Sinners On Tour 03 Hot Ticket (35 page)

“The best bassist on the planet…” Jace mumbled. “Well, I don’t know about that. You inspired
me
.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Eric beamed with pride. “Holy shit. I can’t wait to tell the guys that you wanted to join Sinners because of me.”

“I didn’t tell you that story so you could get all gloaty.”

“I’ll get all gloaty if I want, tripod. I don’t have much to gloat about, you know.” Eric appraised the empty wall above the drumstick. “You know what you need? You need a giant, autographed poster of me to hang over your drumstick. I’ll sign it,
To
Tripod, My biggest-slash-shortest, secretly obsessed, mega-fanboy
.”

Jace rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know what you need?”

“A smaller head?”

“No, an embarrassing, smiley-faced daisy tattoo on the top of your foot.”

Eric grinned and nodded. “Only fair.”

Jace smiled and laughed. He gave Eric a one-armed, tough-guy hug and pounded him on the back. He was happy. And well loved. Just how Aggie wanted him. Always.

Read on for an excerpt from Trey’s book in
the Sinners on Tour series

Double Time
by Olivia Cunning

Available now from Sourcebooks Casablanca

“Trey.” The sound of Brian’s deep voice tugged at Trey’s heart. His soul. His will. Brian comprised Trey’s hopes. His dreams. Embodied his love. His desire. Represented his past. His present. His future. Everything Trey had ever been or ever could be, he associated with the man. Trey knew Brian would never love him. Not with the same all-encompassing, soul-wrenching possessiveness with which Trey loved him, but they maintained a close friendship. It wasn’t nearly enough for Trey, but was better than nothing.

“Trey?” Brian whispered against his ear, his bare chest pressed against Trey’s naked back. “I want you.”

The flood of lust that coursed through Trey’s body was punctuated with an inrush of breath.
Yes…
“Now?”

“Shh,” Brian breathed. “Quiet. Or someone will hear us.”

Trey was naked. Had he gone to bed naked? He didn’t remember. It didn’t matter. In the darkness, Brian pressed him facedown on the mattress of his bunk on Sinners’ tour bus. Trey felt Brian’s weight over his back. His warmth seeped into his skin. The scent of leather, Brian’s sweet aftershave, and male surrounded him. Trey closed his eyes and relished the sensations. The texture of Brian’s skin. The raspy quality of his breath.

Emotion washed over Trey. His only regret was that they weren’t face to face, so he couldn’t stare into Brian’s intense brown eyes, bury his hands in his messy, shoulder-length hair, and kiss his firm lips as he took him. Whenever Brian visited him, it was always like this. Face down. Total surrender.

Trey felt Brian’s cock against his throbbing ass. He relaxed, opening himself to possession. Brian surged forward, filling him with one deep thrust.

“Ah,” Trey gasped brokenly as a mix of pain and pleasure pulsed through the core of his body. He loved that Brian’s cock was huge. That it stretched him to his limits. Loved how Brian clasped his hands on either side of his head to pin him down. It made Trey feel helpless. Fucked. Used. Exactly how he needed to feel, because he knew this wasn’t right. Brian loved another.

Trey lifted his hips slightly in an attempt to get his own attentive cock into a more pleasurable position.

“Don’t move,” Brian growled. “Take it.”

Trey took it. No pain now. Just intense, pulsating pleasure. Brian fucked him harder. Harder. Until Trey wanted to scream
I
love
you, I love you, I love you
at the top of his lungs. He didn’t dare. He knew Brian would disappear the moment he said anything that remotely stupid.

Trey bit his lip and struggled to lift his hips off the bed. He wanted Brian’s hands on his cock as he fucked him. Stroking him from base to tip. Giving him pleasure. Making him come. Come by his hand. In his hands. The hands that created the guitar music that was as much a part of Trey as it was of Brian.

“Brian?” he whispered. “Please.”

“No.”

Trey groaned and rocked his hips, rubbing his cock against the mattress. He needed to come so bad.
Oh, please. I need it. Need you.

“Hold still, Trey. You know how this works.”

Trey stopped moving. Brian had been visiting him like this more and more frequently. Especially since Brian had gotten his wife, Myrna, pregnant. It was pretty much a nightly occurrence at this point. Trey wanted him. Not just in bed. In his life. Each moment, he felt Brian slipping further away and Trey didn’t know how to hold on to him.

Brian. Stay with me. Please.

“Trey?” A hand grabbed Trey’s shoulder and gave him a hard shake. “Trey! Wake up. It’s time.”

