped the water from his 49

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skin. He would talk to Ian. Right now. He had to. He had no other choice. *

*

*

Sam brought Ian’s whiskey around, and even though it was chilled from the cold air outside, Ian still stuck the two bottles into a bucket he filled with ice from the cooler down the hall. Opening one bottle, Ian poured a tall glass of the amber liquid, watching the way it ate into the ice cubes, listening as they cracked around the warm alcohol. He sipped at the drink, savoring its searing flavor, its acrid undertaste, the rich and heady scent catching the breath in the back of his throat and burning a path down to his stomach, where it curled like the smoke of a dragon in the pit of his belly, waiting to be exhaled. Running his tongue over his lips, the whiskey lingering like dark chocolate in his mouth, rich and full and almost edible, he walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. The night pressed against the glass as if it wanted to get into the room where Ian stood with the lights off, his coat discarded, his arms cool from the draft escaping between the panes of glass. He resisted the urge to hug himself, because he wanted the sharp air against his bare skin, the bite of the night as it sank its teeth into him—he needed it, to remind him that his heart wasn’t the only thing that could ache. Resting his head against the cold glass, he sighed and sipped at the alcohol again, wondering just how much he’d have to drink to forget the way Corey’s eyes had filled with pain and hurt and 50

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confusion back in the hallway. But it hurt him, too. Part of him had been afraid Corey might say he did love them, or he promised them sweet nothings, anything to get them naked. If he had said that, Ian didn’t know what he would have done. He didn’t know how he would’ve picked himself off the floor and crawled back to his room, but he suspected that all the alcohol in all the world would never have be enough to dull the way he’d feel if Corey said he cared about the groupies he fucked. He heard the door creak behind him and sighed in frustration because he’d forgotten to close it all the way. Down on the street below, cars moved around like a child’s toys, their sounds muted through the glass. He wondered what would happen if he decided to jump into one of them—where would it take him? Where would he go? Someplace far away from the stars and the lights and the glitter, someplace quiet and green, someplace fresh. Not a stale, washed out hotel room. Not a well-lit stage. Only grass stretching away forever, tall grasses that swayed in a light breeze, a breeze he could close his eyes and almost feel here in this anonymous room lost somewhere in an anonymous city. He could see Corey lying in that grass, looking at him with cerulean eyes that sparkled like the dew, skin so soft beneath Ian’s hands, lips sweet as nectar, cheeks flushed the color of ripe peaches, chest pale and muscular and creamy… Fuck. Ian banged his forehead against the window, then downed the rest of his drink in his glass and reached for the bottle on 51

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the dresser. He didn’t need that image in his head right now. He didn’t. A timid knock interrupted his thoughts. Refilling his glass, he set the bottle aside. “Go away.” “Ian?” The door pushed open a little farther, and in the window Ian could see the reflection of the light in the hall and Corey standing in the doorway. Stepping into the room, he asked, “Can I come in?” “No.” Ian heard the door close as Corey ignored him. “Was that in a foreign language? Because I thought I said no. Correct me if I’m wrong.” In the window, Ian saw the shadow that was Corey move closer. “We need to talk.” “No, we don’t.” Ian drank down another swallow and prayed the whiskey would kick in soon. He wanted to feel the mellow spirits melt away his mind and body and leave behind nothing but a husk filled with liquid gold, no feelings, no lustful thoughts, nothing that ached at the thought of Corey and his angelic voice and his beautiful face, that hair, those eyes, that damn fucking pout… “Ian, please.” Stepping up to the window, Corey glanced at the night outside and turned to lean against the heater beneath the glass. He looked at Ian with huge eyes that shone like the stars set in the velvet sky. His cheeks were damp and flushed as if he’d been crying. Happy? Ian asked himself. You put those tears there. Does that make you feel better? In all honesty, it didn’t. It just made everything ache a little 52

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more, hurt a little worse. Corey frowned. “Please listen to me. Just let me say what I need to say and then I’ll leave, I promise. But please listen.” “Fine.” Ian swirled the whiskey around his glass and the ice cubes chinked softly to each other, but when he raised the glass to drink from it, Corey took it away. His hands were warm and soft on Ian’s cold fingers. “Now you’re pushing it.” Corey set the glass aside. “Without the drink. Just you and me. No alcohol, no buffer, nothing to soften the blows. Just hear me out, okay?” Ian sighed and felt tears sting his eyes. “There’s nothing to say.” He wanted the drink, the comfort of getting lost in something, anything, right now. Anything to drown that image of Corey, peaches and cream and summer grass and sweet love, that image he couldn’t seem to push out of his mind. But Corey shook his head. For a long moment he stared at the ground, and Ian hoped maybe he would lose whatever courage he’d managed to muster together and just leave. There was nothing to say. Ian wanted something he couldn’t have, it was simple as that. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let Corey know. Finally Corey said, “I think of you.” Ian felt his heart stop in his chest. “What?” “You asked what goes through my mind,” Corey reminded him. Suddenly his heart began to beat again but it was too fast, in double-time, the blood rushing in his ears and his chest pounding and the throb in his crotch too sweet to be denied. 53

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“When I’m—when I…” Corey sighed. “Fuck, Ian. I think of you. And I don’t know, maybe it’s always been you, you know? Maybe you’re what I’ve been trying to find. Maybe that’s why I’m not happy, and I just use these girls like tissues, crumple them up and throw them away when I’m finished, and I’m still hurting inside, I’m still hollow. I still want more. Something real, something lasting, something forever.” Tilting his head, he studied Ian and whispered, “Maybe I want you.” “God.” Ian didn’t want to hear this, not now. He was dying inside. How many nights had he longed to hear those words from these lips? And now they were out in the open, hanging between them like raindrops, pregnant and expectant and undeniable, now what? What the hell was he supposed to say, or do, or even feel right now? “I know,” Corey admitted, his voice low. “I’m sorry, Ian. I… I don’t know what you can say to that, if anything. I just want you to know.” Ian waited, holding his breath. Know what? Don’t stop now, Corey, please don’t. In a whisper, Corey said, “I just want you to know I think about you. I hope this doesn’t change things.” “What kind of things?” Ian choked out. Corey shrugged. “I miss you, Ian. I’m sorry if I’ve pissed you off lately, and maybe it’s because you somehow figured it out, before I even managed to piece it all together, and I hope you don’t let it come between us. I still want… I don’t know, can we still be like we were before?” He looked up at Ian, eyes pleading. 54

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“Before.” Ian laughed. “Before what, Corey? Before you came in here and told me you think about me when you fuck someone?” “It’s not like that,” Corey said, confusion crossing his features. Those lips that begged to be kissed pouted, those eyes that could melt ice frowned. Ian cut him off. “What am I supposed to do now, Corey? What am I supposed to say? I’m flattered? Because I’m not. I’ve spent too many nights alone, aching to be held, wanting to be touched, holding out for something more because what I wanted was a few doors down, fucking another fan. And now I’m supposed to just fall to my knees and weep because you finally tell me you think you like me too? Is that what you want to hear?” Corey swallowed, a dry click in the darkness. “You mean…” He frowned harder, if that were possible, and Ian sighed. “Just get out,” he said. “Go.” Pushing away from the heater, Corey stood. Ian tried to move away but the edge of the dresser caught him in the small of his back and he stopped, reaching behind him to steady himself. The moonlight outside reflected in Corey’s eyes, smoldering with something Ian had only dreamed of seeing there before. Corey’s fingers brushed along Ian’s cheek, the touch silky and warm. Ian closed his eyes and held his breath, willing himself not to respond, willing his body not to like this, not to remember this, willing his hands to come between them and 55

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push him away… but his hands had other ideas, and when they touched Corey’s chest, his fingers spread out, smoothing down his friend’s T-shirt and feeling the muscled skin hidden beneath the thin material. Corey leaned closer, his face inches from Ian’s, his breath hot against Ian’s cheek as his nose rubbed Ian’s temple, his nearness numbing and maddening and oh so fucking real… “Get out,” Ian whispered, but there was no force behind his words. “Do you really want me to?” Corey pressed his lips against Ian’s forehead, cool and damp and impossibly soft on heated skin, and Ian didn’t have an answer for that. He couldn’t find the words to reply. *

*

*

Corey inhaled the thick scent of whiskey and musk that clung to Ian’s skin. The prettiest perfume had never smelled so sexy, so fervid, so exhilarating, as Ian did this close. Desire stirred within him, twisting his stomach into nervous knots and buckling his knees. He slipped one arm around Ian’s waist to steady himself, and he heard Ian’s breathless gasp in his ear at the strong touch. Against his lips, Ian’s skin was warm and soft, softer than anything Corey had ever touched before, and he wanted to keep his mouth on Ian’s flesh forever. “Corey, stop,” Ian whispered, his lips forming the words on Corey’s ear so he felt more than heard them. His hands pressed against Corey’s chest. “Please. Please stop. Now.” “Don’t push me away.” Corey stroked one smooth cheek. 56

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The skin was hot, as if on fire, and Corey wanted to smother it with kisses and caresses to control the flames burning within. Pulling back, he looked into Ian’s eyes, watery and wavering like glass, the trembling lips, the unshed tears. It was his own fault, he thought as he smoothed the dark curls from his friend’s brow. He’s felt this way all along and I was too blind to see, too stupid to admit my own feelings, too wrapped up in my own problems and my own self-pity to see him right in front of me, what I wanted within my reach all along. “Please don’t, Ian. I’m not going to let you.” Ian looked up, eyes red and puffy and filled with tears. One solitary tear slipped down his cheek, running over Corey’s fingers, and he brushed it away. Taking a shuddery breath, Ian whispered, “I can’t do this, Corey.” “Why not?” Corey frowned as he studied Ian’s face. He wanted to memorize each part of this man, his friend—now that he had him in his arms, Corey was never going to let him go. His gaze traced the curve of Ian’s jaw; his lips ached to taste the flower of Ian’s mouth, pursed in a sigh. His fingers cupped his friend’s cheek, and Ian leaned into the touch, squeezing his eyes shut as if the press of flesh on flesh burned. “What can’t you do? What’s wrong with this?” With difficulty, Ian raised his hands from Corey’s chest. His warm fingers wrapped around Corey’s cold wrist, the touch arousing the blood in Corey’s veins. It rushed through him, sending slivers of pleasure throughout his body until they pierced the sweet ache coiled in his groin. Slowly, very slowly, Ian eased Corey’s hand away from his face, his 57

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features twisting as if in pain when Corey’s fingers brushed free of his skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” Ian admitted, his voice as quiet as the crackling ice in the bucket behind him. “I can’t just—this can’t be…” He sighed, and when Corey leaned toward him, he turned away. Corey’s lips caught the lobe of his ear, opening to enclose it in a warm, wet kiss. Beneath him Ian shuddered, sighing again, and this time the want and need and passion in the sound enflamed Corey, igniting his body as he sucked on Ian’s earlobe. He wanted him, now. He needed him, forever. Ian’s words fell on half-deaf ears. “I’m not going to let you use me like you do the fans,” he was saying, as Corey’s teeth nipped the soft skin of his ear. “I’m not going to fall for you, Corey, I’m not. I won’t let myself—” “Why not?” Corey placed a hand against Ian’s chest, unbuttoning the top button of the vest his friend wore. Ian offered no resistance as Corey’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric to rub one hard nipple, and Corey leaned his hips into Ian, thrusting his erection against Ian’s thigh. “I won’t let myself get hurt,” Ian said. For a moment Corey thought that was all he would say, and he shifted his hips to rub his crotch against Ian. There was a hardness below Ian’s belt that matched his own, and the press of hidden flesh like suede-encased steel turned Ian’s words into a long, low moan of lust. Then Ian slipped free of Corey’s arms, sliding out of his grasp like an ephemeral dream. Corey turned as Ian hurried to 58

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the window and downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass, throat working as he drank, eyes still shut. Tears glistened on his cheeks, lit by the starlight. Everything that had felt so right just seconds ago was gone, leaving Corey shaky and confused and afraid. Afraid of losing what he’d just found, afraid he’d already lost it, he had discovered the depth of their emotions too late to do anything about them. Afraid Ian wouldn’t give him a chance to prove everything before now was nothing, and everything from here on out would be just the two of them, together. “I won’t hurt you.” Corey reached for Ian but his friend crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared at the city beyond the window. “Ian, please believe me. I won’t.” Ian laughed, bitter. “Maybe not tonight,” he said, sniffling as he struggled to keep his emotions under tight rein. “But I don’t want just one night, Corey. I don’t want just right now. And then what? Tomorrow you’ll see someone prettier, someone you want to try on and wear out and throw away like a pair of shoes, and I’ll be alone. Again. I don’t want that.” “No,” Corey said, shaking his head. It wasn’t like that—it wouldn’t be like that. “Ian, I’m not… I don’t want them. I don’t want that. The fans, the girls, the sex—” “Tonight you say you don’t,” Ian said, his deep voice quiet in the darkness, “but how do I know I can trust you? How do I know I won’t just be something you’ll settle for until something else comes along?” He turned toward Corey, eyes flashing with anger. “I’m not going to let you do that, Corey, not to me. I want to be more than that.” 59

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“You already are.” How could Ian not see how much Corey felt for him? How could he deny the electricity that sparked between them when they stood near each other? Had he not felt how right it was when they touched? How real it had been? “You’ve always been more than that to me. And I’m just now figuring it out. I don’t know what I can say or do to make you trust me, but it’s the truth.” He stepped up behind Ian and placed his hands on Ian’s arms, squeezing the thick muscles between his fingers. Leaning his forehead against the nape of Ian’s neck, Corey struggled to find the words he needed to say, the words Ian longed to hear, but all that beat inside him was his heart, and he couldn’t think of words to describe the sound it made, the way it echoed in time with Ian’s own heartbeat, which he felt in the palms of his hands. The rhythm was right, the moment was right, and Ian was too scared or had been alone for so long, he just couldn’t see it. Or rather, he was ignoring it, he wouldn’t see it. And Corey couldn’t understand why. “Ian, tell me the words. Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it, I will, anything. Just give me a chance.” He sighed, ruffling Ian’s curls. “Please don’t tell me I missed it. Please don’t say that.” “I’ve wanted this for so long,” Ian murmured. “I just… I need some time, Corey. Will you give me that? Some time to see you mean what you say, what your body says? Some time to see if I’m comfortable with the idea of you loving me back. Can you give me that?” 60

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Corey didn’t want to waste another moment searching, not when Ian was here, in his arms, within reach. But if that’s what Ian needed to figure out if this was what he wanted, then Corey thought he could give it to him. Time, space, anything. The stars from the sky, the sun and the moon and the wild west wind, if he thought it would help. “Sure,” Corey whispered. “As long as you promise to give me a chance. Please, Ian. Let me fall in love with you.” Ian sighed, rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, then wiped away his unshed tears. “Give me time, and I’ll give you your chance. Maybe…” He shrugged, and a harsh laugh escaped his throat. “Who knows?” Corey let his hands slide down Ian’s bare arms until he hugged him in a tight embrace. Their bodies molded together like two pieces in a puzzle, and Corey tried to pour every ounce of emotion flooding him into his friend. He wanted Ian to feel what he felt, to see how earnest he was, how much he wanted this to work. “Can I stay here tonight?” Suddenly the thought of another night alone, another moment spent without Ian, was anathema to him. “Fuck,” Ian whispered. But it wasn’t no, was it? Corey held him closer as Ian trembled in his embrace. *

