“Ah. Smart.” Another scowl. “What about the club? Does he know about that?”
“Not yet. I’ll tell him once we’re settled. Won’t be a problem.”
“Okay.”
“And one more question. There is no alcohol anywhere inside, either upstairs or downstairs, is there?”
Kel gave him a questioning look, but limited his response. “No.”
“Okay. Good.” They went back out and Doyle opened the passenger door.
Mevi glared.
“Malcolm Maynard, this is Askel Hansen, the building’s owner and our landlord for the next several weeks. He’s also a friend of mine.”
Kel stuck out his hand. “Call me Kel. Nice to meet you, Malcolm.”
“Mal,” Mevi said, finally unbuckling his seat belt and shaking with him.
Kel smiled. “I can remember that. My wife’s name is Mal. Short for Mallory.”
Kel helped them unload everything from the SUV and haul it upstairs, leaving it in the dining room part of the main area.
“I’m not using the downstairs as my office now,” Kel said. “Doyle told me you like to play guitar. If you wanted to use that as your practice room, that’s fine. The warehouse area is pretty full, though. Or practice up here. Either way.”
Mevi walked down the hall, glancing through the bedroom doors as he did but making no comment. Kel ran them through the basics, showed them where the washer and dryer were, and gave them a short list of info that included the Internet login and password, and the alarm code.
When Kel held out two keys, Doyle pocketed them both. Mevi would not be given a key to anything.
Except maybe a pair of handcuffs—
Okay, stop that right now.
Client. Off-limits.
Right.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
* * * *
Mevi was actually pleasantly shocked that the apartment was as nice as it was. He’d expected some flophouse dump, but other than having no windows, it was nicer than many hotel rooms he’d stayed in, and way nicer than some of the apartments he’d lived in early on.
Not that he’d admit that.
And it would be private.
Plus he could practice without keeping it down.
Doyle glanced his way. “Any questions?”
Mevi shook his head. “I’m good.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Kel said. “Give me a call if you need anything, or have any questions.”
Doyle shook with him again. “Thanks, man.”
Doyle walked him downstairs to lock the door behind him, leaving Mevi alone upstairs. Mevi slumped back against the kitchen counter.
How’d I get here?
Not just the literal there, but the metaphorical, existential one.
He’d left Cheyenne for good, hoping to make a new, better, open life for himself. He’d had it all.
And he’d lost nearly all of it.
Meanwhile, he was buried deeper in the closet than ever.
Here he was, stuck in a warehouse apartment, hiding out and trying to stay sober in hopes of clawing his way back out of the swamp he’d mired himself in.
Doyle returned and Mevi pulled his mask back into place.
“Which bedroom do you want?” Doyle asked.
He shrugged. “Babysitter’s choice.”
Yeah, he was being an asshole and he knew it.
He couldn’t help it. The dark mood he’d felt upon Clark springing him from rehab had returned, and he damn sure couldn’t admit to Doyle he thought he was hot. Better to try to emotionally distance himself a little from the guy.
It didn’t help that he was finding himself adjusting his cock more and more around Doyle. There was just…something about him that really had dug in under his skin and wouldn’t go away.
“You take the back one, then,” Doyle said.
“Okay. But why?”
Doyle turned, arching his eyebrow in that way, the way that threatened to harden Mevi’s cock. “Because it’ll be easier for me to hear if you leave your bedroom.”
* * * *
After a quick search through the kitchen, Doyle knew he’d need to leave to get them food. Publix would probably be closed already, but there was a nearby Walmart superstore that’d be open.
“I’m going to get us food. Same rules. Don’t go outside.”
“I won’t.”
Doyle headed downstairs, locking the door after him. Then he pulled a roll of scotch tape out of his pocket, one he’d found on the desk in the office.
He placed a small piece of it across the gap between the door and door frame down at the bottom and at the top. It looked like it’d stick. He tried a test strip and pulled on it.
Nope, it was secure.
If Mevi opened the door, if he even noticed the tape, there’d be no way for him to replace it himself.
Easiest way in the world to see if someone had not followed orders.
That didn’t mean he wanted to push things.
He hurried to the store and got what he’d need to cook them dinner, and for breakfast in the morning. Now that he was “home” he wanted to do the bulk of his shopping at his favorite grocery store chain. At least they could eat reasonably healthy.
I’d like to eat—
He shut that off.
The easy part of this job was over.
The hard part would be keeping his feelings to himself, his attraction to Mevi.
The guy was counting on him.
He couldn’t let him down.
Especially not for his own selfish reasons.
Chapter Nine
Thank gawd!
Once Doyle had left, Mevi moved all his stuff to what would be his bedroom and jumped into the private shower there, quickly stroking himself and getting his first orgasm out of the way.
How sad did it make him that the way Doyle had ordered him to stay inside had made him hard?
I’m pathetic.
Gasping as the final echoes of his climax rolled through him, he slid down the wall and let the water beat against his flesh. His first moment of true privacy in what felt like forever. Even at rehab, had he felt like masturbating, he couldn’t have. The staff could randomly come in for checks at any time, even if he was in the bathroom. It was part of their protocols. Toward the end he had more privacy, but still, he didn’t want someone knocking on his bathroom door while he was wanking.
