Thirst Trap Thursday: Oh, the distraction of water sliding down a sculpted chest (Guitars and Cages)

 

This was one of my favorite scenes to write from the book, because it was the moment when Asher knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he was attracted to Connor and wasn't going to be able to forget the pull that drew him towards his neighbor. 

The trial run went better than I’d hoped, despite the throbbing in my hand for most of the day. I prolly should have had a cast put back on after the other one fell off, but that would have made most of the tasks impossible, so now I was glad I hadn’t.

Travis shadowed me all day, giving instructions and watching how I performed the tasks. It made me nervous at first, but it didn’t take long for the thrill of working with horses again to calm me down and help me focus. At the end of the day he called me into his office and told me he was giving me the job, and then had me sit down and read the contract he’d drawn up. For the most part it was a list of rules, dos and don’ts, things like that. I read it all carefully and then signed it, and he signed it, too, before shaking my hand to seal the deal.

He handed me a schedule and told me he’d see me tomorrow, and I headed home, in the mood to celebrate. Seeing as how I had to be at work before the sun came up, I decided getting drunk wasn’t a good idea. I kind of didn’t want to be alone, either. I wondered if Conner would wanna go do something with me, if he was even home yet. I knew he’d been working late, but my day had been long, too, so I stopped by his apartment and knocked.

He answered the door dripping wet, with only a towel wrapped around him.

“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked as I stood there staring at him, unable to form words. Beads of water were dripping down his chest, and I watched, wanting to trace the path of the water with my tongue. “Earth to Asher.”

“Hot,” I muttered, before I shook my head, trying to focus.

“What?”

“I, uhh...”

“Asher, are you all right?”

“No...err...yeah...uhh...what?”

He laughed and stepped back. “Well, come in and figure it out while I get dressed.”

It took me a minute to get my legs and brain to cooperate and follow him. He closed the door and headed to his room, while I stared at the water dripping down his back. I wanted to pin him down and lick the water from his skin. I wanted to pin him down and do other things, too, and my jeans suddenly felt much too tight. I groaned and closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t react so damned easily every time I saw him. So much for my hope that spending time with him would make the desire go away; if anything, it was growing.

I tried not to envision him getting dressed, because that was making it worse. Instead, I started thinking of shoveling manure and cleaning stalls after a birth. By the time he came out dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that molded to his chest and showed off his definition, I was pretty close to calm again.

“So, what’s up?” he asked as he headed for the kitchen.

I could hear him rummaging around in the fridge before he came out with a couple cans of soda. He passed me one and cracked open the other.

I thanked him and drank half of it down, grateful for the cold. “I got a job. I want to celebrate, but I figured if I told Cole we’d end up getting drunk, and I didn’t want to be hung over on my second day.”

He chuckled at that. “So where are you working?”

“A livery in the suburbs. They board and train horses out there. The guy who owns it, Travis, had me come out to see how I got along with the animals and how much I knew. I guess I did okay, because he hired me.”

“Hey, that’s great!”

“Thanks. Maybe I won’t have to fight so much now.”

“Or at least not until the last set of bruises heal.”

I shrugged. “It is what it is.”

He shook his head. “All right, so what do you want to do to celebrate?”

I thought for a moment, and then grinned. “Ever played laser tag?”

He laughed. “Played it? Man, I love it. Paintball, too. There used to be an awesome place back home where Jace and I would go play.”

“Yeah, well, there are a couple places here, too. They’ve got paintball, laser tag, go-kart races, all of it. If you’re up for it, we could make a night of it. They have awesome pizza there, too, and we could grab dinner in between games.”

“Hell, yeah, I’m up for it. Let me grab my keys and shoes and lock up. Did you want me to drive?”

I chuckled, a devilish thought entering my mind. “You ever been on a motorcycle?”

He paused, one shoe half-on. “Uhh, that would be a no.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “You like thrills, but you’ve never been on the back of a bike?”

“I’ve taken pictures of them, I’ve watched them race, I’ve even admired them as they’ve gone by, but I’ve never been on the back of one.”

“Well, we can change that easy. I’ve got my Harley outside.”

He froze, eyes going wide.

“Unless you don’t want to. I’ll ride with you if you really want to drive,” I threw in, not wanting him to change his mind about hanging out with me.

“No, uhh, no...it’s fine,” he said, looking a little pale.

“I’ll take it easy. Besides, it’s city driving, couldn’t go too fast even if I wanted to. You, uhh, might want to put some boots on, though, if you have them.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said, heading back to his bedroom. He came back with a pair of hiking boots, which would do fine. He locked up, and we headed downstairs to the bike. He gave a low whistle when he saw it, walking around it for a moment.

“This is an old one,” he commented, taking in the low-rider design.

“Not exactly,” I said. “Morgan and I built it when I was in high school, started with a junker frame and worked our way up. She’s a complete hodgepodge, so it’s a bitch to get parts, but I couldn’t imagine driving anything else.”

He looked at me, astonished. “What the hell do you do in the winter?”

I chuckled. “Wear layers and freeze.”

He laughed at that, and then stopped, looking down at the side of the bike. “There’s, uhh, only one helmet.”

“That’s fine, you wear it. I don’t usually wear one anyway. Most cops won’t stop you just for that. I’ve never been stopped, anyway.”

He picked it up, frowning at me before putting it on. I had to help him adjust it.

“What?” I asked, as he continued to frown.

“You don’t give much thought to your safety, do you?”