Trey opened his eyes. The Brian of his dreams vanished and was replaced by the real Brian. This one was
not
fucking him good, hard, and selfishly up the ass. This one was fully clothed and grinning at him from just outside the curtain of Trey’s bunk. Trey’s balls tightened unexpectedly and he reached down to pull off his sock. He buried his cock in the soft, warm cotton. His belly clenched. Muscles at the base of his cock gave a hard spasm. He came with a tortured gasp.

Goddammit. He ruined more socks that way.

“Sorry to interrupt your wet dreams, dude,” Brian said, “but we’ve got to catch a plane. Like immediately. Get dressed.”

Still disoriented, still trembling with the aftereffects of his unexpected orgasm (while Brian watched—he’d undoubtedly relive that in his fantasies for weeks), Trey forced himself to sit up on his bunk. Feet dangling over the edge, he bent his back at an uncomfortable angle so he didn’t whack his head on the tour bus’ ceiling. “What time is it?” Trey rubbed his eyes and blinked in the overly bright cabin lights.

“Three.”

“In the morning? What the hell, Brian? I need sleep.”

“Myrna’s in labor.”

Trey’s heart twisted unpleasantly. “She’s not due for…”

“Two weeks. I know. It’s the real deal though. She’s already at the hospital.” Brian grabbed Trey’s arm and jerked him out of his bunk to the floor. “Hurry up. I will not miss the birth of my first child.”

“I don’t understand why I have to go,” Trey said.

Brian looked a little hurt and Trey immediately wanted to take that comment back.

“You have to go because I need you there,” Brian said.

“Fine. I’ll go. Whatever,” Trey said as if his heart wasn’t singing with delight. Brian needed him? There was a first time for everything, he supposed.

Trey rearranged his boxer shorts and located his jeans on the floor next to their new soundboard operator’s empty bunk. Rebekah’s bunk didn’t get much use. She and the band’s drummer, Eric Sticks, spent most nights in the back bedroom claiming they were still on their honeymoon. Seven months of honeymooning was a bit much by anyone’s standards. Even Trey’s. Trey hopped into his pants, tugged a T-shirt over his head, and began his search for a spare sock.

Brian chuckled at him when he tossed his ruined sock in the garbage. “That must’ve been some dream. What was it about?”

Trey raked a hand through his long bangs. “These three really hot chicks,” he lied without missing a beat. “I had three cocks and each of them was sucking one.”

Brian quirked an eyebrow at him and Trey’s heart skipped a beat. The man was so fucking gorgeous, it was a sin. “Weird.”

But not as weird as having homoerotic dreams about your best friend. Your married best friend who was about to become a father.

“Did you get plane tickets already?” Trey asked.

“Your brother’s jet is meeting us at the airstrip. It’s already on its way. Should be landing by the time we get there.”

“So Dare’s coming with?”

“Nope. Just you and me.”

Alone on a private jet. Trey was pretty sure they wouldn’t be initiating each other into the mile high club. Bummer.

By the time they reached the hospital four hours later, Brian was in a panic. When Trey hesitated on the threshold of Myrna’s delivery and recovery room, Brian grabbed his arm and hauled him inside.

“I didn’t miss it, did I?” Brian asked the doctor who was between Myrna’s legs with his bloody surgical gloves trying to ease a black-haired head out of something Trey wished he had never ever seen. Oh fuck. That had to hurt.

Trey’s eyelids fluttered, the floor disappeared from beneath him, and everything went black.

The squall of a baby and the declaration, “It’s a boy!” flittered around Trey’s semiconscious mind. That and some strange ammonia smell just beneath his nose.

“Come on, gorgeous,” a soft feminine voice said nearby. “Open your eyes for me. The messy part is all over now.”

Trey regained full consciousness with a sudden intake of breath. He instinctively knocked the offensive smelling salts from beneath his nose and sat up.

“There, he’s back with us,” someone said from the opposite side of the room. The doctor maybe? Trey couldn’t get his eyes to focus.

“Did I pass out?” Trey asked.

“Out like a light, buddy,” Brian said from beside Myrna’s bed. He chuckled much too gleefully.

“You can
not
tell anyone about this,” Trey said, struggling to climb to his feet. He leaned his back against a wall to steady himself. He hated hospitals. He’d spent far too many hours in them as a child, including one entire summer when his father had been serving his residency and his mother had decided to ride a bicycle across the country. Just the smell of a hospital made his skin crawl.

“Yeah right,” Brian said. “I’m having T-shirts made. I wanted to wait to cut the cord, but you refused to wake up in time to watch.”

Trey’s stomach did a summersault.
Cut
the
cord?
Yuck. “Sorry I missed it.” Not.

“That’s okay. I got it on film.”

“Great…” Trey ducked his head to hide his crinkled nose.