Not that he’d felt like it, so it was moot.
Maybe others got a kick out of possibly being caught in the act. He didn’t.
Although he knew Doyle could very well come in and do the same thing. One of the stipulations.
Finally, he stood and showered. As he thought about Doyle, about his intense gaze, his calm but strong voice, his deceptively laid-back ways, Mevi’s cock started inflating again.
He didn’t even try to fight the urge, giving in, imagining himself on his knees and swallowing Doyle’s cock to the root, even though he had no clue what the guy looked like naked, other than he could tell from the way his pants fit him that he had a cute ass.
The thought of his body under Doyle’s as the man plowed his ass, face-to-face so he could watch him come, watch each other climax…
He closed his eyes and softly moaned as the second orgasm burst free.
Then a laugh escaped him even as his cock softened in his hand.
At this rate, I might become a sex addict.
He hurried to finish his shower before Doyle returned.
* * * *
Doyle heard a TV playing as he mounted the stairs to the apartment. Mevi sat on the couch, channel surfing. From his damp hair and the fact that he now wore a loose T-shirt and shorts, he guessed the man had showered.
“Anything good on?”
“Everything’s on. He’s got a great cable package, thank god.” Mevi set the remote aside and stood. “Can I help?”
“I got it. This is all.”
He frowned. “That’s not much.”
“Enough for tonight. We’ll go shopping tomorrow.” He carried the bags over to the counter. “Homemade tacos okay for tonight? Because that’s what we’re having.”
“That sounds good.” He walked over to help, and after Doyle gave him a test, they got started with dinner.
It was nice having someone to cook with.
It was also nice to see Mevi’s bad mood had apparently broken while Doyle was at the store. Had he not given Mevi the test, Doyle might have thought the guy snuck a drink while he was gone. But he knew Mevi had no alcohol on him, and the tape on the door had been undisturbed when he returned and removed it.
Or maybe he rubbed one out in the shower.
Actually, come to think of it, Doyle suspected that might be in his own immediate future. With a body stiff and sore from the drive, a long, hot shower and good, hard orgasm might be exactly what he needed to sleep through the night.
Too bad it can’t be in Mevi’s mouth.
He shoved that thought away before it hardened him right there. Hell, engaging in fantasies like that was a dangerous thing.
While they cooked, Mevi asked him about Sarasota, about growing up there, and they approached safe topics. Mevi had obviously loosened up, now that they’d landed in their temporary nest.
Plus the man could break out his guitar and really get to work, something else Doyle knew Mevi was looking forward to.
As if reading his mind, Mevi spoke. “Will it be okay if I work downstairs tonight? I can play in the living room but I don’t want to disturb you.”
“As long as you stay inside, yes. I’ll set the door alarm.” He’d pocketed the slip of paper with the alarm codes before Mevi had seen it.
Mevi’s lips curved in a handsome smirk. “No trust yet?”
“Absolutely, I trust you. Trust, but verify. It’s for your own good. I don’t like having to be a hard-ass, but you need to make it to Chicago sober if you want to be on the tour. You know that.”
“True.” Mevi added the pouch of taco seasoning and the called for amount of water to the pan of ground beef he’d just browned. “Been a long time since I cooked dinner.”
“What do you do at home?”
“Been so long, I couldn’t tell you. I know Clark cleaned out my fridge for me, and he had a trusted cleaning lady go in to take care of things once I was committed. He has my mail sent to his office to deal with.”
“How is that different than the last guy? Not saying I don’t trust Clark. I don’t know him. I know my friend who recommended me to him, and they apparently trust him.”
“Because he’s worked with the others in the band for years. Normally he doesn’t handle mail, but I was an emergency case. Everyone else usually has their bills and stuff paid over the Internet, and they have family or a friend or PA who gets their mail for them. Clark started out Bonnie’s guy, and the others eventually signed with him, too. I was with David for a while, thought he was a nice guy. Never thought he’d screw me over.
“But I could see from the start how Clark was different than David. In good ways. He was always available for an audit or to speak. If he couldn’t be there, he had one of his assistants do it. No putting people off. Hell, even in the middle of the night, if that’s the only time schedules could gel. Good luck pinning David down even on the phone. I figured it was because he had a young kid at home and was doing dad stuff, you know?”
Mevi shook his head as he stirred the ground beef. “Clark, you call his personal number in the middle of the night? He either answers it, or calls you back immediately if you leave a message. Every damn time. I mean, look at what he did for me getting me into the rehab center. Bonnie called him instead of the cops, and he came and got me with a big, beefy guy of his who sometimes works as a personal bodyguard or security for Clark’s clients. They loaded me in a car and drove me straight to the rehab facility. No cops. No press.”
He turned the heat down and let it simmer. “Back to your question, I rarely ‘cooked.’ Sometimes if I was having dinner with Bonnie, I’d help her. Or one of the other guys. Usually, I grab takeout or something ready to eat from the store’s deli section. Or something frozen.”
“Not exactly a healthy diet.”
“I know. I lost weight in rehab. Exercising.”
