Bad Company by K.A. Mitchell Page B

that made Nate want to lick his lips. Or maybe that was the chocolate frosting.
    “Or we could go out tonight,” Kellan added. “Didn’t your paper have something about the DJ at The Arena?”
    Nate jumped back. Kellan out at The Arena with all those guys grinding? Slap up another definition on the irrational-emotions wiki. Nate was jealous of a straight guy who wasn’t his boyfriend and who would probably laugh at the idea of grinding with another guy. “No. Yes, but he’s there for a week. Wait, do you want to go?”
    Kellan shrugged. “It’s hard following the clothes rule if you’re standing right there and my stuff is on the counter.”
    “Right.” Nate crossed over to where his computer was flashing through the series of Rag covers that made up his screen saver.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Trying to find you a job.”
    “At your paper?”
    Nate turned and caught Kellan smoothing dark denim up over a pair of baggy Fruit of the Looms. Even that completely unsexy underwear made him have to turn back to the computer to hide a reaction.
    “No. In the help-wanted ads.”
    “Good, because that would be weird.”
    Nate had barely managed to open a site when he heard a strum on the guitar.
    “Mind if I fool around with this a little?”
    It was a little late for permission. “Go ahead.”
    “Needs tuning.”
    Kellan plucked and tuned while Nate stared at the screen.
    “I don’t want to freak you out or anything, man, but I think someone stole your TV.”
    Nate didn’t turn. “I don’t have one. If there’s something I want to see, I watch it on the computer.”
    “Seriously?” Kellan made a disgusted sound. “Do you have one of those Kill Your TV bumper stickers on your little scooter or something?”
    Kellan was pushing for some kind of reaction. Nate wasn’t going to give it to him. This was a game he remembered from when they were kids, though it hadn’t felt so potentially explosive back then.
    Kellan stopped the tuning and zipped through the opening riff of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman”, nailing all of the minor chords without the slightest hesitation. He stopped the hum and then played the opening to “Wanted Dead or Alive”.
    Nate was shocked and insanely envious. He turned around in his chair. “So when I asked if you could play…”
    Kellan waved a hand. “Just something I picked up while I was wasting my life. I can mimic a lot of stuff I hear.”
    “Without the sheet music?”
    “Usually. If it’s not too weird. I can’t read the rhythm, I have to hear it.” Kellan stopped before the first verse and went through the opening again, every note annoyingly clear. “So you want me to show you the F chord now?”
    “Okay.” Nate stood.
    Kellan handed off the guitar and then moved right in back of Nate, close enough that he could smell the soap from the shower.
    Nate sidestepped. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to be over here, where my fingers are on the board?”
    “I can’t do it from the side. I have to do it like I’m playing it.”
    Nate had seen this, rolled his eyes at this, in too many movies. Guy teaching girl to play pool or whatever activity the writers could think of to create some false sense of intimacy as he rubbed up against her ass.
    Kellan didn’t touch him anywhere but at his fingers though. “Relax.” He grabbed Nate’s first two fingers and shook them. “Here, do it on the couch so you don’t have to worry about it slipping out of your hands.”
    With the guitar braced on Nate’s legs, it was easier to let his fingers be moved around, but now Kellan pressed up against Nate’s back, breath tickling Nate’s neck.
    “See, if you angle your finger back like this, it’s not as hard.” Kellan was right. Damn it. “Now go from—” Kellan’s hand covered Nate’s on the fretboard in a couple of quick motions, like he was remembering the chords. “You’re going to need a shift from G to F, like this. Don’t forget to angle