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  “Excellent. You have any exercise you like?” The little fuck looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, all in loose white clothes. Jackass.

  “Sex.” There. Let the little fuck mull that over. Goddamn, his hands were shaking.

  “Well, I don’t like you that well yet. How about weights?” The fucking front of the bus looked insane. The little fucker’d just moved everything. Jeremy stood behind him, took one of his wrists, and raised it over his head, stretching him out.

  “Yeah, okay. Cardio is out today.” And with weights he could hit the little fucker over the head and kill him and hide the body.

  “Today we’ll stretch. Just relax and let me move you, okay?” One hand landed on his stomach, Jeremy rolling him at the waist. “You like to play sports?”

  “You’re touching me.” No one touched him anymore. It was surreal. Didn’t feel awful, though, so he went with it.

  “Yeah. I need to, just lean into it. This should feel good.” His hand was drawn across his chest, the action almost like a hug. “So? Sports?”

  “Huh? Yeah. I played some. Baseball. Basketball.” Damn. His back cracked when whatshisname bent him.

  “What position in baseball? I was an outfielder.” One hand was dropped, the other grabbed like he was some rag doll or something.

  Hollis just let the man move him around like some weird stuffed animal, bemused. “I was third base.”

  “So you can catch and throw.” He thought that maybe Jeremy was going to spring something painful on him, but the motions stayed slow and steady, almost feeling good.

  “Yeah. I can ride too.” He chuckled at how that sounded. “Horses, bikes, that kind of shit.”

  “Yeah? I’ve never been on a horse. Grew up in Houston. I have a Harley, though. I love to ride along the coast.”

  “Ow.” Man, that stretch had really pulled at his thigh. “I grew up poor in Texas, but I learned there were folks who’d pay me to ride their horses.”

  “Get on the floor, please.” Jeremy eased him down, then grabbed his leg and pushed.

  Goddamn. He was going to turn into a pretzel.

  “Where in Texas?”

  “Huh?” A man shouldn’t have his nuts fed to him upside down. No, really.

  “Where did you grow up in Texas?” Something tight in his right thigh relaxed, and he damn near moaned.

  “Uh. Longview. Give or take.” His belly was starting to hurt, but his other parts were doing okay.

  “Man, way up north.” Jeremy rolled his hips one way, his shoulders the other, like he wasn’t even there.

  Things popped and creaked like mad. Hollis huffed out a laugh. “Are you a chiropractor from Hades or something?”

  “Nope. Massage therapist. Master’s in kinesiology. Certified personal trainer and nutritionist.” Jeremy leaned over him, grinned. Shit, the man had big blue eyes. “And I don’t believe in hell.”

  “I do.” Hollis stared right into those eyes, putting everything he knew behind his words. “Believe me, mister. I do.”

  Chapter Four

  HE WASN’T sure where they were. Not the town. The state. Nothing.

  What he knew was that it was Sunday and Wonder Boy had spent last night drinking with a bunch of groupies and titty dancers and had undone ten days’ worth of work in six hours.

  Asshole.

  Jeremy turned the music up a little louder, making the gigantic (and clean, dammit) bus vibrate with the most obnoxious, cheerful pop music he could find. Ah, boy bands. There was a use for them after all. There was a protein smoothie in the blender, all the curtains on the bus were open, and it was….

  Jeremy checked his watch.

  Two minutes past wake-up time.

  Bangbangbangbang.

  “Mornin’ glory! Rise and shine! It’s weight-training day!”

  He heard a groan and then the unmistakable sound of horking, the heaves going on a good while. “Go ’way,” Hollis finally hollered, and even that came out weak.

  “Nope. Up. You have a smoothie waiting.” Stupid bastard. No amount of fun last night could be worth sounding like that.

  Thank God, smoking weed left no hangover.

  Well, barring that whole Doritos letdown.

  “A smoothie.” One eye peered through the crack that appeared in the doorway. “Fucker.”

  “You would rather have eggs?” Christ, that was a smell.

  “No. I want toast. Dry.”

  “You can have toast, but there has to be protein too.” And water and possibly a metric fuck-ton of B-12.