“I usually do tai chi every morning. Haven’t while we were on the road, but you’re welcome to join me.”
Mevi leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Any chance we can figure out a way for me to exercise? Private gym or something? A friend with a pool? Walking? Anything.”
Doyle considered it. “I’ll ask around. I might be able to arrange something. Meanwhile, we could get up and go walking early while it’s still cool out. Do laps around the complex or something.”
“Thanks.” Then, Mevi did something totally unexpected. He stuck out his hand. “Malcolm Maynard. Recovering alcoholic. Sorry if I’m sometimes a jerk, but I’m still new at this trying to get used to dealing with my shit stuff.”
Doyle chuckled and shook with him. “Doyle Turner, psychologist, addiction counselor, recovering alcoholic, and sometimes hard-ass. Very dominant. Sorry if I’m sometimes a jerk, but I have a job to do.”
“Honestly? When we pulled up here, I was thinking you are shitting me. This place is really nice. How’d you get it?”
“Like I said, Kel’s a friend. Well, more an acquaintance than a buddy, but we have a lot of friends in common. Including the friend who referred Clark to me.”
“You’re not going to tell me who they are, are you?”
“Maybe. If they okay it. I didn’t specifically get that permission, though, and just like I protect my clients’ privacy, so I protect my friends.”
“You sound like a good friend.” For a moment, the look on Mevi’s face made Doyle want to pull the guy into his arms and hug him. Something between sorrow and longing.
Like he didn’t have good friends.
Then again, in Doyle’s experience, many celebs didn’t have good friends. Lots of hangers-on, sure. But not friends.
Not friends they could trust.
“I try to be a good friend, but I haven’t been able to be around for them like I wish I could. Your bandmates seem to be good friends.”
Mevi shrugged. “They are, but we’re also in business together. That’s how I’ve always approached music. It’s art, sure, but it’s business. And when I forgot that and thought of David as a ‘friend’ instead of an employee, I got fucked.” His expression turned dark. “I just hope I haven’t fucked up my relationship with them. I owe Bonnie a huge apology.”
“Have you talked to them since you entered rehab?”
“No. Clark has. Bonnie’s pissed off, but willing to forgive me.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No! I was…I was a real asshole that night.”
“From the reports I’ve seen, it seems like the two of you have had a pretty contentious relationship over the years.”
Doyle felt the wall go up. He could practically see it. “It’s…complicated between us.”
Bingo. No, he wouldn’t push harder right now. But it was a topic he’d revisit once they’d had a day or two to recover and had settled into some sort of routine.
Doyle laid out the fixings while the taco shells heated on a cookie sheet in the oven. By the time they were ready to eat, sitting together at the kitchen counter bar, the conversation had turned once again to Mevi wanting to know more about Hamilton, whatever Doyle knew about it.
Which, to be honest, wasn’t much more than he’d already told Mevi.
“I think that Lin-Manuel Miranda was in an episode of Drunk History.” He belatedly realized what he said. “Sorry. Belated trigger warning.”
But Mevi smiled. “I think I could handle watching that. I loved that show. Ironically, I always watched it sober. It was funnier that way. Just like doing karaoke sober was always my thing.”
“Isn’t that like being a ringer?”
“What?”
“A
singer doing karaoke?”
“Oh, that was before we got started. That’s how I met everyone.”
* * * *
“How the band got together?”
“Yeah.” Mevi took a bite of his taco, savoring it. It wasn’t a fancy dinner, but it wasn’t fast-food, and it was fresh and hot and something he’d cooked himself. “You feel like a ‘sober history’ lesson?”
“Sure.”
“I worked my ass off when I got to LA. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to break into the music industry, but I was determined not to give up, no matter what. But not many jobs for an eighteen-year-old guy without a college diploma, right? I mean, no farm work, which I could do. I held down two or three jobs at a time, usually waiting tables or washing dishes. I’d do anything that paid. That meant not much time free.
“So one of the places where I worked, they had a karaoke night. I usually didn’t work there that night, but they’d had a guy call in so I worked a longer shift under the table for the owner because I didn’t have anywhere else to be. When I finished when the next guy came on shift, I was hanging out and decided to put my name in for the hell of it.
“I performed two by Nickelback—don’t laugh, I love their stuff. I did ‘Feelin’ Way Too Damn Good’ and ‘Figured You Out.’ Standing O both times. After the second song, I get off the stage and these two guys come up to talk to me.
“Turns out Bonnie’s brother, Tom, was in the audience. He’d called her, and she called Garth to go talk to me since he wasn’t far away. Their lead vocalist had just gotten popped for drugs, so even though he was out on bail, they dumped him. When they found out I also played guitar, they begged me to come to their rehearsal.” He took a sip of water
“Wow,” Doyle said. “That was lucky.”
“Very. I told them I had to work the next night, so they all arranged their schedules to meet with me in the morning. I mean, they were unknowns then, still working regular jobs to make ends meet. The band got paid but it covered their expenses to get to the gigs, if they were lucky. They had a gig coming up Friday night and asked me to join them, for pay. About what I’d make working Friday night. Since I was scheduled to work at that restaurant, I talked to the guy who’d come in on shift and swapped nights with him.