Something in the Way He Needs (Family 1)

The room was silent for a couple of beats, and then “Piano!” was shouted out by a few people.

Rob Yearling chuckled. “That’s right.” A spotlight went up over the right side of the stage, illuminating an electric piano. “Dot plays that baby so fine, he’ll either make ya cry or he’ll make ya cum in your pants. And if any of y’all are still buying CDs, you know his name is next to almost every damn song we put out.”

Rob peered into the crowd, putting his hand over his forehead to block the lights. Everyone looked around, trying to follow his gaze, which landed right in the middle of the front row. He grinned wickedly and raised an eyebrow. Time seemed to slow as Asher realized all eyes were fixed on Daniel.

What. The. Fuck.

“Dot, get on up here and help us give these here nice folks a fanfuckintastic show.”

Daniel looked at Asher and smiled weakly. He squeezed Asher’s hand, dipped his chin and closed his eyes, and then took in a deep breath, seemingly gathering his nerves. When he looked back up, a smile was plastered to his face. It wasn’t his usual warm grin or his jovial laugh, and it didn’t reach his eyes. Then he put one hand on the stage and flung himself up, landing in a crouch before straightening up.

Rob Yearling walked up and wrapped Daniel in a big hug, lifting him off his feet. The two men hunched together, talking into each other’s ears. John Oaks, the bass player, trotted over, flung an arm around Daniel’s shoulder, and pulled him into a one-armed hug, giving Daniel’s ass a squeeze with his free hand.

In the blink of an eye, or, in this case, the squeeze of an ass, Asher went from shocked about what was going on to pissed about another man groping Daniel.

John leaned over Daniel’s shoulder and spoke into the microphone. “And Rob forgot to mention that Dot’s not only mad skilled, but fine as fuck.”

Rob chuckled, his deep timbre sounding out over the incredible acoustic system. “No argument from me, guy. Dot’s the only man I’ve ever met who’s made me wonder if I could swing the other way.” He waggled his eyebrows and the audience erupted in laughter. “I mean it, y’all! Check out his ass.”

As if on cue, Daniel turned his back to the crowd and wiggled his tight butt. Asher found himself wishing for the first time that Daniel was wearing his usual baggy, shapeless, worn-out clothes. Well, it wasn’t actually the first time; he’d had the same thought in the restaurant. Was this the reason Daniel chose to wear flashy clothes? To impress the band?

“All right,” Eric Sear, BWI’s drummer drawled. “I know we’re in San Francisco, but you boys need to stop molesting Dot. It’s time to play.” He raised his stick to his forehead and moved it out in a salute to Daniel, who nodded toward him and then strutted over to the piano, taking his seat on the bench.

What was with this “Dot” business? If they’d known Daniel for as long as they said, shouldn’t they know his name? Not that Asher knew a thing about them and he’d been living with Daniel for half a year.

Daniel moved his fingers over the piano keys, and his button-down shirt pulled tight across his back. He shifted uncomfortably and grunted.

“Got a problem there, Dot?” Rob asked.

“First time in years I’m dressed up and don’t it figure you’ve got to call me up here to play,” Daniel grumbled into the microphone attached to the back of the piano.

“Figure it out, baby,” John said. “’Cause we’ve got a show to put on and you’re not getting off this stage. Even if that means we have to tackle you and pin you down.”

“Sounds like a bonus to me,” Rob added cheekily.

“Well, all righty, then,” Eric said. “I could use a little extra maneuvering room too, Dot.” He stood, grasped the hem of his shirt, and peeled it over his head, exposing a body Asher would’ve expected to find on a professional athlete, not a scruffy musician.

“Two minutes into this thing and you guys are already getting me out of my clothes,” Daniel responded as he got up and started unbuttoning his shirt. “That’s officially a record.”

“Take it off, baby.” John whistled and then yanked off his own top.

If Asher thought Daniel’s new black jeans were attention-grabbing before, which he did, once the shirt came off, they were positively orgasm-inducing. The damn things were slung so low on his hips that his chest, stomach, and hip bones showed. Asher was sure that if Daniel stretched the right way, the top of his pubic bush would be exposed.

Daniel reached his arms over his head and clasped his right wrist with his left hand, pulling himself into a stretch. The spotlight highlighted his smooth skin and every muscle showed as he moved. Asher moaned with need. Then he heard people around him gasping and murmuring about the hot guy on stage, and he wanted to growl. Was this a rock concert or a strip show?