I grinned. “Nah. I figure if it’s my time to go, then that ain’t gonna help me none.”

Guitars and Cages can be found on Amazon here!

Asher Logan is a bartender and a pretty wicked guitar player, when he isn’t wrecking his hands fighting in a cage. With a past he keeps hoping to outrun, Asher’s been on a downward spiral for longer than he can remember. When his sister-in-law leaves Rory, his eight-year-old nephew, in his care, Asher is forced into two things he’s never been good at: sobriety and responsibility. As he struggles to care for Rory, his own life begins to unravel.

When Asher’s brother, Alex, turns up, presenting as a girl and announcing her new name is Alexia, it further complicates matters, as does the arrival of his new neighbor, Conner.

When the siblings’ older brother, Cole, reacts violently to Alexia, Asher is placed squarely in the middle of a family conflict which compels him to confront who he pretends to be versus who he really is.

Asher must choose who to trust and who to finally walk away from.

Wicked Wednesday WIP: Who'd like to read a little excerpt from Riding a Rogue Wave?

 

When a Nixie is matched with a human, wet and wild adventures take place.

Riding a Rogue Wave can be preordered on Amazon here!

“Shhhh, damn, you’re louder than a riled-up cricket!” Kush grumbled as Soren came squelching in with muddy feet and headed straight for the shower to rinse off while Kush shut the door his brother constantly left open.

It wasn’t even worth it to comment, not when they were trying to avoid drawing the attention of any one of the numerous siblings and cousins million about on the branches of their treetop village. After generations of swamp living, his people had learned that building their homes in the sprawling, mossy covered branches of a living oak was the most secure location and necessitated the least amount of repairs. The moss offered privacy, as well as bountiful building materials, insulation, and carpeting, but the best part was the ability to camouflage their dwellings, making them nearly impossible to spot unless you knew what you were searching for.

Fortunately, his people hadn’t been embroiled in conflicts with other species for years, but the memory of those times was still bright in the minds of their elders, who believed that being proactive was better than putting their faith in treaties and old alliances to keep them safe.

Bouncing on the mossy nest that served as his bed, Kush struggled to keep his eager webbed fingers off the phone he and his siblings were supposed to share. “Will you hurry up?!” Kush called out as impatience got the best of him.

They’d only be able to keep Neo at bay for so long with the little ruse they’d pulled that had him hunting for the phone over at their cousin’s tree hut, eventually, he’d figure out that he’d been lied to and return demanding his night with the device, but Kush hoped that didn’t happen until he and Soren had the chance to check the Monster Match dating app to see if they’d received notification that they’d been matched with someone.

“If your level of patience grew at the same rate as your feet, you’d be the most Zen Nixie in Soundless Slaugh,” Soren called out over the sound of the water.

“Says the Nixie who decided to swim Froggy Basin to get home rather than wait for someone to come and collect him!” Kush shot back.

“I’d have made it too if that Heqet not taking a liking to me.”

“Are you sure it was you she took a liking to…or the way you tasted?” Kush replied, unable to resist giving his brother shit.

“Either way, it’s an experience I’d prefer to avoid a repeat of, thank you very much!” Soren called out. “Much like the feel of grit and dried-up mud bits in my bed, so just roll some powdered Fly Agaric and smoke a reed why don’t you.”

Grumbling, Kush considered doing just that, only a quick glance at the shelf where they usually kept their supply revealed that one of their siblings had wandered off with it again. Probably Cullen, who had a bad habit of hoarding it among the veritable treasure trove of things he kept in his hut. If Kush had known that amassing an eclectic collection of odds and ends would net him his own hut within his family’s treehouse, he’d have picked up every shiny bobble he came across.

Okay…so maybe not every one. A few of the pieces Cullen had amassed over the years had been rather pungent and led to the rest of them steering clear of his branch until he’d finally given in and disposed of it. Sometimes, Kush suspected that his brother brought things back simply because he knew what the family’s response would be and could be assured of a bit of privacy for as long as he held on to it.

If there was anything that was in short supply among a family as large and interwoven as theirs, it was solitude and the chance to think without someone else croaking his ear off about a bunch of things he had no interest in knowing about. Neo was notorious for launching into tirades about whatever had gotten him in a tizzy that day. Ignoring him was an art form Kush had never perfected. He tended to take the bate when Neo said something cutting or snarky, which was basically whenever he decided that someone wasn’t paying attention to what had had to say.

Jareth, the brother whose birth order fell right after Neo, hadn’t been able to live with him either, while Oberyn, who came just after Kush in the family lineup, hadn’t even tried when their folks attempted to move him in with his older brother. He’d thrown the tantrum to end all tantrums, a tree shaker of a tantrum according to Uncle Atreyu, who usually reserved that sort of description for the alligators he regularly caught and relocated to other parts of the swamp where they wouldn’t be a danger to the Nixies and other water folk who enjoyed spending time in the same brackish waters the gators preferred.

The bubble screens placed in the deepest parts of the swampy water kept many of them at bay, but it was impossible to keep them from wandering in by land, which was when his skills were called into play. He was the kingfisher of the swamp, a nickname that rankled the lone Kingfisher family of avian shifters that dwelled nearby. Honestly, though, they were too pretty to be considered deadly, at least to Kush’s way of thinking. He loved the brilliant hues of their plumage, but holy shit, Avien’s were snobs. The reaction he’d received when he’d taken a shot at asking out the son that was roughly his age had been so scathing and condescending that he’d sent up a wave of water to drench the haughty bastard and knock him from his perch.

