Page 59 of High Notes & Hail Marys

“Hey, hey!” Peter holds his hands up. “True and true. I’m not saying that Miami doesn’t appreciate you. You’re part of the elite culture they’ve built up. It’s not that they want to lose you, not by any means. I’m just telling you that other teams…”

“Which ones?”

“Other teams,” he repeats, “would love to have you lay the cornerstone of an elite culture there as well. That’s all I’m saying. And they’d likely drop the coins to bring you over.”

You feel yourself squinting, despite the fact that the parking garage is dim. You rub your forehead with three tense fingers, willing it to un-furrow before you give yourself a headache.

“You got your five minutes,” you say, turning your car off with a flourish. “Message received. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a veggie burger and peaches ‘n cream milkshake in there with my name on it.”

Peter snorts. “Far be it for tens of millions of dollars to come between a Georgia boy and his peach milkshake.”

You wave a twiddlybye-byeat the screen. “Bye, Pete.”

“Always a pleasure, Kaius.”

Chapter Fifteen

Beneath you, Sterling is molten. Almost too hot to hold.

“You need this,” you whisper, planting sloppy kisses on his neck and collarbones. It’s not a question. He couldn’t make it more obvious, his moans and sighs crowding each other out and floating toward the twelve-foot ceiling.

When you first came to visit him at his condo in Nashville, you didn’t know about this bedroom. Sterling sleeps on many beds under many roofs, but Tennessee is his legal residence. It’s where he votes and where his driver’s license is registered. Moreover, it’s hishome.

This room is like the very essence of Sterling distilled into a private space. The foot of the bed overlooks the terrace, which is crowded out with so much flowering greenery that it looks like a botanical garden in the middle of Music Row. There are pictures in here—not the curated artwork selected by his designer, but photographs: Sterling at age nine with missing teeth playing t-ball. The Grayson family, circa 2002, smiling on the beach. Noemi’s high school portrait. A black-and-white bride with a Donna Reed dress and white gloves… maybe a grandmother?

His favorite guitar rests against the wall. His clothes are in the closet. It’s his home base.

And Sterling’s all yours, here. Home on a break between the Oceanic and Asian legs of the tour, nothing to do all weekend, nowhere to be. Just a pretty boy in a big bed, a fever of arms and legs and lips.

It’s like this every time you get together, now. A dam broke somewhere along the line, and you two can’t get enough of each other. In public, it’s all tacit and tact: hands on lower backs, entwined fingers pulling one another from a car, soft and quick touches. Pecks on dry cheeks.

In private, though?Fuck.

You’re still half-dressed, your sweatpants tented out over your hard dick, your chest bare and barely containing your excitement as you lean over Sterling. He’s spread out across his gray sheets, the pillows all tossed on the floor along with his clothes. His hair is wild around him, a thicket of burnished brown gone to tangles with his body heat. You grab a hank of it in your fist and use it to guide his head and take his mouth. No longer do either of you pretend that you don’t both love itwhen you pull.

“I missed you,” he hums against your mouth, breathless. “This. I missed this.”

You groan in agreement, not letting yourself get too wrapped up in the actual words.I missed you.It’s just bed-talk. He’s just hot for you. You can relate, so you don’t hold it against him. You suck your way down his chest, detouring over his sensitive nipples, and mouthing at the places where his ribs stick out. It’s your—extremely private,nevervoiced—opinion that Sterling is too thin. Not by a lot. Maybe ten pounds.Hollywood beauty standards suck.You think this as you nibble love bites against his taut belly and across the span of his hips, studiously avoiding his cock.

He’s groaning and kneading his hands into your shoulders as you tease him. There’s part of you—also extremely private and never voiced—that wishes he would grab you by the head and shove you down. One day, you’ll tell him he can, if he wants to. In the meantime, you’ll see how far you can test his civility.

“Kai,” he breathes. It takes another repetition before you realize that it’s not just saying your name for the sake of it.

“Mmm?”

“I want you inside me. Can you… can we do that?”

Trust Sterling to flip things on their axes. You sit back on your heels.

“Should we talk about this? I mean, I usually…”

“I know.” He bites his lip, in a way that probably was not meant to be so alluring. “But I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve actually…” He breaks out in a blush.

“You’ve actuallywhat?” You can’t stop your hands from running up and down his calves, fuzzing the light brown hair, feeling his soft skin.

“I’ve been getting ready for it.”

Your hands still. “You’ve been…”

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