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When Corey left to get his bag, Ian considered locking the door behind him. He would hide beneath the covers, the halfempty bottle of whiskey snuggled to his chest like a stuffed 61

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animal, and he wouldn’t listen when Corey knocked on the door. He wouldn’t answer it. He would ignore Corey’s pleas and cries and the way his lips had burned against his skin, the memory of his touch that still lingered on his flesh. But when the others returned, they’d want to know why he wouldn’t let Corey in. They’d want answers. And Ian wasn’t ready for that. So he stayed where he was and left the door unlocked, and when Corey returned, he was still by the window, staring at the small imperfections he saw in the glass, the city a blur beyond his focus. “I hope you changed,” Ian said without turning around, “because I don’t want you to undress in front of me.” If he had to see that, Ian didn’t think he could keep his hands to himself. “I did,” Corey said. Ian heard a quiet thump as Corey dropped his bag to the floor, followed by the rustle of the bedcovers being turned down. “Come talk to me, Ian.” “I’m…” Ian sighed. “I can’t, Corey. I’ve just got to think this through first, okay?” In his mind’s eye he could see his friend’s pout. “You don’t mind me being here while you think?” God, does he know he’s doing that? That innocent, little boy thing he does that makes me want to crush him in my arms and protect him forever? Is that a conscious ploy, an act, or is that really him? Ian shook his head. What could he say? “Go away?” That hadn’t worked—Corey was nothing if not tenacious, and he’d decided he wanted Ian, so he’d get him. He got everything his 62

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heart desired. But did he really want him? Ian needed to know that. Did he want him the way Ian needed him to? If so, how could Ian turn him away when every synapse, every sinew, every atom that made up his own body wasn’t listening to reason right now and screamed for Corey’s touch? “No,” he whispered. He wasn’t going to give in, not just yet. He was strong enough—he’d managed in the past. But Corey wasn’t willing then. Ian pushed that thought away. They had shared a bed the night before, and tonight would be no different. Ian wouldn’t let it be. “You sleepy?” Corey asked. Ian turned to find his friend already beneath the covers, propped up on one elbow and watching him with those aqueous eyes. Ian could drown in that gaze, if he let himself go. And would that be so bad? Ian didn’t know, but he’d die to find out and that was the truth. If Corey was giving him this chance, if Corey was serious about it, then he couldn’t let it pass him by, could he? Suddenly the events of the day caught up with him and set his heart pounding, his head reeling. Was Corey really in his bed again? Had Corey said he thought he wanted him? Ian couldn’t grasp it. I’ll think about it in the morning. He put the cap back on the whiskey bottle and set it in the ice bucket. In the darkness he maneuvered around the bed toward the bathroom. “A little sleepy. I think maybe I just 63

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need to call it a night.” “You sure you don’t mind me staying?” Corey asked again. “I’m sure.” In the bathroom, Ian closed the door and clicked on the light, blinking at the brightness. Turning on the faucet, he brushed his teeth without raising his gaze from the sink. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror right now. He didn’t want to see what might be looking back. But he couldn’t resist just a single glance, and he was right, his reflection did scare him. Because all Corey had said was maybe, and already hope sparkled in his eyes, something Ian hadn’t seen there in a long time. Flicking off the light, he stripped down to his underwear and exited the bathroom. Dressed in his T-shirt, socks, and boxers, he tried to ignore Corey’s hungry gaze as he crawled onto his side of the bed. You better not be fucking around with me, Ian thought as he pulled the covers up over his chest. He felt Corey shift closer beside him, then a warm, soft hand touched his upper thigh so tenderly, Ian had to bite back the sob that rose in his throat. This isn’t a game to me, Corey, and it better not be one for you. God, please don’t let it be just a game to you. The hand eased up over the edge of his briefs, the touch feathery through the thin fabric. As it neared the hot throbbing at Ian’s crotch, Ian caught Corey’s wrist in his hand. “No,” he whispered, though every part of his body ached for the touch. “Corey, please, no.” “Okay.” Corey slid his hand into Ian’s, entwining their 64

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fingers together beneath the covers. Moving closer, he rested his head on Ian’s shoulder, his breath ticklish against Ian’s neck, and held Ian’s hand in both of his. “Talk to me, Ian,” he whispered. “Tell me the things you’ve always wanted to say to me. Tell me what you’ve always wanted me to know.” I love you, Ian thought, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. Instead he sighed and tried to shake his hand free from Corey’s, but his friend’s grip was like a steel trap. “I don’t want to talk right now. I just want to think about it all, okay? You said you’d give me time to do that.” “I know.” For long moments they lay together, Corey’s body pressed to Ian’s side as if he belonged there, his hands hot around Ian’s own, his head on Ian’s shoulder. Finally he yawned, and in a small, sleepy voice, asked, “You want me to talk to you instead?” Ian chuckled in the darkness. “I want to think right now, remember? That means be quiet, please.” “Okay.” Corey raised Ian’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles. When Ian tried to lower his hand, Corey held it tight, keeping it against his lips. Every breath Corey took fanned across Ian’s fingers like flames from a fiery blaze, igniting his blood. “Just relax,” Corey whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ian. I promise.” “Go to sleep.” Ian shifted into a more comfortable position, and Corey snuggled against him. Corey kissed Ian’s neck right above his T-shirt, his mouth warm and damp on Ian’s skin. One leg curled over Ian’s thigh, 65

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and before long his breathing grew slow and even, his body leaning on Ian’s. Ian stared at the ceiling and tried to imagine how he could ever sleep alone again without feeling the ghost of Corey beside him. Pale moonlight fell through the open curtains, splashing everything in a cold, icy hue. When Corey took a long, shuddery breath, Ian glanced at his friend, face smoothed in sleep. His lashes fluttered, tinted blue with the night’s light. Small hairs clung to his chin, and the downy blonde fuzz on his cheeks glistened where it caught the light. With his free hand, Ian dared to reach out and push back the hair that fell across Corey’s brow. The strands were soft beneath his touch, smooth and shiny, and a clean, spring scent rose from them. Ian sighed. Studying the closed eyes, the pale brow, the peachy cheeks, he wondered how this had happened. When had he become one of the lucky ones? All this can be yours. He stared at Corey’s face, peaceful and boyish and so young in sleep. He can be yours, he wants to be, or he says he does. If you’ll just let him in. Can you do that? Can you let him in? Ian didn’t know. But here in the quiet stillness of the dark room, with the night stretching away beyond the window, Ian thought maybe, just maybe, he was willing to risk everything he had—his heart, his soul, his very being—to give Corey his chance. If Corey could love him, could really love him, then maybe Ian could get over his fear of getting hurt and love Corey back. 66

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*

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*

As Corey woke, remnants of half-forgotten dreams faded on the gray dawn screen of his mind. Before he even opened his eyes, he heard the steady tick of a clock, counting away minutes until the alarm would ring and shatter the lazy cocoon surrounding him. Them. This was Ian’s room, he reminded himself. He was in Ian’s bed. He felt safe and comfortable and… And free. For the first time in forever, I feel like there’s nothing wrong in the world, nothing pressing in on me, nothing dragging me down. He felt as he used to long ago, when he was a little boy of eight or nine, waking on a Saturday with no school, no homework, and nothing but the promise of the new day ahead. Stretching, he felt Ian’s warm body curve into his, strong arms slip around his waist, and he loved the sensation of waking like this. Usually he woke alone in a cold bed, the stench of perfume clouding his senses like a migraine, and no matter how hot the shower was, it never seemed to wash away the sweat staining his body. But here, wrapped in Ian’s musky scent, he felt a vernal glow radiating from him, from both of them, encasing them in the moment and the arousing tangle of limbs. He thought he could lie beside Ian for years and never grow old. But they didn’t have years. They had maybe an hour or so before they had to be at the coliseum for rehearsal, and this moment would be lost in the rush of their schedule. Corey 67

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didn’t want it to end. Opening one eye, he blinked at the clock on the bedside table. 5:56. Four minutes until the alarm interrupted them. Four minutes until the rest of the world came crashing in. Reaching across Ian’s chest, Corey flipped the alarm off. Now they could lie here together. Now they could sleep… or spend the next hour falling in love, Corey thought with a smile. He let his hand drift down Ian’s chest, slipping beneath the covers, and his fingers brushed across the bulge at his friend’s crotch. It excited him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. He watched Ian’s eyes clench tighter, the perfect bud of his lips part as a small sigh escaped, and at Corey’s waist, Ian’s hand balled into a fist, grabbing his shirt. They could make this time fun, discovering the wonders of each other’s bodies, the mysteries hidden beneath clothing, aching to be touched, fondled, loved. Corey shifted in Ian’s arms until he leaned over his friend, propped up on one arm that ran underneath Ian’s pillow, the pressure of Ian’s head in his palm. He studied Ian’s dark, thick eyebrows, his long lashes, his pinked cheeks and pinker lips. With one finger, Corey traced around those lips and memorized the softness beneath his touch. Leaning closer, he closed his eyes and let his own lips touch Ian’s in the briefest kiss. When he pulled back, Ian licked his lips in sleep, and Corey wondered if he could taste him. Corey wondered what he tasted like to Ian. He wondered what Ian tasted like, and he leaned in again, mouth open. He wanted to find out. 68

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His tongue darted out, savoring the damp feel of Ian’s mouth against his. Tentatively Corey parted Ian’s lips with his and eased his tongue into the warm, sweet darkness of his friend’s mouth. The smooth slide of Ian’s teeth excited Corey, and he raised his hand to cradle Ian’s cheek, turning his face into the kiss. Hungry, he pushed Ian back against the pillow, the crush of lips arousing in him an urgency for more. He felt a cautious hand on his back and Ian moaned into his mouth, waking beneath the kiss. The hand rubbed along his spine before plunging into Corey’s boxers. Corey’s eyes flew open in surprise as Ian’s strong hand squeezed his butt, but Ian’s eyes were still closed and Corey gave into the sensations flooding him as his body responded to Ian’s touch. His other hand rubbed Corey’s chest, tweaking one hard nipple before fluttering across his stomach. Intrepid, it found its way to the front of Corey’s boxers, where a stiff erection already throbbed. As Ian’s fingers closed over his sensitive member, Corey arched his back and pulled away from their kiss, breathless and aching for more. He thrust into Ian’s hand as he moaned against his friend’s neck, his mind blinded with desire and need and want and the pleasure that raged through him at the gentle touches. “Ian,” Corey breathed, rubbing his crotch into Ian’s hand. He hugged Ian closer, every part of him starving for the man in his arms. He felt warm lips on his neck, a wet tongue behind his ear, and those hands, those audacious and powerful hands, teasing and squeezing and moving against him, arousing him, making him so damn hard and horny, as if 69

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this were the first time he’d ever been touched there, or these were the first lips he had ever kissed. “Corey,” Ian sighed into his ear, his deep voice thick with yearning. “Oh, Jesus, Corey, you’re still here.” Corey’s laugh turned into a guttural moan as Ian’s hands stroked along his erection, kneading him harder. “Where else would I be?” The heady scent of Ian’s musky cologne still lingered on his skin, and it curled through Corey’s senses like a drug. Suddenly it was hot in the small bedroom, too hot, and Corey’s clothes chafed his skin, the blankets stifled him—he wanted to strip away everything between his skin and Ian’s until nothing kept them apart. As he rolled over, struggling to take off his shirt, the alarm clock beside them went off with a loud buzz, startling them both. Corey froze, the shirt up over his nose, and looked at Ian. “I thought I turned that off.” Ian pulled away from Corey to quiet the clock. “You probably hit the snooze.” When the clock fell silent, he climbed onto Corey’s knees, straddling his thighs, and stared at him. Corey didn’t know whether to take the shirt off or tug it back into place—nothing on Ian’s face hinted at what his friend was thinking as he looked at him. Corey wondered how they could get back the moment they’d shared two seconds ago, when Ian had been kissing him with such abandon. Before he could ask, Ian touched Corey’s stomach where it peeked out from beneath his shirt, then pulled the hem down 70

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to cover the exposed flesh. “We should be getting ready for rehearsal.” Corey sighed. “We’ve got some time—” “You promised to give me some,” Ian reminded him. His hand rubbed Corey’s belly in a soft, circular pattern. The touch was maddening, but Corey didn’t want him to stop. “This isn’t letting me think it through. This is making up my mind for me.” Corey didn’t want to wait. He felt as though he’d been waiting his whole life, and everything before Ian was just so much wasted time. “Ian,” he whispered as his friend started to rise from the bed. “I’m not going to hurt you.” “I’m not going to let you,” Ian replied. “Then why—” Suddenly Ian pushed Corey back to the mattress. Desire smoldered in those chocolate eyes. Leaning over him, Ian pressed his body along Corey’s, their hips grinding together the erections barely contained in their shorts. “If I had more than a few minutes,” Ian whispered, “I’d show you just how right we’d be together.” Corey’s lips parted with a moan and Ian covered them with his own mouth. Tangling his hands through Corey’s hair, Ian rubbed Corey’s forehead with his thumbs as they kissed, and Corey’s hands slipped around Ian’s waist and over his butt to pull him closer. Ian shifted against Corey, who was ready to just forget the rest of the world for this man he held so tight. Everything that wasn’t flesh or hair was too coarse, too confining, and he wanted to strip away their clothes, the 71

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sheets, the comforter, the mattress beneath them. All he wanted was the sun shining through the window, the scents and the gasps and the moans and Ian above him. Then Ian pulled away a second time. Corey’s hands tugged at the waistband of Ian’s boxers as he looked up at his friend. “Ian,” he whined, slipping his fingers beneath the tight elastic of the underwear. He felt Ian’s stomach flutter at the touch. “Don’t do me like this.” Ian laughed. “I have to shower.” “Can I join you?” Corey asked, hopeful. Indecision flickered across Ian’s face. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” “Why not?” Corey teased. “We’ve already slept together.” “Don’t rush me,” Ian told him. “I’m not.” Without another word, Ian slipped off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. *

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Alone in Ian’s hotel room, Corey stared at the ceiling and tried to will away his erection. At least Ian was giving him a chance, wasn’t he? He’d let Corey spend the night—second night in a row—he’d let Corey touch him and kiss him; he said he needed time and Corey was willing to give him that, but hadn’t it been Ian who pressed him back to the bed, teasing and playing? Hadn’t it been Ian who said he’d show Corey just how right this was between them? If only I had figured it out sooner. Then he could’ve come 72

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to Ian earlier, told him how he felt, or thought he felt, or was beginning to feel, and Ian could’ve told him… what? That he felt the same way? How could he have been so blind? Every little thing Ian did spoke volumes of the way he felt for Corey, and he’d never clued into it until last night. Corey didn’t know how to put into words the myriad of emotions he felt this morning. The public thought him nothing but a sexy pop star, and there was no reason for Ian to trust him, no reason for anyone to trust him, because all he’d ever known of love was a string of one night stands in posh hotel rooms. How in the world could he prove to Ian this would be different? That he wanted it to be different? First, he’d cut out the girls. They didn’t interest him anyway—they were nothing more than warm flesh to hide in, a way to make everything seem real, to validate who he was and who he thought he should be. But he didn’t need them anymore, any of them… he had Ian. Or rather, he would. And Ian could hold him in the night, whisper against his skin, kiss away the fame and the fortune and the world and leave him aching for more. That was real, the breathless way he felt when Ian was near. The strong arms around him, the hard body pressed close, the damp lips and deep voice—that was real. That was what Corey wanted. And to keep it, he’d stop flirting with the fans, the winks and the smiles and the after show invites he once dished out like candy. He didn’t need them anymore. He didn’t want them. You can’t quit cold turkey. The voice inside his mind sounded a lot like Dean’s. You’re a commodity; you need to 73