He knew he shouldn’t be proud of that, and he sure as hell caught a lecture from his mama, but his uncles had laughed their asses off. His old man had given him several devious and rather ingenious suggestions for how to fuck with that prissy bird when Kush saw him again. So far, he’d made himself scarce since his little tumble into the muddy depths, though Kush suspected that the large-mouthed bass Kush had crafted from water and directed to chase the sodden shifter who’d been first to take human form or be swallowed up by it, had something to do with that. He might have conveniently left that part out when he’d relayed the story to his mama, something he wouldn’t have had to do at all if the damned Kingfisher patriarch hadn’t come flapping up to their tree to complain.

He’d told Soren though, as he and his brother had been getting settled into their mossy beds that evening with full bellies and the bowl full of guava-black chokeberry gelatin cubes they’d absconded with when their Grand’Mere's back was turned. They were a decadent treat, especially when the nights were sweltering. When they were still barely more than tadpole-sized, he and Soren had perfected the art of distracting the adults with a little tag-team action that always led to at least one of them being able to slip away unseen. On rare occasions, they’d both managed to secure a prize, usually one stolen and one given willingly by an adult who’d found their antics amusing. It was also what made Soren the best sibling to share a hut with. Not only did he appreciate the appeal of laying in the dark with the fireflies flitting about the room while the swamp conducted a majestic symphony of crocking, chirping, and gurgling water, but he was always up for a midnight excursion. 

Now though, he was just annoyed and squirmy waiting for his brother to hurry up and finish cleaning the mud from his skin. He never should have promised his brother that he’d wait for him to get there before checking the app. It was literally taking forever and no, that wasn’t him being dramatic. It did not take this long to wash mud off of feet, even feet as big and webbed as Soren’s.  

It sucked, not being able to turn on notifications so they’d know the moment something came through, but their family’s rule only allowed for one cell phone per generation, meaning the grandparents shared one, the parents shared one, and the children got the short end of the stick by having to share one between a far more numerous group. Getting caught with more than that would get all their privileges taken away for an indeterminant length of time. Something Cullen had already caused once when he’d attempted to sneak in a prepaid device so he could chat with a certain tree sprite who’d caught his attention.

Shared punishments were one of the few drawbacks of being reared among his clan of water elementals, but as he’d matured, he’d come to understand the reason behind the restrictions and the shared accountability that came with it. We are one, had far greater meaning when you could literally meld yourselves with the others who controlled the same element to extend your defenses or expand your offensive capabilities when threats were imminent.

Right now, though, he found himself wishing that he was already a mated Nixie with a tree of his own because then he’d have a greater measure of control over when and how often he could use the device. Of course, then he wouldn’t have needed the app in the first place which negated the whole line of thinking and Uggggggg….

“Unless you spent the whole afternoon making out with a stinkbug, you’re clean enough!” Kush bellowed just as the water shut off.

For a heartbeat, maybe too, Kush was filled with a rush of excitement and anticipation, before his brother muttered oh really, and turned the water back on!

Fiddlesticks with fish fur, this was getting ridiculous. In a swirl of temper, he launched himself off the moss and stalked across the room, intent on yanking Soren out and shoving the phone in front of his face while he was still naked. Soren must have known that he’d pushed things as far as he could because he turned the water off with a chuckle when Kush was mere inches from the shower basin. He stepped out with a towel wrapped around his waist and a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I’m just as anxious as you are,” Soren said. “So, cool your warts and settle down a minute, will you. I might not have been making out with a stinkbug, but I was helping Uncle Mander dislodge a rotting Nutra corpse from the roots of Aunt Eugenia’s cypress tree.”

“I don’t have warts, and if she’d move back into the oak with Uncle Hollis, she wouldn’t have to worry about what was stinking up the base of her tree.”

“Yeah, well, you try telling her that, ‘cause Uncle Mander did, and she thanked him for his help by dumping a basin of old dishwater over his head, meaning it landed on mine too, which was the other reason it took me so long in there. I had to wash my hair twice before I got the stink of duck fat out of my hair.”

“Pass,” Kush muttered as he returned to his bed and sat with his leg bouncing up and down while he waited for his brother to join him.

“Relax, I ran into Jareth on my way here and I subtly mentioned needing to clean up before I headed over to Uncle Mander’s because I’d accidentally left the phone in his backpack when we were dealing with the Nutra.”

“And what are you going to say when Neo hops three trees down only to find out that he doesn’t have it?” Kush asked.

“Well, he’ll have to hop more than three trees, for starters, since Uncle Mader said he was going to Swampy Joe’s for some of that foxfire shine of his once he’d rinsed off,” Soren said. “You know what’ll happen once they start drinking.”

“That was brilliant, he’ll never find them, even if he gets it into his head to try and track them down. They’ll go lily pad hopping all over the swamp and lead him on a merry chase while getting into a bunch of mischief and probably rope Neo into their shenanigans too. I bet they come home singing the bawdiest songs this side of the portal, again, which will have Grand'Mere up in arms when she hears them,” Kush remarked with a chuckle. “Hope they remember to duck this time when she takes after them with one of those cast-iron frying pans she loves to wield like she’s still batting for the Cottonmouths.”

Soren snickered at that while Kush logged into the app, practically holding his breath as he waited to see if the site reported any matches yet. 

