Grayson? He couldn’t produce a decent chord to save his life. He couldn’t evenfindone without a high-powered torch.
Max shoved the screen across the table, and Theo saw photos. Grayson and his shiny new band, all tailored blazers and styled hair, mid-pose under stage lights. A review snippet:‘…polished, inventive, and set to storm the UK circuit.’
Theo scowled. He could practically hear Grayson’s nasal drawl bragging about it. “I hate how smug he looks.”
“I hate that he’s good,” Max growled.
“Since when? Has he had vocal chord implants in the last four years?”
“Okay, maybe he’s the weakest link, but as for the rest of them? I went to one of their shows last week. They were playing in a theatre in Holborn.”
Theo blinked. “You? Voluntarily?”
“Call it curiosity.” Max leaned in, his voice low. “And damn it, Theo, they were slick. Soulless, but slick. The crowd ate it up.” His face fell.
Theo’s chest pinched. He remembered that feeling: harmonies slotting into place, the audience holding its breath. “Okay, they’re slick, but we both know soulless doesn’t last.”
“Yeah, but itsells,” Max shot back. His jaw worked. “So I sat there thinking—why them? Why not us?”
What the hell?
Theo arched a brow. “Us?”
“Youhave more talent in your little finger than Grayson has in his whole preening body.” Max’s tone was fierce. “And I…” His eyes burned. “I know voices. I know presence. Together? We could build something real. Something raw.”
Theo folded his arms, his habitual wariness taking over. “That’s not enough. Talent and organisation? Sure. But you need a hook now. Something bigger.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, we’re just another choir.”
That dangerous glint lit Max’s eyes was all too familiar. “And I’ve thought of the perfect hook. Leather.”
Theo laughed. “Ofcourseyou’d say that.”
“Wait a sec. Picture it,” Max urged. “I’m not talking costumes. I’m talking alook. A statement.” He met Theo’s gaze.“Men in leather, standing bare under the lights, nothing between them and the audience but their voices.”
Theo nearly dismissed it. Nearly. But the image crawled through his head, sharp and visceral: leather catching the light, harmony cutting like a blade.
“Okay,” Theo admitted slowly. “That’s a hook, I’ll give you that.” Then he blinked. “Er…bare?”
Max grinned. “Gotta have abitof bare flesh. You know, shirtless under an open leather jacket kinda thing.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not talkingharnesses, for God’s sake.”
Theo gave a wry smile. “Just checking.” Then he paused. “But what if we push it further?”
Max stilled. “Go on.”
Theo leaned forward. “What if every member is gay? Not just leather. Not just edge. A group that says what it is, no apologies.” He smiled. “How does that saying go? ‘It does exactly what it says on the tin.’”
“Gay also includes bi, pan, etc, right?”
Theo shrugged. “If they’re queer, they’re eligible.”
Max broke into a grin so wide it was dangerous. “An all-queer, all-male a cappella group. Leather optional.” His eyes flashed. “Okay, maybenotoptional.”
Theo’s chest thrummed with possibility. “Okay,that’sa hook.” He sat back. “Now all we have to do is find them.”
“Ads,” Max said instantly. “Attitude. Gay Times. QX. Boyz. Flyers in bars—Manchester, Soho, Brighton, Birmingham. Hell, even FetLife. Anywhere queer men look for their tribe.” He smirked. “If it’s still okay to use that word.”
“That’s casting the net pretty wide. Where do we hold auditions?”
Max leaned back. “Here or London.”
