Fighting Addiction Page 3

  “Your teeth will fall out. People are made to chew.”

  “Bullshit.” Seb chuckled for him, shook his head.

  “Well, what about fiber?” His doctor was huge on fiber “for a man his age.” Asshole.

  “It’s in the shake. No worries. I look good.” Good, but skinny. And solitary. Fucking monastic. Seb had always had a shitload of friends, no matter where he was. Here, though, there hadn’t been a soul who actually connected with the man.

  The tip of his tongue begged to ask what had happened, but that was stupid, wasn’t it? Markus knew it was a fucked-up night in the back of a limo, a bunch of pictures, and the threat that the band might starve. He knew, because he’d been through it too. Everyone reacted differently. He’d been on the cover of every magazine, out with beautiful women, out with groups of manly men. Total media coverage. Seb had become the workhorse of the tour circuit—hell, the man’s last tour had been, what? Thirty-five fucking weeks long?

  Markus had drowned his sorrows for years; Sebastian had just ruthlessly pushed his out with work and exercise.

  When he looked up, Seb was gone. Just like a fucking dream come morning. Sighing, he set the weights down and went back to the treadmill for an interval.

  Beverly came knocking about half an hour later, a tray of juice and water for him, along with a huge, greasy doughnut. “Seb says it’s a peace offering and that you’re welcome to the workout room whenever you need it.”

  “Look at that.” God, how did Seb even know about his daily doughnut allowance? “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. He’ll be in the music room for another….” She checked her watch. “Two hours and eighteen minutes.”

  “Thanks. I’ll grab a shower and get in there and get to work.” He winked, giving her a thumbs-up.

  She grinned at him, winked. “Have fun, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  Actually, writing with Seb was the most fun he’d had in years. He looked forward to it every day.

  He’d have to make it a quick shower.

  SEB WRAPPED up the radio interview at six and then headed back to the condo for a hard-core writing session, possibly a few laps in the pool. He felt itchy after dealing with Mad Mike and the screaming girls in the ready room.

  Really, Markus should have done the interview. He was off work. The man who didn’t have a schedule should have to do shit like that instead of jet-skiing. Anonymously, since no one knew Markus was even there.

  Asshole.

  He headed in, growling at Bev, who stood there with a shake. Not now. “Taking a shower now. Leave me alone.”

  “You need the protein, Seb.” Her mouth set in that stubborn way he’d come to know, which meant it would be easier not to fight her. Still, maybe he could have a little fight, work out some of this muscle-deep itch and burn from strangers messing with him, talking to him. Touching him.

  “I just want a fucking shower.” He loved her dearly, but he didn’t want the fucking shake.

  “Seb, please.” Her lip quivered now, and he knew it was damned sexist, but it wasn’t fair for girls to pull the tear card. One day he was going to fire her for it. Not that he really would.

  “You’re a butthead.” He took the glass and drank deep. “You got my pills, lady?”

  “Yeah.” She handed them over. He took them all in order, red, yellow, and then the orange vitamins.

  Bev took the glass back, nodding. “Markus wants a jam session tonight. Not writing, just seeing how you sing together.”

  “Okay. Okay, sure.” He worked ’til midnight, and then he needed his down time. “Tonight like now or tonight like when I usually rehearse?”

  “I think he means sometime around eight.”

  “Ah. Okay. I’ll be there.” He nodded, rubbed his head. “Need my shower.”

  The pills were starting to work on the headache.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded, waving her away. Interviews sucked.

  He had to scrub all the hands off him.

  MARKUS WAITED for Seb, but the man hadn’t appeared yet. He had two guitars, and he had a rhythm guy he trusted to sit in and give them a little something. Now he just needed a jam session.

  Seb showed up at eight on the dot, in sweats, sunglasses, and with a giant bottle of water. “Hey, y’all.”

  “Hey. This is Abe. I’ve known him a bit. This is Sebastian.”

  “Mr. Sebastian.” Abe stood, shook Seb’s hand. “Pleased.”

  “Ditto. What’s on the playlist, Candy?” Seb’s voice was tight, like the man had just swallowed a bad pecan.