Twisted Tuesday: A deception, but only with the very best of intentions in mind (Along with a special bonus outtake from Tattered Angel)

 

When Dez was asked to join Tattered Angel, his initial reaction was to decline. He'd been burned before and was gun-shy about joining a readily established band. Between not being a big enough party boy to fit in with the first one, to only being seen as a temporary replacement in the second, he's hesitant to get close to his new bandmates even after he reluctantly agrees to join them for Rocktoberfest so their band can perform. His uncle, a musician himself, knows the importance of forging bonds with fellow bandmates and takes a few steps to ensure that Dez will not be bringing his big motorcycle on the road with him to use as a means of separating himself from the rest of his bandmates. It might be seen as a bit devious, but he only wanted what was best for his nephew, and to keep the sometimes emotional musician safe from his own insecurities and impulsive actions. 

The kitchen smelled like his uncle’s infamous buttermilk pancakes and maple smoked bacon, and there, waiting for him at the table, was a heaping plate. All that was missing was the coffee, which he made short work of doctoring up before sitting down.

God that smelled good. Eyes closed, he inhaled the scent of freshly ground beans before savoring the first sip, only to suddenly find himself relieved of the cup.

“What the hell!”

The nonchalant look on his uncle’s face as he took a swig quickly morphed into a grimace, before he dumped it down the sink. “How the hell can you drink it like that. It’s like coffee flavored milk with a heap of sugar tossed in,” his uncle groused.

“’Cause that’s how I like it!” Dez growled, standing to go make himself another.

“Sit down and leave the blasted coffee alone, you don’t need it, you’re jittery enough.”

“And denying me my coffee is supposed to help with that?”

“Maybe, guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Relax and eat your breakfast.”

“How am I supposed to relax when….”

His uncle’s raised eyebrow ended his tirade before he could get started, and he busied himself with drowning his pancakes in syrup as a way of avoiding eye contact. The pancakes, usually so sweet and fluffy, tasted like sawdust and landed with a heaviness in his gut that made it churn, or maybe it was just the nerves that had been steadily growing the closer it came to this day.

“Are you sure you can’t get my bike fixed before it’s time to go?” he blurted.

“How many times do I have to tell you no?”

“Just…it never takes you this long to figure out what’s wrong with it.”

“Could be ‘cause I don’t want to figure out what’s wrong with it.”

Blinking, Dez could only stare at his uncle, mouth half hanging over for several heartbeats. “But…why.”

“I don’t want you on it.”

Point blank, no other explanation, his uncle went right back to eating while Dez sat there glaring at him in frustrated disbelief.

“You might as well eat,” Jordan remarked as he sat down to his own plate. “The guys will be here soon and you know it’ll be awhile before you have pancakes like these again. Better savor them while you have the chance.”

His cousin had a point, but Dez couldn’t bring himself to lift the fork again. “If you weren’t going to fix it, why didn’t you just tell me so I could find someone who would!”

“I had every intention of fixing it,” his uncle replied, sipping the bitter black coffee he always drank. “Still do.”

“Then why…”

The look his uncle shot him knocked the fire right out of him. Shoulders slumped, he sighed heavily and poked holes in his pancake with his fork.

“These guys seem like a really good group,” his uncle remarked. “I want you to give them and yourself a chance to keep getting to know one another. You can’t do that if you’re following behind them on the bike.”

“Yeah, I know, I just, if shit goes sideways, I’m stuck.”

“Good.”

“Good! How is it good to be stranded with three guys who don’t want me there!”

“’Cause these three guys do want you there.”

“Now. But what happens when that changes.”

“Think about what you just said.”

Frowning, Dez sat trying to figure out what the hell his uncle meant.

“You said when,” Jordan supplied when it became clear Dez wasn’t going to get it. “Not if. When, like it was a forgone conclusion that it was going to happen.”

“My point exactly. You’re already going into this expecting things to go wrong. Letting you have your bike so you can take off for god knows where at the slightest provocation wouldn’t do you, or the rest of the band, any favors.”

“But…”

“No buts kid, now eat your food. I’m not going to leave you without a lifeline, you should know that by now. If something happens that can’t be fixed, call me and I’ll make sure you get back home, safe, which isn’t a guarantee if you’re tearing around on the back of that bike.”

“I’m always safe when I’m riding my girl.”

“No, you’re lucky, which is a completely different thing.”

“Dad’s right. You get tunnel vision when you’re pissed. Look at what happened in Duluth.”

“That wasn’t tunnel vision, it was an icy patch on the road that I didn’t see.”

“And why didn’t you see it?” Jordan prodded.

Dez grumbled, muttering the answer beneath his breath as he carved another piece out of his pancake.

Chuckling, Jordan nudged his arm. “What was that?”

“I was obsessing over something that had happened to my friend Koda. There were bruises on his arm and back and he wouldn’t tell me what happened. I was on my way to his place, running over everything I’d planned to say to him to get him to tell me what was up.”

“Uh-huh,” his uncle remarked, drumming his fingertips on the table.

“Besides, you’re taking a lot more equipment than you normally do. Riding home with a guitar case and bagpipe case strapped to the back is one thing, but you don’t have enough room on the back of that bike for an electric, an acoustic, bagpipes, a violin and a cello,” Jordan reminded him. “Not unless you plan to let the cello drive.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Dez grumbled. The pancakes were cold now, so was the bacon, but he ate it anyway, if only so he wasn’t hungry well before the band was ready to stop.

