Up in Smoke (Hotshots 4)

The band finished their warmup before his food arrived, and the drummer found a lively beat, her ponytail bouncing with her efforts, before the bass player stepped forward.

“Hey there, beautiful people. I’m Tim with Cowboy Up.” All the musicians gave a friendly wave, and Shane too stepped forward. Damn, he looked good up there. Fresh dark-washed jeans and a close-fitting Western shirt with pearl buttons. And his guitar all shiny under the lights. He had a big grin for the audience as Tim continued, “Tonight we’re joined by Shane Travis, and we’re gonna play some of your old school country favorites. Let’s get this thing started.”

They launched into an oldie Brandt remembered from several different long drives, staple of radio stations all over the west, but somehow Shane breathed fresh life into the tired classic, sweet baritone carrying the tune and making the crowd tap their feet and turn their heads. By the second song, several couples were dancing near the stage, and Brandt bounced the baby in time to Shane’s crooning.

By song three, his food had arrived, and he spent several songs juggling the baby, the food, and his pride at watching Shane slay it. Then Shane launched into a love song, some cowboy pining for the girl he couldn’t have, and Brandt had to set his food aside and simply listen. God, the way this man could make him ache, make him jealous of the girl in the song and the audience both. He both wanted to bottle Shane up, keep him all for himself, and to see him in some huge stadium on the big stage his talent deserved. It wasn’t simply how Shane could hold a note or how perfect his pitch was. Rather, it was that deep down feeling he inspired, the way Brandt believed him, believed each word like Shane was singing for him and him alone.

When the set break arrived, Brandt was so ready to see Shane up close that he had to deliberately direct his attention to the diva as Shane approached the table so he wouldn’t see how damn sappy he’d made him.

“You made it the whole set.” Shane settled into the chair opposite Brandt and swiped a chicken finger.

“We did. The diva is actually behaving. I think she likes all the people to look at.” He turned so that the baby could see Shane.

“Maybe she does like my singing.” Shane reached over and clucked Jewel under the chin. His speculative gaze though was all for Brandt, and it was adorable how a guy that fucking talented was all bashful like Brandt might have not appreciated the music.

“You’re not terrible.” Brandt wasn’t above making Shane squirm, but he couldn’t help grinning while he teased.

“High praise.” Shane’s eye roll said he was on to Brandt’s game. He stole some more fries and drank half a glass of water in a single go.

“Told you last night.” Dropping his voice, Brandt leaned forward, a sudden seriousness replacing his joking. “You make me feel...fuck. Way more than I want to. Don’t know how you do it.”

“I try.” Shane’s little pleased smile made the honesty more than worth it, and something powerful passed between their eyes. Reminder of the night before maybe, how close he’d felt to Shane in those moments before he’d fallen asleep. But it also hearkened back to that song, to how Shane made him feel like he sang only for Brandt.

“Well, you’re damn good at it. See? An actual compliment.” Brandt tapped his boot under the table, electricity going up his calf when Shane bumped him back.

“Thanks.” Heat flared between them, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to make it another few hours until they could be alone, until Shane could be all his again.

He was debating how best to communicate that powerful need to Shane when the diva started fussing. Rocking from side to side to quiet her, he sighed. And smiled because what else could he do?

“I’m not sure if she’s gonna make it the whole second set, so if I disappear, I’ll see you at home.”

“You don’t have to wait up.” Shane had already arranged a ride home after the gig from Tim and his girlfriend. He lightly kicked Brandt’s foot again, jeans catching his ankle. At thirty, he wasn’t supposed to get this turned on from footsie games, and narrowly repressed a groan.

“Oh, I’m waiting up.” He held Shane’s gaze until Shane started turning pink.

“Damn. Way to make sure I pack up in record time.”

“Good.” Brandt nodded. He’d hold that promise close while he put the baby to bed. And showered. Because hell yes he was waiting up. All the way up.

“Get some rest.” Shane laughed wickedly before glancing over at the stage. “I better get back.”

“Good luck.” Brandt waved him away. “Make ’em weep.”

He meant it too. As much as he didn’t want to share, he also wanted every person in that restaurant to feel what Shane made him feel, to appreciate every note, to understand what a fucking gift they were getting. And then he wanted Shane to hurry home.