Staccato (Magnum Opus #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,88
for the first time ever and then not show up.”
Adam groaned, but it turned into a soft, needy gasp when Nik’s mouth found his, tongue dipping inside slow and leisurely. His eyes fluttered shut, and he twisted his fingers into the fabric of Nik’s soft button-up. “You’re not exactly convincing me here.”
Nik grinned wider, nosing along Adam’s jaw. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Adam groaned, but he didn’t mean it. He let Nik take his hand, palm to palm, basking in the warmth, and they made their way to the front door. Nik snagged his cane on the way out, then locked up, and he came to a stuttered halt at the side of the car when Adam put a hand on his shoulder.
“I have something to show you. A surprise.”
Nik made a curious noise, but he let Adam go so he could unlock his trunk. It rose with a rusty, heavy squeak, and he looked down at the black case that barely fit inside. The latches were old, and it was covered in stickers he’d collected over the years, but it was important to him. The first acoustic he’d ever spent money on—the first time he’d really indulged. When he was with his band, he almost always played his second-hand Fender, but this was something special.
The sunset-ombre Gibson had been on a clearance sale in the window of a shop. It had been gathering dust for months, and Adam had to admit he hadn’t taken notice of it until the red and white sign was attached to the bridge with a sliver of tape. He’d just gotten his first real paycheck at his old shop, and the money had more than covered rent and bills. He should have shoved it all into savings, the way his sister and mother might have done, but instead he walked in and left twenty minutes later with his pockets lighter, arms heavier, and a need to make music like he’d never felt before.
Damien wasn’t entirely into it, but he did indulge Adam every now and again during shows. Adam was no singer, really. His puberty blockers, then his race into testosterone plus the year of vocal training his mother had given him as a sweet sixteen present had done a number on his throat. At best, he could manage a smoking lounge singer sort of croak, but when Damien did let him play a song or two during more chill shows, the audience had been into it.
Part of him wondered if he could have actually made something of himself with it—but it seemed like a pipe dream that was too easy to let go. Maybe he could get money for it—if he was ever desperate enough to sell, but for now, it was one of the few things he hung on to for dear life.
“Adam?”
Nik’s voice reminded him he’d been quiet too long, and he cleared his throat before undoing the latches and pulling it out. “Uh. So…I thought about what you said.”
Nik took a few shuffling steps forward with his hands out until his fingers met the side of the guitar. He seemed to recognize it right away, because he went right for the strings and gave them a muted thrum, the sound stuffy from the loose grip Adam had on the bridge.
“Your guitar?” Nik asked, his voice a low murmur. He started to draw his hand away, but Adam thrust the instrument at him, and after an awkward exchange, he had it cradled to his chest. It was obvious by the way he handled it, he had no idea how to play, but his fingers traced the sides, the shape of it, the sharp metal strings.
“It’s an electric acoustic. A Gibson,” he said. “I haven’t really played it since I got here, but you said…I thought maybe you were serious about wanting to hear me play.”
Nik’s mouth softened into a smile so kind, it made Adam’s chest hurt. “Yes.”
“Jay said he plays too, so…I thought it might be fun. Might give you the night off, you know? I mean, you can’t have all the attention.”
It was obvious Nik heard his deflection, but he just laughed and shook his head. “I can’t wait.”
Adam stood there a long moment, not quite sure what to do with his feelings, then he took the guitar back and eased it into the case. The snaps shut with their familiar click, and the trunk slammed with a too-loud boom that made them both jump.