Collaring Chaz (Dante's Infernal #2) - Joel Abernathy Page 0,86
were definitely on another level with Chaz and Dante going back and forth for the last few months in the studio. Even more exciting in my book was the fact that Chaz was actually sticking up for himself and putting Dante in his place when the occasion called for it.
Which was often enough. Sober or not, Dante was still a brat, but that was a given. It was just part of who he was, and now that I was actually interacting with the real Dante rather than my imaginary, idealized version of him I’d formed over the years, we were getting along better, by some miracle.
Things were a hell of a lot less tense with Cash, that was for sure. They’d both agreed to help me out with my plan for that night, and it was definitely going to take some teamwork to pull off. Not usually our thing, but some things did change. For once, I was glad.
I was also scared out of my fucking mind.
I’d never had stage fright. Probably something to do with the fact that I’d been doing this since I was too young and dumb to know better, but the bigger the crowd, the higher my octane. That night was different, but it wasn’t the packed arena full of twelve-thousand screaming fans that had me on edge. It was the one man whose opinion actually mattered, and the subject I’d be asking his opinion on tonight was a pretty big fucking deal.
While I had thought about doing it at the beginning of the show, I’d decided to wait until the last set. Less chance of him making a run for it that way. I also knew I wasn’t going to be remotely fit to play once I finally jumped off that ledge, and if this didn’t go the way I planned, the rest of the show would be kind of a bummer.
Besides, I took every opportunity I had to enjoy sharing a stage with Chaz. It was something I’d taken for granted for too long, and while things were different with him being up front now, the view more than made up for the increased distance between us. Plus, with him not penned in by Cash’s drum set, it was way easier to harass him.
He was cute when he was enraged.
And happy.
And screaming my name in ecstasy.
And existing.
Yeah, I had it bad, but I was good with it. For all my fears about what would change if we ever made the leap from friends with benefits to a more official title, every last change had been for the better.
It was stupid as fuck to worry about losing him, because it took two to break up, and there was no way in hell I was letting him go again. If he ever came to his senses and realized he was way too good for me, I’d just become his most ardent stalker and bodyguard. It was a miracle I had him in any way, so I might as well enjoy every moment and every role he’d allow me to fill.
Tonight, if all went well, that role would be Master--but as we approached the finale, I was perfectly aware that he was the one holding my leash at the moment.
Since we both had a second to breathe during Dante’s guitar solo, Chaz’s eyes met mine. The sexy little smile on his lips, already parted from panting in exertion, fucking undid me. I was glad my voice mic wasn’t on, because I was pretty sure the sight just made me growl. Then his tongue flicked playfully across his lips, and I felt like a weak-kneed fanboy waiting in line for him to sign my jockstrap.
And yeah, that was something that had actually happened. Occupational hazard.
Chaz picked up his bass line where Dante left off, and they were both sharing his mic for the duet, since Dante had--as per his usual antics--thrown his off the stage. The cams zoomed in on the two of them, Chaz’s sweet, sultry voice a perfect complement to Dante’s intensity, and I felt a twinge of jealousy. It was a vice I hadn’t managed to kick at all, which kind of sucked when my boyfriend was a sex symbol who had men and women throwing themselves at him before, during and after every show, but I figured it was karma, or something like it.
I’d deal, because at the end of it all, when the curtains came down, he was mine and mine alone.