to celebrate in a half-wasted crowd in some house venue with someone peeing in the swamp outside. You know?”
“We’ll do better,” Carlos promised recklessly. He couldn’t imagine being onstage without Mia. They’d clicked from the moment she’d shown up to audition with him six years ago, and he’d never have made it this far without her. “We’ll find another guitar, I swear. Fuck Foster. He’s not breaking us up. And we have Sparkfest and the battle of the bands coming up. I heard maybe more than one label rep will be there, looking for new talent.”
Mia’s eyes brightened. “Really? Cool. That would be so fucking cool.”
“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on Foster, I swear. I’ll keep him with me all day tomorrow, and make sure he shows up ready to play. Don’t give up on us yet.”
“Not giving up.” Mia punched his shoulder and headed for her van.
Carlos got into his car, but just sat watching as she pulled away. His heart was racing and his palms were wet, like he’d dodged a bullet. He needed Mia, needed the music and the band, to be himself. What was he worth without it? Any trained chimp could say, “ What’s your dental insurance? ” and “ Would Thursday work better? ” He’d given all of his life to getting this far, ever since he’d bought his first guitar. He had to go big, because going home just wasn’t an option.
He pulled out his phone. There were two texts from Nate, the chime clearly unheard over the music.
At 6:30: Hey, want to come by on my break?
And at 9:04: Let me know if you want to get together this weekend. I’m off at 10 *hint
He looked at the time. Not much after ten.
He sent back: You still up?
The reply chimed immediately.
Sure. Want to come over? I have lube and beer
Carlos could feel the smile stretch his face.
In that order?
In either order, if you get your ass over here
30 min. He realized he was pretty gross and sweaty and changed that to: make it 45
I might not have beer by then
I’ll bring more
Deal
He realized he was humming as he drove home. When he got there, he stripped fast, not looking in the mirror. A little touch with his fingers down low told him that the hard practice and sweat had loosened things up slightly. This was not the night he wanted his packer to suddenly fall off. He grabbed the solvent and cotton balls, cursing slightly, and went to work.
There was always a moment when he detached the thing that was disorienting, like a frame shift— guy; mutilated guy. He powered past it, not letting himself obsess. Tonight was about better things. A fast shower used up seven minutes, and he hesitated, then took the time to reshave before spraying the adhesive and reapplying the packer. The adhesive pulled on his freshly shaved skin, but he told himself it was erotic. He added a harness that wasn’t all stretched out, and dragged his tighter pair of jeans on for the first time in a long time.
Ready. He looked in the mirror at last. There he was, naked flat chest, hard-muscled arms that he worked like a sum-bitch for, little mustache, flat belly, and jeans that clearly outlined the shaft and flared head of his dick. He tipped his chin up and lowered his eyebrows, twisting his lip into a little sneer. Would you mess with this guy? Would you fuck this guy?
He looked good. He felt good, and he was going out to get laid by a guy he actually liked. Whistling, he grabbed his last two cold bottles of Hop Czar, swiped from a friend’s bachelor party and reserved at the back of the fridge for the right moment, and headed out.
The drive was shorter than he remembered, and in less than twenty minutes he turned in at Nate’s place. This time the garage was dark and silent, but mellow light showed from the windows above. He parked, climbed the staircase and rapped on Nate’s door, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t beating fast. Well, only because he was horny, of course. When Nate opened up, Carlos grabbed him in a rough clinch with his
“We’ll do better,” Carlos promised recklessly. He couldn’t imagine being onstage without Mia. They’d clicked from the moment she’d shown up to audition with him six years ago, and he’d never have made it this far without her. “We’ll find another guitar, I swear. Fuck Foster. He’s not breaking us up. And we have Sparkfest and the battle of the bands coming up. I heard maybe more than one label rep will be there, looking for new talent.”
Mia’s eyes brightened. “Really? Cool. That would be so fucking cool.”
“Yeah. I’ll keep an eye on Foster, I swear. I’ll keep him with me all day tomorrow, and make sure he shows up ready to play. Don’t give up on us yet.”
“Not giving up.” Mia punched his shoulder and headed for her van.
Carlos got into his car, but just sat watching as she pulled away. His heart was racing and his palms were wet, like he’d dodged a bullet. He needed Mia, needed the music and the band, to be himself. What was he worth without it? Any trained chimp could say, “ What’s your dental insurance? ” and “ Would Thursday work better? ” He’d given all of his life to getting this far, ever since he’d bought his first guitar. He had to go big, because going home just wasn’t an option.
He pulled out his phone. There were two texts from Nate, the chime clearly unheard over the music.
At 6:30: Hey, want to come by on my break?
And at 9:04: Let me know if you want to get together this weekend. I’m off at 10 *hint
He looked at the time. Not much after ten.
He sent back: You still up?
The reply chimed immediately.
Sure. Want to come over? I have lube and beer
Carlos could feel the smile stretch his face.
In that order?
In either order, if you get your ass over here
30 min. He realized he was pretty gross and sweaty and changed that to: make it 45
I might not have beer by then
I’ll bring more
Deal
He realized he was humming as he drove home. When he got there, he stripped fast, not looking in the mirror. A little touch with his fingers down low told him that the hard practice and sweat had loosened things up slightly. This was not the night he wanted his packer to suddenly fall off. He grabbed the solvent and cotton balls, cursing slightly, and went to work.
There was always a moment when he detached the thing that was disorienting, like a frame shift— guy; mutilated guy. He powered past it, not letting himself obsess. Tonight was about better things. A fast shower used up seven minutes, and he hesitated, then took the time to reshave before spraying the adhesive and reapplying the packer. The adhesive pulled on his freshly shaved skin, but he told himself it was erotic. He added a harness that wasn’t all stretched out, and dragged his tighter pair of jeans on for the first time in a long time.
Ready. He looked in the mirror at last. There he was, naked flat chest, hard-muscled arms that he worked like a sum-bitch for, little mustache, flat belly, and jeans that clearly outlined the shaft and flared head of his dick. He tipped his chin up and lowered his eyebrows, twisting his lip into a little sneer. Would you mess with this guy? Would you fuck this guy?
He looked good. He felt good, and he was going out to get laid by a guy he actually liked. Whistling, he grabbed his last two cold bottles of Hop Czar, swiped from a friend’s bachelor party and reserved at the back of the fridge for the right moment, and headed out.
The drive was shorter than he remembered, and in less than twenty minutes he turned in at Nate’s place. This time the garage was dark and silent, but mellow light showed from the windows above. He parked, climbed the staircase and rapped on Nate’s door, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t beating fast. Well, only because he was horny, of course. When Nate opened up, Carlos grabbed him in a rough clinch with his
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