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  Later, Liam and his band were onstage adjusting their amps when Scott got sent down with a list of liquor to bring up. Rushing back up with the assorted case, he hipped the cellar door shut only to have Eli bounce off him.

  “I’ve been looking for you. Jamie said he found you a job and you disappeared, and I swear to God if he’s lying because he threw you out, I’ll shave his balls with broken glass.”

  The scary thing was, Scott didn’t doubt Eli would. If not with broken glass, then with his black-painted nails.

  “It’s fine,” Scott yelled over the opening chords. Puddle of Mudd again. Fuck. His face heated, though there was less anger with the memory now. Scott was trying to keep his distance, but Liam was always around. And it was getting harder and harder to remember why looking for his crooked smile again was a bad idea. “I gotta deliver this.” He nudged Eli with the case.

  “I’ll find you later.” Eli slipped into the crowd.

  Chai reached for the case as soon Scott was close. “Go help Tony with stage security.”

  Scott looked at the crowd in front of the stage.

  Chai grabbed his sleeve and pointed. “Go out through the hall and come in the side. Tony’ll let you in.”

  Tony was dealing with two guys who were whining about just having gone out for a smoke, but he stepped aside to let Scott in. This close to the speakers, everything vibrated with the sound, his bones, his fillings, even his eyes in their sockets. He swept a glance over the crowd. No mosh pit, though Chai had told him that would probably happen with Charm City Cyanide. Right then the crowd was still warming up, most of them still yelling in each other’s ears and drinking from their plastic cups.

  A sudden crash of percussion and then a much faster beat drove against Scott’s ears. Rapid notes he couldn’t even manage with an air guitar dragged the crowd’s focus back to the stage. The press of their attention beat at him like a rush of exhaust from a diesel, and when Liam turned his voice loose, they were hooked.

  They started nodding to the beat, an occasional fist or rock horns getting thrown up. It had nothing to do with Scott, but pride hummed through him, as sweet as any he felt when he made an engine sing. He knew damned well if he wasn’t working, he’d be pressed up against the stage, staring up at Liam like the sexy rock god he was.

  And shit. That daydreaming made him miss seeing the lead-up to some asshole vaulting up onto the stage. Scott leaped after him, and the greasy-haired fucker avoided him by crashing into Liam.

  They both went down. By the time Scott hauled the motherfucker off Liam, the band had stopped playing, and the crowd was snarling.

  “Hey,” the guy yelled, despite Scott’s grip on his neck. “The singer’s a gimp.”

  Rage, sweet and pure and familiar, had Scott shifting his grip to a front headlock, ready to smash his knee into the fucker’s face. Except….

  Except Schim’s wasn’t a bad place to work and he really didn’t want to start over again. As satisfying as making this waste of oxygen pay would be, it would probably fuck up the rest of Liam’s set.

  “Scott, I’m okay,” Liam said from somewhere behind, but Scott had already transferred his grip to an arm bar and the would-be stage diver wasn’t struggling much.

  Tony appeared and grabbed the other side, and together they hustled him out the side door.

  “Just got yourself banned, asshole,” Tony told him as they let him go in the alley.

  “It’s part of the show,” the guy yelled back.

  “Not here.” Tony gave the guy a shove.

  Schim’s had signs over the stage, in the bathrooms, over the bar. No stage-diving, crowd-surfing, or crowd-killing. Final warning.

  The music roared back to life behind them. Scott made sure the guy kept walking. At the sidewalk, Scott grabbed a fistful of T-shirt and got in his face. “Next time you wanna call someone a gimp, stop and think about how close I came to making you one.” He let him go with a shove and followed Tony back inside.

  SCOTT’S HEAD rang long after Charm City Cyanide started packing away their gear, even when he stood outside blowing a cloud of smoke into the humid air.

  Eli appeared out of nowhere and plucked the cigarette from Scott’s fingers as he brought it back to his mouth. “Ew. Menthol.” Eli handed it back.

  “You’re welcome.” Scott nodded at the other two, Brooks Blast and Goatee. “What did you think?” He didn’t know how many people still read the local arts paper, but a good write-up couldn’t hurt Liam’s band.

