AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Oh, so you think you’re good at it, huh?”
“Think?” I snorted and sent him a get-real glance. “Honey, you don’t know what a real whoopin’ is until you’re beaten at Call of Duty...by me.”
As soon as I said the words, I remembered that he did know what it felt like to be whipped...by both his parents. Gulping, I glanced at him to make sure I hadn’t hit a sore point, but he only grinned. “Challenge accepted, asshole. You’re on.”
So we gamed for the rest of the night and into the early morning. He wasn’t bad, and since I’d never played this version before, I had some learning to catch up on. But as soon as I got with the program, I smoked his ass. And every time, he would demand a replay.
I have no idea how long we played. After a while, he fetched us snacks and drinks. But I had so much fun, just hanging out with him, I forgot to check the time. After a while, I passed out exhausted on his couch.
I was crunching into an apple for breakfast—one I’d bought for Mozart—when the call came through the next morning. I knew I should stop eating all my pet’s fruit. Everything I’d read said squirrels needed a balanced diet of fruits and vegetables, along with plants and nuts. But nuts seemed to be his favorite, so I overindulged him in that area. Besides, some of the fruit was beginning to go bad, so...I figured I might as well eat it before it was too late.
I’d never really been a fruit eater before. It was kind of growing on me, though. I might actually get into some healthy foods.
“Hello?” I answered the unknown number around a mouthful.
On the couch, Remy stirred and sat up, his fake hair sticking up everywhere as he peered at me from over the back of my couch with bloodshot eyes.
I waved at him, only to pop to my feet and turn my back to him after the man on the other end of the line introduced himself. Excitement lit through me.
“Are you serious?” I blurted out without meaning to.
The
man chuckled before letting me know just how serious he was. After that, we hashed out a few details before I hung up and swung around to share the news with Sticks.
“What?” he asked immediately, hopping up from the couch with a look of eagerness. “We got another gig, didn’t we?”
I nodded. “Here in town at the Grenada. Next Saturday. Holy shit.” That was the first place I’d tried to get Non-Castrato a gig over a year ago when we’d just started. Now, the guy was calling me and begging for us. Oh, this was sweet justice.
“Hot damn,” Sticks cried, doing a little dance that made me laugh.
“And so it begins,” I said dramatically, wondering how many spots we’d score after this. Things were definitely looking good for the band.
I offered him a fist bump and he blew it up before sighing as if refreshed. “This is so cool. It’s like...a dream come true for me. I still can’t believe you guys let me in the group sometimes. It’s all just...surreal. And amazing.”
I waved his praise away. “Honestly, you’ve got pure talent. I’m sure you could’ve gotten into whatever band you wanted.”
He snorted. “Think again. This has been a yearning of mine for years. I’ve tried for more places than you can imagine.”
I frowned. “Then why haven’t you…?” My eyebrows rose. “Are you saying you’ve been turned away because you’re gay?” What idiots all the other bands had been.
An uneasy look crossed his face. Then he bowed his head and scratched the back of his neck before saying, “More or less, yes…it’s because I prefer guys.” He looked up, and deep appreciation filled his gaze. “Really, Asher, you have no idea what a gift you’ve given me, not only for the chance to be in Non-Castrato, but…just by accepting me.”
“Hey,” I said softly, wanting to clasp his shoulder or, I don’t know, somehow convince him he was very important to me. “Screw all those other people who refused to look past the surface and see what a truly awesome person you are. Actually, you know what, I’m glad they were all idiots, because their loss was our gain. Playing in the band with you and getting to know you has been…it’s been nice.”
Remy’s eyes glazed as if he were going to cry.
Shit, I hoped he didn’t cry. I got uncomfortable enough around girls who cried…no way did I know how to handle a weeping dude.
But all he choked out was, “Thank you,” before he cleared his throat and glanced around my apartment. “But damn, I can’t believe I fell asleep on your couch. What time is it, anyway?”
“It’s a quarter after ten.”
His eyes bugged. “Shit! I’m late for work. Ah...I gotta go.” He started to back away, then paused as if he needed my permission or something.
I laughed and waved him away. “Go, man. And sorry about that. I would’ve woken you sooner if I’d known. I should’ve asked.”
“No biggie.” Scooping up his shoes he’d kicked off at some point in our Call of Duty wars, he raced toward the stairwell, waving his fingers at Mozart once again cooped up in his cage as he went.