  “I thought we’d start with ‘Fireworks and Old Flames.’ See if we really got that bridge figured.”

  “Works for me.” Seb settled down on a stool and picked off the opening riff. Jesus, the man had become a picker. A real fucking picker.

  Made Markus feel lazy. Still, he could sing, and he knew it, so he came in with the first verse. Seb let him take the verse and the first round of the chorus, and then that bluesy voice started fucking seducing the second verse.

  Oh hell yeah. This would rock the stadiums.

  They hit the bridge, working it together, Seb’s voice sliding under his, rich and low, pushing him. The man still knew him too damned well, knew how competitive he was. He pushed it, breathing deep, working up from his diaphragm.

  They came to an end, looking at each other, grinning like fools.

  “Goddamn.” Seb hooted, bare feet stomping. “Fucking A, man!”

  “Shit, yes.” They still had it. He couldn’t wait to get a band in and get in the studio.

  Seb nodded, just beaming. “We need to book studio time back home, man.”

  “Read my mind, buddy.” He was glad Abe was there or he’d be hugging on that fine body. “Wanna do one of your old ones? ‘Ride the Sun,’ maybe?”

  Abe grinned away, looking like nothing more than a big tanned orangutan. “Love that song.”

  Seb snorted. “Me too. In E. Let’s go. Keep up, Candy.”

  “I got this.” He’d sung this in the shower a million times.

  They started off, singing hard, Seb letting him have the lead for a little while before stealing it back.

  God, this was fun. Truly fucking fun. He wished his guys were here. Markus sobered a little, fingers fumbling. Yeah. His fiddle player, Kyle, would be the only one to come….

  Seb stopped, looked over. “You cool?”

  “Huh? Yeah. Yeah, just hoping I jive with your band.”

  The man’s lips tightened, the look knowing. “Yeah. You got your holes filled? I hurt for you when I heard.”

  “I do. They won’t do in the studio, though. Too raw.” Most people used studio musicians, but he knew Seb was like him. They recorded with their own bands.

  “Well then, we’ll rehearse with the Horsemen until you’re happy. I want this to be good, man, for all of us.”

  “Cool.” Markus grinned over at Abe. “You’re welcome to sit in once we get dates. You’re a good match.”

  “Get off the grass! You got it, mate. I’m yours.”

  “Good deal. Yeah?” He supposed he should have asked Seb first.

  Seb chuckled. “Well, there you go.”

  He winked at Seb, relaxing back into the music. “Where were we?”

  “We were being painfully talented. How about your ‘Hunting and Wishing’?”

  “Sure. I like that one.” He’d closed his show with it for damned near two years.

  “Me too.” Seb grinned wide, winked at Abe. “I wrote it, after all.”

  He looked over. That was a matter of opinion. “You helped. I did the good parts.”

  “I had the hook and the second verse. That won you a Grammy, that verse.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Let’s see if you remember it.”

  Abe was watching them like they were playing tennis.

  “Are you still capable of singing it in A?” The opening riff sounded.

  “I sure hope so.” He’d actually gained som
e range back since he’d quit drinking.

  “Me too.” He got another of those smiles and they were off, singing hard, the harmonies like rusty gates at first, then going clear.

  They sang three more before anyone even broke for water, then three more after that. They were gonna be solid gold. Possibly platinum.

  God, wouldn’t that work for him? His foot tapped, his hand slapping the guitar in time with the final verse.

  They headed into a cover of “Luckenbach, Texas” that had Abe rolling. The yodeling at the end was impromptu and made them all cackle like a bunch of crows.

  Seb was laughing, head thrown back, throat working. His belly clenched, the need to kiss Seb’s smiling mouth almost more than he could bear. This was why he’d brought along another picker.

  “Okay, mates. I need to get home. You call if you need to jam again?” Abe stood, shook his hand, Seb’s.

  “You know it, man. Thanks for sitting in.” Sebastian was gracious, which he really appreciated.

  They helped Abe pack his stuff up, load up, and then suddenly they were alone.

  “Thanks, Seb. I needed to know I still had it in me, I think.”