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shake that ass and bat those eyes because that’s what you’re paid to do. Stop that and you might as well be mute, for all the fans care. Stop that, and the show’s over. Fine, he argued back. But it wouldn’t be personal. It would be aimed at any one girl, not anymore. He’d save his brightest smiles for Ian. The bathroom door opened, a slight sound in the quiet room, and Corey sat up as Ian entered. He was already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt—only his damp, dark curls suggested he’d been in the shower. Glancing over at the bed, Ian stooped to retrieve his overnight bag. To Corey, he said, “Your turn. I don’t think you want to go to rehearsal dressed like that.” “I might, you never know.” Corey looked down at the Tshirt and boxers he’d slept in, then laughed as he jumped off the bed. With nimble fingers, he caught Ian’s wrist and pulled him close. Staring into the depths of those warm eyes, twinkling and so alive, Corey smiled and brushed his lips along Ian’s cheek. Ian laughed as Corey nuzzled his neck, and strong arms eased around Corey’s waist. “Want to join me?” Ian laughed again and pulled away. “I just took one.” “So?” Corey asked, not releasing Ian’s hand. But Ian twisted out of his grip. “We’re going to be late.” Retrieving Corey’s bag from the floor, he asked, “Is this all your stuff?” Corey sighed. He wasn’t used to being shot down. “Yeah. Ian—” “Are you sure?” Ian ignored the pout and the whine and the way Corey ducked his head and looked up at him with 74

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large, puppyish eyes. When Corey didn’t answer, Ian asked again, “Corey, are you sure this is everything?” Taking Ian’s hand, Corey kissed the open palm and whispered, “I have everything I need right here.” For emphasis, he squeezed Ian’s hand and hoped he got the point. Ian laughed. “Damn, you’re cheesy,” he said, but his fingers brushed Corey’s cheek before he pulled away. “Are you always like this in the morning?” “I don’t know,” Corey admitted. “I never woke up with anyone before.” “So that makes me special?” Ian teased. “You’re already special.” The words hurt, even though he knew Ian was kidding. “Ian, please believe me.” Ian sighed. “I do, Corey. I do believe you.” But Corey saw the guarded expression in his friend’s eyes and knew he still had a long way to go to win Ian over. “Now give me your keycard and I’ll make sure you got everything out of the room while you’re in the shower, okay?” Corey didn’t answer, and Ian touched his chin, raising Corey’s face to meet his steady gaze. “Okay?” Corey nodded. This was going to be harder than he thought. *

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With the edge of a washcloth, Corey wiped the steam from the mirror above the sink and frowned at the young man staring back at him. His skin was flushed from the heat of the shower, his hair a dark blonde where it molded flat against his 75

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head. He thought he’d heard the door to the room open while he was in the shower, but he remembered the way Ian had reacted yesterday and didn’t think he should just waltz into the room dressed in nothing but a towel. Much as he’d like to whip off the towel, wrap it around Ian’s waist, and reel him in close, Corey didn’t think it would be a good idea just yet. Their relationship was tenuous enough already. Instead he rubbed the cloth over his head, shaking the water from his hair, then frowned at his reflection as he dried off his arms and chest. Beyond the bathroom door, he heard a heavy thud in the bedroom—Ian’s bag being dropped to the floor, maybe, or his own bag tossed off the bed. So he was back, and damned if Corey couldn’t stop his silly grin or the way his heart flipped in his chest. All from a few kisses, a few touches. Can you imagine when we have sex? Corey felt his face heat up from the mere thought. Quickly he dressed in a pair of tan jeans and a tight turtleneck. Already his hair was drying into its signature style as he brushed his teeth. Slipping on a pair of low-cut boots, he wondered what Ian was doing right this moment. Lying on the bed, thinking of him? Standing by the window? By the mirror? Remembering the taste of Corey’s tongue in his mouth, or the feel of Corey’s lips on his own, or the sweet ache of Corey’s body pressed against his? Corey hoped so. He hoped Ian was thinking of all of those things, and imagining a hundred more just like them. Tonight, after the show, there’d be no girl led up to Corey’s hotel room, and Ian wouldn’t need those bottles of whiskey in his bag to 76

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help him sleep. Corey would see to that. Opening the bathroom door, he was greeted with cool air on his heated cheeks. With a slight smile, he called out, “Did I leave anything behind?” “Not that I saw,” came the reply. Corey turned to find Dean grinning at him from his perch on the edge of the bed. Before Corey could respond, Dean said, “Next time you and Ian switch rooms, you might want to tell someone.” “What do you mean?” Corey’s overnight bag sat on the floor by Dean’s feet, and he avoided his manager’s gaze as he shoved his night clothes into the bag. Dean laughed. “You’re in 1213, right? Well, I knock this morning and Ian answers. He says you’re in here. What’s up with that?” Corey stared at Dean for a long moment, unsure of how to answer. He wanted to say, What the fuck is it to you?, but he didn’t think that would go over well. So he busied himself with packing his stuff in his bag. “I just crashed here. Something wrong with that?” Dean shrugged. Looking around the room, he asked, “And he what, slept in your room?” “No.” Hefting his bag over one shoulder, Corey looked at himself in the mirror above the dresser so he wouldn’t have to meet Dean’s gaze. “What is this, twenty questions? Why do you care?” “I don’t.” Dean stretched back against the bed and laughed. “I get it. You’re still pissed about that whole thing at 77

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the restaurant last night, aren’t you? Fuck, I was just teasing. You’re such a kid, like no one can pick on you, a damn prima donna—” “Shut up, Dean,” Ian said. Corey turned as his friend entered the room. With a smile his way, Ian asked, “Aren’t we late for rehearsal already?” *

*

*

A couple days later, in a different city, Corey lay in the silent darkness of his hotel room, ears still ringing from the din of the crowd at that night’s show. The screams of fans echoed through his mind like the incoming tide. It was a little before midnight, and he lay on his stomach on the cool comforter of the bed, staring at the wall. He wore just a pair of boxers that clung to his body, still damp from the shower, and wondered where Ian was. It had been four days since their first kiss, and Corey’s lips still tingled with the soft feel of his friend’s mouth, the tender kisses they had shared the past few nights, the quick pecks they managed to steal when the others weren’t around. His arms, now curled beneath his chest, ached to hold Ian again; his hands wanted to touch those curls, that skin. He wanted to stare into those bottomless eyes and never look away. Tonight as they had left the arena, Ian in front of him, Corey smiled at the fans and waved and shook hands and winked, but it meant nothing to him anymore. In the elevator Dean had laughed, asking Corey where his lady of the evening was, but Corey ignored him. He didn’t need the girls; he didn’t want them. He 78

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wanted Ian. If only Ian could see that. Four days—Corey never thought his life could turn around so fast in so short a time, and yet it had. Looking back, everything before that first night spent in Ian’s bed seemed colorless, painted in shades of gray on the canvas of his mind. And now, everywhere he looked, colors screamed from the world like wet paint. If he reached out, he thought he could touch the sky and his fingers would come away tipped with blue; when he walked through grass, he was surprised his shoes weren’t painted a violent green. Even here with the lights off, the air around him throbbed with a black so opaque, he closed his eyes for a little relief. The clock bled vivid red numbers and the light in the hall, seeping beneath the door, stretched long yellow fingers across the carpet like rays of sunlight reaching for the bed. Where are you, Ian? Corey stared at that shaft of light, bright in the dark room. You said give you a few minutes and I did. For a shower, a change of clothes, and then you’d come over. Now why aren’t you here yet? As he watched, the light beneath the door winked out and Corey heard a soft knock above the roar in his ears. Adrenaline shot through him like a drug, and he almost tripped in his haste to reach the door. He flung it open wide and grinned at Ian, who stood in the hall with his bag over one shoulder and a slight smile on his face. “You waiting for me or what?” Corey laughed, breathless with anticipation and desire that 79

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tugged at his heart. “I was worried you’d forget.” His hands reached for Ian’s bare arm on their own accord, fingers slipping beneath the sleeve of his friend’s T-shirt, and the feel of soft skin aroused him even more. Pulling Ian to him, Corey wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders and kissed him. The faint taste of whiskey lingered on Ian’s lips. “What took you so long?” Ian shrugged the bag off his shoulder, one arm finding its way around Corey’s waist. “I had to shower.” Corey leaned his head on Ian’s shoulder, breathing in the crisp fresh scent of soap along his friend’s neck. Ian’s curls tickled Corey’s forehead where the damp ends brushed his skin. “It took you that long?” Corey kissed a tender spot just below Ian’s ear. Right now all that mattered was Ian was here, beside him, and after tonight’s show Corey longed to lie down in the safety of these strong arms and never get out of bed. “Yeah.” Ian laughed, a low sound in the darkness, and led Corey into the room to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled Corey down onto his knee and rested his head against Corey’s bare chest. His hair curled wet and cool against Corey’s nipple. Corey waited, thinking Ian would say something else. When he didn’t, Corey whispered, “You know, you don’t need the drink anymore, Ian. Let me be your escape.” Ian’s arms tightened around Corey’s waist, hugging him closer. His breath warmed Corey’s chest when he sighed. “I just had a glass to help me unwind.” 80

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“That’s what I’m here for.” Corey eased him back to the mattress and stretched out beside Ian, running his fingers through his friend’s drying hair. This close he could see Ian’s eyes glistening in the darkness, small sparks that spun and wavered when he met Corey’s steady gaze. There was so much Corey could see in those eyes, so much he wanted to discover. Leaning down, he caught Ian’s bottom lip between his own and suckled, tasting whiskey and the sweetness that was Ian. Then, shifting onto him, Corey pressed his body along Ian’s and thrust his hips against his friend’s, his hands fisting in Ian’s hair. He whispered, “Let me in, Ian. Let me show you how much I want you, how I want to love you. Can’t you let me show you that?” “Corey,” Ian sighed. His hands slid beneath the thin material of Corey’s boxers to cup his bare buttocks. He pulled Corey toward him as he thrust up, their erections rubbing against each other through both Corey’s boxers and Ian’s jeans. Corey wanted him, now. Tonight. As Corey’s fingers eased beneath Ian’s shirt, tugging it up over his chest, Ian sat up and helped him pull it over his head. Corey’s lips found his nipples and he kissed them erect, his tongue licking over the hard nubs as his hands roamed Ian’s stomach. He kissed down Ian’s chest, his mouth following the trail of hair leading over Ian’s lower abdomen into his boxers. But as Corey unsnapped Ian’s jeans, Ian stopped him. “Corey, wait. No.” Corey frowned. “Why not?” 81

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He could feel the heat radiating from Ian’s body, the hard thickness beneath his fingers aching to be stroked, throbbing for his fingers and mouth and tongue. He wanted this—he wanted to take Ian into him and show his friend how much he wanted him and he couldn’t understand why Ian was saying no. “Don’t you want to?” “Jesus,” Ian whispered, fumbling to keep his jeans zipped up. “Corey, it’s not that. God, it’s so not that. Believe me, I want to so bad—” “Then what’s the problem?” Corey’s body raged at him, clamoring for Ian, but he sat back and let Ian push his hands away. Trailing his fingers along Ian’s downy thigh, he pouted. “Ian, I don’t understand why—” “I just can’t,” Ian sighed. “I want you, Corey, I do. I always have. But I… I’m not ready. I just can’t let you in like that. I don’t think we’re ready…” Corey grinned and ran a hand over the bulge at Ian’s crotch. “I’m ready, and damn, but I think you’re ready, too. It’s just you, and me, and this…” He squeezed Ian’s erection for emphasis, and smiled at the moan that escaped Ian’s lips. But then Ian twisted away, moving to the other side of the bed, and Corey sighed. “Corey, please,” Ian said. “I can’t.” “You don’t trust me yet,” Corey said. “Fuck, Ian, how can I prove it to you? How can I show all I want is you?” Ian laughed. “How do I know you don’t say that all the time?” he countered. “Every time you’re horny and looking for a fuck—how do I know you really mean it?” “I want to show you I mean it,” Corey replied. “It’s not 82

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like that, Ian. It’s not.” How could he get Ian to see that? The only way Corey knew to show his feelings was in touching and kissing and sex—once Ian felt Corey in his arms and Corey’s lips on his body, he would know it was more than just a fuck to him. He had to know it. Corey could taste it in their kisses; he could feel it in their embrace. And the way he knew to prove to Ian that he wanted him, wanted only him, was to break through the barrier keeping their souls apart, to make love to him and show him the way he felt. But Ian he kept that part of himself locked up inside his heart, hidden. Corey knew it was there. He knew he could find it. He would kiss away Ian’s defenses and peel back the layers, one by one, until they both drowned in each other’s arms, and when Ian came, Corey knew Ian would know it, would feel it, the forever Corey himself felt when they were together, the eternity he saw in Ian’s eyes. And Ian was too cynical and too tired, and too fucking afraid to let him in, to let him find that, to let him win. Quietly Ian said, “Corey, I know you want to mean it. But I want to be more than just another conquest. I want to mean something to you—” “You do.” Corey reached out for him. When he touched Ian’s arm in the darkness, he swore he saw sparks where their skin met. Couldn’t Ian see that? “Something more than just sex,” Ian finished. “I don’t want that to be all I am to you. I want to be more, much more.” 83

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Corey closed his eyes in frustration. Can’t you see you already are? *

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Ian sighed and hugged his knees to his chest. His body ached for Corey’s touch again; his groin cursed him for pulling away when Corey’s hand was on his cock, just where every ounce of him wanted to be touched and fondled. Damn, but he hated this pride, this stupid stubbornness that wanted him to wait. For what? Hadn’t he been waiting long enough? Corey was here, and willing, and so damn close Ian could feel the faint breeze of his breath fan along his shoulders, and something was telling him no. Something was telling him that despite the words and the motions, he couldn’t be sure Corey wouldn’t hurt him, he had to be careful. Fuck careful. The past few nights spent in Corey’s arms had been wonderful, fucking amazing, but for some reason, Ian couldn’t bring himself to let Corey be more to him. Why the hell not? Because part of him was wary of Corey’s sudden desire, which could be nothing more than the raging hormones of a twenty year old who thought maybe he’d like to try out something new. And Ian didn’t want to be an experiment, or a sample, or a trial run. He wanted to be the real thing for Corey—he knew he wasn’t the first lover, but damn if he didn’t want to be the last. When they kissed, he felt it, Corey’s want, his need and lust, and when his hands roamed Ian’s body, they awakened in him feelings he hadn’t even begun to 84