  “Standard fare,” Goatee said, and Brooks lightly punched his shoulder. After an eye roll, Goatee added, “The opening act had some promise, but they need to settle on a sound.”

  “Their singer, holy shit. If I had range like that—” Brooks shook his head.

  Did Brooks Blast Energy Drinks do sponsoring? “Are you really…?” Scott jerked a thumb back at the neon.

  “Yeah.” Though the blond looked embarrassed about it. “But if you’re looking for a free case or something, you gotta know, my old man and I aren’t really on speaking terms.”

  “Oh.” Scott dragged in another lungful.

  “What’s in it for you?” Eli nudged Scott sharply enough to force a cough.

  “Nothing,” Scott sputtered. “I like—they play here a lot.”

  “Doesn’t hurt that the lead singer is hot as hell,” Brooks put in.

  An acidic spurt of jealousy clawed Scott’s belly. He couldn’t stop it, even if he told himself he had no business feeling like that. At best, he and Liam were just friends. It was up to Deon to protect Liam from starry-eyed groupies. Deon, who had been very obviously not here tonight, the first night Blow the Moon played to a packed bar. He hadn’t been here for their solo debut two days ago either. Or picked Liam up. Not that Scott was paying attention. He just happened to be outside smoking a lot.

  “Though I’d really like to talk to the lead guitar,” Brooks went on over Scott’s thoughts. “She was amazing.” Brooks looked at Scott like he could make the whole band appear out of thin air.

  “Mac,” Scott said. “I haven’t seen her since they wrapped their set.”

  “Who writes their original stuff?” Goatee asked.

  “Reeve Schimikowski, their bassist. Arranges the covers too.”

  Goatee looked pointedly at the name over the door.

  “Yeah,” Scott said. “So you could call here for more info, I guess.” He hoped the sudden interest in Goatee’s expression meant a good story, maybe something on the front cover.

  “You guys ready?” Eli asked.

  “Eager to get home to Daddy?” Goatee smirked.

  “Sorry if your sex life is so routine and boring.” Eli grinned. “He sent me off with a weighted butt plug to make sure I behaved. I wanna get home and get my reward.”

  “Dude.” Brooks’s cheeks flashed as bright red as the neon. “I did not need to know that.”

  Scott’s dick pulsed against his inseam. He could have done without the thought himself, given the fact that his living situation made him feel like a monk. At least he’d bought his own towels now. Better than beating off into a bar towel.

  “Hey. You got a number so I can set up that modeling shoot?” Eli asked.

  Scott didn’t need the charity anymore. Working under the table with minimal living expenses had him stacking paper pretty fast. Enough to think about moving out of his cell. Except he kind of liked it, liked being around the Schimikowskis. Mrs. S. always had a Johnnie Walker Black for him when they toasted Pop Schim.

  “I’m doing okay now,” he told Eli.

  “Glad to hear it, but I already told my friend I had the perfect model. Don’t fuck with my professional reputation.” Eli’s eyes fixed on Scott’s and gave him a pretty fair idea of why, despite only coming up to Scott’s chin, Eli ran the show.

  “Okay.”

  Eli typed in the number and then grabbed Scott’s arm, examining where the raven wing wrapped around his wrist, almost as if Eli could see the infinity loop th
e feathers at the tip had replaced, the initials buried under linework. Scott had gotten the cover-up done six months after Liam left but couldn’t ever stop seeing what had been there.

  “I even told him some of what you had so he could work it into the book.” Eli dropped Scott’s arm. “Big football fan?”

  “No.”

  “Why the raven?”

  “Because it was black and looked cool.”

  “Yeah. Right.”

  Scott watched the three of them until they turned the corner, then crushed his butt under his boot and headed for the back door. Movement next to the Mustang sent his heart pumping with adrenaline, fists curling. But he knew that outline.

  His fists relaxed, but his heart—that kept pounding, stupid organ that it was.

  “What’s the lead singer of Blow the Moon doing in a shitty back alley?”

  Liam’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Living the high life.” He held up his phone. “’Bout to get an Uber.”

  “Where’s—”

  “Reeve went off to celebrate with Mac and Dev,” Liam cut him off.

  Scott knew that trick, knew Liam did it so he made the question fit the answer he wanted to give. “You don’t celebrate?”

