“Jesus. Is he okay?”
“I’m fine!” came Joel’s shout from the other room.
“Don’t shout!” Harlan called. “You’re supposed to be resting your voice.”
Joel emerged from behind the semi-closed door. “Sorry,” he said in a stage whisper. “I’m fine.” He wore a soft-looking bathrobe over a sparkling jumpsuit. The robe was tied tightly around him, but through the gap near the chest, Quentin could see bare, smooth skin.
JustseeingJoel made Quentin’s heart beat a little faster. It amazed him how Joel could get under his skin like that, how even the sight of him made Quentin more irritable and anxious. How was it possible to dislike someone that much?
“Let’s pose for the photo,” Joel said. He sounded grumpy.
“Please make it look natural,” Shivonne said.
“Promise not to hit me in the face again?” Quentin teased. If Joel got underhisskin like that, the least he could do was return the favor.
It worked. Joel glared at him. “Itwillbe on purpose the next time if you keep this up.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Quentin said.
“Wait,” Joel said. He turned to Henri and Cort, and it was like he became a different person. He smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Joel. I didn’t catch your names.”
“Um,” Cort said.
Henri stepped forward and said smoothly, “Henri Bellancourt, and this is my boyfriend, Cort Styleton. I play for Boston with Quentin.”
Joel shook both their hands. “It’s nice to meet you.” He grinned. “I’m sorry you have to put up with this guy.” He jerked a thumb at Quentin.
“He’s not that bad,” Henri said. “Once you get to know him.” He leaned in close. “Just ignore the smell.”
“Hey!” Quentin said, and then surreptitiously sniffed his armpit. “That was rude.”
Joel laughed. “At least you’ve got good taste in friends, Hartley.”
“Got it!” Harlan shouted, and everyone jumped. “Sorry. I just got a candid photo of you two. It’ll work for socials.”
Joel glanced at Hartley. The hockey player had managed to pick out a stylish outfit, something that would’ve looked perfectly acceptable among fashionable New Yorkers walking down the street. It was a different side of Quentin, and Joel hated to admit that it wasn’tthatbad. The hockey player cleaned up well, which Joel had noticed before, but tried to ignore. His friends were cute, too, and they had seemed initially starstruck, but now they only had eyes for Harlan, who kept eyeing them, too. Joel wouldnotbe surprised if Harlan informed Joel that he’d be sleeping elsewhere tonight.
“We’d better be going soon,” Shivonne said. She nodded at Quentin and his friends. “Harlan can chaperone you guys to the stadium. By the way, Quentin, Joel is going to invite you onstage before one of the songs. You don’t have to do anything, just smile and look pretty.”
Joel gaped at his PR manager, just as Quentin’s eyes bulged so big they looked like they might pop out of his head.
“What?” Quentin said.
“Ineversaid yes,” Joel said, trying to contain his frustration, and failing.
Quentin saw how frustrated Joel was by what his PR manager had just said, and tried not to smile.
“I’d actuallylovethat,” he said in as sincere a voice as he could muster. If it annoyed Joel, he’d behappyto do it. “That’s such an honor! Thank you, Joel.” He turned to Joel and did his best impression of puppy dog eyes. “That’s so thoughtful. I didn’t know you had that in you.”
Joel glowered at the hockey player. He knewexactlywhat Hartley was doing, and it infuriated him. He’d have to get him back, somehow.
Lines were already forming outside InTech stadium when Quentin, Henri, Cort, and Harlan arrived in their private car. Harlan had been talking—and probably flirting—with Henri and Cort the entire time. Quentin wasn’t blind and had noticed the way they were all looking at each other. He knew that Henri and Cort had a comfortably open relationship. They had explained it to Quentin before, and he admired them for their trust and how they had fun in their relationship. They loved each other very deeply and had a mature understanding of sex and intimacy.
“You can either hang out in one of the private boxes,” Harlan said,“oryou can join the team backstage. Up to you.” He nodded at Quentin. “Honestly, it’ll be easier if you’re backstage, what with you going onstage and all.”
“Right, that,” Quentin muttered. “Backstage it is.” What thehellwas he getting himself into?
The energy in the stadium was electric. Joel’s opener for the Boston concerts was Grayson Shaw, an up-and-coming young singer whose music blended indie pop, rock, and hip-hop. He was incredibly talented, and Joel was glad they’d met and become friends. Grayson did a great job of warming the crowd up, and then it was Joel’s turn.
