Starting From the Top (Starting from 5)
“You mean with the kids?” I entwined my leg with his, wanting to be closer in spite of the warning bells ringing in my ears.
“Yes, and in general. It’s best if everyone thinks we’re friendly because you’re teaching Parker guitar. And I hear how that sounds aloud, but—”
“No, no, that’s cool. I get it,” I assured him, nodding so hard I made myself dizzy. “I do.”
“I walk a very precarious line in my personal life, Johnny. I wear a lot of hats and try to please a lot of people. Maybe I’ll figure out a way to streamline the madness someday, but I’m not there yet.”
“I get it,” I repeated. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and I’m not the kind of guy someone like you brings home anyway.”
Sean’s expression turned fierce…almost irate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, please. Look at us,” I scoffed, motioning between us. “I don’t fit in the world of posh gays who drive their darling offspring to private schools in Range Rovers and spend weekends in Palm Springs sipping mai tais with boys in Speedos. And I never will. Thank God.”
“That’s reverse discrimination and gross generalization.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Your kids don’t go to private schools?”
“They do, but—”
“And that’s not your Range Rover?”
He narrowed his eyes. “It is, but—”
“I rest my case.”
“That’s not fair. You should know better than to make assumptions based on superficial evidence.”
“I do, but I bet your friends and business associates don’t. That’s why you don’t want me to go out with Clay. He’s off-brand. Just like I’m off-brand for you. It’s not something you need to confirm or deny. It just is. And honestly, it makes it easy for us to do this.”
“This?”
I quirked a brow and smiled. “Fuck.”
Sean pounced on me, flattening his large body over mine and pinning my hands above my head. “You’re a rude little punk with a big mouth.”
“Guilty. Are you gonna spank me, Daddy?”
He widened his eyes comically and let out a pained-sounding groan before driving his tongue into my mouth.
I hummed into the connection, wrapping my legs around his waist. I doubted either of us was ready for round two, but this felt nice. I might have whimpered when he released me and rolled to his side of the bed.
“Don’t tempt me,” he grumbled, swatting my ass playfully when I burst into laughter.
Sean rolled us over and captured my mouth in another passionate kiss. Ten minutes later I forgot what we were talking about. Hell, I forgot my name. He wasn’t careful and he showed no mercy. When I told him I wanted harder, faster, and more of everything he offered, he delivered. His sweat dripped down my back as he grasped my shoulders, fucking me from behind like an animal. I’d be sore tomorrow for sure, but I couldn’t have cared less.
And when our orgasms left us gasping for air for the second time that night, I sensed a shift between us. The kind that happens when defenses are lowered, revealing our humanity in all its graceless glory. We might not be on equal footing in some ways, but I didn’t feel younger, less experienced, or more naïve than him. For all our differences, we had a few things in common…some friends, a love of sex, and a bad case of imposter’s syndrome.
My reasons were pretty self-explanatory, but Sean’s…not so much. It made me more curious about him than ever.
7
Johnny
Zero didn’t meet at the studio till Friday. I hung out at Justin and Gray’s house on Thursday, writing music and twisting notes to fit lyrics. It had become part of our process. Justin was our main songwriter and a brilliant wordsmith, but he was just okay on guitar. And while he’d gotten better since he met Gray, he was quick to admit that the words came first. When his muse was active, he couldn’t write fast enough, so he’d hum into his phone and send me the recordings. I could translate the tune and fashion a melody from the two-or-three-minute snippets, but it was easier and less time intensive to meet in person before getting Tegan and Ky involved to craft the beat.
Just like with the lyrics, some days, the rhythm and harmony flowed seamlessly, and others, we had to work for it. I didn’t mind. I loved creating music. I’d become an expert at bending notes and finessing unlikely chord combinations. It was fun. Most days, it struck me as flat-out crazy that I actually made money doing something I would have happily done for free.
I looked forward to hanging out with my friend and his Grammy-award-winning boyfriend in their uber-modern home overlooking the city of angels. The fridge was always stocked, the music room was state-of-the-art, and their French bulldog, Chester, was cute as fuck. And if our muse didn’t cooperate, we could play guitar on the roof of the pool house or kick back in the game room.