A Kind of Honesty Page 3

  “I’m okay. Keep going.”

  I held the backs of his knees and did my best not to plunge inside, but fuck, it wasn’t easy. He was tight and hot and everything I needed tonight. I pulled back and pushed forward so my balls hit his ass. James clutched my back, then wrapped his legs around me. We were still for a moment, fused in a passionate embrace. I buried my face in his neck and breathed him in before pulling back to lick his lips. Our tongues met and our bodies moved. The dance began slowly. A gentle sway gave way to a moderate rhythm. And then finally something wilder. His boots dug into my ass as he sucked my tongue and licked my ear. He met me thrust for thrust, picking up the pace with me until the mattress creaked incessantly under the strain of the steady thumping.

  When I held his hands captive and lifted myself over him, he gave me a crooked grin. “Fuck me hard, trucker. I can take it.” I snapped my hips, loving the sound of his groan. “Do it harder. Do—yes!”

  I moved in a fury, pistoning into him like a madman until my body surrendered to release. My heart tripped over itself as my orgasm washed over me like a rolling stone racing toward a cliff. I shuddered, bucked, and trembled over him. And James was right behind me. I felt him shoot between us, and I swear my dick twitched inside him in one last pulsing show of excitement. I clung to him for as long as possible, then rolled over and flopped heavily beside him. He chuckled softly at my less than graceful dismount but seemed content to let the silence speak for now.

  I felt a-fucking-mazing. If there was a way to bottle this moment, I would have. I picked that crappy bar tonight looking for escape and ended up finding something much more. A reminder of who and what I really was. A regular guy from a solid middle-class background who’d inadvertently wound up in an environment far outside his comfort zone. The trappings of wealth and fame were like chains, but tonight… I was free.

  “I’m going to brave the bathroom. Be right back.” James kissed my cheek absently as though we were old lovers with a long-standing routine, before crawling over me.

  “Good luck,” I quipped.

  I sat up and took a good look at my surroundings with a raised brow. There was a hole in the plaster near the door and peeling paint around the window ledge above an old-fashioned air-conditioning unit. I could tell now that the drapery was uneven because of a huge gash in the fabric visible from the bed. It didn’t take a genius to surmise a bigass fight had gone down in this room. No question… this place was a dump.

  A muffled grunt of disgust coming from the bathroom made me chuckle. James reappeared a moment later, buck naked except for his cowboy boots. I smiled at him as I swiped at the mixture of cum, lube, and sweat on my chest and spent penis with the corner of the bedsheet. He made a face and set his hands on his hips in a gesture of disapproval.

  “That’s gross.”

  I threw my head back and laughed. “Dude, everything here is gross. I’m not sure I want to take my chances with the towels. At least we’ve touched these. Damage done.”

  James grinned as he sauntered into the room. Damn, he was hot. I tilted my head to get a better look. It wasn’t just his incredible body or his handsome face. It was the way he moved and spoke. I tried to remember what he said he did for a living. Something about finance, I thought. That could mean anything. I followed his movements as he sorted through his clothes piled on the unused bed next to me.

  “I suppose that’s what I get for not checking the room before using it,” he commented as he pulled off his boots before stepping into his briefs.

  “I had a feeling you weren’t a platinum member of this fine establishment,” I said with a half laugh as I swung my legs over the bed and watched him re-dress. Every item he donned was an expensive designer label. In the past three years, I’d been unwittingly educated in the lifestyles of the upper echelon. Everything about this guy screamed first-class.

  He chuckled. “Never been here before in my life, and though I’m not planning a return trip… ever, I have to say this was nice.”

  I nodded, unsure what else to add. I wished I could ask probing “get to know you” questions, but there was really no point. This was a one-night-only deal. Certainly not my first, but it was the first time in a while I regretted that it couldn’t be more. I started when he nudged my knee as he reached for his jeans.

  “You’re staring. What are you thinking about?”

  “You.” I shrugged, then leaned back on my elbows.