A stunning brunette dressed in pink scrubs bent down to enter Trey’s field of vision. She stroked his hair out of his face. The slim brows over her striking blue eyes drew together in concern. “Feeling better now?”

He grinned at her and she flushed. “I think I’ll live,” he said.

Her hand slid to the back of his head. “You bumped your head.” Her fingers found the scar that ran beneath his hair in a wide arch over his left ear. She traced the ridge with her index finger. “What’s this?”

Trey captured her hand in his and pulled it away from his scalp. “Old war injury.” If getting hit in the back of the head with a baseball bat during a bar fight could be considered war. That little incident had landed him in a hospital for days. Not one of his better memories. “You have really pretty eyes,” he told the nurse, still holding her hand.

Her breath caught, pupils dilated slightly as she focused on his interested gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered, lowering her lashes to hide her deep blue eyes.

Trey released her hand and she sagged against the wall. He turned his attention to the bed, glad a blue drape cloth concealed whatever the doctor was doing between Myrna’s legs. Trey was pretty sure the doc was giving Myrna stitches and he did
not
want to know why that was necessary.

“So where’s this baby we’ve been waiting to see for nine months now?” Trey asked.

Brian waved him over to the bed. Trey approached cautiously. Myrna looked exhausted, and he knew better than to tick her off. He was prepared to make a run for it, if necessary. Brian wrapped an arm around Trey’s shoulders and they gazed down at the bundle in Myrna’s arms. A miniature, red-faced Brian jabbed his fist in his mouth and sucked earnestly. Trey’s heart skipped a beat before melting inside his chest. Brian’s son was the most perfect thing Trey had ever seen in his entire life.

Brian scooped up the baby and handed him to Trey. Trey drew his little body against his chest and stared down at him in breathless awe.

“We named him Malcolm Trey,” Myrna said. “After Brian’s father. And, well,
you
.”

Trey tore his gaze from the small wonder to gape at Myrna. “Me? Why would you name him after me?”

She smiled. “It seemed appropriate to name him after the two most important men in Brian’s life.”

“We want you to be his godfather,” Brian said.

“I…” Trey was honored, but he wasn’t an appropriate god-father. He was scarcely responsible enough to take care of himself. How could they ever expect him to be responsible enough to care for their child? “I don’t think…”

The baby in his arms gurgled, and Trey looked down to find him staring up at him with unfocused brown eyes. His father’s eyes. Brian’s eyes. Brian had made this. This perfect, beautiful little person.

Brian was a father.

Trey glanced at Brian and the enormity of it all stole his breath. Brian didn’t notice Trey. He only had eyes for his son. His pride in the little guy was tangible.

Trey turned his attention to the baby in his arms. He stroked Malcolm’s cheek and then touched his tiny hand, fascinated with his tiny fingers. His tiny fingernails. Tiny knuckles. Everything so tiny. Malcolm gripped Trey’s finger with surprising strength. “You’re going to be a master guitarist like your daddy someday,” Trey told him.

Malcolm scrunched up his face and Trey laughed, totally enamored with Brian’s son. The son born from the love Brian shared with his wife, Myrna. The son Trey could have never given Brian no matter how much he loved him. Trey took a steadying breath, kissed the baby’s forehead, and handed Malcolm back to his father. “Here. I’ll probably break him or something.”

“Good-lookin’ kid, ain’t he?” Brian pressed a kiss to Malcolm’s temple.

“Of course,” Myrna said, love shining in her hazel eyes as she stared up at her husband and son. “He looks like his father.”

“He has your lips,” Brian said.

“And your hair.”

Trey chuckled. Father and son both had tufts of black hair sticking up in all directions.

“I hope he has your brains,” Brian said.

“And your talent,” Myrna added.

“He’s perfect,” Trey said, unable to resist the impulse to smooth Malcolm’s fuzzy hair with his palm. It did no good. The baby’s downy black hair immediately returned to standing on end.

“You’ll be his godfather then?” Brian asked.

Trey lifted his gaze to Brian’s. As if he could deny him anything. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Brian smiled. “I think you need to get busy, Mills—find yourself a nice girl and make Malcolm a best friend. You’re already nine months behind.”

“Ha! Like that’s ever going to happen,” Trey said flippantly, but something inside him wanted that. Wanted something he and Brian
could
share. Pride of their respective sons. He could almost picture Malcolm and Trey Junior playing together in the backyard, learning how to play guitar together, getting into mischief, growing. Trey
Junior
? What the fuck was he thinking? There would never be a Trey Junior. He didn’t even like kids. Not even cute little shits who were cursed with the name Malcolm Trey. The baby cooed and Trey melted into a puddle of mush. Okay, so there was
one
exception to his dislike of kids, but only one.