Fighting Addiction Page 4

  “No falling.” Markus picked up the heavy bar.

  “I won’t.” Hell, he already had. Hard. Years ago. No one had ever measured up. It sucked.

  He started doing leg lifts, working his abs. Fuck.

  Markus was working on chest and arms, muscles flexing, sweat beading up. The hard-on tenting the man’s shorts was pretty too. He groaned, licked his lips. He wanted that cock. He wouldn’t go for it, but he wanted it.

  “Stop it, man.” Markus stared at him, the bar lowering to the floor.

  “I’m sorry.” He let himself down off the captain’s chair. “I….”

  Shit. He had to get out of here.

  “Should I go, baby? I mean all the way. See you in the studio. I would understand.” Markus didn’t want to go. Not a bit. Those dark eyes said as much.

  “I know. I want you to stay. I won’t touch, but I can’t not look.”

  “I’ll work with that.” Markus grabbed a towel and dried off. “I got a half hour left of cardio, but I think I’ll jog, huh? Can you pencil me in tonight for some writing?”

  “I’m free to work from six to midnight.”

  “I can do six. I promise to eat before I come.” Markus had taken to teasing him about the food.

  “You’re obsessed with food. Obsessed. Freak.” He grinned and hit the treadmill.

  “If by that you mean I eat….” Laughing, Markus smacked him with the towel on the way out. “See you at six, huh?”

  “Have a good day, asshole.” He turned the speed up, flipped Markus off.

  The door closed, and he put his head down to run, not sure if he was happy or furious that they’d dodged that bullet again.

  It didn’t really matter. He needed to focus on the music.

  Just the music.

  Chapter Four

  MARKUS WIPED his hands on his jeans, as nervous as a seventeen-year-old on prom night.

  He’d left New Zealand in early March, and he hadn’t seen Sebastian since. They’d danced around each other for weeks, writing songs and working out, and it had been both heaven and hell. Truth was, Markus missed the man.

  The house was ready for Sebastian and his band, though. The studio in the back was tricked out with new equipment, he’d put extra beds in otherwise empty bedrooms for the musicians—all nine of them, plus Seb and Bev, for fuck’s sake—and he’d gotten a host of new shit for the workout room.

  He even had a Vitamix for Bev to make Seb’s Ensure mash-ups.

  So why the hell was he so nervous now that the day had come?

  A limo pulled up, his housekeeper, Helen, hollering. “Baby doll, you want me to get the door for you? Your comp’ny’s starting to show.”

  “No, I got it. Can you just get some drinks and snacks going?” Seb would never eat anything, but the guys would, assuming Helen didn’t make some kind of tofu log with raisins. That had been one epic fail in her attempt to health up his food.

  “Absolutely. I got jalapeño poppers, chicken wings, and lots of fruits and veggies.”

  He went to the door and opened it to a tiny little girl, a spiky-headed kid, plus Abe and Dooley.

  “Hey, y’all. Markus Kane.” He shook hands with Abe, then Dooley, the huge black drummer who shook the damn house when he walked.

  The wee girl shook next, her tiny hand all hard calluses. “Kerry Demoss. This hooligan’s Jonny. Ignore him, no matter what he says. Is the boss here yet?”

  “Nope, Seb’s not here yet. Come on in, y’all. Helen has snacks and rooms and shit.”

  They cracked up. “God, no. We were talking about Beverly. She’s the woman with the plan!”

  “Seb convinced her to drive in from Houston. She’s called me twice in tears. I’m going to take her for margaritas when they get here.” Bruce, Seb’s huge band leader, who was a local, popped his head in, guitar and Markus’s fiddle player in tow. “I grabbed Kyle for you, man.”

  “Thanks, buddy.” Bruce wasn’t one to blow smoke up anyone’s ass, but Markus liked him. Kyle had been with Markus since the beginning, and he gave the man a hug.

  “Hey, stranger! You’re looking good.” Kyle handed over a jar of jam. “Pomegranate. Sally made it.”

  Wow.

  “Christ, man. Your little girl is old enough to make jam?”

  “I know, right? Sucks to get old.”

