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Chapter Seven
“We can do the stairs down,” Canaan volunteered as they left their hotel room. “I figure my quads will thank me later, right?”
“Take the elevator.” Renzo gently steered Canaan in the right direction. His hands, big and broad, felt electric on Canaan’s shoulders, and Canaan was tempted to dig in his heels just to keep them on him longer. “I’ll bet you a soda that I can beat the elevator to the ground floor.”
“No way.” Canaan shook his head. Renzo was good, but not that good.
“Watch me.” Renzo winked, then took off like an express bus leaving Canaan behind.
“Idiot.” Canaan laughed as he got on the elevator and kept laughing even as the elevator stopped at floor three.
“Hold the elevator!” A voice from the past that Canaan would recognize anywhere preceded a crowd of people.
“Canaan!” Damian got on the elevator, followed by Eric and Jules, their lead singer, and some dude Canaan didn’t know. Jules had a hug for Canaan and introduced her guy as Ridley. She looked older, her hair darker, eyes more tired, but she smelled the same—some hippy oil she’d been favoring since tenth grade. And typical Jules, she had to share half of Ridley’s life story before she paused for air.
After Jules finally stopped, Damian’s eyes narrowed as he looked around the elevator. “You came alone?”
Canaan’s back muscles tightened. “No, I—”
“Canaan,” Damian groaned, cutting him off. Not much had changed there. Damian never was one to let him talk. “I thought you said your boyfriend was coming.”
“He’s—” The elevator doors opened at the ground floor and there, looking like an action hero poster, was Renzo lounging against the wall, holding two cans of an energy drink. After his shower, he’d changed into dark wash jeans and a light blue shirt with buttons that Canaan totally wanted to open with his teeth. And apparently hadn’t even broken a sweat beating the elevator down. “There. Right there.”
“Babe. What took you so long?” Renzo grinned at him, and Canaan’s whole body relaxed. This was going to be okay. Maybe even better than okay. Fun.
“Guys, this is Renzo.” Accepting the can, he gestured at the group and did the whole introduction thing. He gave Damian a pointed look that Damian managed to ignore as he wrapped a protective arm around Eric, who Canaan knew from before. Eric was a spindly guy with dark spiky hair, a penchant for sleeveless shirts, and a near permanent ’tude where Canaan was concerned.
“Kelly!” He spotted his other friends by the entrance to the bar—Kelly, their manager who also did backup vocals, Dwayne, the bassist, and Cindy, the keyboardist he loved like the sister he’d never had. Various significant others—several new since he’d last seen the band, and a few other people who usually traveled with the band—brought the total number of people involved in this little adventure to around twenty. Everyone he knew from before looked older—new hair, different taste in clothes, changes in ink and piercings, and at least one baby bump that he definitely hadn’t heard about yet.
There were hugs all around, and if Renzo was overwhelmed by the number of names and faces, he didn’t show it, sticking close to Canaan and managing a hearty handshake for each new introduction. Eventually, they all started drifting toward the doors. Kelly had made a reservation at a nearby restaurant for a party room since there were so many of them. As they walked over, he felt something brush against his hand.
Renzo. Natural as could be, he grabbed Canaan’s hand. Here Canaan had been carefully plotting when he could get away with touching him and Renzo just did it. Forget whatever hang-ups Renzo had about sex. He really was A-plus boyfriend material. And damn, his hand, big and calloused, made heat unfurl low in Canaan’s belly.
Renzo tugged him closer and leaned in, voice low. “Can we maybe not sit near your ex? His rank attitude’s gonna ruin my appetite.”
“I’ll try.” He couldn’t deny that Damian had been glaring their way during introductions. Which, seriously, what the hell? He wanted Canaan to produce a boyfriend. So he had. Now Damian could just chill. Eons ago, Damian had been good at that, the two of them chilling for hours in Canaan’s old room, not even speaking, just hanging out in quiet companionship. But those days were long past.
The restaurant was a typical bar and grill place that featured lots of red meat and a huge drinks list. The decor was heavy on the kitsch—license plates, Grand Canyon memorabilia, and dark wood details. It was crowded for a Thursday, but they had the back room waiting for their group.
Following Renzo’s request, Canaan headed the opposite direction of Damian and Eric, trying to snag seats close to Kelly, whom he knew Renzo would like. But at the last second Kelly left the chair he’d been standing near to go talk to the young server, followed by his wife, Veronica, a quiet woman who functioned as one of the group’s roadies, which freed up two chairs. And he really shouldn’t have been shocked when Damian tried to claim them.