  “Felt kind of old.”

  Scott dug his keys out of his pocket. “I’ll give you a ride, old man.”

  Liam grinned again. “Thought you were never going to show me your car, Batman.”

  Scott unlocked the trunk, and Liam lifted his guitar case into it.

  After Scott pushed down the lid, Liam caressed the ridge of the spoiler. “Not a lot of trunk room.”

  “I never planned on moving bodies in it.”

  Liam snorted a laugh. “Thought you were going to start a riot tonight, though.”

  Scott shrugged. “I’m trying to cut down. One a year is my limit.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t.” Liam tipped his head. “As much as I appreciate you leaping to my defense.”

  Scott put his hand over the spoiler where Liam’s had been, imagined feeling a trace of warmth from that touch. Beyond stupid. The night was hot, all the metal holding on to the warm day.

  Scott coughed and stepped toward the driver’s door.

  Liam matched him on the other side. “Maybe riots aren’t all you should cut down on.”

  “Yeah, because my life is so great I want to stick around forever. Besides, you know I’m too mean to die.” Scott slid in and reached over to pop the lock for Liam.

  Liam dropped onto the passenger seat and finished their old joke. “You just smell that way.”

  “Exactly.” Scott turned the key. The mini torque starter engaged, and the throaty rumble purred to life. He tapped the gas to savor the sound. All the hours he’d put into the exhaust were worth it. It wasn’t just the obvious things—the feel and the sound—that let Scott know she was perfect, but the way all those signals came together that made him feel like he had an extra sense. He wondered if music worked that way for Liam.

  “She’s gorgeous.” Liam’s legs spread wide, knee close to the stick.

  Scott forced his eyes to the dash.

  Liam leaned over him. “An eight thousand tach? Ever rev her that high?”

  “Not since I replaced the block after I got her. The gauge is original, though.” Scott touched the brushed chrome rim just as Liam did and jerked his hand back.

  “You’ve had a lot done.”

  Scott glared at him. “I did it myself.” At places he’d worked, after hours. Sometimes with help, like Jamie, but Scott had bled over this car.

  “I meant your arm. The tattoos.”

  “Oh.” Scott cut the engine and rested his hand on the stick.

  Liam placed his hand on top, thumb wrapping around Scott’s wrist to tap the spot where the original tattoo had been, before withdrawing. “I’m sorry.” Liam shook his head.

  It felt like pity, which Scott could do without. “I didn’t ask—” He cut the snarl off and sighed out the anger that came with it. The bruises under Liam’s eyes were gone, but Scott was dead wrong for putting them there. He reached for Liam’s face and stopped an inch away. “I am so goddamned sorry about hitting you. I lost my mind when I saw you, but that’s no excuse.”

  Liam moved the last inch and Scott’s palm curved around that cheek, the rasp of stubble sending an electric shock up his arm, but he held on to the live wire because he’d never been smart enough to save himself. Damned if he ever would be.

  Liam mirrored the touch, fingers rubbing behind Scott’s ear, thumb at the corner of his lips. “I was pretty stunned myself. Even before you punched me. Besides—” He tried a laugh, but Scott heard how fast Liam’s breath came. “—I chipped your tooth for you.” He tapped Scott’s mouth.

  “It was an accident.” Scott’s lips moved against the callused skin of Liam’s thumb. God, how could something that simple make Scott so fucking hard?

  “Chipping your tooth was an accident. I fully intended the bottle to smack you in your face.”

  A tug-of-war over the last cold Natty Boh on a hot night all those years ago had turned less playful as they’d glared at each other. Then Liam had released his grip, and Scott’s own strength slammed the dark glass lip into his tooth.

  “Bastard.” Scott breathed the word into Liam’s skin.

  “Not gonna argue that.”

  Scott had known it would happen when he opened the car door. Maybe he’d known it would happen from that first startled look at the car show.

  They both moved. Mouths slammed together, hard, hungry. For an instant there was nothing Scott needed more than Liam kissing him. Not pride, not sanity, not even this fucking car. Nothing mattered but Liam. His taste, the friction and heat from his tongue, the sound—God, the sounds trapped in Liam’s throat. Scott wanted it all and fuck anything in his way.

