“Did you have a good time with your mom yesterday?” I ask Damon, adjusting my strap.
“Yep. Brought some leftover dessert if you want some.” He hits the bass pedal a few times. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah.” I play a chord, letting it ring out in the empty room. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His raised eyebrows say I’m being an idiot. But I know he’s not going to push it. That’s why Damon’s been my best friend since we met in freshman algebra. He lets me be fucked up without having to try to fix me.
And I’m fine.
Honestly.
I just miss Alex.
I don’t sleep well when he’s not here. The house gets too quiet, and I start thinking so much that my trusty bowl doesn’t do enough to help. But he’ll be home soon, and everything will go back to normal.
There’s nothing like getting fucked by your big sexy boyfriend and then him holding you in the most perfect arms known to man to get you going to sleep, head completely empty.
At least his bed still smells like him.
I might be a creep, going into his room and stroking my cock until I’m burying my face in his pillow and coming all over his sheets. But hey, it helps. And he wouldn’t care anyway. Maybe tonight I’ll send him a video, make him regret ever leaving—
“Mike!”
I look up to find Zara with the annoyed essence of someone who’s had to say my name multiple times to get my attention. It’s not my fault. I have things to think about.
“What?” I ask, matching her tone because she interruptedmythoughts by talking.
“I said, are we doing the new one tonight?”
“Oh.” I adjust my tuning again for something to do with my hands. “I don’t know. I sorta wanted Alex to be there when we play it live for the first time, and he doesn’t get back until New Year’s.”
Zara shrugs and looks back down at her phone.
“You’re really gonna hold our best song hostage until yourroommategets back?” Damon questions, but I know he doesn’t really give a shit. He just wants to screw with me.
“I wrote it for him.”
I wrote it in the middle of the night three weeks ago when I laid awake in his arms. Every time I looked at his face, relaxed with sleep, there was this feeling in my heart that I didn’t know what to do with yet.
So I wrote it down.
It seems only right that he hears how I feel before everyone else does.
The door at the back of the bar swings open, and Trent walks in with his shiny new guitar, wearing a tank top that shows off his tattooed arms even though it’s fucking freezing outside.
Why do we put up with this dude again?
“You started without me,” he says, hopping up onto the stage.
“You’re late,” Zara says.
“Traffic. What are we starting with?”
“Let’s warm up with the new one,” Damon suggests.
“The love song?” Trent makes a face.
“It’s not a love song,” I say automatically.