  “Nothing smoothie-like.” Hollis had settled into a kind of sullen acceptance of him. Still fought him every day, but at least the man had stopped throwing things.

  “Hard scrambled eggs?” It was a weird mixture of exhausting and energizing, fighting with Hollis.

  An audible gag sounded. “No eggs. I could do maybe peanut butter….”

  “Peanut butter it is. Get your ass in the shower, man. We’ve got work to do.”

  “You’re not human, man.” But Hollis got up and scraped past him to the bathroom.

  That was him. Robot boy. Jeremy chuckled and went to make toast and slip protein powder into Hollis’s grapefruit juice. If only “Gee I’m a Big Stud with Groupies” knew that he was more stir-crazy, horny, and bored than robotic, his ass would be in serious trouble.

  Hollis came out clean and relatively ungrumped about ten minutes later. “That had better be unspiked juice. Don’t think I don’t know what you put in there.”

  “Hmm? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your toast.” Goddamn.

  “Uh-huh.” The man went right over and poured the juice out, grabbed the peanut butter toast, and wolfed it down. For a thirtysomething man, Hollis had a hell of a hangover recovery rate.

  “Don’t waste perfectly good juice, man. You need the citrus.”

  “Yeah, and I can get it without the supplements.” After pouring another glass of juice, Hollis leaned against the little kitchen counter and stared at him like a dog trying to understand pig Latin. “Why are you still here?”

  “Because I have a contract to be here. Why are you still trying to pretend that your body is sixteen?”

  “I’m not!” Hollis shouted it, then seemed a little surprised. “Shit, I’m just enjoying it before I’m on my way out.”

  “So what? You wanted to be chubby, crusty, and saggy before you’re forty? That seems like a self-fulfilling-prophecy thing.”

  Man, Hollis needed a woman. Or a blow job.

  “Fuck you, man.” There was no heat in it. Those light brown eyes had a very serious expression in them. “I have a reputation I have to live up to.”

  Jeremy nodded. He got that. He honestly did. He sorta lived it, in reverse. “There’s got to be some moderation, old man. There has to be. You work hard.”

  “And I play hard.” Something raw crossed that fine face, an expression of extreme mad-on. “Whatever. Lay it on me, crunch boy. What are we doing today?”

  “I’m thinking push-ups, then cardio. Sweat out all the toxins.” Jeremy wondered idly how far he could push today before Hollis pushed back.

  “Let’s get it over with, then.” Belching, Hollis went back and put some sweats on, evincing a grim determination.

  “Excellent.” He rolled out the mat, grinning as Hollis snarled at the stereo. “You don’t like upbeat music?”

  “You’re a sadist, man. A royal fucker.” Hollis dropped and started doing push-ups, his expression boding well for a fight in T minus ten minutes.

  He wandered over, planted his foot on Hollis’s ass. “Keep your butt down.”

  “You get that foot off my ass or I’ll rip it off and shove it up yours.” Breathing hard and sweating, Hollis made a good show of the first twenty.

  “Promises, promises.” He pushed down a little harder. “When you can go more than ten feet without panting, I’ll start worrying.”

  “Fuck… you.” Yeah. That was forceful.

  �
�Shit. You keep up your current lifestyle and that won’t be a promise. It’ll be an old memory.” Oh, this was fun.

  “It already is.” Heaving, Hollis threw off his foot and stood, then grabbed a towel. “Now what?”

  “You want to wrestle? And if it is, that’s a shame. You have a decent ass, for a middle-aged man.” See him. See him poke the bear. Bear. Huh. He fought his grin. “Have you ever considered waxing? It would make you more aerodynamic.”

  “Wrestling….” Coming in low and hard, Hollis caught him around the waist and took him down, both of them thudding against the floor.

  Fuck him. He rolled, twisting at the waist, and managed to get Hollis underneath him. Grunting, Hollis twisted under him, and if he’d expected the man to act like a pampered celeb and cry uncle, he was wrong. The big asshole could fight like a house afire.

  “That’s it. Come on, man. Give it to me.” This was more like it. Hell, it was kinda hot.

  “You son of a bitch. You think this is some kind of sick game you can play on company time?” Stiff-armed, Hollis bucked up, nearly throwing him off.