  “Who the fuck you calling old, ass-hat?” Janet walked in, looking like Reba’s older, harder, smoking second cousin. Her hair had gotten bigger over the years, and her eyeliner was still peacock blue.

  “Markus.” Kyle winked. “There’s my woman.”

  “Kyle! Baby doll!” Janet squealed and tackled Kyle. “It’s been a dog’s age!”

  “Goddamn it, someone help carry the fucking gear!”

  Markus blinked as Evy walked in, loaded for bear, the stench of patchouli overwhelming, followed closely behind by a long, lanky sun worshipper.

  “We’re coming. Jeez. We had to get all introduced nice.” The lanky blond was an Aussie.

  “Lord have mercy, don’t bring all that shit in here before we know Markus has a place for it.” Janet was a ball buster.

  Kyle snorted. “Markus has a place. Come on, y’all. I’ll show you the studio.”

  They all trooped out, leaving him feeling like a whirlwind had passed through. Markus stood there waiting for Sebastian. Sure as shit, a bright red convertible pulled up, Sebastian standing up in the passenger side, laughing hard.

  Bev wasn’t laughing. In fact, she looked ready to explode. God, the woman was either a masochist or a saint. He was leaning toward saint after getting to know Bev some in New Zealand.

  He headed outside, just in time to hear Seb cackle. “Let’s do it again!”

  “I’m going to tear your head off and shit down your neck.”

  Now that was a pissed-off Bev. Markus moved in, prepared to soothe, but Seb just grabbed her and hugged her, then hopped to come pinch his shoulder.

  “Hey, man.”

  “Hey, Seb. How was the drive?”

  “Fabulous! We had a blast!” Someone was flying, bouncing off the walls.

  “You ready to come in with the guys, or did you want to see your private entrance?” He’d set the mother-in-law up for Seb.

  “I’d like to put my stuff down and take a shower, if you don’t mind, man.”

  “Come on, then. The guys are all in the studio, wandering. Helen can take care of them.” He gave Bev a warm smile. “Helen can show you where to take a load off. You can’t miss her. She’s the one with the Sexy Grandma T-shirt.”

  Bev nodded, almost tearing up. “Thanks. Thanks.”

  Impulsively, he gave her a hug before steering her off to the front door. “Come on, Seb. You’re this way.”

  “Hold up.” Seb ran Bev’s suitcases up to the house for her, then came back for his bag and the guitar. He was a good man. He really was. “How’ve you been, Candy? You’re looking good.”

  “Been working out hard. Need to keep up with you.”

  “Everybody else here already?” Seb looked like a wet dream—tight T-shirt, faded jeans. Every bit of clothing faithfully outlined that hard body.

  “Everyone I know of, yeah.” His fingers itched to touch, so he put one hand under Seb’s elbow, steering them toward the side of the big house. The man’s skin was warm, somehow heavy.

  “Good deal. Your guy Abe make it in?” He could see Seb’s tanned throat working.

  “He came in with Dooley. They’ll be wanting to settle a little, I guess. Bruce said something about Maudie’s.”

  “He’s going to get Bev drunk.”

  “Good for him.” Better to take her somewhere else and not try to sneak it in his house.

  “My guys all know your place is off-limits. Evy will go stay at Bruce’s too.”

  Everyone knew Evy was old-school and needed his green.

  “I appreciate it.” Maybe it wasn’t reasonable, but he needed to have his safe place.

  “Man, I wouldn’t fuck this up for you
.”

  He opened the door to the little one-bedroom house. It was private, comfortable, and Seb could settle here. No one would interrupt his schedule, except maybe Markus. Markus was seriously considering interrupting Seb a lot. The man was getting a little intense.

  “This work, babe?” It was so damned easy to slip into old habits when they were alone.

  “It’s great, thank you.” Seb put his suitcase down, looked around. “Fucking cool.”

  “I had it put in for my folks, but since they moved to Corpus, they don’t come as much.” He stared at Seb’s mouth, wanting to take a kiss. He obviously still had impulse-control issues.

  Seb’s tongue flicked out, wetting those pink lips. The man was trying to kill him.

  “I—” Markus shook his head. “I told Helen to leave you be, but you know how she is….”

  “Yes, the food-pushing grandma. I’ll sic Bev on her.”

