Interlude Read online

  Interlude

  By Vivien Dean

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2020 Vivien Dean

  ISBN 9781646563876

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  To those amazing guys in Orlando who still make me think of them with a smile more than a decade later.

  * * * *

  Interlude

  By Vivien Dean

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 1

  Though the customers at Heat Wave knew better than to touch, they crowded around the platform like ants on syrup, filling every available seat at the tables, laughing and joking loud enough to make the music harder to hear. It wasn’t even ten yet and already the bar was packed. Men, women, a couple in the corner who were too androgynous to tell…everybody was there, which meant the tips would be good that night. They weren’t always on Thursdays. AJ Mobley could count on Fridays and Saturdays to bring in a nice chunk of change, but during the week was a crapshoot at best.

  He sat at his piano, head bowed, pretending not to notice the fingers pointing at him or the not quite whispers as people questioned his presence. The regulars knew the whole story, but Heat Wave got a lot of the tourist trade, too, those who didn’t know just what the show entailed. All they knew was what they were sold—two guys, two pianos, the best music in Reno. To a newcomer, the quiet pianist who never made eye contact or smiled was probably just the warm-up for the real deal. AJ was okay with that. Without Tyrone onstage with him, that’s really all he was. It was only when the other man came jogging in from behind the bar, his Hollywood smile firmly in place, did AJ come to life.

  He launched into a jazzed-up version of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” Sometimes, this time before the main show was his favorite. He could just play for the sake of playing, get lost in the music and forget about anything and everything else. Playing piano had been the only thing he’d wanted to do since he took his first lesson at the age of four. More often than not, it boggled him that he could actually make a living at this.

  The light on the base of his microphone flashed. That was his cue. Nobody but AJ could see it, but as he finished out the final run, he reached up and tilted the stand down for better amplification.

  “Welcome to Heat Wave, ladies and gentlemen. Where the beer’s cold, the music’s hot, and nothing says I love you more than a tip in the tip jar.” A chuckle rippled throughout the room. “I’m AJ Mobley, and for the next two hours, I’ll be playing some current hits, some golden oldies, and probably a couple songs nobody but a starving music major has ever heard of.”

  His fingers drifted over the keys, picking out the introduction melody by rote, as he deliberately fixed his attention on the other piano. The audience obeyed his cue and followed his gaze, and seconds passed where the only sound in the bar was his playing.

  After thirty seconds, he started the melody over again. One or two of the patrons started to glance back at him in curiosity.

  At a minute, AJ cleared his throat. “See, this is the part where my partner introduces himself. But as you can see, he’s not here. I hate to say it, but that’s really not all that unusual. In fact—”

  The double doors next to the bar slammed open, loud enough to divert nearly everybody’s attention. Heads turned to watch the lithe man jog and wind his way through the tables, his fingers working hurriedly at his shirt buttons. Enough of them were undone to give everybody a good long look at his sculpted chest, the rich mahogany skin mouth-watering and flawless, and he flashed more than one brilliant smile at customers when he had to squeeze awkwardly between them.

  “I’m here, I’m here,” he said, making his way to the other piano. “Don’t start without me.”

  AJ rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “Don’t be late next time.”

  “I’m not late. We start at ten.”

  “And it’s now five minutes after ten.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Looks like someone left his watch behind again.”

  “Better my watch than my pants.” He slid onto the other piano bench and immediately turned his thousand-watt smile to the audience. Leaning into the microphone, he said, in a low voice meant to give Barry White a run for his money, “Good evening, everyone. I’m Tyrone Dahl.”

  “Otherwise known as the man who can never be on time,” AJ added.

  Tyrone frowned at him over the pianos. “Never say never, my friend.”

  “Why not? It’s true.”

  “Maybe you’re just early.”

  “No, I’m just trying to give these people the show they came to see. Dueling pianos means two of us, remember?” AJ cracked a grin as he switched songs in mid-verse, waiting for the prepared response.

  Tyrone pretended to gag. “How many times have I asked you not to pull that ‘Ebony and Ivory’ crap?”

  “How many times have I asked you to be on time?”

  It was a practiced routine, nearly every word of it scripted. The regulars knew it was put-on, but to the newcomers, their friendly bantering would set the tone for the entire night, the back and forth that made them so popular. AJ wasn’t completely foolish, though. He knew part of it was because of Tyrone himself. The man was beautiful to look at, with warm brown eyes, that wide smile, and a body to kill for. He got propositioned on a nightly basis, and half the time, he accepted. AJ would have been a little jealous if Tyrone acted like an asshole about his appeal. But he just happened to be one of those guys people wanted to be around.

  AJ included.

  Not all of the show was canned. Tyrone was a pro at reading the crowd, and after their set beginning, they simply played it by ear, no pun intended. AJ had learned to pick up his cues with only a glance, while Tyrone always anticipated when AJ would launch into a new direction. It had been like that ever since they’d showed up three years earlier for the audition. Heat Wave’s owner put them on stage together, and everything had just clicked. Sometimes it just happened that way. In the movies, they called it chemistry. AJ called it good luck.