“The best thing you can do is go into this with a positive mindset and a willingness to work through any issues that might arise, rather than run from them.”

“I hear ya.”

“Yes, but are you willing to put in the work that’s needed to see this thing through to the end?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

His fork clanked as he dropped it on the plate and met his uncle’s eyes. “I want this to work. I’m scared that it won’t, but I do want it to.”

“Then put that bike out of your head and stop telling yourself that they’re gonna reject you. Focus on the goals you guys laid out and get ready for Rocktoberfest. Trust that these guys who were dumped by a bandmate as harshly as you once were wouldn’t turn around and do it to someone else.”

Dez nodded, ‘cause on that one thing his uncle did have a point. Honking and the annoyed barking of the neighbor’s dog announced the band’s arrival and Dez stood, only to have his uncle’s big paw land on his shoulder, gruffly urging him to sit back down.

“Finish your food, your cousin and I will take your stuff down for you.”

Tattered Angel can be found on Amazon here!

Since the moment he picked up his first guitar, Dez Conway dreamed of being a Rockstar. A multi-talented musician with the ability to play the electric violin, electric cello and even the bass, he’d be an asset to any group of musicians, if only the bands who’d hired him over the years had truly thought that way. Instead, he’s singing for the dishes in an upscale restaurant, bitter, pissed off, and unwilling to entertain the offer to replace the frontman of the world-famous Deviant Angels because why the hell would they be any different than the guys who’d kicked him to the curb in the past?

Only…they’re not the Deviant Angels, their longtime frontman took the name with him when he left, along with their hopes of getting back out on the road again and playing the music they love. Of course, a talented musician like Dez could change all of that for them, if they can convince him that this time, his dreams of rock stardom, and love, can actually come true.

“Okay, so you’re serious, we’re actually doing this?”

The note of skepticism on Riley’s face would have been laughable, if Dez didn’t already feel so bad about all the time they hadn’t been spending together.

“I turned off both our phones and threw them in the drawer. Popcorn is popped, with extra butter, just the way you like it. I warned the guys not to stop by, and all three locks are on the door. Hell, I even hung that do not disturb sign we stole from the motel on the back of it to drive the point home, just in case anyone got a wild hair and decided to pop in. The afternoon is ours and I’m yours for every millisecond of it.”

When Riley narrowed his eyes at him, Dez wondered what the hell he could have possibly forgot.

“The computers are turned off?”

“Yup.”

“And your notebook is put away?”

“Locked in the same drawer as the phones.”

Riley looked all around, scrutinizing every corner.

“My guitars are in the music room, all of them. I’m serious, Riley, no distractions, we’re gonna watch movies and veg.”

“And no movies about music either,” Riley grumbled.

“Nope, I’ve got Hotel Transylvania loaded up, and the sequels in a pile beside the machine. When we’re done with those, I’ve got the Ice Age movies lined up. We are one hundred percent completely good to go.”

“One hundred percent, huh?” Riley said, sprawling against the arm of the couch. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“I bet you will,” Dez replied, dropping onto the cushion beside him and hitting play, while Riley dug into the popcorn.

“Ohh nice, you really went all out with the butter.”

“Against my better judgement, yeah, I did, but don’t blame me when your next cholesterol check is off the charts and your doc puts you on meds and orders you to change your diet.

“Duly noted, now how about sharing how you managed to get it so perfect when every time I make a bag it chars in the center?”

“Simple,” Dez remarked, leaning across him for a handful. “I pause it halfway through the popping to shake the bag so the heat gets distributed better.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“Damn. I’ll remember that,” Riley replied, snorting at the dismayed look on the janitors face when it was revealed the clogged toilet was the result of bigfoot with a stomach ache.

“Oh man, I feel that,” Riley muttered as the janitor let out a cry and stared forlornly at his plunger. “I don’t know how the fuck he does it, but every god damned time James is over here he manages to clog the one in the hall.”

Snickering, Dez watched Frankenstein’s rear end back up behind the mummy, letting out a green tinged fart cloud the witches were forced to suck up with bellows and fire into the fireplace flames. Toad stools actually made of toads, bride of Frankenstein griping about the travel arrangements, they were laughing and pressed together less than fifteen minutes into the movie’s opening.

“Okay, I so want a pet bat,” Riley muttered, as pouty bat face dominated the screen.

“And what happens when Lady Luna Lily decides it would make good pouncing practice?”

“Uh, yeah, that could be a problem.”

“Could always find you a stuffed one?”

“So Zakk and Damien can laugh their asses off the minute I carry it onto the RV?”

“You could always leave it here,” Dez offered. “Though in fairness, you kinda deserve the shade they’d throw your way, considering the whole Daffy incident.”

“Oh my god, I did not mean to set the damned vest on fire.”

“I don’t know man, was awfully suspicious that it happened when you were the only one in the RV.”

“In all fairness….” Riley began, words dissolving into laughter. “Did she seriously say a bad-tempered piranha ate her sister-in-law?”

“She so did.”

“Shit, I wish something would eat mine.”

Laughing, Dez enjoyed the freak out of the human when he realized the monsters were real, the spinning ping-pong ball of energy bouncing around the room. There was this moment though, when Frankenhomie, otherwise known as Jonathan the human, made eye contact with Mavis and the whole eye swirling, zoned in on one another, fireworks thing happened and Dez couldn’t resist pulling Riley around to face him.