  “Anytime, man. That was fucking great.”

  “It was. I wasn’t sure I’d still mesh. Now I just need to work on stamina, huh? Stage shows.” It had been a while.

  “You’ll do fine. I’m the one that gets breathless there.”

  “You do?” That had never been Seb’s problem, but who knew what had gone on for the past eight years?

  “It’s a lot of running.” Seb’s lips quirked. “Sucks getting old.”

  “I never did bounce as much as you.” He watched those lips, his heart picking up its beat. “You look fucking amazing.”

  “Thank you.” Seb tilted his head, looking like a puppy that had heard a whistle. “I think I’m going to go jack off about a dozen times before my balls explode. I want you like I want my next fucking breath.”

  Christ. Markus’s cock went from interested to “Oh my God, now” in about two seconds. It hurt his belly, it happened so fast. He blinked. “Ain’t nobody here but you and me.”

  Seb moaned, took a step toward him, those lips parted. He loved how they’d looked wrapped around his cock, sucking like Seb’s life depended on it. Markus moved too, meeting the man halfway, wondering if Seb still kissed like the very devil. Seb pushed up, lips crashing against his, one hard hand behind his head as that tongue pushed in to taste him. Fuck. Fuck, yes. That hard body was like a fucking flame, slammed up against him.

  Moaning, he grabbed Seb’s tight little ass and lifted, pulling that fine body against his even more, kissing back. He had eight years of pent-up need to get out.

  Seb hollered for him, the sound pure music, and one leg wrapped around his hip so they could grind together. His breath came in short bursts, his hips rocking. His lips felt burned from the strength of their kisses.

  “Markus.” Seb arched, humping against him. “Please.”

  “God.” He brought one hand around and shoved it down the front of Seb’s sweats, looking for that hot cock. His fingers wrapped around it, heavy and fat and so fucking hot, and he stroked, base to tip. The touch liked to set him on fire, and he damn near tugged Seb’s dick off when a knock came to the door.

  “Seb? Honey? I have your pills and your shake.”

  “No.” The single word was broken, raw.

  “I’m going to kill her.” Markus rested his forehead against Seb’s.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Boss? Boss? You have to eat. You’ve only had four hundred and twenty calories today.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Seb pulled away from him and stalked toward the door. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

  “No. No, you work out three hours, you have to have this.”

  Markus stepped away from the view of the door, trying to be unobtrusive. Jesus, he hoped he hadn’t pulled Seb’s pants down too far.

  “Goddammit, Bev!” It was like Seb had just totally lost his shit, the door slamming open, trembling on its hinges. “What do I fucking tell you about fucking bothering me when I’m working?”

  “It’s not midnight. I have three minutes, you asshole! And you want to collapse again, fine, but you’re not doing it on my watch!” One hand pushed the shake over. “Drink it!”

  Markus shook his head, trying to clear it. There was something seriously messed-up here. Something he didn’t have a handle on yet.

  Seb drank the shake, then threw the glass, the thing shattering against the wall. “Happy, you fucking harpy psycho? Give me my pills, you bitch.”

  “Stop being a drama llama, you spoiled brat. I’m going to hide your guitar and not let you jam if you keep throwing temper tantrums.”

  Markus was fairly sure Seb was going to have an aneurysm. That was just a little scary, that whole throbbing vein in Seb’s neck. Seb took the pills, though, and slammed the door shut as hard as he’d opened it.

  “Sorry.” A thin sheen of sweat was covering Seb. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey. It’s okay.” A bottle of water sat nearby, and Markus cracked it open. “For your pills.”

  “Thanks.” Seb took the bottle, drained it. “Guess I killed the mood, huh?”

  “Getting interrupted did that.” The ache was still there, still unfulfilled, but the fact was it wasn’t safe for them to be together as long as Seb was still a star.

  “Yeah.” Seb took a deep breath, then just turned around and walked out, the line of the man’s shoulders pure defeat.

  Shit. Markus stood there, torn between going after Seb and going back to his shower. It would be smarter to choose the latter.

  Bev came in with a broom and a rag, blinking as she saw him. “Hey, Mr. Kane. I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean for you to have to see that.”

