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Nash scoffed. “Oh, please. He got what he wanted. A year of my dick and a chance to play onstage with POV. He’s got no complaints.”
“How do you know?”
Nash’s brow puckered. “What do you mean?”
“How do you know he’s got no complaints? You don’t even call him by his proper name.”
Nash scrunched his face like he was staring into a follow spot. “What are you talking about? You expect me to call him babe?” He infused the word with a barrel of mockery. “If you think that kind of shit will convince your boy toy that he’s anything but temporary, you’re delusional.”
Heat beat behind Dev’s eyes and his fingers curled into fists. “For one thing, what I call Casey is none of your business. For another, I’d expect you to call the band’s lead guitarist, and, not incidentally, your own boyfriend, by his actual name. How do you introduce him on stage?”
Nash looked honestly confused. “I don’t. He’s just part of the band.”
Dev raised his eyebrows so far his forehead cramped. “You’re shitting me. Even when we played at the worst dive bar in Modesto, we introduced everyone by name.”
Nash waved Dev’s words away. “That was your idea. After you left, I didn’t see the point. People are coming to our concerts to see us, so they know who we are. We don’t need introductions.”
“Unbelievable,” Dev muttered.
Nash’s expression changed, turning almost flirty. “Forget about Harry.”
“Haru,” Dev said, not moving.
“Whatever.” Nash sauntered toward him. “Now that we’re together again, he’s irrelevant anyway.” He reached for Dev, but Dev blocked him.
“We are not together. Where the fuck did you get that idea?”
“Oh come on.” Nash edged forward again, causing Dev to back up until his heels hit the steps and he lost his balance.
Nash grabbed his arms to steady him, but didn’t stop there. He yanked Dev against his chest and ground their hips together. “Yeah, that’s more like it.”
“Fuck’s sake, Nash, get off me.” Dev freed himself and sidestepped, pivoting so he had the whole of Harrison House’s front yard at his back, the better to stage a hasty escape. “We’ve been over for a long time.”
Nash shook his head, his expression almost pitying. “Dev, Dev, Dev. As soon as I heard about this so-called festival of yours, I got the message, loud and clear.”
“Since I didn’t tell you about the festival—on purpose, I might add—I’m not sure what message you think I was sending.”
“That you wanted it all back—the band, your life, me.” He spread his arms. “Well, here I am.”
Dev huffed. “So you think that instead of, I don’t know, just talking to you, I’d stage an event involving dozens of food vendors and musicians, not to mention the participation of my entire town and the cooperation of businesses as far away as Boston and Burlington, just to get back with you?”
Nash grinned. “As a grand gesture, it’s impressive.” He cast a dismissive glance at Harrison House. “Although it would have been better if you’d held the thing at someplace less downscale.”
Temper fraying, Dev counted slow breaths through his nose. One. Two. Fuck it. “Here’s the thing. I didn’t invite you to this festival.”
“I know.” Nash winked. “Very sly. But then you always were.”
“Are you delusional? I always told you exactly what I thought.”
“Please. What you spewed in our last convo was a fucking joke, and you know it. Come back here? Leave music behind? Leave me behind?”
Dev gritted his teeth. “I came back because my brother and grandfather were killed, something you treated as though they’d done it just to inconvenience you.”
“It fucking well was an inconvenience,” Nash shot back. “We had Joe on the line, wanting to represent us. Three different labels vying to sign us based on our demo. And then you bolted.”
“You make it sound like I left with no word. I told you what I needed, but you ignored me.”
“What you needed? What about what the band needed? What I needed? You never once thought about that, did you?”