  Liam gripped the back of Scott’s head like he was drowning—like they both were—and Scott sank with him, trying to close the space between them.

  But the hardness he felt against his belly was only the stick shift. And that wasn’t the only thing coming between them.

  Liam let up enough to whisper, “You’re going to have to come to me because there’s no way I can climb over there.”

  Scott pulled back but rested their foreheads together, breaths hot and thick between them. “You know it’s more than that.”

  “I know. I just don’t want to talk anymore. Please.”

  The Liam Scott had known—swore he still knew—wasn’t one to say please. Sure, maybe a please don’t stop, or please suck me now. But Liam usually didn’t have to ask for what he wanted. He charmed it into his hands so the outcome was never in doubt.

  He dragged Scott into another kiss. Jesus. Already Scott had trouble remembering why he needed to keep his hands off Liam, but with Liam’s tongue in his mouth, he was totally fucked.

  Especially when Liam groaned again. Scott grabbed Liam’s face and kissed back, his stomach plunging, blood beating tight and hot in his dick with every stroke of Liam’s tongue.

  Liam’s hand landed on Scott’s groin—hell, right on his dick—closing on him through his jeans. Scott broke the kiss and pulled Liam’s hand off, which Scott’s dick thought was an incredibly stupid plan.

  Scott sagged back against his seat.

  Liam sighed along with him. “Can we just save talking for tomorrow?”

  What the hell. Scott had never been able to say no to Liam. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Now, goddamn it, McDermott, what kind of a dream car is impossible to fuck in?”

  Chapter Twelve

  SCOTT COULDN’T believe he’d ever convinced himself he didn’t miss this. Didn’t miss Liam hungry and needy and moaning into Scott’s mouth. Liam pressed him into the storeroom door, bone, muscle, and sweat.

  And cock. Liam’s cock against Scott’s hip.

  Scott slid a hand down Liam’s spine. Bare skin. The steps from the car to the storeroom were a blur of walls and kisses and yanks at clothing. Sco
tt was pretty sure someone’s shirt was still out in the hall.

  His fingers brushed denim, Liam’s jeans in the way. Scott shoved his hands into Liam’s back pockets and grabbed as much ass as he could, dragged him closer and tighter.

  Liam licked and nipped at Scott’s jaw, then zeroed in on the spot guaranteed to make Scott’s brain give the wheel to his dick. He let his head drop back against the door, let Liam drive him fucking insane with his teeth and tongue.

  Liam gave a happy rumble deep in his throat, not a laugh, just satisfaction. His fingers got busy at Scott’s fly, and oh fuck, there was a hand on his dick. Liam’s hand on his dick, and his teeth under the notch of Scott’s jaw. He needed to be closer, needed Liam in him. Liam fucking him had always been the most vulnerable but safe Scott ever got to feel.

  He tilted his hips to fit them together, hiked a leg around Liam’s thigh, and felt it.

  His leg. Something hard, silicone or plastic, not muscle and skin. Scott stopped with his fingers pressed into Liam’s ass. Liam’s lips froze on Scott’s neck. Not even a breath moved between them.

  Scott was as sure as he’d ever been about anything in his life that Liam needed him to not care, to act like he hadn’t noticed, but damn it, Scott had. He let his leg slide back to the floor, then used his grip on Liam’s ass to 180 them, putting Liam’s back against the door.

  After one rough tug on Scott’s dick, Liam raised his head. “You think I need help standing up?”

  “When I blow you, yeah. You’re gonna need it. Always did.”

  “Cocky much?”

  “How sweet. You remember.”

  But when Scott tried to go to his knees, Liam took hold of Scott’s dick again.

  “I don’t want just a—like this, okay?”

  Ignoring the squirm of warning in his stomach, Scott nodded. On his knees, he might have been able to forget about whose cock was in his mouth, make it about nothing but getting off. But face-to-face, dick-to-dick, he wouldn’t be able to pretend it was anyone but Liam. It wouldn’t be just skin on the line. The break in the action had made doubts pop up like weeds through a sidewalk crack. What he wanted from Liam would never fit into some words. Better—safer—to keep things purely physical.