  “It’s fine. He was just hungry, I think.” Markus’s stomach growled, proving his point. “Does this happen often?”

  “Only daily.” She chuckled and started cleaning up. “No, that’s unfair. He’s a perfect angel, if his schedule isn’t tripped up. There was an interview; that means a fight.”

  “What sets him off there? The waste of time?” Markus hated dealing with the press, but he was good at it.

  “You’re friends, yeah? He wasn’t always this… OCD?” She blinked up at him, obviously confused.

  “Honey, we haven’t talked in eight years. When I knew him, he ate food and let loose with the boys at least three nights a week. His trainer had to browbeat him.” Okay, both of them.

  “Well, that’s not the man I work for. I try to get two thousand calories a day in him. Most days I manage fifteen hundred. His days are all scheduled to the minute. It works for him.”

  “It does, huh?” That sounded like hell. “Well, I guess I’m glad you came when you did. We kept jamming, he woulda got all off schedule.”

  “I had three minutes. He would have called a halt.”

  Yeah, Markus didn’t think so. Not the way they’d been cooking with oil. That was gonna go until it ended. Damn it. “I guess he’s in bed now, huh?”

  She shrugged. “I know he rehearses from three to six, works out from six to nine.”

  Good Lord. “When does he sleep?”

  “Noon to 3:00 p.m.”

  That was three hours. Three. People went crazy from that shit. As in raving loony. They’d have to work on that. In fact, Seb might just be his new favorite project.

  “I’d like to work out with him again in the morning. I won’t be there ’til seven thirty, though.”

  “I’ll leave him a note. I try not to deal with him from midnight to eight forty-five.”

  “You got to sleep sometime, honey.” He’d better get out of her hair too. It was late. “I’ll just get me a snack and head to bed.”

  “Sleep well. There’s fruit and stuff in the kitchen on your way out.” She winked. “You’re welcome to sample the potato chip stash I keep. Just don’t give me up to Mr. Do You Know How Many Calories Are In Tha
t?”

  “Never,” he promised before waving and leaving the room. Fruit would do just fine, and he would bet there were some nuts too.

  Fuck knew this place was full of friggin’ nuts.

  SEBASTIAN HAD just hit the halfway point on his workout when Markus walked in.

  Huh. Interesting.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, ba—man. How goes?” The towel got slung over a weight bench and Markus hopped on the treadmill.

  “Good. Good.” He started another set of squats, thighs screaming. “You?”

  “A little tired.” The slow chuckle was just pure sex. “Took me a while to wind down last night.”

  “Yeah. I bet.” He’d jacked himself raw. By the time noon rolled around, he’d be ready to crash.

  “Still, we had a good session.”

  Sebastian was in a perfect place to watch Markus’s ass.

  “It was amazing. Recording is going to rock.” Up. Down. Up. Down. Ten more, then lunges.

  “You know it. I’ll have to watch it with the band there, though.”

  “Watch it?” Like he’d do anything to fuck up Markus’s career.

  “I said I would. Not you.” Markus shrugged, muscles shifting in his wide shoulders. “I thought it would have gone away more in eight years, you know? The wanting you.”

  “Yeah. I know. We’re good together like that.” They were like fire and gasoline like that.

  “We are.” Glancing over his shoulder, Markus grinned. “We make good music too.”

  “We make amazing fucking music.” He dropped the barbell, grabbed the dumbbells. Lunges. Go.

  Markus did a five-minute warm-up, then headed for the Smith machine. Sebastian went from lunges to push-ups to pull-ups, giving his legs a breather.

  They moved around the room together, not talking much. He had to admit there was a lot of looking going on. Hell, there was a whole lot to look at, with Markus and that taut, tiny little ass. Every time the man got on the treadmill for an interval, those buttcheeks moved in a hypnotizing way.

  He hung on the bar, staring, swinging, eyes on that fine backside.

  Markus jumped off the treadmill again, turning to look at him. “You okay?”

  “Huh? Yeah. Yeah, just taking a break.” He started pulling up again, close to muscle failure.