  Tonight’s show was no different. The crowd was younger, and Tyrone kept swinging into Barry Manilow to wind them up, leaving AJ to drag him back to the twenty-first century. By the time midnight rolled around, AJ felt half-drunk on the adrenaline, smiling at Tyrone over the pianos.

  “Got your glass slipper?” he said.

  Tyrone scowled and swore under his breath. “You have got to be kidding me. It’s not midnight a
lready.”

  “I’m telling you. Watches. Next big thing.”

  Tyrone winked. “You say that only because you’ve never agreed to that threesome with me.”

  The joke was an old one, but it never failed to bring a blush to AJ’s cheeks. “Considering how many notches you’ve got on your bed, I just might be the only person in Reno who can say that.”

  “You just might,” Tyrone agreed. “Which makes you one of a kind, my friend. One of a kind.”

  “I’ll remember that the next time we’re in contract negotiations.” He turned to address the audience, slipping into “Auld Lang Syne” without missing a beat. “That’s the show, folks. Hope you enjoyed it.”

  “Of course, they enjoyed it.” Tyrone smiled. “Who wouldn’t want to sit here and watch two fine men like us make fools of ourselves?”

  “Or at least one of us,” AJ pretended to mutter. He lifted a hand and waved. “Good night!”

  The audience erupted into thunderous applause, the lights that had been dimmed during the act coming back up to full strength. AJ rose and stretched, watching Tyrone as he already started working the crowd. He knew for a fact Tyrone did it for the tips, but seeing him bestow that charm on anybody with a wallet always managed to sting a little.

  More than one person stopped him for an autograph on his way to the bar. AJ stopped and did what he had to, but he knew the smile he wore wasn’t nearly as genuine as Tyrone’s. Without the pianos, without Tyrone on the other side, he just wasn’t the same kind of showman. He was okay with that most of the time. It was only in these moments between walking away from the set and getting out of the crowd that he wished it might be a little different.

  Janie slid his usual in front of him as soon as he stopped at the corner of the bar. He smiled and downed the beer in long swallows, grateful to quench his dry throat. His hands never gave him problems during a show, but all the talking and the occasional singing Tyrone managed to seduce out of him wreaked havoc on his vocal cords.

  “Looks like Ty’s got a hot one tonight.”

  Janie’s declaration drew AJ’s head up, and he glanced in the direction she nodded. Tyrone had stopped at a small table near the platform, and now he had his arm around a tall, willowy woman who looked like an ex-beauty queen. She matched his five-nine, and the flash of her smile against her dark skin made the two of them look like they belonged on the cover of Jet together.

  AJ turned away, though the image was already burned onto his brain. “Does Freeman need me for anything tonight? ‘Cause if not, I’m taking off.”

  “Not that he said.”

  She regarded him through her lashes as she dried the glasses she’d been washing out. Janie wasn’t a pretty girl, but what she lacked in looks, she more than made up for in kindness. At thirty-four, she was the oldest of Heat Wave’s bartenders, and in many ways, the heart and soul of the bar. It hadn’t surprised anyone when she and Freeman, the owner, had gotten engaged earlier that year. It just seemed to fit. The only problem now, Janie was on a kick to see everybody as happy as she was, even if they didn’t want her to butt into their business.

  Like now.

  “Go tell Tyrone you two need to work on the show,” she suggested kindly. “You know if you ask, he’ll drop the arm candy.”

  “I’m not asking.” He caught the light in her eye. “And you’re not either.”

  “But you want to.”

  “I also want to not look like a desperate fool, so let it go.”

  She sighed. “You should tell him how you feel. You’re not doing yourself any favors keeping this all bottled up.”

  Only Janie knew about AJ’s feelings for his partner. He had never confessed them to her. He had never confessed them to anybody. Terror welled in his throat every time he even considered the possibility of sharing them with Tyrone. The one time AJ had come close to spilling the truth, he’d ended up hunched over the toilet, puking his guts out because Tyrone had made a comment about how lucky he was he found a guy he could actually be friends with on the job.

  “I’m doing the show a favor by keeping my mouth shut,” he said. “If I say something, and things don’t work out, the show goes down the drain. I don’t need that, and neither does Freeman.”

  With a shake of her head, Janie dropped her towel onto a rack and moved away to go help another customer. “You’re shooting yourself in the foot, you know.”

  “Maybe, but it’s my foot to shoot.”

  Though the last thing he wanted to do was stick around, AJ lingered at the corner of the bar, unable to walk away while Tyrone was still in the room. The man had a way of commanding attention, even when all he did was stand there. AJ had lost a lot of hours trying to figure out Tyrone’s appeal, but in the end, he always came back to the same answer.