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imagine. He’d never thought it would feel like angels touching him, and in Corey’s eyes he saw the birth of stars, and those lips… he had never dreamed they would taste so sweet or feel so soft. And Corey knew how to please a lover, that was obvious in the way he nuzzled Ian’s neck as they drifted off to sleep, or the way his hands curved over his waist to rest along the fluttery skin of his lower stomach. Ian wanted to let go, to let Corey’s gentle kisses devour him, to let Corey in and succumb to the passion swelling inside him, but he was scared. Of what? Of showing him just how much he means to you? Of what he can do to you? How he can blow your mind and leave you numb—you don’t want him to see that because you’re afraid he’ll take advantage of it? In the quiet darkness of Corey’s room, Ian muttered, “Maybe I should just leave.” “No,” Corey said. The bed shifted as he crawled up behind Ian and wrapped his arms around Ian’s shoulders. Ian let himself be pulled into the embrace. “Ian, no. I’m sorry, I don’t want to rush things, I know you want to take it slow. Just please don’t leave. Stay here. Please don’t leave me alone.” Ian sighed again and closed his eyes, letting Corey’s warmth cover him. “I’m just tired.” It had been a long week, and every night they fell asleep in a tangle of arms and legs after wearing each other out with kisses and hugs and teasing touches. It had been a long night, as well, and after the show Ian just wanted to fall asleep. He didn’t want to fool around tonight, not when his guard was down, not when he might give 85

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into something he wanted so desperately but didn’t think he should have just yet. Corey’s lips pressed against the side of his head, breath ruffling Ian’s hair. “Then let’s go to bed.” He released Ian long enough to turn the covers down and slip beneath them, then patted the bed. “Come on.” “You’re not mad?” Ian asked, a little incredulous. A moment ago Corey was all over him, his erection undeniable, and now he was willing to just go to sleep all because Ian was tired? “Corey, I’m sorry—” “It’s okay, really. Just come here, Ian. Please. Just let me hold you. That’s all I want. If you don’t want to do anything else right now, we don’t have to.” In a quieter voice, he added, “We can wait until you’re ready.” Ian stood and undressed, and when he slid under the covers, he felt Corey’s arms around his waist, hugging him close, and he smiled to feel that hardness pressed against his butt, still there, still throbbing with the want of him. Of him. Ian snuggled back up to Corey. “I just want to be sure…” “I know,” Corey replied, kissing Ian’s neck. In the darkness his lips were hot and damp, and Ian wished he hadn’t pushed him away earlier. Thinking of those lips around his dick made his own erection ache. That warm mouth, that sweet tongue, those lips… Stop it. He entwined his fingers with Corey’s and hugged their hands to his chest. Stop it now or you’ll give in and hate yourself in the morning for being so damn weak. But would it be so bad, to lose himself to Corey? To give 86

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himself to this puckish boy who wanted him? What if he decides that’s enough, then? What if he disappears like a dream by the dawn’s light? He hasn’t yet. That was true, wasn’t it? It’d been four days now and every night Corey held Ian tight, kissed him, whispered to him how much he wanted to do more, feel more, take Ian someplace higher and never let him fall. And every morning Ian awoke in those same arms, kissed awake by those same lips. So what am I afraid of? “Corey?” Playfully, Corey nipped Ian’s shoulder. “Hmm?” Without thinking, Ian whispered, “I never thought you’d like me this way. I told myself it was wrong to think of you above me, in me, but I couldn’t help it. I always wanted to be someone you’d like, someone you might fall for, someone you could love.” Corey squeezed Ian’s hands in his and tightened his arms around Ian’s body. “Maybe you always were and I just couldn’t see it before. Maybe that’s why I’ve been so fickle. I was searching for something I didn’t think I could find.” Ian felt hot tears burn his eyes and he turned his face into the pillow, vowing not to cry. It was tonight’s show, and the alcohol, and the fact that he was tired, that was all. But Corey’s lips on his shoulder, his hair against Ian’s back, his body curved so perfectly against Ian’s own… he wanted this. He didn’t want to do anything to lose it. In a low whisper, Corey murmured, “I want to love you the only way I know how, to kiss you and bring you pleasure and 87

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release and satisfy your every desire. Why can’t you let me do that, Ian? Why can’t you?” Because I don’t want to get hurt. The idea seemed ludicrous here in the safety of Corey’s arms. “Just give me some time,” he whispered. “You promised me that.” “I know.” Corey burrowed his head between Ian’s shoulder blades and kissed the soft, smooth skin of Ian’s back until everything else disappeared. With the feel of Corey surrounding him, Ian closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. *

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Ian awoke to an emptiness beside him, a feeling of coldness despite the blankets covering him, and for a second his mind froze, numb. There you go, a tiny voice inside said, almost triumphant. He’s gone. You chased him away. There you fucking go. But then reason roused itself and he heard the faint splash of the shower, Corey’s voice audible as he sang in the bathroom. Releasing his breath in relief, Ian rolled over and looked at the time. It was after six—Corey must’ve turned off the alarm when he woke to let Ian sleep. But he hadn’t left, even though Ian had pushed him away last night. Maybe that says something. Maybe he’s really serious about this, like he says he is. Like I want him to be. Ian didn’t know if he was reading what he wanted to into Corey’s actions. They had been friends for so long now, and he knew the way Corey was, he knew him better than he even 88

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knew himself. So where were these doubts coming from? What had happened to the strength he thought he had? Why was it that where Corey was concerned, all rational thought flew out the window, leaving him trembling and afraid? Pushing those thoughts away, he closed his eyes until he heard the shower cut off and the last notes of Corey’s song drift away. Then the bathroom door opened and a hiss of humid air curled out as Corey stepped into the room, already half-dressed in a pair of faded jeans. He grinned at Ian while rubbing a towel through his drying hair. “Morning, babe.” “Hey.” Ian watched Corey step closer, then reached out and ran a hand down one denim-clad thigh. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Corey leaned down to claim a kiss. His lips lingered on Ian’s own. His fingers traced the curve of Ian’s chin. Catching Corey’s wrist, Ian pressed his cheek into Corey’s palm. “You just took a shower last night.” Corey laughed. “Another one never hurts.” He studied Ian in the gray light that fell through the open curtains, and Ian wondered what was going on behind those blue eyes. What thoughts raced through that mind? What did Corey think when he looked at Ian? What had he thought this morning, when he woke up? Did he lie in bed and watch Ian sleep? Did he kiss him softly, hold him close, before slipping out from between the covers and into the shower? What are you thinking when you look at me like that, Corey? What do you see? In a low voice, Corey said, “You should get out of bed soon. It’s getting late.” 89

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A half hour and they would be in the limo again, driving pell-mell to the next airport, the next show. Kissing Corey’s palm, Ian asked, “Lie with me for a minute, will you?” Without answering, Corey lay on top of the blankets, his body pressing Ian’s own into the mattress with a sudden, sweet heaviness. Ian wrapped his arms around Corey’s waist and hugged him close as Corey rested his head beside Ian’s on the pillow. He kissed Ian’s ear, a soft touch that made Ian yearn for more, and as he stroked Ian’s cheek, Corey whispered, “I love this.” “What?” Ian asked, rubbing Corey’s bare back with one hand. Corey smiled. “Holding you like this. Just us here, together. Nothing else matters. Nothing.” Ian laughed. “There are those who would disagree.” “You?” Corey’s brow furrowed in consternation. “No.” Ian couldn’t deny the way this felt to him; he couldn’t even pretend to. “Dean might. If we tell him nothing matters but this…” Corey grinned. “And Kate. It would piss them off. I can hear her now, ‘What the fuck?’” Yes, Ian could imagine it, too—Dean would flip if he knew his singers were falling in love, particularly Corey, his cash cow. To all appearances, nothing had changed between them, except maybe Corey had grown tired of the girls and slept alone now, and maybe Ian had become just a little happier and less road-weary. Sam had even stopped asking if he wanted something on a run to the local ABC store—he was 90

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still on the same bottle he had opened the night Corey said he wanted him. No one knew of the hours they’d spent in each other’s arms, or the kisses, or… well, there wasn’t more, not yet. But there would be. Soon. Corey traced Ian’s nose with one finger, the touch ticklish. It made Ian smile. When that finger trailed across his lips, Ian opened his mouth and caught it between his teeth. Sucking gently, he watched Corey’s eyes widen at the audacious move, and he suppressed a smug grin. He circled the tip of Corey’s finger with his tongue. A little time, Corey. That’s all I need. And I’ll make it worth your while. “We should get out of bed,” Corey sighed, his voice low and breathy, his gaze never leaving Ian’s lips. “We should get up and get dressed, and you know what this is doing to me, right?” Letting Corey’s finger slip from between his lips, Ian asked, “What?” Corey shifted, pressing the hard erection in his jeans against Ian’s hip. “This,” he sighed, closing his eyes as sensation flooded him. He ground his hips into Ian’s and moaned, his hand cupping Ian’s face. “Just because you suck on my finger. Damn, Ian, I’ll explode when we finally go all the way.” Ian laughed. He sat up, and Corey watched as he extracted himself from the covers. Because he didn’t know what to say, Ian didn’t reply. What could he say? “Next time don’t leave me sleeping,” he said, climbing out of the bed. “Wake me up 91

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and we’ll shower together.” “You’re serious?” Corey rolled onto his back to keep him in view as he headed for the bathroom. “Ian—” “Wake me up,” Ian said, winking at Corey. “We’ll see how serious I can be.” With that, he closed the bathroom door behind him and told himself he wouldn’t think of Corey as he showered, but who was he kidding? *

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When Ian turned off the water, he listened for some sound in the hotel room but heard nothing beyond the drawn shower curtain. The drain gurgled at his feet as the rest of the soapy water swirled away, and he rubbed his body down, the taste of Corey still on his lips. Stepping from the shower, he tugged his briefs up over a budding erection, the tight prison of fabric a not unpleasant pressure along his hardening member, and tried to ignore the sweet ache as he brushed his teeth. Then he opened the bathroom door and cool air swirled around his legs. Corey lay on the bed where Ian had left him. “Hey, sexy.” “Hey, yourself.” Ian knelt beside the bed to rummage through his bag for something to wear. Leaning over the edge of the bed, Corey kissed the top of Ian’s head. It was so spontaneous, so unexpected, that Ian’s cock went from semi-aroused to fullblown hard-on with that one little kiss. Be strong, his mind whispered, but his body ignored the warning. He raised his face to meet Corey’s lips with his own, 92

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eager for more, wanting it, needing it. Corey’s hand dropped to Ian’s bare shoulder. Sensations flooded Ian’s body, blinding his mind and burning through him. Who was he kidding? This was it. He’d been in love with Corey since the day they met— why hold out any longer? He wanted Corey, and he wanted him now. Against Corey’s mouth, Ian whispered, “Touch me. Please.” As he stood, Corey’s hand fell from his shoulder to his chest. He tweaked one of Ian’s nipples and pleasure spiked through him. Then his hand slipped lower, down over the bulge at Ian’s crotch to cup the erection that strained against the thin fabric. It wasn’t enough. With his own hand Ian guided Corey’s, easing open the flap in the front of his underwear. As Corey’s fingers threaded inside, brushing against kinked hair and reddened flesh, Ian moaned, a low sound deep in his throat that made Corey’s hand clench around his cock. “Like this?” Corey murmured, kissing Ian’s belly as his hand rubbed and teased and kneaded inside his underwear. “Yes.” Ian cradled Corey’s head in his hands and leaned back, savoring the firm hand on his hard length. Corey’s tongue danced along Ian’s stomach and licked into his navel as his hand explored the dark confines of Ian’s briefs. Repositioning himself, Corey sat up, one leg on either side of Ian’s to hem him in, and took Ian’s tweaked nipple into his mouth with expert ease. He bit the tender nub just enough to 93

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cause Ian to arch his back in his desire to press more of himself into his lover’s hot, wet mouth. Tiny kisses trailed down Ian’s stomach, and then Corey took the waistband of Ian’s boxer briefs between his teeth. With hooded eyes he looked up at Ian, a slight smile on his face as he growled, a guttural sound that made every part of Ian’s body ache to hear it. “Yes,” Ian sighed as he thrust into the hand still clutching him tight. “Oh, please, God, please, you just don’t know what that does to me.” Releasing the material, Corey grinned. “I can imagine.” Then, incredibly, he pulled his hand free from Ian’s underwear and sat back, studying Ian’s face. “Don’t stop.” Ian knelt against the edge of the bed, then climbed onto Corey, easing him onto the mattress. His hands smoothed beneath the rough wool of Corey’s sweater, rubbing along heated skin. Then, changing direction, he folded his fingers into the waistband of Corey’s jeans. The button on his fly popped open on its own. Corey caught one of Ian’s hands in his and raised it to his lips. “We don’t have to. I know you want to wait.” His own words, thrown back at him. God, why did his head agree with Corey when his body cried out for more? “Please, Corey,” he whispered. “I want you.” “I know you do.” Corey stretched to cover Ian’s lips in a velvety kiss. “I want you, too. God, I want you so bad, I ache just looking at you. I want to hold you forever and kiss you and make long, slow love to you every minute of every hour 94

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of every day and night.” The words made Ian want to cry. How long had he waited to hear these things from Corey? “But not like this,” Corey continued, his voice breathy and soft. How could he sound so damn rational when every part of Ian ached for his touch? “I don’t want to force you into it. I don’t want to turn you on and make you feel like you have to do it, any of it, anything you don’t want to do before you’re ready.” “I’m ready now,” Ian murmured. Since when had the voice of reason come to sound so much like Corey’s sweet voice? Corey shook his head, damn him. “I’m not so sure.” For a moment longer, Ian held himself above Corey. He wanted to push his advantage, take what he wanted, what he’d have in the end. What he needed. But Corey was right. Ian lay down behind his friend in defeat. Corey was always right. When he tried to roll onto his back, Corey held him close, and the hardness he felt against his own erection told him he wasn’t the only one whose balls would be sore all day. *

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By eleven o’clock that evening another concert was over, the screaming crowds and bright lights left behind for the dressing room backstage. Ian kept his eyes averted as he dressed, but he could still see Corey behind him in the mirror, his strong legs and round ass and narrow hips, and Ian didn’t breathe again until Corey pulled on a pair of jeans, hiding his 95

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body from view. The morning spent in each others’ arms seemed distant now, and Ian wanted nothing more than to get back to the hotel and back into bed. Maybe if Corey talked sweet enough, maybe Ian would open up just a little bit farther, let him in just a little bit more. He tugged a clean shirt over his head, tucked it into his jeans, and tried to tell himself he was still being cautious, but it was beginning to pay off, wasn’t it? Corey wasn’t just after another fuck, and Ian was starting to see that now, in everything Corey said or did. So maybe tonight he’d give in, just a little. Lust thrilled through his body at the thought of Corey above him, lips hot and damp, tongue licking, hands gentle and loving, his hard, thick— “Great show, guys.” Dean leaned against the vanity and waved at him. “Ian? You still with us?” Ian grinned as he zipped up his jeans. “I’m here.” But his mind was already back at the hotel and his arms ached to hold Corey again. Running a hand through his disheveled curls, he asked, “What’s up?” “Change of plans,” Dean told him. In the mirror, Ian saw Corey glance over, a scowl already furrowing his brow. “A local radio station is hosting a VIP party downtown and you two are the guests of honor.” Ian sighed. “Dean, no. I’m exhausted. I just want to get back to the hotel—” “And drink yourself into oblivion,” Dean finished for him. “You can booze at the party. There’ll be girls…” He winked past Ian at Corey, as if he thought that would 96

