the scene. No one was sexier, nicer, more talented or as smart. At least in Braylin’s eyes. When he realized that both men had stopped talking and that their gaze was now trained on him as he stood staring, the heat returned to his cheeks. If he didn’t stop acting like a love-struck teenager, they were both going to question the wisdom of having him on tour.
Gordy rolled his eyes and gave a slight shake of his head before hooking his thumb over his shoulder, the wordless gesture indicating to Zen he had other things to deal with. Zen dipped his chin in response then regarded Braylin. He leaned down again and spoke against Braylin’s ear.
“Like what you see?”
Braylin blinked several times. He was so out of his depth with Zen. He’d never been one who could hold his own with clever banter or flirt with ease. Braylin drew his eyebrows together. Wait. Was Zen flirting? Should they be doing that? It seemed like a bad idea—even if Braylin secretly fantasized it was true.
Which left Braylin in a quandary. Responding to the cheeky query or pretending he hadn’t heard what Zen said.
“You’re beautiful.” Braylin immediately cringed. Idiot. He supposed if Zen had been unsure of his orientation prior to that moment, there’d be no question now.
Zen grinned. “Thank you. Now that I know you approve, I won’t have to run back to my dressing room and change.”
He winked and Braylin grabbed the edge of a speaker so he wouldn’t faint. This fanboy stuff had to end right now, or he’d never survive one week on the road with the luscious man of his dreams.
Crashing chords and thundering drums signaled the end of the opener’s song, and Zen’s demeanor changed before Braylin’s eyes. Zen straightened, his attention no longer on him. His eyes drifted closed and he rolled his neck and shoulders then began to take slow deep breaths. He seemed lost in his own world, his focus solely on preparing himself to perform.
Braylin felt privileged to be witnessing such a moment—not from a position of attraction—but from the standpoint of watching a performer at work. Braylin admired Zen’s talent, had always viewed him as a true artist.
The opening act jogged past, lost in the thrill of their debut success.
My turn.
Pete appeared at his side as if from nowhere, and Braylin snapped to attention. Pete gave him a hearty pat and a nod, and they both rushed forward, weaving their way through the sound cords already laid down while trying to stay out of the way of the roadies from both bands as they switched out drum risers, amps, keys and set pieces.
The moment Braylin laid his hands on the case containing Sal’s pedals, all fear and nervousness fell away. What remained was the confidence he possessed, the surety that he had what it took to do a great job, that he was worthy of being on the team.
That he would make Zen proud.
Braylin smiled as he unwrapped the cords, working with deftness to put all the pieces of this guitar puzzle together. Wanting to make Zen proud was fine. There was nothing wrong with that. Gordy might have been the one who hired him, and of course he wanted to make him happy too, but Zen ran the show. That much had become clear in the past month.
Yes, it was a democracy, and Zen never lorded over the other guys. But it was obvious that—with the exception of Sal—the band respected Zen’s leadership and looked to him when it came time to make final decisions.
Braylin plugged in the last pedal, then opened the case that contained the primary guitar Sal used in the show. As he checked the Strat with the digital tuner, he mused that if Sal would only get help, get sober, he could enjoy the ride that being a part of such a legendary band as Glitter Kink provided. He wondered when Sal had taken that left turn, what had driven him to go too far until the booze had trapped him in its iron grip.
Braylin sighed as he propped up the Strat in its stand. Sal had been one of his main inspirations growing up. The guy was a genius player, and it had been so sad to see what he’d become.
Once the last guitar was plugged in, tuned and resting on its own stand, Braylin straightened to admire his handiwork. In his opinion, Pete had the worst of it. He was still in the process