  No matter who he was talking to, who he was dealing with, Tyrone always made that person feel like the most important person in the world. It was a gift. People loved him.

  Including AJ.

  When Tyrone caught his eye, he nearly ran. He wanted to. Tyrone still had his arm around the beautiful woman, and now he was leading her straight to AJ. The last thing AJ wanted was to play nice with one of Tyrone’s groupies, but this was part of the job. This was the public face he had to wear after the show. If he hadn’t wanted to get caught out, he should have left when he had the chance.

  “I knew you wouldn’t desert me, man.” Tyrone still wore that smile. The knot in AJ’s stomach burned, even if it didn’t unfurl. “Come out for a late supper with Kira and me. There’s some things we need to discuss.”

  Kira. Now he had a name for his nightmare. Just what he wanted.

  AJ shook his head. “I’m late, actually.” He jerked a thumb toward the employee doors behind him. “I shouldn’t have stuck around this long.”

  “Late for what? A date?”

  “Yeah,” he lied. “So you two have fun without me.”

  Kira reached out a thin, elegant arm in order to rest her hand atop AJ’s. Her fingers were icy. AJ had to struggle not to snatch his hand away.

  “It’ll be better if you’re there,” she said. “It was a fantastic show. I was hoping we could talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Using the excuse to bolster his resolve, AJ backed up and nearly tripped over a stool. Only Tyrone’s hand shooting out to grab his elbow kept him from falling. “Thanks,” he muttered, but when he tried to pull away, Tyrone refused to let him go. “What?”

  Glancing back at Kira, Tyrone let her go to step closer to AJ, leading him a few feet away in order to have some privacy. “Do you really have a date, or are you ducking out on me again?” Tyrone asked. “Because I think Kira’s our ticket, if you know what I mean. She scouts for half the casinos in Vegas.”

  AJ’s gaze widened, his eyes snapping over Tyrone’s shoulder to look at Kira. They joked about this all the time, but Tyrone was the one who wanted the glory. AJ just wanted to make enough money to work on his music on the side. The Heat Wave gig did that for them.

  “If she’s serious, you don’t need me around,” AJ argued. “I’m not good at the hard sell. That’s your department.”

  “It’s not a hard sell. She liked the show, man. You’re half the reason we’ve got the goods. You gotta be there.”

  “I’ll screw it up.”

  “You won’t.”

  “You know how I get in front of strangers.”

  Tyrone sighed. “And I know how you are with me. And with Janie. And I know you could be like that with everybody if you’d just give yourself half a chance.”

  His velvet voice soothed like nothing else could, and for a split second, AJ actually believed him. It was Tyrone’s magic, after all. But then reality came crashing back, and he remembered those silent minutes before Tyrone ever hit the stage, time he wished he could spend elsewhere and not under the scrutiny of hundreds of strangers.

  “I’ll just get in the way,” he said. “If we stand any chance at all, it’ll be because you con
vince her we’re the next coming, not because I sat there like a lump, trying to figure out what to say to her.”

  For long seconds, Tyrone just looked at him. No recrimination in his eyes. No disappointment. AJ wished like hell he knew what was going through the other man’s head, because then maybe he wouldn’t feel like such a bumbling idiot next to him.

  “All right,” Tyrone conceded. “We’ll do it your way. But I think you’re making a mistake. You can do this, AJ. Everybody knows that. I just gotta work on convincing you of the same thing.”

  He clapped AJ on the shoulder and let him go, retreating to Kira with an apologetic smile and a ready excuse. AJ didn’t hear it. He didn’t want to. He wanted to get out of Heat Wave and hide until the show the next night.

  Chapter 2

  When his intercom buzzed at four-thirty, AJ ignored it. That was one of the downfalls to living in an apartment building with front door security. When people came stumbling home after a night on the town, they didn’t really care who they woke up to get inside.

  When his mobile phone started ringing right afterward, though, he knew it hadn’t been a mistake. He fumbled blindly along the top of the nightstand until he found it, and hit “talk” without opening his eyes.

  “Are you sleeping?” Tyrone’s chirpy voice. Of course. “You can’t be sleeping, man. Let me up.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  “Time for you to stop dicking around and let me in. You would not believe the night I’ve had.”

  Oh, yes, he would. Because getting lucky seemed to be Tyrone’s way of life, not an exception to the rule.

  “Hang on.”

  Tossing the phone back onto the nightstand, AJ rolled off the bed and made his way out the living room, rubbing at his bleary eyes. The blare of the intercom pierced the dark room, too loud and too grating. Tyrone had to be leaning on it. AJ was going to have to lean on him to tell him to knock it off.

  Less than two minutes later, Tyrone let himself into the apartment. “You should’ve come. I told you it was going to be off the hook—” He stopped when he saw AJ sprawled in the corner of the couch. “You really were sleeping?”