  Privately, Markus thought his money was on Helen. She was a barracuda when it came to keeping her singers healthy.

  Seb plopped down on the sofa, sunglasses bobbing.

  “You want me to dim the lights?”

  “Yeah. Please. Thanks, man.”

  Markus would never tell Seb, but he’d had the dimmers installed last week when he knew Seb would be staying with him and not on a bus or something. He hit the dimmer, and Seb relaxed.

  “Fuck, that’s good.” Seb’s head fell back on the cushions, the man seeming to melt a little.

  “I stocked the fridge with that water you like.” His whole body wanted to go over there.

  “You think we’re going to fuck while I’m here?”

  His mouth dropped open so hard he swore his jaw cracked on his collarbones. “Seb! You can’t say shit like that.”

  “Why not? It’s a fair question, isn’t it?”

  “Hell, yeah, but what if someone had been here?” He laughed a little, his belly fluttering.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have asked.” Seb nodded and rolled so he was sitting up again. “I get it. I won’t ask again. What’s the schedule here like?”

  Markus tamped down his disappointment that Seb didn’t push it. The man never had, even if he was way more vocal about what they both wanted. Markus had always had to initiate the action. Seb just didn’t have any filters, didn’t have any sense.

  “I was thinking we could work in the studio from six to midnight? We could work out like we did before, maybe bang out some more songs in the morning?”

  “Works for me. Where do you work out?”

  “I’ll show you when you’re settled. I have an old sunroom I converted.” He was pretty self-contained, really. When he’d bought a place in Austin after the dot-com crash, he’d gotten an amazing deal, so he’d gone nuts and bought an eight-bedroom monstrosity.

  Seb nodded, and suddenly, just for a half second, the man looked exhausted and old and sad, like he’d been drained. Then he stood, grabbed a bottle of water from his backpack, and the look was gone.

  Impulse control. It was always Markus’s damned problem. He fought the urge for maybe two seconds, but then he just stepped up to give Seb a hug, holding on tight. Seb was stiff for a heartbeat, then melted into him, took a hitching breath.

  Markus didn’t bother making soothing noises or saying anything. His touch would say it all for him, and he knew it. He held on, needing to lean just as much as Seb.

  They stood together for a long, long time before he backed off and left, headed back to his house without a word. There wasn’t anything to say. Not a thing. This wasn’t going to happen, not for either of them, and they just needed to stop torturing themselves.

  MUSIC STREAMED from the little studio Helen pointed him toward, and Sebastian followed it. It wasn’t anything but a crazy cacophony of a jam session, but they were waiting for him, so nothing serious would be going down yet. Markus had a great little setup, all they would need until the final mix sessions, which they could still do right here in Austin. He wondered if that would affect the vibe of the record.

  He’d recorded his last two albums in St. Maarten and the one before that in Rome. It had rocked. Maybe that was what he needed to do after they did the record. Go for a week and surf or dive or drive like a maniac. That might get the restless edge off before the tour.

  He could disappear for a week, reappear a new fucking man.

  Sebastian opened the door, waved. “Y’all.”

  “Hey, man!” His band was all smiles, but the lights were nice and low, and there was no food smell, so he was able to smile back and saunter in like he wasn’t dreading this.

  Dooley came blustering over, grabbed him up. “Seb! God, man! It’s been months!”

  He groaned as Dooley squeezed him tight. They’d known each other since they were kids, and Dooley forgot they were both getting old.

  “Don’t kill the man, Doo.” Kyle came over to shake his hand, those scarred, callused fiddler’s fingers strong, hard. “Thanks for letting me sit in, Seb.”

  He snorted. “Any fucking time.”

  He kissed Janet, ruffled Jonny’s hair, and winked at Evy.

  Markus came in from the back with a bottle of water in one hand. “Hey, you. About time.”

  “I’m not late.”

  “He’s never late.” The band spoke in unison.

  Markus laughed, those dark eyes sparkling, and waved everyone off. “Yeah, yeah. So, Seb. What’s the plan?”

  “Let’s play a couple of standards, get in sync, and then we learn the new stuff.”

  “Bruce?”

  His bandleader grinned hugely. “On it.”