  “Not your wife?”

  “I’m not married, smartass. Are you?”

  “No, but I’m pretty good at reading people. You may not be married, but you’re attached. Most likely to a woman. Am I right?”

  “No. I officially unattached myself today,” I replied in a flat tone.

  “I was at least correct about the female part, wasn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” I let out a rush of air and looked away for a moment. “I should have done it months ago. I guess I knew it would be a drama fest and I didn’t want to deal with… her. Whatever. It went down pretty much as expected, but I’m glad it’s done. And… I’m glad I ran into you tonight.”

  “Me too.” James winked as he slipped one leg into his jeans, then the other. “Do you have kids?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just curious. The truth is you look like an all-American boy from the Midwest. If I had to guess your story, I’d say you were a truck driver from Michigan with a wife and two kids who loves baseball, country music, and getting drunk with his buddies on the weekends.”

  I scoffed in amusement and shook my head. “And how do you explain the part where I had my dick in your ass?”

  “Easy. You’re bi, but it’s a deep secret. You only let yourself play when you’re far away from home and anyone who knows the ‘real’ you.”

  His overly confident and completely inaccurate assumption should have pissed me off, but his matter-of-fact delivery was kind of funny.

  “The only parts you got right were bi and baseball, my friend. The rest… not me. I’m from Maryland, not Michigan, and although I love all music, I’m more into rock, blues, and jazz than country. I don’t have a wife or kids and—”

  “You’re not a truck driver,” he finished with a scowl. “Well, there goes my fantasy.”

  I gave him a perturbed look. “You do know that’s a little warped, right?”

  “So is having sex in a disgusting motel room with a total stranger you met in a crappy bar. I’m a little warped. But then again… you must be too.”

  “True.”

  James pulled his T-shirt over his head, then stood to tuck it into his jeans. “What do you really do, or do you want to keep it a mystery?”

  “You tell me what you do first,” I countered, knowing I’d never in a million years tell him the truth.

  “I did. I’m a boring finance geek. And I’m one hundred percent gay and single. No mystery here. And sadly, no exciting secrets.”

  “Except a fetish for married guys.”

  He arched one brow, instantly reminding me of a dangerous pirate. A very fucking sexy one. “Ouch.”

  My traitorous cock swelled slightly in response. It took serious willpower to not touch myself. I studied the strong lines of his jaw and the way the dim light cast sharp shadows across his cheek, but I couldn’t look him in the eye until I was sure I had my libido under control.

  “I’d apologize, but I think I’m right. In fact, I’m going to guess you work in a bank, love classical music, champagne, and cats. You may or may not be a porn fan, but you’ve got a kink for boys from the wrong side of the tracks.” I stood and snaked my arm around his waist, then bit his chin playfully. “How’d I do?”

  “I’m allergic to cats,” he retorted before smacking my ass and lowering his mouth over mine.

  I started to laugh but the kiss threw me off my stride. I hummed in response and let him deepen the connection. There was something unbelievably enticing about being held by a fully clothed, extraordinarily handsome man while wearing
nothing but my birthday suit. I wanted him all over again.

  When the need for oxygen overcame desire, we broke apart. I rested my forehead on his shoulder and breathed in his scent once more. Then I cupped his jean-clad package and smirked. “So no pussy, eh?”

  “None whatsoever,” he said with a half chuckle. He swatted at my hand and moved aside. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I have a flight to catch and—”

  “It’s cool. No explanation required.” I gestured between us awkwardly as he opened the door. “Thank you, James or whatever your name is. You were kind of exactly what I needed tonight.”

  “You too.”

  He gave me one last smile before stepping into the shadowy darkness.

  2

  New York City sucks you in until it literally owns your soul. A couple years ago, I was a visitor hoping to make something of a dream. I never had Rand’s unwavering sense of confidence. Or ego, for that matter. But I was twenty-five at the time and game to give the rock-and-roll dream a try. I had nothing to lose. A part-time job at Home Depot and occasional construction work weren’t enough to keep me in Baltimore. I’d saved enough to get by in the city for a few months on a tight budget. I figured I could always head home if it was a bust.