“That’s how I felt, when I saw you,” Dez murmured, pulling him in for a kiss. “Wanted to choke the life outta you for making me think about music again, but I wanted to kiss you too, shove you against the wall, make out until you couldn’t remember what you were trying to ask me.”

“Like this,” Riley growled, pinning Dez to the back of the couch, tongue invading his mouth until the sounds of the movie melted away. Riley’s hair, crushed in his fists, was as soft as feathers, his body molded against Dez’s, the taste of butter and salt on his lips. Riley sighed, finally easing away and turning back to the movie.

“Oh ick ick ick!” Dez muttered, cringing about as much as Dracula was at Jonathan trying to get the contact out of his eyes.

Fingers away from the eyeballs. Enough!

Dez had to agree with Drac on that.

“It’s not that bad,” Riley remarked, laughing at the scrunched-up look Dez knew was still on his face.

“I’ll take your word for it and continue to refrain from being anywhere near you when you’re taking yours out at night.”

“Coward.”

“Just call me KFC.”

What’s the alternative, staying at home and never seeing what’s out there?

Jonathan’s words reminded Dez of the conversations he and Winter had been having lately, about the way his friend was thinking about taking off, seeing the things in the journal he kept, all magazine cut outs and lists of obscure destinations.

“Now that should be a ride,” Riley declared, startling Dez out of his thoughts. “I’d stand in line all day to get on something like that.”

“I’d be right there with you,” Dez remarked, staring the flying tables, Drac and Jonathan chasing each other around the dining room, surfing and shoving one another until they crashed.

“Someday, I wanna be big enough where we can rent out a whole park for a couple hours, just so we can enjoy the place,” Riley muttered as the mood of the movie changed again.

“We tour with Wild Child and we could do that easily.”

“If. No one’s agreed on anything yet. Wild Child hasn’t even chosen their new bassist, they’ve run into the same issue we had trying to find a singer, only none of them have been lucky enough to wander into a dish room and find a miracle.”

Just hearing that, Dez felt his face heat up. “Wouldn’t say I was a miracle.”

“To us you were,” Riley said, pulling him into a kiss.

When their eyes met, Dez felt fireworks all over again, and he shivered as Riley’s breath ghosted along the skin behind his ear.

“To me, you always will be,” Riley whispered. “Always.”

Musical Monday: Tempers flare when Bleeding Dawn's feuding brothers have it out!

 

“You play that song one more time and the smart speaker is goin’ out the window and you’re getting tossed after it.”

To make sure his twin got the point, Tripp jabbed the knife he’d been using to dice garlic in the direction of the nearest window, grimacing when garlic bits rained on the floor. Scowling like an evil imp, Winter told the smart speaker to shut up and commenced singing the song himself.

“Sometimes I really hate you.”

“You’ve been saying shit like that to me ever since you could talk.”

“That oughta tell you something right there.”

“Yeah, that you’re an uptight prick.”

“And you are a reckless bastard.”

“Whatever,” Winter grumbled and went right back to singing that damned song. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he have a moment of fuckin’ silence in this damned house? Slamming the knife down into the chopping block so he wouldn’t be tempted to stab it through his brother’s heart, Tripp whirled on him, two steps away from strangling the hell out of his twin when his phone went off.

“What!” he bellowed the moment the screen lit up.

“Well merry fuckin’ holiday to you, ya miserable fuck!”

Rolling his eyes, he shoved the phone in Winter’s direction only to have his brother skitter away, still singing the damned song.

“Take it!” Tripp hissed.

Winter just shook his head and danced off.

Growling, Tripp stalked after him. “Talk to him.”

“You talk to him!” Winter shot back before resuming the song.

“One of you talk to me!” Tavis bellowed, his voice echoing through the kitchen.

“Fine!” Tripp snarled into the phone while he prowled across the kitchen for a Lysol wipe to clean the floor.

“Would ask how things were going in what’s supposed to be our downtime, but judging from the way you’re all wound up, I’ll go out on a limb and say you’re getting on each other’s nerves again.”

“How can there be an again when it never stops!” Tripp growled. “Now what do you want?”

“To see what you thought of the little idea Jesse and I have been cooking up. See Wild Child is desperate to find a new bassist and we’ve come up with a plan.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tripp silently bemoaned the decision to leave the ringer on. “Why do I doubt I’ll like the sound of this?”

“Because you’re a skeptic and a hypocrite, but one hell of a guitar player so we love you despite a few frustrating flaws.”

“I don’t have time to stand here all day and listen to you give me shit.”

“Then sit your ass down and grab a notepad while you’re at it, we’ve got a lot to discuss.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

In his haste to retrieve a notepad and pen, Tripp stumbled on the folded over edge of a rug he’d repeatedly asked Winter to find a new spot for.

“Dude, be careful before you hurt yourself.”

“Be…” Sputtering, Tripp could only wave his arms around in frustration, since the only god damned person that was going to get him hurt in this place was his crazy ass brother and the mismatched collection of what the fucks he’d collected from flea markets and thrift stores across the country.

Paper flapped as the notepad sailed through the air, bounced off the coffee table and landed on the floor with a splat. The pen at least landed on a cushion. His damned brother didn’t even glance at the floor as he glided across the room, gracefully avoiding the same spot that had tripped Tripp up.  

Grasping around and damn near bobbling his phone, Tripp nearly missed the couch in his effort to smack his brother in the back of the head with an orange he threw at him. Of course, Winter just laughed harder and wandered out of the kitchen again. Tripp could hear him rummaging around in the den, a sound soon followed by the blips and laser fire of some kind of video game.  

