Starting from Zero (Starting from 1)

Had I really called Justin in the middle of the night to—what? Rescue me, comfort me, assure me I wouldn’t be alone for the rest of my life? That wasn’t like me at all. I was the comfort-giver and the one who kept their shit together when everything and everyone around me was falling apart.

I propped myself on my elbow and watched him sleep. He was more handsome than pretty, but he had lovely features: long eyelashes, high cheekbones, and full lips. I liked the contrast of his olive skin against mine. And I loved his ink. It complemented mine. I could imagine the rose vine on his upper bicep twisting around my forearm, tying us together. I smiled at the whimsical notion as he stirred.

“ ’Morning.”

Justin stretched his arms above his head and gave me a sleepy smile. “Were you watching me sleep? You know that’s a little creepy, right?”

I brushed his hair from his forehead and caressed his face. “Yeah. I couldn’t help myself. I had to be sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You asked me to come. Once last night, but I’m hoping for round two this morning,” he said lasciviously.

“I think I can help you out there,” I replied, snaking my hand under the sheets to palm his morning wood. I pressed kisses along his shoulder and up his neck, then whispered, “Thank you” in his ear.

“For what?”

“Being here.”

“Mmm.” Justin rested his hand on my hip and kissed me sweetly before pulling back with a scrutinizing once-over. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It’s just…”

“What?” he prodded.

“It gets lonely sometimes. That’s all.”

He went perfectly still; then he reached for my hand and lifted it to his lips the way I sometimes did.

“I know.”

We showered together, exchanging blowjobs under the warm spray and then sucking cum from each other’s tongues before washing and rinsing a second time. I tossed a clean towel at him and dried off before stepping aside to make room for him in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror propped against the wall like a painting.

Justin grinned at our reflection and squeezed my ass. “We gotta have sex in front of this mirror. What do ya say?”

“I say yes, but I need food first. You’re killing me.” I swatted his ass with the end of my towel and furrowed my brow in mock warning. “No old-guy cracks. C’mon, let’s grab some coffee.”

He widened his eyes comically and made a zipped-lip motion before following me into the bedroom to get dressed. Justin headed for the studio when I promised to bring coffee. I found him perched on a stool near the wall of guitars typing on his cell.

“Do you have to go to work?” I asked as I handed over his mug.

“Yeah. Johnny is covering for me for another hour.” He stood and set the coffee on the stool as he continued to scroll through messages. “But I have to swing by Tegan’s to pick up my—holy fuck.”

“What is it?”

He looked at me with a wild-eyed expression that was part joy and part terror. “I just got an email from the office of Sebastian Rourke. A letter of intent. He says they’ll use Zero on a track for the movie. I-I don’t know what to say. It’s not a contract, but he said the legal team is working on drawing one and blah, blah, blah. Fuck. I’ve gotta figure out a song. Wait. No, I think he’ll choose the song, right? We’ve got a lot of material. We can fine-tune something and make it fit whatever they’re looking for. And the love song is…I think we’re close on that too and—you did this, didn’t you? You and Charlie.”

“I didn’t do anything but suggest that he listen to your band.” I motioned for him to show me the email. It was brief and noncommittal. Very Seb…very Hollywood. “It isn’t a contract, but it sounds like one might be ready to sign in the next day or two.”

“Fuck, yes!” He whooped and punched the air before running a lap around the studio, plucking at guitar strings and piano keys and banging on drums in a mini celebration.

I chuckled at his antics and set my coffee beside his on the stool. I moved to the guitar wall and pulled a gorgeous cherry-red Stratocaster down.

“This one is a beauty. Plug in and give her a try,” I said, cradling the six-string like a newborn baby.

He flashed a lopsided grin before slinging the strap over his shoulder and strumming a few chords. “I have music in my head already. Ideas for the song. I don’t play well enough to get them across but—”

“Sure you do. Play what you’re feeling. Don’t be tentative. Do it like you mean it.” I sat behind the grand piano and splayed my fingers over the keys, prompting him with a jazzy tune, then backed off slightly to listen to his lyrics and try to catch the general idea of what I thought he might be looking for musically. After a few stops and starts, I embellished his elementary idea and crafted it into something a bit more sophisticated.