  Even I could tell something was different about the city right from the start. We were more focused and energized here. Maybe it was the people or something intangible in the rhythm of the streets. We were endlessly inspired to work harder than ever. Spiral was no longer just a fun diversion. The band had a shot at the big time, but only if all four members gave it everything we had. And we did. Rand threw everything he had into songwriting and his performances. Cory became a better bass player, and I became a kickass drummer. Our weak spot had always been our lead guitarist. The idiot who played with us in Baltimore had serious drug issues and his backup, who happened to be Rand’s best friend, Seth, wasn’t willing to leave DC for the Big Apple.

  Whether it was fate or a stroke of incredible luck, Cory met a pretty blonde named Holly at a bar on Delancey who introduced us to Will, the best fucking musician any of us had ever had the pleasure of playing with. In the weird way chance decisions can completely change the course of things, that shot-in-the-dark phone call altered everything. Will didn’t sign on for the job of lead guitarist, but he helped Spiral find direction. And I had to admit, it had been highly entertaining to watch Rand fall for the geeky genius. Our fearless leader had women throwing lace panties with their phone numbers and sometimes selfies sewn into the fabric whenever he strolled onstage. He couldn’t walk down the street now without screaming fans begging for his autograph or a photo. They offered him sex, drugs, and the promise of undying love on a daily basis. But all he wanted was Will.

  Eventually we found Isaac to take over on lead guitar. Thankfully, he’d turned out to be awesome. Nowhere near as talented as Will, who’d opted to start graduate school rather than sign on with Spiral permanently, but Isaac was a hard worker who didn’t mind pressing the envelope with gender-bending costumes and wearing glitter, gloss, and red sequins while the rest of us rocked out in jeans and plain black T-shirts. The most visually colorful thing about Rand, Cory, and me were our tattoos. Maybe the gimmick of an eye-catching guitarist alongside a charismatic front man helped get us noticed, but the music was what really mattered. If sales from our debut album and tour were any indication, we were on the right path.

  Our lives had changed drastically since we’d landed in the city with big dreams and pocket change. We traveled in private planes or with drivers now, stayed at five-star hotels with pumped-up security, and moved in an elite crowd with serious musicians. We weren’t just dreamers anymore. We were tastemakers. We set the tone. At least that’s what last month’s edition of Rolling Stone magazine claimed. “Spiral is the voice of the future. A band with heart, soul, and a message that resonates across generations. These four talented men are on a sure path to rock-and- roll immortality.”

  We’d all high-fived and whooped with glee, but we weren’t idiots. We knew we had to stay focused and keep working hard or we’d be last year’s model before we knew what hit us. No one wanted to be a has-been before thirty, I mused as I picked up my drumsticks and headed barefooted toward my in-home studio.

  My cell rang and vibrated simultaneously on the coffee table in my living room, pulling me from my reverie. It stopped, then started a new round of noise the second I picked it up.

  “Good morning, sweetie. How are you?” I answered in a syrupy tone.

  “Please tell me you’re in a good mood because you don’t have a certain blonde bimbo in your bed and not because you do” came Rand’s automatic reply.

  “It’s official. I broke up with Miranda.”

  I set my sticks on the table and reached for the remote to raise the blinds covering the enormous windows in the great room. Sunlight spilled onto the dark hardwood flooring, bathing the cavernous warehouse-style space in warm hues. I loved my place. I owned the top two floors in a mixed-use building in the East Village with a ton of old-world charm and original features. Walls had been removed to create one gigantic living area with a state-of-the-art kitchen anchoring the midsection. It kept the space from resembling a bowling alley, I supposed. Exposed red brick had been preserved along both long walls, while the enormous bank of windows filtered in light on one end with a balcony leading to an outdoor terrace. The master suite and studio were located in the upstairs loft, complete with a maximum amount of skylights and roof access.