Rolling his eyes, Tripp cast his gaze in the direction of the wooden entryway and the wind chimes he was forced to duck every time he passed through it.

Who the fuck hung chimes in the house anyway?

His twin, apparently, a fact that Winter took great pleasure in tormenting him with. If only he’d kept his mouth shut the first time Winter had hung one. At least that one had been in an out of the way corner. He hadn’t understood why until the first time the heat had come on and the chime had tinkled lightly when the air made it sway.

Winter had hung one in the bathroom too, right in front of the window, which he was constantly leaving open. The result was that every breeze made the chimes clank together, sometimes violently on the nights the winds truly kicked up. For something that was supposed to be soothing, it drove Tripp to distraction sometimes, or maybe it was just that his brother liked it and would soak in the tub for over an hour listening to the breeze rock it instead of telling the smart speaker to play music like a normal human.

“Okay, I’m sitting, my supper will apparently have to remain raw a little longer.”

“It’s all for a good cause, I assure you.”

“It better be, I skipped breakfast.”

“So, nibble a graham cracker and open your ears. Don’t try telling me you don’t have any when Winter said you have s’mores at least three times a week when you’re home.”

Huffing, Tripp yanked the drawer open and snatched the package from inside.

“Thank you. Now, they need small shows, we need some soft runs on the new material, so I was thinking…”

“No, hell no. Fuck you for even thinking we should go back on the road again. I just got a new couch. We haven’t even broken it in yet. Not a single divot.”

“Thought that’s what you and Winter would be writing the new songs on.”

“We have, doesn’t mean we’ve made a suitable imprint yet.”

“Okay, guess we’ll put off working the kinks out. Too bad. Jesse suggested we invite Riley and his crew to give them a chance to work on their new material. I hear Dez and Zakk have almost two albums worth of material. It’s a good idea, if you ask me. Oh, and get this, Saint’s Seduction reached out to Dez, again, and tried to get him to come back and play for them. The way I heard it; he never took the call. James gave them the flat ‘no’ Dez had conveyed to him the previous time and hung up on them.” 

“Can’t say I blame them; the guy is talented.”

“If you think so, why do you two end up foaming at the mouth every time you’re in proximity to one another? I can practically hear you snarling from across the room.”

Tripp sighed, ‘cause he’d asked himself that for a couple of months now and what he kept coming back to was a relationship he didn’t know what to do with.

He was jealous.

Not of anything musical when it came to Dez’s ability and experience, but of the man himself and the time he spent with Zakk. Even the knowledge that Dez was dating Riley didn’t dull the possessiveness he felt towards a man he was barely lucky enough to see six times a year.

Wait…

Something clicked in his brain, along with a voice telling him to stay the fuck outta his own way before he fucked things up, again.

“Are you saying it would be us, Tattered Angel and Wild Child?” Tripp asked, excitement beginning to surge through him.

“Yup.”

“And who the hell would book that insanity?”

“James and Russ are raring to be unleashed on the project, but there are a few hiccups to iron out.

“Like?”

“Who would headline?”

“We’ll rotate, everyone should be good with that.”

“Band members are, a few of the venues are not.”

Why did it sound like he was chewing? He’d better not be eating anything good after the way this conversation had derailed Tripp’s meal.

“Hey, did you hear what I said about the venues?”

Tripp pulled the phone away from his ear, scowling at it for several seconds before warily drawing it close again. “My ears were working just fine until you bellowed in them!”

“Then pay attention, damn. Now, what do we do about the venues.”

Grumbling beneath his breath, Tripp tried to figure out why he was being asked to problem-solve for an issue he wasn’t completely on board with being a part of yet. Still. It would provide plenty of opportunities to spend time with Zakk.  “Okay, so, we give them what they want and schedule the rest of the rotations around it.”

“Good idea on the surface, but when you see the emails I sent you about the locations, you’ll see why the issue came up.”

“Yea, okay, I’ll take a look. Next.”

“Besides the animosity between you and Dez?”

Tripp waved his hand in the space in front of himself, even though Tavis couldn’t see him doing it. There were only two ways that would get sorted. A civil conversation or a knock-down, drag-out brawl. Either way, it would get laid to rest. “We’ll work it out. What other issues are we looking at?”

“Timeframe, for one. We’re all over the place when it comes to that and how close together we want shows. We’re fluctuating between thirty-to-forty-five-minute sets with fifteen-minute tear downs, but if we all help that shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone’s good with campgrounds where that is a viable option, but we need a plan for when there isn’t one that will provide a place to park three RVs.

“Yeah, that could pose an issue, albeit a small one. Hell, all of them seem minor and easily worked out.”

“Maybe, but you said no way in hell, so I’ll tell them they’re on their own.”

“Don’t be too hasty.”

“Why? Thinking about changing your mind?”

“I think I already have.”

“Really, so, what brought about this change of heart?”

Leaning back against the back of the couch, Tripp peered up at the ceiling and made a mental note to climb up there later and get the cobwebs down from around the ceiling fan and dust the blades. In hindsight, getting the plain wooden one because it was just like the ones in the house they’d grown up in had seemed like the best idea. Now, he found himself wishing for something more interesting to stare at. Like the metal feather and stained-glass raven one Winter had installed in his room.

Why had he objected again?