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woo him. Corey just glared at their manager, then his gaze flickered to Ian’s in the mirror. In those oceanic eyes, Ian saw his own desires reflected back at him. Couldn’t Dean leave them alone? Apparently not. When neither of them said anything, Dean clapped Ian on the shoulder. “Great! You’re going. Meet Kate and me at the end of the hall in what, fifteen minutes? How’s that sound?” Like torture, if Ian were honest. He waited until Dean left the dressing room before closing the distance between himself and his friend. With the bodyguard stationed at their door, he had to be careful about what he said or did, and the hand he placed on the small of Corey’s back fisted in his shirt to keep from dropping to his ass. Closing his eyes, Ian could smell sweat and cologne mingling into a pleasant scent that hovered around Corey, a scent that Ian imagined he smelled like after sex, raw and powerful and alive, and he swallowed against the images that rose unbidden to his mind, images of Corey above him and in him. Suddenly he needed a drink, something strong, something to help him make it through the rest of the night until he could get Corey alone. Corey’s voice was a soft whisper between them. “All I want is to go back to the room.” “Tell me about it,” Ian groused. Corey seized Ian’s arm. “Let’s not go,” he said, excited. “Let’s ditch Dean and Kate and go back by ourselves. What can they say? I mean, really?” “They can fire us,” Ian pointed out. 97

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“Please,” Corey drawled. “We’re their meal ticket, but they don’t own us. We can—” Ian looked around again. Butch stood an impassive guard at the door, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes halfclosed. “We’ll go. We have to.” Leaning close, his lips brushed against the soft fuzz of Corey’s cheek, just in front of his ear. “But I don’t want to stay all night long. I’ve got other plans.” Corey squeezed Ian’s arm. “I hope they include me.” “Of course they do.” *

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Amid a flurry of reporters and a blinding array of cameras and lights, their limo pulled to a curb outside an exclusive club downtown. The warm press of Ian’s leg against his bolstered Corey’s courage, and his own hand rested on Ian’s knee. When the limo stopped, Butch stepped out first, as was the custom, followed by Dean and Kate. Corey managed to squeeze Ian’s knee before he slid out of the car, then Corey exited, cool air swirling around him. For a moment he froze, one foot on the curb, and he wanted to duck back inside, pulling Ian with him. But then a fan screamed his name and that old familiar smile fell into place, a veil hiding the cold inside, and he waved at the crowd. A chorus erupted around him, girls calling his name. He smiled as he looked around, his gaze sliding over them all to settle on Ian. A hand on his back told him the other bodyguard, Sam, was out of the limo, and they 98

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trouped single-file into the lobby, just beyond the reach of eager fans. Inside the elevator, Corey leaned against the mirrored wall, one hand on the back of Ian’s waist. This better be quick. An hour, no more. Already he couldn’t wait to get Ian alone. As he threaded his finger through a belt loop on Ian’s jeans, he said, “I didn’t know this was a media event.” Dean shrugged. “When isn’t it a media event anymore? Someone heard 2ICE would be here and voilà! Instant press.” Ian laughed, that fake chuckle Corey knew meant he would rather be anywhere else right this moment. His fingers tightened on the waistband of Ian’s jeans and he frowned. “Dean,” he started, “I didn’t think—” “Look, it’s just a few reporters, okay?” Dean sighed, exasperated. “It’s nothing new.” Corey didn’t want to stay long. He wanted to push Ian against the wall and press his body into his and kiss him senseless. He wanted to ease the ache curling through him by holding Ian as tight as he dared, until they both forgot to breathe. He wanted to stare into Ian’s warm eyes until they disappeared, one into the other, and all that existed were two souls burning bright, entwined together. He didn’t want to fake another smile or force another laugh, and he sure as hell didn’t want to pretend he wanted to be here when he wanted to be snug beneath the covers of his bed with Ian in his arms and the night stretching away around them like eternity. But he let Ian’s gentle touch guide him into the party. The music pounding around them were hits from 2ICE’s own 99

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albums, just what Corey didn’t want to hear. The lights were dim, faces indistinct and fuzzy; the only sharp points of light came from stars shining through sheer curtains on the balcony. Corey stopped just inside the door and leaned against a bare spot on the wall. I’ve done this before. I’ll do it again. Tonight is no different. “You want a drink?” Ian called over the din of the crowd. Corey looked around—everyone seemed to have a cup in hand, beer mostly, the light amber liquid sloshing as they gyrated and bumped into each other. Taking advantage of the loud music, Corey motioned for Ian to lean closer, then kissed Ian’s ear. “No.” The musk cologne Ian favored warmed his nose and dulled his senses, and it was all he could do to keep his arms crossed in front of him and not pull Ian close. “Get something if you want it.” “I’ll be back.” Then Ian was gone, swallowed by the crowd as he made his way to the bar. Corey watched his friend point to a bottle of Bacardi, and Ian downed the first glass the bartender served, his throat working quickly as he swallowed the dark rum. Corey couldn’t fault him—the thought of drinking away the party was tempting. But he’d get Ian alone soon enough; he could wait until then, even if it meant he’d be hard as steel and throbbing in synch with the music by the time they left. There was a promise in Ian’s eyes tonight, something that excited Corey and made him want to cry with longing and passion and need. Something akin to trust. Corey watched the bartender fill Ian’s glass again and 100

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waited for Ian to make his way back to where he stood, holding up the wall. Raising his glass, Ian asked, “You sure you don’t want any?” “What I want isn’t in any of their bottles,” Corey answered, but he took the glass and sipped. The rum burned a path down his throat and seemed to dissolve his stomach as it dispersed throughout his body. The ache in his groin flared as Ian pressed against him, moving aside to let a few people pass. When Corey handed the glass back, Ian’s fingers closed over his and he felt a silly grin split his face at the touch. “Do you know how much I want you right this second?” He was more than a little breathless from the alcohol and Ian’s nearness and the hip grinding into his crotch. Leaning into Corey, Ian laughed, a merry sound loosened by the alcohol. “I can feel it.” He winked at Corey as he drank from his glass. Corey loved that wink. Maybe this party wouldn’t be all that bad. *

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Ian pushed away from the bar and wove through the crowd looking for Corey, his glass once again filled with spicy rum. He’d lost count after what, the third glass? He didn’t remember. Everything seemed dull, colors blending one into the next, the glowing tips of cigarettes melding into the shadows like red stars winking at him, music pumping through his blood with the alcohol and the moment and where the fuck 101

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was Corey, anyway? Ian had told him to wait, he’d be right back, and the boy disappeared like a ghost in mist. Just when Ian wanted to hold him close, to feel his soft touch and taste his sweet lips… damn, he wanted him, right now. His crotch ached in time with the music and he wondered if there were any place they could hole up, a bathroom, a closet, anywhere he could catch a few stolen moments with Corey and rub against him and where the hell was that boy? “Hey, Ian!” A hand stopped him, spun him around, and the room dipped away in a dizzy frenzy. Nausea flashed through him, and to steady himself, Ian took a sip of his rum. His eyes focused on Dean, smiling down at him with a devilish grin like Lucifer himself. “You having fun, man?” “You seen Corey?” Ian would have fun once he found Corey and a dark place they could nuzzle together, out of this madhouse, away from the crowd. Dean shrugged and turned away. Ian stumbled back, letting the ebb and flow of the crowd carry him along. Then he saw a flash of blond hair bobbing like driftwood among waves. Pushing through the crowd, he snuck up behind Corey and ran his arms around his friend’s waist, the cool glass in his hand resting along the zipper of Corey’s jeans. “Guess who,” Ian breathed into Corey’s ear, and then he laughed, a throaty sound that bubbled up from him like champagne. Corey turned, catching Ian’s hands in his own and 102

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untangling himself from Ian’s embrace. “You’re drunk.” He glanced around the room, but no one paid them any mind. Plucking the glass from Ian’s fingers, he asked, “What number is this? You should slow down.” Ian laughed again. “I’m not drunk.” But when he raised his glass to take another sip, it was gone. He reached for it in Corey’s hands but Corey pulled it away. “Corey—” Corey sipped at the alcohol, grimacing at the spicy taste. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Ian reached for the glass again, and this time Corey let him have it back. Downing the rest of the rum, Ian looked at Corey, who seemed to glow with a light that radiated from within, his eyes bright blue jewels, his skin dusky and warm. Leaning closer, Ian whispered, “Can I just tell you how fucking horny you make me?” “Keep it down,” Corey warned. “People can hear you.” “I don’t care who can hear me.” Ian grinned at a girl dancing nearby, but she was lost in her own hazy world of music and smoke and drink and she didn’t even smile back. He pressed against Corey, his hand picking at the sweater his friend wore, his fingers pinching one hard nipple through the knitted material. Corey raised his hand to brush Ian’s away but changed his mind, and his fingers eased into the waistband of Ian’s jeans, warm along Ian’s skin. Wanting another sip of rum, Ian found his glass empty again. What the fuck? He measured the distance between himself and the bar and decided he liked standing next to Corey more than he needed another drink 103

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right this minute. “Tell me something, Corey.” His friend bumped his hip against Ian’s. “What do you want to know?” Leaning closer, until his crotch pressed against Corey’s and he could feel the desire and lust coiled in their jeans rub together with a blinding ache, Ian ran his hand down the front of Corey’s chest. He watched the way his fingers trailed over the sweater, stretching it taut. One rosy nipple peaked through the cabled material, and Ian wanted to lick it, to taste the tender bud nestled in the fuzzy cotton. He could imagine the way it would burn in his mouth, so hot, so alive, so hard. “Tell me,” he whispered, “what do you sound like when you come?” He raised his gaze to meet Corey’s and grinned at the thin blush that crept into Corey’s cheeks. “What do you look like?” Ian pressed. “What do you smell like? After sex—do you know?” “No.” Corey ducked his head, bashful. Picking at Corey’s nipple, Ian slurred, “I know. I’ve seen it over and over again in my mind. I’ve dreamed it. Want me to tell you?” Corey started, “I don’t really think this is the time or the place—” “Your eyes sparkle like diamonds,” Ian breathed. Corey cleared his throat and looked around, uneasy. “Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, sweat beaded in your eyelashes. You smell like sex and musk and lust and you taste like candy. Hard candy I could suck on for days…” 104

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The blush deepened in Corey’s cheeks; Ian smiled to know he put it there. “And you cry out,” he continued, his coppery breath enveloping them in a heady cloud of rum. “You cry out, Corey, right before you come. You cry out and scream my name like it’s the only word you know, the only thing you can remember, the only thing that exists—” Someone staggered into Ian’s back, shoving him aside, and he turned to find Dean leering down at them. “You two get a room,” he called before someone pushed him into the crowd. “Damn him,” Ian muttered, raising his empty glass to his lips again. He stared at the bottom of the glass and sighed. “Let me refill this. I’ll be right back.” “Wait.” Corey held the waistband of Ian’s jeans and, when Ian turned, he found himself in a sudden embrace. Pressing his lips against Ian’s ear, Corey whispered, “Let’s find someplace a little quieter, okay? Someplace you can hear what I sound like.” Ian grinned. Setting the empty glass down on a nearby end table, he pushed his way through the crowd, Corey’s hands on his hips. A closet, a private room, a pantry, someplace quiet, somewhere they could be alone, someplace— The bathroom. A door opened ahead, blocking the hall, and Butch blinked at them as he stepped out of the bathroom, the sharp sting of marijuana buzzing around him like mosquitoes. “Hey,” he purred, his thick voice like drizzled chocolate from the drug. His eyes focused on Ian for a full minute before a slow smile spread across his face, and he held the door open with one 105

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hand. “You need to use the can?” “God, man.” Corey waved a hand in front of his face. “You reek.” Butch’s gaze shifted to Corey, the smile never slipping. As Ian scooted around him into the dark confines of the small bathroom, Butch frowned. “You both need to go? Can’t you wait ’til he’s finished?” “Shut up,” Corey growled, pushing past the bodyguard to follow Ian inside. Ian shut the door behind them, locking out the noise and the crowd and the party. In the darkness he felt Corey’s hands on his hips and remembered why they had come to this room in the first place. Turning, he found Corey’s damp lips pressing against his. *

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The bathroom was just a tiny room, one toilet and a sink and nothing else, but in the darkness, the walls seemed to stretch away forever. When Ian pushed Corey back with rough kisses and eager hands, Corey felt as if he would fall and never hit the ground, and he clutched fistfuls of Ian’s shirt so they could fall together. But he just fell against the wall, the toilet paper dispenser catching him in the small of his back, and when he gasped Ian was there, lips covering Corey’s. “Ian, wait.” Corey tried to shift into a comfortable position, but Ian’s arms crushed him in a sudden embrace and he moaned as Ian’s hands found their way beneath his sweater. His fingers picked 106

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at Corey’s nipples, teasing them erect. “Ian, there’s something…” Corey moved away from the wall, hugging closer to Ian in an effort to put some distance between himself and the metal digging into his back. Ian’s hands rubbed the sore spot. “I’m sorry.” He shifted around until he found an empty space, then pushed Corey back against the wall. “That better?” “Yeah.” With overeager hands, Ian fumbled with Corey’s zipper, each tug sending shivers of pleasure coursing through Corey’s body. “I want you,” Ian whispered. His alcoholic kisses made Corey drunker than the rum he had sipped during the party. Corey reeled beneath those kisses, warm and wet, indistinct caresses where Ian’s lips slipped along his cheeks and chin and lips in their haste to touch him, kiss him, taste him, any part of him. The rum on Ian’s breath took his own away. Ian’s hands and lips and words ignited the fire in his blood, and Corey moaned when Ian managed to get his zipper down. “Oh, God, Corey,” Ian sighed. “I’ve always wanted you.” “Shh.” Corey cradled Ian’s face in both hands and kissed those heady lips, those smooth cheeks. His fingers roamed through Ian’s curls, disheveling them. When Ian’s hand slipped into his boxers and closed over his swollen erection, Corey grabbed twin fists of Ian’s thick hair and thrust into Ian’s hand, hard and willing and oh so ready for more. Ian quieted him with a kiss. Corey raised one leg, propping his foot up on the sink behind his friend, and pressed his hips 107

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into Ian. The hand at his crotch squeezed and kneaded and stroked; Corey forgot everything else but that touch. Adventurous fingers eased lower, cupping his balls in one cool palm before tickling farther, maddening in their exploration. He wasn’t used to this—someone pleasing him, eager to make this worth his while, wanting him to be happy. Through the front of Ian’s jeans, Corey felt the hardness there and knew he wasn’t alone in his hunger. “Ian,” he breathed as his friend kissed his way down the curve of his throat. He sighed as hot lips closed over one nipple, dampening the thickness of his sweater, teeth nipping at the tender bud. “Jesus, Ian, please don’t stop, please oh please oh please.” Ian moaned, breath fanning through the cords in Corey’s sweater as he squatted. Corey’s throat closed in lust as he realized where Ian was headed, what he was planning. His fingers closed over Ian’s shoulders. Did he really want to do this right here? Ian’s breath burned where it brushed along Corey’s lower stomach, then warm lips kissed his skin, just above the waistband of his boxers. Corey couldn’t stop his mind from reeling. Where were they, exactly? In what city, in what club, at whose party? He didn’t know. And this wasn’t where he wanted to be when he came, screaming Ian’s name. He wanted to be naked in a field of flowers, maybe, or clutching the cottony sheets of a bed, bucking into Ian with unbridled passion and crying out at the top of his lungs, not caring who heard him. There wasn’t 108