  “Shit, tubby. I’m getting paid to play with you.” He poked Hollis’s belly, then tugged those dark little hairs. “You sure about the waxing thing?”

  It stung, but it worked.

  “Ow! Shit.” Hollis went limp under him all of a sudden, making him flop to the floor. Before he could even blink, Hollis was walking away, heading back to the little bedroom.

  “Hollis?” He rolled up to his feet. “Did I hurt you, man?”

  “No. I’m going back to bed.” He got a glare over one broad shoulder, right before Hollis disappeared.

  He was so surprised by the abrupt departure that it took him a full minute of sitting and blinking to figure out that he knew what Hollis’s problem was. And that it had been pressing real eager at the front of those soft sweats.

  “Isn’t it a little early to give up on that, man?” He rolled his eyes at himself and went to clean up his equipment before heading back to his bunk. A quick toke, a hand job, and possibly a quick nap, and he’d feel much better.

  Much, much better.

  Chapter Five

  HOLLIS GROANED, rolling over on his belly on the bed. He’d skipped the partying the night before because he had a double charity show planned in Vegas tonight. He needed to be on. And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed to work out with Jeremy.

  It energized him in the weirdest way.

  Okay, so yesterday it had given him a hard-on too. How fucking embarrassing. Thank God the little fucker hadn’t seen.

  Speaking of the little fucker, he wasn’t singing his usual wake-up call.

  Hollis got up, adjusting everything as he went. Maybe he could sneak out before Jeremy got up, and get the driver to go to McDonald’s.

  He heard the harsh, deep sounds of coughing before he got even halfway down the hall. Then he heard someone’s nose blowing. Oh, ho! Somebody caught himself a cold!

  Grinning, he went out to the little living room and stared down at Jeremy. “Well, hey there. Want some grapefruit juice?”

  Jeremy shook his head. Oh, man. Those eyes were bloodshot and watering, lean cheeks flushed with fever. “Had something earlier.”

  “Oh, come on. Do you good. I can put that powder shit in it. You want eggs?” He couldn’t help it. It was payback time.

  “No, thanks.” Jeremy stood up and headed to wash his hands. “You want eggs or a smoothie?”

  “No, I want you to sit your ass down. You look like crap.” Hell, he couldn’t be too mean to someone who felt that bad.

  “I’m better than you after a bender.” Jeremy winked at him, almost grinned. “I just hope you don’t come down with it.”

  “I’d better not. I got that long-assed road tonight.” Man, he was looking forward to that, but not to the letdown. “Come on, sit. I’ll get some food, and then you can point and laugh while I do that thing you want me to do.”

  Some freakish take on the old sit and spin that Jeremy called a balance round or some shit.

  “It’s doing wonders for your moves on stage, you know? Can you feel a difference?” Jeremy poured two glasses of orange juice and sat, then drained one in a single breath.

  “Not really.” No way was he gonna admit it made all that bouncing around easier. No. Fucking. Way.

  “No? We’ll have to step it up, then. Work it harder.” Jeremy rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Chill, man.” Hollis could cook, whether Jeremy believed it or not. He poured them both more juice and set about whipping up some eggs and shit.

  “Those egg yolks have 180 milligrams of cholesterol apiece. Leave a few out, huh?”

  “You need the good shit that’s in them. This is why you get colds.” Damn, that made him smile, being able to say that.

  “Cholesterol does not prevent colds.” Oh, was that a growl?

  “No, but yolks have shitloads of vitamin A, vitamin D, and calcium. I won’t put jalapeños and cheese on yours.” Grinning like a fool, he went on mixing and humming, breaking into a fine rendition of “Ring of Fire.”

  “What? I don’t deserve peppers?” Jeremy stood up and poured another juice, then leaned on the counter and looked at him. “Do you play those guitars that you have, or are they someone else’s?”

  Sprinkling jalapeños on Jeremy’s eggs too, Hollis nodded. “They’re mine. I don’t play much on stage anymore because the girls want to look. But I still use them for writing.”

  “Cool. I used to want to learn but never got around to it.”

  “I could teach you,” he offered casually. Hell, that was something fun, and he didn’t get enough of that these days.