  I didn’t have the views my friends did in Tribeca or Greenwich, but I loved the neighborhood. This place was a far cry from the two-bedroom, one-bath hovel I’d rented with Rand and Cory a couple years ago. Best of all, it was mine. It had been a huge relief not to find any of Miranda’s crap when I got home last night. I was looking forward to reclaiming my space. Solo.

  “Congratulations. That smug tone in your voice makes me think you found a replacement already. Should I be worried?”

  I scoffed as I made my way barefoot to the kitchen. “Nope. Where’s Will? Why are you bugging me?”

  “He’s playing piano. Loudly. I think he’s ignoring me,” Rand groused playfully.

  “I don’t blame him. You’re a pain in the ass. And you worry too much. I’m fine.”

  “Good. Did you tell Cammy? She needs to know so she’s prepared to handle any PR bullshit Miranda might dish out.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to call the office yet but—”

  “I’ll take care of it.” Rand’s steely voice took me off guard for a moment. He’d always been fiercely protective of the people he cared about, but he’d also become very adept at dealing with PR fallout. Miranda had obviously fallen under his radar as a potential issue.

  I poured a cup of coffee, aware of the familiar sting of guilt. “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner. I—”

  “Don’t apologize, Timmy. Just be happy. Use the next couple months of freedom to get your groove back. Minus crazy bitches with a taste for caviar and the limelight. You know what you really need?”

  I rolled my eyes, unfazed that he couldn’t see. I had a feeling the gesture wasn’t lost through the phone connection. “Peace and quiet? A dog? Friends who don’t nag?”

  “None of the above, wise guy.” He waited half a beat before adding, “You need dick.”

  I almost spit out my coffee. I sputtered and coughed while Rand cackled like an idiot. Once I recovered, I opened my mouth to tell him I had, in fact, already done as suggested, but something stopped me. It was silly. Rand knew I was bi. Our big dilemma when we’d first come to New York was keeping our shared sexuality mum. We wanted the music to speak for us.

  When Rand and Will became a couple, privacy was a moot point. Our lead singer had a serious boyfriend. It was just part of who we were. Our fans not only accepted it, they fucking loved it. There was an obsessive quality to what our PR team claimed the public wanted to know about them. What kind of cereal did they like? Who bought the groceries? Was
Rand messy? Did Will snore? It was weird. The rest of us laughed, but our turn came soon enough.

  Spiral’s third single hit number one and stayed there for eight weeks and suddenly, the spotlight grew. Everyone was curious about Cory, Isaac, and me too. And a new round of warnings was issued from the PR team at our label, Suite Dog Studio. If we had any skeletons or deviant preferences they might need to troubleshoot, they wanted a heads-up. No one did. Cory and Holly were in a serious relationship. I was bi and pretty sure Isaac was too, but neither of us were dating anyone. If our sexuality was mentioned at all, it was offhand and buried under a story speculating when Rand and Will would tie the knot.

  I met Miranda soon after that PR meeting and everything changed again.

  “Thanks, Rand,” I snarked as I dabbed at the coffee I’d spilled on my kitchen island. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Please do. I’m sure there’ll be some hot guys at Benny’s party Saturday night.”

  “Benny’s party? What are you talking about?”

  Rand’s groan of disbelief was comical. “I’m going to do you a favor and not tell him you forgot about his twenty-sixth birthday bash. It’s bad enough you missed their wedding because you were in Brazil with the mannequin. It took him two months to get over it. If you miss this, you’ll be hearing about it for the next few years.”

  I snickered, though Rand was probably right. Benny was our New York-based stylist, but more importantly, he was a good guy and Will’s best friend. I had forgotten about the party, but there was no way I’d miss it. Any party hosted by Benny or for him was sure to be an event. I regretted missing Benny and Zeke’s wedding. At the time, a trip to Brazil had sounded like a great idea. Now I knew it wasn’t one of my better life choices.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good. And for the record, I know what you’re thinking.”