  Kerry strummed the opening chords to “Rocky Top.” Little redneck girl. They all knew it, though, just like they all knew “Fishing in the Dark” when Gator gave them the opening line, loud and raucous.

  Markus yodeled through “Make It Through the Night,” and Sebastian took “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” then “Jambalaya,” giving Markus the second verse.

  “Good deal, y’all. Let’s break for some water.” Markus sounded a little raw, but Seb knew better than to count the man out. Some fizzy water and that throat would be good as new.

  “Bruce.” He got the man over, started talking about the scoring for the new stuff—the lyric sheets with their chording, the basic rhythm scribbled on it.

  “Nice.” Bruce nodded over “Fireworks and Old Flames.” “This is a summer anthem, man. They’ll go crazy for this.”

  “Yeah. I want it nice and rocking, heavy on the blues.” He started picking the opening chords, and Bruce listened.

  “Oh, I like that. What if we put a little thump in here?” Bruce gave a whack to the acoustic guitar he held, and boom, there was a nice added element. They’d add that into the drums. He nodded and then Janet was there, adding the bass line, dark and heavy. Damn. Markus came in on the chorus, and they sounded so good that it hurt, deep in his belly. This was what music was supposed to be.

  Soon they were going, all of them, and the room was ringing with it. He propped himself on a stool, staying out of the guitars’ way, just singing. Markus grinned at him from across the room, foot slamming against the floor, those pretty eye lines all crinkled up. Sebastian nodded, rocking now, upper body moving, happy as a pig in shit. He raised his voice a little to take the last chorus, feeling like he was soaring, his heart thudding in his chest.

  The last note faded, and they all sat a second, panting. It was Gator who broke the silence. “Fuckin’ A! That fuckin’ rocked!”

  Laughter broke out, everyone relaxing a bit. It had rocked.

  “Good work, y’all.” Markus was grinning like a fool.

  “What’s next? I want to do another one.” Kerry was bouncing, laughing, eyes dancing.

  “Bruce has the day sheet.” Seb winked, sitting back and letting it all flow. Never worked to herd cats with his band.

  “Bruce! Next!”

  They all cracked up—even Kyle and Abe—and they started with the ballad, everyone pushing to find their places. Mar
kus didn’t have any trouble, though, and Sebastian slid right in, his voice making love to Markus right there in the harmony. He didn’t meet Markus’s eyes. He couldn’t, not without embarrassing both of them.

  The last note lingered, Janet’s clear alto caressing it, and that worked. Another one knocked out.

  “So.” Evy looked over at Markus. “You two are becoming the writing dream team. Tell me there’s more. One with a killer keyboard part.”

  “We got about ten more right now. We have to cull it to six for the EP.”

  “It’s not like the songs just disappear if we don’t use them, right?” Jonny was so new to this he squeaked.

  Markus chuckled. “Something will happen with them. Seb puts out more albums than God.”

  “Someone’s got to pay all these hooligans.” He felt that weight all the damn time, the push of how many people depended on the Longchamps machine for a living.

  “No shit, man.” Kyle waved his bow in the air. “It don’t grow on trees.”

  “You sure about that? I hear they got money trees ’round California.” They all looked at Dooley, then cracked up, the room ringing with it.

  “Let’s try the swing song next.” Markus settled on his stool, long old legs sticking out. “If it doesn’t make it on the EP, I’ll cut it myself.”

  Sebastian nodded. That was totally fair. Texas Swing wasn’t his schtick. It went rockin’ well with the band, though, and Kyle’s fiddle really got to shine. Kerry even joined in with a little twin fiddle action. Hot. Hot. Hot.

  This EP was going to be killer. It really was.

  They all started to drag around ten, and people started to break up, leaving him, Markus, Bruce, and Kyle to work out some scoring. He was on the floor with his guitar, dabbling, as happy as he could remember being.

  Kyle had kicked off his shoes, and Bruce was picking out chords, playing with arrangements. When Sebastian looked up, Markus was just staring at him, eyes dark, the need obvious. He went for a grin but had to look down. Markus had been crystal clear. The man was off-limits. No looking. No touching. No asking.

  It was going to be the longest year in history.