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room here, in this tiny bathroom, to contain all he felt for the man whose lips even now licked down the trail of hair leading into his boxers. Corey caught Ian’s chin as his friend undid the first snap of the shorts with his teeth. “Not here.” Ian laughed, burying his face into Corey’s crotch. “Why not here?” A sweet ache blossomed within Corey, and it took every ounce of strength to pull Ian to his feet, out of his pants. Uncertainty laced Ian’s voice. “Corey, what—” Corey’s lips found Ian’s own in the dark. “Too many people here,” he breathed. Ian slid his free hand around Corey’s raised thigh, the touch heated through Corey’s jeans. “I want you all to myself. Let’s go back to the hotel, what do you say?” Before he could answer, the bathroom door opened. A sudden shaft of light fell across their bodies. Corey looked up from Ian’s kisses to see Kate standing in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth open as if whatever she planned to say had died away. Corey cleared his throat and pushed Ian away. Ian looked up from where he nuzzled Corey’s neck and scowled at Kate. “Do you mind? Shut the fucking door.” Kate stepped back. The door eased shut, but just as Corey thought Kate was gone, she pushed it open again, anger replacing the look of shock on her face. Entering the bathroom, she clicked on the light, blinding them, then knocked Corey’s foot down from the sink. “What the hell are 109

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you two doing?” Ian backed away, pulling his hand from Corey’s boxers, and Corey felt exposed and embarrassed and afraid. Unexpected fury clouded Kate’s features. “This isn’t your hotel room, Corey. He isn’t some goddamn fan. What’s this all about?” “None of your business,” Ian snapped. “Turn off the light and leave us alone.” “Like hell it isn’t!” Kate whirled on Corey. “He’s drunk, so he’s got an excuse. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. What about you?” Corey glared at her. “He said get out.” “What’s your excuse, Corey?” Kate wanted to know. “Are you too fucking horny to care about screwing around with your best friend?” “Shut up,” Corey growled. “It’s not like that—” “I’ll tell you what it’s like.” Kate’s face was ruddy with apoplectic rage. “We’re at a VIP event. Hello, you two? There’s press outside, and more than a few reporters out in that room, drinking and smoking and snapping undercover pictures of us that will find their way on the Internet by tomorrow morning. Do you want the whole world to know Ian gave you head in the bathroom?” “It’s not what you think,” Corey said. “You don’t understand—” Kate closed in on him until her narrow face was just inches from Corey’s, eyes burning, lips set in a tight, thin, bloodless line. “I understand you’re fucking with fire here, Corey. It’s 110

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not just the fact that we’re in public, or that this is Ian… you’re jeopardizing our whole gig here, pulling this shit. Can’t you just keep your pants on for two minutes? Is that too much to ask?” Tears stung Corey’s eyes, but he blinked them away and refused to let them fall. He bit back his own anger because he knew nothing he said could make Kate understand this wasn’t what it looked like, just a secret drunken tryst in the midst of a raging party. This wasn’t that, not at all. “Leave him alone,” Ian said. Corey looked past Kate to see his friend’s pale eyes blazing with alcohol and lust and frustration. When Kate didn’t move, Ian pushed her back. Kate shrugged off Ian’s hand. “You’re drunk,” she said. “You don’t know—” “No,” Ian replied, his voice rising, “you don’t know. So don’t go jumping to conclusions just because you bust up in here and see something you don’t understand.” Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Ian took Corey’s elbow in one hand and pushed past her out into the hall, dragging Corey with him. “Ian,” Kate called, some of her anger fading. “Wait—” Suddenly Dean was there, his smile slipping away when he saw the look in Ian’s eyes. “What’s going on?” “We’re leaving,” Ian said. Vexing emotions warred within Corey—embarrassment, disappointment, unfulfilled desire and aching need and damn but he was horny. They’d be in the safety of their room soon 111

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enough. Corey couldn’t wait to hold Ian again. He’d plaster him with kisses, devour him and please him and bring him to release again and again, until Ian let him in. He saw that promise in Ian’s eyes tonight—he knew Ian was finally ready to let him win. *

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They made it as far as the elevator before their bodyguard Sam caught up with them. Huffing and winded from the sudden sprint, he admonished, “You guys know better than to pull that shit.” “We’re leaving.” Corey picked at Ian’s fingers, which had turned white from the grip he had on Corey’s elbow. “Ian, you’re hurting me.” “Sorry.” Ian released Corey’s arm but wasn’t quite willing to lose the touch, despite the fact that Sam towered beside them as they waited for the elevator, so he eased his hand around to Corey’s back and let it rest there. Fuck Kate and her “you’re drunk and don’t know what you’re doing” speech. Sure, Ian was drunk. How many glasses of rum had he had? Straight up rum, a hundred fifty proof at that. He was lucky to be standing, in all honesty, and he was damn lucky he wasn’t the one driving back to the hotel. But he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew Corey wanted him, and it turned him on something fierce to feel the thick hardness in Corey’s pants and know he’d put it there. A few minutes more and he could’ve convinced Corey the small 112

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bathroom was the ideal place for them to get it on, because Ian was ready to let him in, ready to trust him, and it didn’t matter anymore where they were or who knew it. When the elevator doors opened, Ian stepped inside and leaned against the mirrored wall, watching Corey and Sam enter. Sam hit the lobby button, and as the doors closed, Ian moved so when Corey stepped back, he found himself in a sudden embrace. Ian snaked his arms around Corey’s waist, latching his hands in front of Corey’s zipper before Corey could pull away. Kissing Corey’s shoulder, the rough fabric of his friend’s sweater tickling his nose, he pulled Corey back against him. “Ian,” Corey warned, nodding at Sam, who studiously ignored them. “Not now.” But when Corey tried to remove Ian’s hands from his waist, Ian caught his friend’s hands in his own and held on. His whole body ached for Corey, his erection throbbed against Corey’s butt like a sore tooth. Every move Corey made sent shivers of desire and lust shooting through him. “I just want to hold you,” Ian purred into Corey’s ear. He didn’t care if Sam heard or not. The guy ignored them—that’s what he was paid to do. Ignore them and watch the crowds, watch the fans, watch everything but don’t talk to the band, not while on duty. Let them pretend they have some semblance of privacy. Well, Ian was going to take what he could get. He hadn’t asked Sam to join them. In fact, he didn’t remember telling the bodyguard they were leaving. So technically he wasn’t even there, right? 113

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“Corey, please,” Ian murmured, kissing the exposed flesh of Corey’s neck. Corey squirmed as the elevator came to a stop. “We’re going back to the hotel. You can wait until then.” Ian’s hand strayed to the front of Corey’s jeans, and before Corey could stop him, he cupped the hard erection at Corey’s crotch, eliciting a low grunt of pleasure from his friend. “Do you really want to wait?” But Corey swatted his hand away and smiled at Sam. “He’s drunk,” he said, as if that explained Ian’s sudden ardor. Easing out of his embrace, Corey maneuvered behind Ian and held his shoulders to keep him from turning around. “Just make it to the limo. Can you do that for me?” The elevator doors opened and Corey steered Ian out into a lobby still crowded with fans and reporters. Sam cut a path through the screaming crowd, and then Ian was in the limo, sliding along the leather seat. A sudden fear spiked through him. “Corey?” “Right here.” Corey squeezed Ian’s hand as he sat down beside Ian, and Sam sank into the seat opposite them. Ian let his hand drift to Corey’s leg, his fingers resting along the inseam that curved against Corey’s inner thigh. As Corey sat back against the seat, Ian leaned his head onto Corey’s shoulder and sighed. With one eye on Sam to make sure the bodyguard wasn’t watching, Ian inched his hand up Corey’s leg until his wrist pressed against the bulge at Corey’s crotch. Corey moaned and brushed Ian’s hand away. “Ian, please.” 114

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Snickering, Ian tried again. Corey caught the hand in both his own and held it to keep him in check, but the rum buzzed through Ian’s blood and Corey’s closeness made him dizzy with lust. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself. He wanted to touch Corey’s body, he wanted to squeeze and stroke and caress and suck and lick and kiss every inch of bare skin… Fuck Sam for sitting his fat ass in the back seat. Couldn’t he’ve plopped it up front with the driver? “Sam,” Ian sighed, “we stopping anywhere along the way?” Sam shrugged. “What ’cha got in mind?” Ian tried to think. “How about a booze run?” Corey squeezed his hand. “You don’t need anything else to drink.” “I know that.” Lowering his voice to a loud whisper, Ian explained, “I want to get him out of here, Corey.” “Keep it down,” Corey admonished. A faint blush pinked his cheeks that made Ian laugh. When he touched Corey’s cheek, his friend leaned into his hand and kissed his palm. “Sam’s right there.” As if Ian could have somehow missed the four hundred pound man sitting in the car with them. “No shit.” Clearing his throat, Sam asked, “You want to stop someplace?” Ian looked over but the bodyguard was staring out the window at the passing night. Concentration clouded his features and it was apparent he was trying not to notice the way Ian snuggled against Corey’s shoulder, or how his hand 115

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drifted toward Corey’s crotch again, even though Corey tried to hold him back. Before Ian could answer, Corey’s lips closed over the fleshy pad of his thumb. Forget about stopping—Ian wanted to get back to the hotel now. “Never mind.” There was a devilish gleam in his friend’s eyes as Corey pressed Ian’s hand into the V between his legs. Ian’s fingers squeezed around the hardness curled there and Corey leaned back in the seat, closing his eyes, his hips thrusting into Ian’s hand. Both his own hands held Ian’s tight against his crotch. Sam’s face glistened with sweat. Though the bodyguard faced the window, Ian knew he saw their reflections in the glass because Ian could see them himself, and he wanted to laugh as his hand rubbed lazy circles against Corey’s erection. Suddenly Corey laughed and pulled away. “Ian, hold up, man.” Sam glanced at them and Ian sighed. Sitting up, he stretched one arm along the back of the seat and rested his fevered forehead against the cool window. Corey’s hand slipped into his, spanning the sudden gap between them, and Ian grinned at his reflection. A few more minutes and you’ll be all mine. *

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Corey’s body burned where Ian’s hands left a ring of fire with each fumbled touch. In the hotel elevator, it was all Corey could do not to seize Ian in a tight embrace and devour him with kisses. The memory of his friend’s lips on the skin 116

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hidden beneath the waistband of his jeans enflamed him—he pictured that damp mouth closing over the tip of his dick, those caramel eyes looking up as Ian went down on him, and God, but that mental image didn’t help things. If it weren’t for Sam, Corey would let Ian have him in the elevator, just push the stop button between floors and they’d get it on right here, right now. A few more minutes and you’ll be in your room. You can hold until then, Corey. You’ve waited this long. No one ever died from a hard-on before. When the elevator stopped on their floor, Sam disappeared. Ian leaned against Corey, who half carried, half dragged him to his room. As Corey slid the keycard into the lock, Ian breathed into his ear, “Corey.” “Hmm?” Corey pushed the door open and clicked on the light. They entered the room and Ian leaned against the door to push it shut, holding onto the waistband of Corey’s jeans. When Corey tried to step away and couldn’t, he laughed. “Ian—” “Come here,” Ian growled, pulling Corey to him. Strong arms turned him around and Corey found himself in a tight embrace. This close Corey saw the alcohol clouding Ian’s eyes, the desire there dulled with exhaustion. Ian’s kisses tasted of rum and left Corey breathless, but a small part of him wondered if Ian really wanted this or if it was just a mix of drink and adrenaline and lust fueling his sudden libido. “Corey,” Ian moaned as he worked Corey’s zipper again. Corey stepped back and took Ian’s hands in his. “The bed,” he whispered, leading him into the room. 117

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At the edge of the bed, Corey stopped to claim another kiss. Expert hands eased beneath Ian’s shirt, rolling it up to expose heated flesh, and Corey let his fingers trace the outline of Ian’s muscles. Ian gasped at the touch. Pulling the shirt over Ian’s head, Corey licked the hollow of Ian’s throat as he hugged him close. He kissed his way up Ian’s throat, over the bobbing Adam’s apple, up under the smooth chin toward those tender lips. As Ian shook free of his shirt, Corey sat back onto the bed, pulling Ian down with him. Ian straddled his legs, and Corey raised one knee to press against Ian’s crotch. Ian moaned and ground his hips, humping Corey’s legs. “Now,” he whispered, tugging at Corey’s sweater in his haste. Releasing Ian, Corey lay back along the mattress and shucked off his sweater. He felt Ian’s hands fumble at his waist as his friend plucked at his zipper. The metal teeth opened under the weight of Corey’s thick cock. Ian rubbed over Corey’s boxers, laying his dick down under his palm. The delicious weight made Corey gasp. “Like that?” Ian asked. Corey moaned in reply. Leaning over him, Ian trailed sloppy kisses down Corey’s chest as he unsnapped those boxers and pushed the thin fabric aside. Both hands closed over Corey’s aching erection. Ian moved lower, sliding off Corey’s knees, as his kisses burned a trail over Corey’s navel, down his abdomen, lower. His chin tickled over the coarse hair at Corey’s crotch. With a gentle squeeze of his cock, Ian pursed his lips and sighed, a 118

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maddening rush of air over Corey’s heated body that made him choke with passion and desire. Planting the tiniest kiss on Corey’s fluttering skin, Ian breathed, “Tell me what to do, Corey. What do you want from me?” Forever. The word startled him, but it came unbidden so he knew it was the truth. He didn’t want only tonight or just tomorrow, but every day and night, this euphoria washing over him every single moment for the rest of his life. But he couldn’t form that into words, could he? Ian would think it was just pillow talk, ramblings driven by lust and passion and who was he to say Ian wasn’t right? More importantly, what did Ian want from him? As Corey thrust his hips into Ian’s hot hand, he wondered if they were both just using each other, making it real for the moment, or if there was something more they could have, something beyond this night that could make them extraordinary and alive and necessary to each other. There had to be. Corey felt it in the mornings, when he woke to watch Ian sleep. He saw it in Ian’s slow smile, his pale eyes; he tasted it in the kisses they managed to sneak during the day—quick pecks behind the sound equipment, hungry kisses in the safety of their room, the sudden crush of soft flesh that hinted at so much more and didn’t taste of rum or whiskey, didn’t taste like alcohol at all, just the sweetness that was Ian. These kisses now, the sloppy, half-formed kisses Ian lavished on Corey’s belly, tickling him as his hands kneaded 119

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Corey’s hard cock—these kisses tasted of lust and fuck and pure sex, everything Corey didn’t want in this relationship, everything he was trying so hard to put behind him. The love in these kisses, these caresses, was distant, muted, and Corey knew he’d hate himself if he gave into animalistic instincts tonight. He’d never be able to face Ian in the morning, because he wanted so much more than just this, and if he gave in now, it wouldn’t be right, it wouldn’t feel right. Well, it would for the moment, but then he’d feel wasted and used and unclean, and he’d never be able to touch Ian again if he profaned him that way tonight. He wanted so much more than just sex. As Ian’s lips closed over the tip of his dick, Corey somehow managed to scoot back, out of the dark warmness encircling him, out of Ian’s hand, away from Ian completely. He’d never felt so alone, so cold or frustrated as he did just then. He couldn’t look Ian in the eye as he snapped up his boxers and rezipped his jeans. “Ian, no,” he said, his voice so thick, it cracked. “This isn’t right.” Ian looked at him, incredulous. “What? Corey ran one unsteady hand through his hair as every ounce of his being screamed at him for pulling away. Ian frowned. “Corey, I want you. I want this.” “I do too,” Corey admitted. The look in Ian’s eyes almost made him cry. “I just—I don’t want…” He didn’t know what he wanted. “You’re drunk.” “So?” Ian asked. “I had a few drinks, so what? You saying 120