The answer came to mind almost as soon as he thought of the question. His twin had come up with it and as a rule of thumb, Tripp had gone in a different direction, not that it was necessarily a better one. Judging from the lack of words and increased chewing coming through the phone, Tavis was waiting for his answer.

“I happen to agree that testing the songs before a live audience would be the best way to polish them,” Tripp admitted. “We can make note of their reactions to each song and tweak them accordingly.”

“And if it so happens that in the process of all this refining you get to spend extra time with a particular keyboardist…”

Tavis left it open-ended rather than suggestive and Tripp appreciated the restraint because Zakk’s name made his stomach clench and memories of him splayed out on Tripp’s bed, pale skin, black sheets…

“Tripp, hey! Tripp! You still there?”

“Are we done?” Tripp growled as the image in his head broke up and drifted apart.

“Apparently, you’ve already checked out so yeah, we’re done. Tell Winter to stop ditching my calls.

“He doesn’t listen to me on a good day, what makes you think he’ll listen to that?”

“Well, if we’re going to do this tour, then he and I need to talk.”

And there it was. The real hiccup in their little plans, the rift that had opened between the two just a few months after Rocktoberfest. Small at first but widening with each day they didn’t speak. Currently, they were on day ninety-seven and counting and it was making crafting new music difficult.

“You ready to tell me what went sideways between you two?” Tripp asked as he retrieved the broom from the kitchen supply cabinet and tried to brush away some of the crap clinging to the ceiling fan. It worked, sorta. The blade looked less disgusting, but his hair and the couch would need to be cleaned next, considering that was where the bulk of it had wound up.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t figure you would but I had to try. Goodbye Tavis.”

He didn’t wait for a response, he just hit the disconnect button and tossed the phone in the fruit bowl. “You can come out now, he’s off the phone.”

Tripp was just about to get back to his cutting board when Winter sauntered into the room humming the same god damned tune Tripp had specifically told him he was sick of.

“You need to grow up!” Tripp snapped. “We’re not getting any younger, yet you act like we’re still back in high school, playing games with guys, switching places, pretending we’re each other so we can tell someone we’re trying to ghost that we’ve never met them before.”

“It’s none of your concern.”

“It’s all of our concern when the issues between the two of you mean we may not be able to go on the road until you fix them.”

“Did it ever once occur to you that I might not want to go back to living out of an RV? That I might want to spend a couple years just living, or else what are we making music for? I want to travel and take the time to see things, go off the beaten path, get lost in a forest or desert for a little while.”

“Are you trying to say you’re tired of making music?”

“I’m trying to say that I’m tired of that being the only thing I do. There are six of us, pare down the tone of the next album, go with five, we’ve performed that way plenty of times. Truth be told, we should have cut down to five a long time ago. Now you can consider it done. Problem solved.”

Sputtering, Tripp leapt up from his seat, the sweeping motion of his right hand sending an onion and his garlic bulb flying across the room.

“Did you just quit our band?”

“Yes.”

“The band we put together all the way back in high school?”

“Yup.”

There was zero expression on Winter’s face. It was like he was bored, and they were talking about which fast food place to order from. Not only did he look completely indifferent, but Tripp was beginning to get the sense that his brother didn’t care what he thought of his little declaration either.  

“So, you are seriously standing there telling me that you are pitching twenty years of music and memories into the ether on a fuckin’ whim.”

“Not a whim,” Winter shot back, confirming yet another suspicion Tripp had been in the middle of forming.  “I’ve been thinking about it since right after our last album. I just don’t love it the way I used to. I thought it would get better, it didn’t. If anything, it’s gotten harder to do this.”

“Is that what you and Tavis had a falling out over? Did he know what you had planned?”

“Nope, you’re the first to know. “

“Did you ever intend to tell me?”

“Yup.”

“When? Were you waiting for us to pack up the RV or were you holding out until we backed down the fuckin’ driveway?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a part of me kept hoping I’d feel different. Maybe I knew you’d be pissed, and I wasn’t ready to deal with that.”

“Oh, I am beyond pissed right now, Winter. I’m done! You want to quit? Go! Get your shit and kick rocks.”

“Tripp…”

“Did you hear a question or any sort of opening for conversation in anything I said?”

There was a time when locking eyes with his twin was like peering into his own soul, now those glittering hazel eyes looked like they belonged to a complete stranger, someone Tripp wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Bleeding Dawn can be found on Amazon here!

Identical in appearance, twins Winter and Tripp are as different as night and day when it comes to everything but the music they’ve spent the bulk of their lifetimes composing. Now they’ve attained the fame they always hoped for, and it’s as empty and meaningless as the remains of route 66, and about as broken too. Would help if Winter could see it. Tripp’s sure he’ll lose his shit completely the next time some random groupie leaps on the hood of his car and begs to take a selfie, but to Winter, every night is a party, he lives for the crazy hookups, lives for the crazy, period.

Another place they differ.

Tripp would kill for one season to slow down. Just three months where he and Zakk could melt into obscurity and be whomever they wanted, together. Only Zakk’s band, Tattered Angel, is on fire too and it’s starting to seem like the music he’s always loved is hell-bent on keeping him from exploring love of a different kind. Last year’s Rocktoberfest was an amazing triumph, this year, it’s starting to feel like the road to the desert is burning him alive.

Would be so easy to slip off across the sand, melt into a dune on the back of some strange, psychedelic serpent, never to be heard from again. If only there was a way to ensure Zakk took that last ride with him.