“What the fuck?” Calix had moved the microphone far enough from his mouth that his demand didn’t carry through the room, but I was close enough to hear it and echo it.
Otis pulled one of Calix’s male fans on stage. While Calix and my guitars carried the bridge, Otis pulled the young fan into a kiss that ripped straight through the center of my chest. It was sloppy, verging on violent, and I wondered if Otis’s spit had a high enough alcohol content to get the fan drunk.
I hated it.
Before I knew what I was doing, I was across the stage, pulling Otis back by the collar.
Guitar unplugged.
Bass unplugged.
Without acknowledging anyone else on stage, I pulled him into the wings, slammed his back against the wall, and erased that fucking kid’s memory from Otis’s lips.
He was mine.
It didn’t matter that I wasn’t gay.
I didn’t understand the instinct to claim, but I was fucking going with it, and I dared anyone to get in the way.
He tasted like whiskey and home. Like something that had always been inevitable.
Why the fuck had I ignored this for so long?
I kissed him until the final strains of the song reverberated through my body, and even then, I had to seriously consider if it was worth moving.
When I shifted, his erection pressed hard against my hip, and a shiver of…something…crept through my body. His lips were wet and puffy, his eyes unfocused in a way I hoped was lust and not inebriation.
“We…should get back out there,” he said, like the real world was only just breaking through this fantasy world daze.
I felt the same way. Would I wake up on the bus in a moment, lonely and aching like I had after the blowjob dream? Or was there a world where this was actually something that could be real?
He pressed a palm to my chest, and the solid weight did more to convince me this was real than anything else, which meant he was right. We had a show to finish.
As we stepped back onstage, the crowd lost their collective minds, while Calix looked like he was ready to cut someone. Otis’s little friend had returned to the sea of faces below us, and I breathed easier knowing I didn’t have to face that threat.
How many times did Otis have to see you with random girls?I shut the thought down before it could sink its claws in, because the truth was that I hadn’t cared before. They’d meant nothing to me, and I’d been adept at ignoring the impact my lifestyle had on someone I’d always professed to care about, even if I wasbeginning to realize I hadn’t been entirely truthful about how much I cared.
We finished the show with an acoustic version of “Black Lighting” and “Second Coming” as our encore. The energy of the crowd was electric; the roar of voices followed us offstage and through the back halls of the arena.
“Fucking-A. Are all your shows like this? I feel like I’m buzzing.” Brock bounced down the corridor, hyper as a teen who’d mainlined energy drinks for twelve hours straight. Calix strode ahead, eyes fixed on the exit door like he was done with all our shit. A gentle brush against my fingers let me know Otis was close.
“I think we need to talk,” he murmured.
I nodded without looking over.
What the hell was I going to say?
I didn’t want him kissing other guys? That I wasn’t gay, but the thought of him with anyone else made me blind with jealous rage? That he was mine, even if I wasn’t sure I could give him what he wanted.
Yeah, I was a raging asshole. Even I could admit that much.
The cool night air hit us like a slap as the crowd gathered at the stage door pushed against the temporary barricades. Cameras flashed, and more than one person with a phone held high jostled for our attention.
“Otis, are you gay?”
“Harvey, do you hate gays? Is that why you pulled Otis offstage?”
“Calix, where’s Tobias? Is it true he and Ruby Dearlove have a secret child?”