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you don’t fuck someone because they’re inebriated?” Corey laughed. “Ian, it’s not that. I just don’t want this to be another fuck for me. I want to wake up beside you in the morning—” “You will,” Ian snapped. Anger had replaced the confusion on his face and he glared at Corey, livid spots of color rising into his pale cheeks. “Fuck this shit, Corey. You tell me you want me, and then you push me away. What’s up with that?” “I want you,” Corey promised. “I do. Just not like this.” “Drunk.” Ian struggled to stand but he was too far gone to make it, so he fell onto Corey and quickly rolled off to stare at the ceiling, his brow furrowed with anger. “Fuck you.” That was the drink talking, not Ian. “You’re wasted,” Corey said “Get out.” Ian glanced at Corey and frowned when Corey didn’t move. “You don’t want to fuck me? Fine. Just get the hell out and leave me alone.” Corey shook his head. “No. Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I don’t want you to touch me?” Anger flared through him, and the ache at his groin throbbed with the rapid beat of his heart. “I could be weak and take advantage of this moment. I could give in and take everything from you. I could fuck you and not have it mean a thing, but I’d hate myself in the morning. You’d hate me.” Sighing, Corey said, “You’re right, I don’t want to just fuck you, Ian. I want so much more than that. I want to love you.” His friend glared at the ceiling, silent. In a soft voice, Corey asked, “Do you still want me to 121

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leave?” For a long moment, he didn’t think Ian would reply. Then Ian turned away, leaving one word between them. “No.” *

*

*

Damn you, Evans. Ian tried to think of something else to say, but the whirlwind of emotions raging within him drowned out all thought, all speech, all words until all that was left was the throb at his crotch and the rapid pounding in his chest that hurt, it beat so fast. Behind him, Corey asked, “Ian?” Ian sighed. Holding out one arm, he said, “Help me up.” Corey slid off the bed and took Ian’s hand in his. Tugging him upright, Corey helped Ian stand, catching him under the arms when he staggered forward. The touch was so innocent, so familiar, so intimate, that Ian had to push Corey’s hands away. He didn’t want to feel them right now, not when every ounce of his being ached for their warm roughness and Corey wouldn’t touch him in that way, not right now. So fuck him. “Leave me alone,” Ian muttered. Stepping back, Corey frowned as he watched Ian fumble with the button of his jeans. His fingers slipped twice before he managed to get the fly undone, but he didn’t have the energy to push his pants down past his knees. “Fuck,” Ian groaned, steadying himself by placing his palms against the wall and kicking the jeans down to his ankles. “Corey…” 122

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“Let me help you.” And those hands were on him again, sure and confident, holding Ian’s knee in one while the other worked the thick denim down to his ankles. “Ian, stand still— ” “I’m tired.” Ian turned, leaning back against the wall. His knees went weak and he slid into a graceless pile on the floor, the jeans tangled around his legs and the air cold on his bare skin. The carpet beneath him was too rough, the wall too smooth—he wanted to close his eyes, just for a few minutes, just until he could gather the strength to undress. His chin drooped to his chest. “Goodnight.” Corey sighed. “Come on, work with me here.” He tugged off Ian’s shoes and then untangled the legs of his jeans before pulling them off. “Ian.” Through half-closed lids, Ian watched the lamplight sparkle off Corey’s hair, little four-pointed stars that grew brighter the more he squinted. Corey’s chest was dusky in the low light, chiseled and almost too golden to be real, as if an angel leaned over him, pulling off his pants, rubbing his calves, touching him so softly. With one hand, Ian touched that bare skin, warm and real and alive. Damn Corey for not wanting him tonight. Frowning, Corey caught Ian’s hand and pressed it against his chest. The rhythm of his heart beat in Ian’s palm. “Ian, please.” Reaching up, Ian grabbed the back of Corey’s neck and pulled him into a rough kiss. The hard press of their lips fanned the flames of Ian’s passion, and his fingers fisted into 123

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Corey’s hair. Corey’s arm came up as if he were going to knock Ian’s hand away, but instead it trailed over the bunched muscles in Ian’s arm, as if memorizing the curves and savoring the strength there. Yanking Corey out of their kiss, Ian breathed, “Don’t fuck with me, Corey.” He stared into Corey’s deep eyes until he thought he would drown, but Corey’s hand on his arm kept him anchored to the moment like a life preserver. Hot tears stung his eyes and Ian blinked them back. “Don’t you dare fuck me over.” “I won’t,” Corey promised. His thumb caressed Ian’s cheek. “Believe me, I won’t.” “Fine. Good.” Ian released his grip on Corey’s hair and fell back against the wall, his energy spent. “I’m tired.” “Time for bed,” Corey said. Rising, he eased an arm around Ian’s waist and helped him stand. Ian let himself be led to the bed, where Corey held him as he climbed under the covers. The sheets were cold on his heated skin, and Ian sank into the softness of the pillow and the mattress and closed his eyes again. The lamp clicked off, plunging the room into a cool darkness. Then the bed shook as Corey slid beneath the covers behind him. He dared to ease one arm around Ian’s waist and, when Ian didn’t move to push him away, he pulled Ian into his arms. His hands splayed across Ian’s lower stomach, dipping below the waistband of Ian’s underwear until the fingertips touched soft hair. His head rest against Ian’s shoulder. “Night,” Corey whispered. Ian murmured something in reply, already drifting off to sleep. 124

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*

*

*

The first thing Ian became aware of was a sliver of pain like ice piercing his temple, stabbing right behind his eye and twisting into his skull. Note to self: never drink again. He rolled and pulled the blankets up over his head. If you do, kill yourself before you wake up. In the stillness of the morning he heard a long, shuddery breath, and he opened one eye to see Corey sleeping beside him. Everything came back to Ian in a sudden rush—the show, the party, the drinks… and the drinks, and the drinks. The bathroom, the feel of Corey’s erection in his hand, the taste of Corey on his lips, the breathy moans, the desire, the need, the feeling that he held all he ever wanted in his arms and knowing that Corey wanted him, too. He said he loved me. Ian ran one finger down the curve of Corey’s nose, watching it twitch when Ian reached the tip. He pushed me away because he loves me and I was too fucking drunk and horny to even understand that he said he loved me. How could Ian have hoped to make love last night, with all that alcohol in his system? He couldn’t even undress himself, and he expected to rock Corey’s world? He expected it to be something special between them, something real, something meaningful, when he passed out the minute his head hit the pillow? You’re a fucking idiot. You want proof Corey isn’t playing you? You got it last night when he said no. And you have it right here, beside you. Why hadn’t he seen it before? Why hadn’t he thought 125

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about it? Corey had always slept alone. He’d take a girl to his bed and kick her out before dawn. The one time he hadn’t, he didn’t wake up beside her. He woke beside me. Ian frowned as he watched Corey’s lashes flutter in sleep. That night, and every night since. He lets me see him like this, when he’s most vulnerable. He lets me hold him, and touch him, and he doesn’t pull away… To prove it to himself, he reached out and stroked Corey’s cheek. Corey’s brow furrowed and he sighed, turning into Ian’s touch. See? He doesn’t pull away. He said he loves me. Why didn’t I see it before? Ian kissed Corey’s forehead, the skin cool beneath his lips. In his sleep Corey snuggled closer, hands brushing across Ian’s chest before settling at his waist. Ian kissed Corey’s cheek, the downy skin twitching beneath his lips. Then he kissed Corey’s mouth, and Corey made a small noise in the back of his throat as Ian pulled away, a quiet sound full of longing, almost like a purr. Placing his lips to Corey’s ear, Ian whispered, “I love you.” It felt like a relief to say the words, even if Corey didn’t hear them. But you will. I know how hard last night must’ve been for you, Corey, and I love you for it all the more. Leaving Corey asleep, Ian crawled from beneath the sheets. The moment he stood, he felt a dozen nails hammer into his brain, and he squeezed his temples with his fists to 126

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shut out the pain. Last time you drink. He staggered to the bathroom, the voice inside his head following. You hear me, Ian? Pour the rest of the whiskey down the drain and never touch another glass again. You want to get drunk and lose yourself in something, make it Corey. He wants you to make him your escape. At least your head won’t implode in the morning. In the bathroom, Ian clicked on the overhead light and instantly regretted it. He clicked it off again, and darkness descended like a sigh. Reaching past the shower curtain, he turned on the faucet, hot water all the way. As he waited for the water to warm up, he brushed his teeth without looking into the mirror. As he spat out toothpaste and rinsed away the metallic taste in his mouth, he swore again he’d never touch another drink. Peeling off his underwear, he stepped into the shower. His muscles relaxed under the rush of hot water that pounded into his skin, massaging, warm. Turning his face into the flow, he let the shower wash away the images from last night, the drunken way he had come onto Corey, teasing him until they were both ready to explode from desire. He hated himself for that vulgar display. Being drunk was no excuse to do that. What had happened to his self-control? His dignity? Corey salvaged it for me. As he lathered up a washcloth, he heard a light tapping at the door, then the hinges squeaked as it opened. “Ian?” Corey’s voice was still thick with sleep. Ian’s breath caught in his throat. “Yeah?” 127

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He heard Corey yawn as the bathroom light clicked on. “Can I use the toilet?” Smiling, Ian asked, “I don’t know, can you?” Corey laughed at the weak joke. “I mean, will it bother you?” “I know what you mean.” Ian’s hand strayed to his crotch but he pulled it away. He wouldn’t jerk off in the shower with Corey on the other side of the curtain. He wouldn’t even touch himself until Corey left the room. “Go ahead.” “Don’t worry,” his friend said. “I won’t look.” Ian saw Corey’s shadow on the shower curtain and scrubbed his stomach, trying to ignore everything but the soapy water spiraling down the drain and the way the shower beat against his back and head. There was a slight dip in water pressure when the toilet flushed, then Corey asked, “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” He was okay. In fact, he was better than okay, even though his head hurt and the shampoo burned his eyes. Corey had said he loved him last night, hadn’t he? “Look. I’m sorry.” “For what?” Corey wanted to know. Ian laughed. “Last night. I was a jackass and I’m sorry.” “It’s okay.” Ian saw Corey step up to the shower, his shadow growing darker, more distinct on the curtain. Placing one hand on the vinyl curtain, he sighed. “Ian…” Ian placed his hand on the curtain, pressing his palm against Corey’s. Curling his fingers around Corey’s through 128

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the thin plastic, he said, “Thank you.” “For what?” Corey asked again. As if he didn’t know. “For being strong,” Ian replied. “For both of us.” For a moment Ian thought Corey would blow it off, say something to change the subject or lighten the mood and pretend nothing had happened last night. If he did that, then maybe nothing did happen, and it didn’t mean to Corey what it meant to Ian, and therefore it was all moot, wasn’t it? But Corey cleared his throat and his fingers closed around Ian’s. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to push you away. You don’t know how much it hurt me to do that…” His voice trailed off, and Ian knew he was pouting. Pulling back the edge of the shower curtain, Ian looked out. Quickly Corey shut his eyes, as if he didn’t want to see anything Ian wasn’t ready to show him. Ian grinned—he was pouting, his lips pulled into a delectable little frown. Ian wiped the water from his face. “Don’t be sorry. Not when you were right.” Corey turned toward the sound of his voice and smiled in that way he had that made Ian think of sunshine and puppies and summer days, that smile he never showed the cameras or the press, that smile he seemed to save just for Ian. Then he leaned forward, eyes still closed, lips puckered. Leaning forward, Ian caught that kiss. It was just a tiny thing but enough to stir Ian’s groin. The steam and the water and the soap drying on his chest didn’t help matters, making him all too aware of the moment and everything around him and the sleepy mess of Corey’s hair, the Chapstick smeared 129

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across his lips, the lingering taste of toothpaste on his tongue. It was now or never. He trusted Corey, didn’t he? Time to prove it… to them both. As Corey pulled away, Ian whispered, “Open your eyes.” Corey did. With a smile, Ian asked, “Do you want to join me in here?” Hesitation flickered across Corey’s features. “Are you… are you sure?” Ian winked. “You’re going to take a shower anyway, aren’t you?” “Yeah.” Corey grinned foolishly, then tamped that down. Meeting Ian’s eyes, he asked, “You sure you’re sure?” “Corey.” Ian laughed. “Get your ass in here now. Unless you don’t want to…” Corey scrambled out of his boxers and almost stumbled in his haste to climb into the tub. *

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Ian stood on the other side of the shower that rained down between them. His dark curls were capped with white suds, and a scrim of soap laced over his body like a second skin. Corey’s gaze was drawn to his friend’s crotch, where the soap clung to kinked hair. As he watched, a droplet of sudsy water coursed down the semi-erect cock between Ian’s legs, tracing the length of ruddy skin to curve around the bulbous tip where it hung, precarious, for one sweet second before it fell. “God,” Corey breathed. His hands shook, and he placed them flat over his nude 130

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belly to try to keep them from trembling. With difficulty, he raised his gaze to meet Ian’s. His friend’s eyes were wide, uncertain; he bit one corner of the washcloth between his teeth, waiting for Corey to make the first move. Here they were, naked, alone, finally, and neither ready to do anything about it. Taking a deep breath, Corey let his breath out in a rush that ended in a laugh. “I’ve never really done this before.” That brought a smile to Ian’s face. “Me either.” “I mean…” Corey ran a hand through his still-dry hair and wondered why it was so damn hard to cross under the shower and touch his friend. He suspected Ian’s skin would feel decadent while wet, and Corey wanted nothing more than to take him in his arms and make up for the previous night. But the distance between them yawned too great, and his damn feet refused to move. His stomach fluttered, nervous. In response, his cock jumped; Ian’s gaze dropped at the movement and Corey fought the urge to cover his genitals with his hands. They teetered on a precipice in their relationship here—there would be no going back. For a split second, Corey considered climbing out of the tub, returning to the bedroom, pulling up his boxers and calling the whole thing off. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to, but he was afraid. Of what? You’ve had sex before. This wasn’t sex. This was worlds more intimate, a part of Corey no one else had ever known before. This was… Ian. 131

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His best friend, someone he’d known longer than anyone else in his short life, someone he cared for above all others. And as tentative and unsure as he might be himself, it couldn’t compare with how Ian must’ve felt. They both had their hearts on the line here. This was Corey’s chance to show the depth of his own emotions, to put actions to his words. To prove his love. He held out his hand beneath the shower spray. Ian moved closer, and Corey took a step toward him. They met in a breathless kiss beneath the water, Ian’s slippery body molding to Corey’s. Between them, their dicks brushed together and electricity flared through Corey, turning his half-hearted erection into a steel rod. “Ian,” he sighed, his kisses demanding. “Oh, God. Yes, please.” Ian’s arms came up around his waist. Corey felt his friend’s hands glance over his buttocks and he arched his back to place his ass in those palms, eager for their touch. Stepping back from under the water, Corey wrapped his arms around Ian’s neck and pulled him close. He leaned back against the tiled wall—Corey held Ian tight, and Ian’s hands pressed flat against the tiles, his feet shuffling around Corey’s for purchase as they kissed. Something hard and uncompromising bumped against Corey’s upper thigh, then his lower belly, and once poked his navel before he caught it in one hand. Ian gasped as Corey’s slick fingers grasped his cock. Burying his face in Corey’s neck, he breathed, “Don’t push me away again.” Corey kissed Ian’s cheek. “I won’t.” Pinning Corey to the wall, Ian nuzzled his neck, his ear, 132