  “Yeah? That would be cool as hell.” He got a grin, then another quick wink before that coughing started again, deep and raw. “When you have time and aren’t wanting to kill me, of course.”

  “Hey, right now I feel sorry for you. Take advantage of it.” Voila. Eggs.

  “You ought to. I’m all stuffed up and blocked, and I have to get better before we get to Vegas.”

  “What, you gonna go party?” Somehow that pissed him off. Bad.

  “I was thinking more about getting laid, honestly.”

  That pissed him off even more, because when was the last time he’d done that? A year ago in the Bahamas? Somewhere that not everyone knew his name. “Yay for you.”

  “Hey, not everyone’s got groupies at every town, man. Hell, some of us have to pray there’s a big enough group of like-minded people to even have a chance.” Jeremy rolled his shoulders, wincing as he tilted his head.

  “Groupies. Yeah. I’m gonna go take a shower.” He dumped the food in the trash on his way. Maybe he could hang a sign out the window and get people to throw him cigarettes.

  “What did I do now? Jesus, you’re a bad-tempered bastard. Your manager said you wouldn’t give a shit if I was gay.”

  “I don’t care if you like ’em purple with pink polka dots.” He turned and stabbed a finger at Jeremy. “And don’t you be like Charlie and tell me that I’m an ungrateful bastard because I envy you your anonymity.”

  “What? So you’re pissy because you fought to get famous and now you are? Shit. No one’s gonna raise an eyebrow if Mr. Rockabilly gets a blow job from a pretty blonde in the dressing room.”

  “Oh, you think so, huh? Well, maybe I’d raise a few more eyebrows than you think.”

  “Not unless you’re as queer as a three-dollar bill, you won’t.” Jeremy tilted his head, looked at him, bloodshot eyes suddenly sharp. “Are you?”

  “If you’re gonna work me out, you have five seconds to start. One… two….” No way was he gonna admit that to someone who might pass it to the Enquirer.

  Jeremy shrugged, grabbed him, and pushed him down to the floor, hard enough to thud. “Start with push-ups, old man.”

  “Goddamned fucking push-ups.” But he did them. As long as Jeremy didn’t wrestle him, he’d be fine.

  Push-ups. Crunches. Runnin
g on the treadmill. Then he got plopped in front of the weight bench. The son of a bitch was trying to kill him—either with germs or exercise, pick one.

  “Man, I pay and pay, don’t I?” Every damned day that fucker pushed him further, harder.

  “Yep. Sucks to be you.” Those strong hands supported his arms as he lifted. “Watch it when you bend. You don’t want to hurt your triceps.”

  “Don’t touch me.” He couldn’t take those hands on him, couldn’t take the calluses and the heat. Not without springing wood.

  “Don’t be a jackass, Hollis. I have to be able to touch you to work with you.”

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” Goddamn fucker.

  “You know, colds might be contagious, but homosexuality isn’t, you redneck asshole. No matter how fucking fine you are, I’m not trying to seduce you. I’m trying to help you.” Jeremy looked about as pissed as he felt.

  “Goddammit!” Hollis just roared it, the weights clanging back into the cradle. “It’s too fucking late for me to worry about catching it, okay?”

  Jeremy stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Then why are you acting like a psycho?”

  “Me? Oh, because my whole fucking career hinges on me not being gay? I haven’t gotten laid in over a year.” And he needed it. Bad.

  “Dude. A year? That sucks.”

  “And then some.” Goddamn. A year was like… ball explosion.

  “Man. That’s not right.” He got an oddly sympathetic look. “Not even a blow job?”

  “No. I jack off.” He thought on that a moment. “A lot.”

  “Yeah. I hear that.” At his incredulous look, Jeremy nodded. “Man, I was in Felicity Martin’s entourage. In Nashville. I am my left hand’s best friend.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I can see that.” Somehow that made him feel better. “Well, they say what happens in Vegas stays there.”

  “That’s what I was hoping. I don’t need much, just someone else so that I don’t forget how.” Jeremy’s cough was coming back, the flush getting deeper again. “Will you eat now, man?”

  “Yeah.” Shit, his hands were shaking. He should have… whoa. Swimmy.