Colby gave a brief greeting, thanked the crowd for coming out tonight, and then launched directly into what he said was a new song. Deep, molasses-laced notes resonated through the room, wrapping around him and infiltrating every part of Keats. And when he heard the chorus, lyrics aching with want and desire for untouchable things, feelings that Keats knew all too well, he sank back against the bar like he’d been punched.
Jace leaned over, close to his ear. “You sure about that? Because I only look at one other guy like that, and I certainly belong to him.”
Keats closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “Fuck.”
Jace gave a low chuckle. “I know how you feel, brother. That shit is never convenient. Now, come on, you two. Let’s grab a table so we can see better.”
As if his free will had decided to put up the white flag for the night, Keats let Jace lead him and Robyn to a table closer to the stage. It was dark enough in the bar and the lights were bright enough on Colby that Keats would still be hidden. But at least now he wouldn’t have to pretend he wasn’t staring.
Colby’s set was only supposed to be a couple of songs, but the audience encouraged him to play a few more when he tried to say good-bye. According to Jace, Colby was a paid act and rarely came to the open mic nights anymore, so this was a special treat for the crowd. At the praise, Colby tipped the bill of his cap, the pleasure on his face warm and genuine, and asked if there were any audience requests.
The houselights went up before Keats could register what was happening. He blinked in the brightness, stars imprinting on his vision, and he immediately slunk down in his chair, trying to blend into the crowd. But when his vision cleared, Colby was looking straight at him. Colby stared, as if confused for a moment, and then his jaw tightened. No one but Keats had probably noticed, but the change had twisted Keats’s gut.
A woman called out the name of a song, and Colby pulled his gaze away to address her. He gave her that smile of his, even if it didn’t light his whole face like it usually did, and started the song. But suddenly Keats felt as if there were a wire of tension strung between him and Colby, the whole thing vibrating with Colby’s clear annoyance.
Jace leaned over. “He didn’t know you were here?”
“No,” Keats said on a hard swallow.
Jace frowned. “Sorry, I wouldn’t have dragged you over here. I thought—”
Keats shook his head. “It’s okay. I’ll live.”
Jace sniffed. “Maybe. I have a feeling Colby is thinking through all three hundred million ways he knows how to torture someone right now.”
Keats groaned but realized the sound wasn’t born of dread. It was of need. He put his head on the table. The impossible-to-ignore reaction was like a hammer hitting that final nail. Boom. Here lies Keats. Buried.
He took a long, steadying breath and forced himself to straighten. He wouldn’t run this time. He reached out and touched Robyn’s elbow. “Does that offer for the guitar still stand?”
She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “Absolutely. Come on.”
Right. So this was what jumping off a bridge felt like.
—
Colby was more than ready to get offstage by the time he wrapped up the last song. Usually, he left a performance feeling lighter and more energized. But he’d had a frustrating meeting at school earlier, and the stress of still not knowing where he stood with his job had already been wearing on him. Then he’d spotted Keats in the audience, and his mood had plummeted to an even darker place.
What the hell was he doing here? And how did he end up sitting with Jace? Colby knew Jace wouldn’t make a pass at Keats or anything. The dude was off his rocker in love with his two lovers. But Jace also had a knack for saying inappropriate things and putting people on the spot, even if it was delivered with a heavy dose of charm and humor. And Keats was in no condition to be put on the spot.
Colby quickly made his way over to the table where he’d spotted Keats but found only Jace and Robyn. “Where is he?”
Jace leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Oh, look at that, you’re worse off than him, Wilkes. I never thought I’d see it from you.”
“Shut the fuck up, Austin,” Colby said, not in the mood for his friend’s ribbing. “Where’d he go?”
“Turn around,” Robyn offered.
Colby spun toward the front and saw Keats striding across the stage, a guitar slung over his shoulder. His black eye stood out in relief under the bright lights but so did his tattoos, giving him the ultimate bad-boy effect.
“God, why do the good ones always turn out to be gay?” Robyn huffed.
“Or bi,” Jace corrected. “Don’t forget us.”
“He’s fucking beautiful,” she declared.
Colby hadn’t taken his eyes from the stage and he wholeheartedly agreed. Often when Keats looked at him, he saw the vulnerability there, the insecurity. But up on the stage, that guy was gone. Keats had swagger under those lights, and when one of the women in the audience gave a little catcall, he peered over at her and graced her with a smile that could be an ad campaign for sin.