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his jaw. He trailed tiny kisses around Corey’s chin and down his throat as his body ground into Corey’s. Even when Corey released his hold on his friend, Ian kept him in place with his kisses. “I love you,” Ian sighed. “I wish I could’ve told you last night.” With a laugh, Corey squeezed Ian’s dick in both hands. “I’d rather hear it now so I know it’s not the drink talking.” “God.” Ian buried his face in Corey’s neck and thrust his hips as Corey massaged his cock. “I was so wasted.” “Yeah, well.” Between them, Corey took his own erection in hand and pressed its length alongside Ian’s. The two dicks felt like twin bars of steel wrapped in velvet, and where they touched, a precious ache blossomed between them. As Ian moaned into him, Corey kissed his friend’s jaw. “No more drink.” Ian turned toward him. This close, Corey could see water beaded in Ian’s eyebrows, and his eyelashes had clumped together into wet points. “I don’t need it,” Ian whispered. Corey kissed him once, twice, and the third time Ian didn’t let him pull away. He held Corey up against the wall, the shower raining down around them, as his tongue eased Corey’s lips apart. He tasted minty, like toothpaste—none of the alcohol lingered from the night before. He tasted fresh like a promise, as clean as a new start. Giving into the emotions coursing through him, acting on pure instinct alone, Corey slid down the wall, out of Ian’s grasp. He rubbed his hands up his friend’s sides, kissed Ian’s chest on his way down, his belly, his navel, then sat on the 133

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thin edge of the tub, eye-level with Ian’s crotch. The tip of Ian’s cock pointed at him, an unseeing eye clenched tight in purple flesh. The shaft was veined and curved a little to one side. There was a tiny brown freckle midway along the length, and pre-cum dribbled from the head as if it wept. It looked so familiar, yet so different from his own dick. He wanted it. A tender hand covered the top of his head, Ian’s fingers gentle in his hair. “Corey…” He licked out and touched his tongue to Ian’s cockhead. His friend gasped, and the hands in his hair clenched in need. Encouraged, Corey held Ian’s dick with one hand and kissed the tip. When his lips closed over it, he tasted a salty sweetness that made his other hand fist his own cock, which ached with want. Placing his hand flat against Ian’s pelvis, Corey nosed aside his dick and kissed along its length. After the first few kisses, he stuck out his tongue and wrapped it around Ian’s cock, then licked away the damp imprints of his lips. Above him, Ian moaned. “Yes, please. God, yes.” Corey needed no further encouragement. Taking Ian’s cock in his hand again, he held it to one side, out of the way, as he nosed the fuzzy curls at Ian’s crotch. So fragrant, so soft. Corey breathed in deep, drawing Ian’s musk into his nose and mouth. His tongue traced the underside of Ian’s cock, following it down into the mess of wet curls, down to the balls hanging below. Corey nuzzled them, too, then took the heavy sac between his lips, massaging it. 134

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“Yes,” Ian sighed. “God, yes, uh uh.” Kissing his way back to the flared head of Ian’s cock, Corey wrapped his hand around Ian’s length and gently squeezed. This was all new to him, but he knew what he liked himself, and he wanted nothing more than to please his friend. His lover. Stroking Ian’s shaft, Corey lapped at the white beads on the tip of his dick. More pre-cum, and not a little bit of soap thrown into the mix. Ian held Corey’s head with both hands as he thrust toward him. “Corey, please. I’m—” Suddenly the cock in Corey’s grip spasmed, and he caught a face full of ropy jism. It covered his mouth and nose, his chin, his throat. Flecks of it beaded on Corey’s eyebrows and in his hair. As he tried to shake it off his hand, he cried, “Ian!” His friend dropped to his knees in the tub, snickering. “I tried warning you.” “Warning me is saying ‘watch out, here I come.’” Corey ran his clean hand over his face—all he could smell was Ian’s spunk; all he tasted was his friend’s juice. “You just sort of stood there and shot off.” Ian retrieved the soapy washcloth from where it had fallen in the tub. “You got me off,” he said, laughing as he cleaned Corey’s face. “You’re down there playing with it. What do you think’s going to happen?” “You could’ve held it,” Corey grumbled. He tugged on his own hard cock, still erect. “Now what am I supposed to do with this?” Ian kissed his forehead, then raised Corey’s chin to plant 135

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the next kiss on his lips. “I’ve got more where that came from,” he murmured. “You don’t happen to have any condoms, do you?” Corey smiled against Ian’s lips. “I was beginning to think we’d never use them.” *

*

*

After the shower, Ian toweled off Corey’s back and shoulders. His hands dipped down, over Corey’s ass, and grabbed at his firm buttocks until Corey laughed and danced out of reach. Wrapping the towel around his friend’s waist, Ian reeled Corey to him, until his hands met behind his own back, trapping Corey against him. Between their damp bodies, their dicks hardened at each other’s touch. Ian rubbed his nose over Corey’s, then pursed his lips to kiss him. “I think I’m ready,” he whispered. Corey threaded his arms around Ian’s waist and caught his friend’s hands in his own. The towel fell away from them to pool on the floor. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” With Ian’s hand in his, Corey led him from the bathroom. The bed sheets were still rumpled from where they had slept. Guiding Ian to the bed, Corey commanded, “Sit.” Ian dropped to the mattress, one hand trailing down Corey’s thigh. Faint blond hair stood beneath his palm, and his fingers angled for Corey’s crotch. But his nails brushed through the curls there as Corey turned away. “Corey.” “Give me two seconds.” As Corey crossed the room, Ian lay back on the mattress 136

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and watched his friend. He took the DO NOT DISTURB sign off the door knob—smart move—and opened the door just enough to tag the knob outside with the sign. On his way back to the bed, he stopped at his bag on the floor and squatted as he rummaged through it for the box of condoms. He tossed it on the bed as he approached. Ian tried to sit up but Corey leaned over him, his body pressing Ian’s back to the bed. His tongue licked Ian’s lips before parting them to slip inside. His fingers rubbed across Ian’s nipples until they stood beneath his palms. One knee eased between Ian’s legs, parting them, too. Ian let himself be positioned however Corey wanted. All he needed were these kisses, these caresses, the heavy weight of Corey bearing down on him, pinning him to the mattress, keeping him in place. As Corey covered his throat with tiny kisses, Ian arched back into the pillow. Moving lower, Corey tongued Ian’s nipples—first one, then the other. Ian moaned in delight. This was definitely worth the wait. The sensations were a hundred times more potent than they had been the night before—he felt every breath tickle his skin, and every kiss left a wet lip print behind. “Yes,” he sighed, fisting his hands in Corey’s thick hair as his friend moved lower, over his belly, lower. “God, yes. Yes.” Corey knew his way around Ian’s body like a seasoned lover, even if this were their first time. It was so easy, so comfortable, the way their bodies reacted to each other. The way they fit together. “You’re beautiful,” Corey whispered. 137

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“More beautiful than any of the girls I’ve ever been with. You’re my first guy, but I’m going to pretend you’re my first ever.” Lying atop him, Corey covered Ian with his own body and their erections pressed together with a sweet pain. He held Ian down with his body, his hands, his kisses. Ian ran his hands over Corey’s back, tracing the curved spine, then grasped his friend’s ass to pull him closer. “Now,” he sighed. He wanted him inside now. The hollow ache in his bones he had always filled with alcohol craved something harder, something real. “Corey, please. I want you now.” Corey silenced him with a flurry of kisses, each one deeper, more demanding than the last. Rolling off Ian, Corey lay close beside him as one hand stroked Ian’s dick. With the other, he fumbled for the box of condoms. “Touch me,” he told Ian. When Ian’s hand brushed over his shoulder, Corey caught it in his own and guided it to his crotch. “Here. Like that. Yes.” Ian massaged Corey’s hard length as Corey sat up. He held tight to the thick shaft, enjoying the moans his touch brought to Corey’s lips. “Yes,” he sighed. His hips thrust his dick into the hole made by Ian’s hands, and Ian dared to squeeze a little harder, eliciting a deeper moan. “God, yes. Just like that. Don’t stop.” With trembling fingers, Corey struggled to open the condom and after a short fight, the package split in half. Cool lubricant splashed Ian’s chest as Corey sat up. On his knees, he slapped Ian’s legs apart and knelt between them. 138

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Ian’s heart stuttered in his chest, anxious with fear and lust. He scooted back a little, giving Corey room. “Where do you want me?” “Stay right where you are.” Corey leaned over to kiss him, and Ian felt his friend’s hand fold over his own where they encircled his shaft. Against his mouth, Corey murmured, “Let go for a minute.” Ian lay back and watched Corey roll the condom onto his hard cock. Then two slick fingers slid over his balls and below, teasing skin Ian hadn’t realized he had. He threw his head back, a guttural cry escaping his throat. “Oh, Jesus, yes.” His legs spread wider, his ass puckered, and every nerve seemed on edge, waiting for the moment when one of those fingers breeched his tight hole. The earth shattered around him when it did. “Corey,” he gasped, breathless. His buttocks clenched as Corey eased a finger inside him. There was bright pain, and sullen discomfort, and a lingering burn that threatened to burst into flames at Corey’s very touch. The fullness hurt in a vague way Ian wasn’t sure he liked, and his breath came in quick, hard pants, but his cock was no longer lying half-hard along his thigh—the thing was rigid and stiff, standing from Ian’s crotch like a soldier at attention. “Gah,” he sighed. His mouth had forgotten how to form words. “Jeez, Core, gah damn.” “Relax,” Corey purred. He stroked Ian’s stomach, a soothing gesture, and bent down to rub his mouth over the swollen tip of Ian’s dick. “Do you like this?” Ian moaned. He felt Corey’s fingers working inside him, 139

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easing his muscles, widening him. Corey spread Ian’s knees apart farther, then lay down on top of him. Something cold and wet and impossibly huge pressed against his tight muscles. “Ian,” Corey sighed. Pressure built against him, trying to work its way in. Consternation crossed Corey’s face, marring his features. “You have to relax, baby. Just let go. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” Ian relaxed a little. Corey pushed in. Hot flames licked down Ian’s inner thighs. He hissed and dug his nails into Corey’s back, hugging him close. “Jesus,” he gasped. It hurt more than he’d thought it would, more than he had ever imagined. “It hurts, Corey. It hurts, oh sweet Jesus, it hurts.” “Just at first.” Corey kissed Ian as he pushed in farther. “You have to relax—” Ian’s jaw bunched in pain. “I am relaxed,” he growled. Suddenly Corey filled him, pushing in as far as he could go, and pleasure shot through Ian, mingling with the pain. As Corey pulled out a little, the feeling came again, a euphoric rush that took Ian’s breath away. With each thrust, Ian felt it swell within him, a wave that crashed when Corey was fully inside, a tide that ebbed when he pulled out. Again, and again, over and over. Ian thought it might last forever, this paintinged pleasure, this pleasure-tipped pain. It took longer than he thought it would. In farther, deeper, harder. Corey moaned above him, the sound of his breath filling Ian’s world. It was 140

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all he heard, his name in harsh, short bursts like static. It was all he felt, Corey’s hot breath, his hard thickness pushing inside. The bed knocked against the wall with their rhythm. Ian ground his teeth together, then cried out, breathy, guttural. When he came, he bit Corey’s shoulder as hard as he dared. He left teeth marks behind. *

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Leaning back against the pillows, Corey laced his hands behind his head and watched Ian dress. The past hour blurred in his memory, a golden press of smooth bodies and hungry kisses and murmured whispers, Ian in his arms and beneath him and the blinding tightness, the fury of passion, deeper, farther, in, until everything exploded in a glorious rush of love and warmth and Corey had hugged Ian to him, promising never to let him go. Finally he had seen in Ian’s eyes something akin to surrender, to trust—the veil that had draped his soul fell away somewhere between the shower and the bed, leaving him open and trembling in Corey’s hands. “I love you,” Corey said for the millionth time as Ian pulled on a pair of old tattered jeans, the legs ripped and worn. Ian laughed, an easy sound that Corey hadn’t heard in a long time. With a coy wink, he sat on the edge of the bed to put on his socks. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” He leaned down to kiss Corey. “I love you, too.” Sighing, Corey watched his hand drift over Ian’s shoulder and down his muscled chest. This was real, he knew; this was 141

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what he wanted, what he’d been missing and looking for—this was it. When he lay with Ian, he felt as if they were all that existed in the world, cocooned in a love so pure and radiant, it brought tears to his eyes. He looked at Ian and saw forever stretch away behind that hazel gaze. For the first time ever he had something to look forward to, something to hope for, something that sparkled like hidden treasure within his reach. He wanted to find that forever—he wanted Ian to show him how to find it, to drape him in all that glittered on the horizon as he basked in all Corey had to give in return. Nothing else mattered, nothing but the two of them and this incredible feeling between them as comfortable as flannel, as right as rain, as heady and euphoric as any drug or alcoholic drink. Nothing could compare to this, Corey thought. And nothing ever would.

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J. M. SNYDER

An author of gay erotic/romantic fiction, J. M. Snyder began self-publishing gay erotic fiction in 2002. Since then, Snyder has released several books in trade paperback format and has begun exploring the world of e-publishing, working with both Aspen Mountain Press and Amber Quill Press. Snyder’s highly erotic short gay fiction has been published online at Ruthie’s Club, Tit-Elation, Sticky Pen, and Amazon Shorts, as well as in anthologies by Aspen Mountain Press and Cleis Press. A full bibliography, as well as free fiction, book excerpts, purchasing information, and exclusive contests, can be found at: http://jmsnyder.net *

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Don’t miss Beautiful Liar, by J. M. Snyder, available at AmberAllure.com! At fifteen, JT Pierce was the star of a hit TV show and had the world in his hands. Every teenybopper magazine had his face on it; every teenage girl had his poster on her wall. But then the show went on hiatus, and JT wouldn’t lower himself to bit parts or commercials. Slowly, his star faded from view.

Seven years later, JT is Johnny Thomas, who hopes to jumpstart his career by hiring his former manager, Lou Merrin. He wants to do serious movies, a huge blockbuster or two, and claim one of those coveted Oscars for himself. But Lou cautions Johnny about the paparazzi, who can make or break a star, and he’s heard rumors of Johnny’s sexuality that might prevent him from landing those desired leading roles. Still, Johnny’s nothing if not persistent, and he swears he’ll play it straight. Until he meets Brett, a photographer who turns his life—and his heart—upside down. Suddenly the celebrity gossip website Z-23 seems to have exclusive pictures of Johnny, and someone close to him leaks information about an audition that was supposed to be kept quiet. When the photographs surface that Johnny thought were taken in confidence, he realizes he must choose between the career path Lou offers him and the love he wants to share with Brett.

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