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Authors: Josephine Myles
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talent for music.”
Cosmo tried to wrap his head around the idea of a guitar like this one in the hands of someone who couldn’t even play it, but his brain rebelled. “She’s a beauty.” He took the guitar from Alasdair’s hands and strummed once. A discordant sound assaulted his ears. “Shit, when was the last time you tuned her? This could take a while. Have you got any spare strings in case these snap?” That could always be a problem with old strings.
“Should be some in the case.”
Cosmo barely noticed his host moving around the kitchen as he tuned the guitar. Alasdair had given him one of those electronic gizmos for tuning it up, but he didn’t need one. He had perfect pitch, so he could hear where the notes needed to reach. It was both a blessing and a curse. A curse when your bandmates were comparatively tone deaf and refused to tune their instruments up properly despite Cosmo’s pleas.
When he’d finally got the strings behaving, Cosmo strummed a few simple chords. Oh, but she was a masterpiece. The notes sounded rich and buttery, melting against his eardrums.
Cosmo must have had a grin wide enough to split his face as he looked up, to find Alasdair giving him this look back that made his skin tingle. There was happiness there, but also this deep, dark melancholy threaded through it. Cosmo wanted to wipe all that sadness away, which was just dumb, because he didn’t know a thing about what had caused it. The trials and tragedies of a biker-turned-entrepreneur’s life were beyond his limited experience.
Would Alasdair give him a chance to find out? Or was he just a plaything—his boy toy for the night? The thought hurt more than it should have.
Confused, Cosmo looked down at the guitar again. The music. That could always carry him through. He knew the notes. They were something he could always understand—how they worked together, harmonising, the majors and the minors, the flats and sharps. He picked out a simple melody of his own, before segueing into “May You Never”.
Cosmo didn’t look up as he sang. His voice sounded strange in his ears, hoarse still from the battering his throat had taken over the last twelve hours, but it seemed to work, making him sound older than his twenty-four years. Reminded him of that first album from Kings of Leon, Caleb’s voice already sounding whisky-damaged when he was barely out of his teens. Unless the guy had been deep-throating too. Somehow he couldn’t see it.
But as the lyrics worked their spell on him, Cosmo stopped thinking about sucking cock. He changed the wording a little just for Alasdair, asking if he’d ever lost his “boyfriend” instead of his woman. He heard a sharp intake of breath at that, but he didn’t look up. Not until the end, when he caught Alasdair wiping his eyes with his hand.
“That was beautiful,” he said, his voice all husky and cracked. “I didn’t know you could sing like that.”
“I don’t, usually. I’ve got a bit of a sore throat after swallowing you.”
Alasdair’s face fell. “God, I’m so sorry. You should have said something.”
“It’s all right. It was totally worth it.”
“But this is your livelihood. You can’t let me do something that’s going to damage your chances of making it as a musician.”
Cosmo thought about that one. Alasdair had a point, but then again… “I think I sound better like this. Gives me the voice of experience. Like when Tom Waits started putting on the old-man voice. He hadn’t sold shit before he did that.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Alasdair began, but Cosmo cut him short. He wasn’t about to start arguing music history with the bloke. He had quite enough of that from the guys in the band. Rizzo had taken to proving his points by looking things up on his new smartphone, but it wasn’t like everything on the internet was gospel truth, was it?
“So listen, if you want to hear me play some more, my band’s got a gig in the Horse
Cosmo tried to wrap his head around the idea of a guitar like this one in the hands of someone who couldn’t even play it, but his brain rebelled. “She’s a beauty.” He took the guitar from Alasdair’s hands and strummed once. A discordant sound assaulted his ears. “Shit, when was the last time you tuned her? This could take a while. Have you got any spare strings in case these snap?” That could always be a problem with old strings.
“Should be some in the case.”
Cosmo barely noticed his host moving around the kitchen as he tuned the guitar. Alasdair had given him one of those electronic gizmos for tuning it up, but he didn’t need one. He had perfect pitch, so he could hear where the notes needed to reach. It was both a blessing and a curse. A curse when your bandmates were comparatively tone deaf and refused to tune their instruments up properly despite Cosmo’s pleas.
When he’d finally got the strings behaving, Cosmo strummed a few simple chords. Oh, but she was a masterpiece. The notes sounded rich and buttery, melting against his eardrums.
Cosmo must have had a grin wide enough to split his face as he looked up, to find Alasdair giving him this look back that made his skin tingle. There was happiness there, but also this deep, dark melancholy threaded through it. Cosmo wanted to wipe all that sadness away, which was just dumb, because he didn’t know a thing about what had caused it. The trials and tragedies of a biker-turned-entrepreneur’s life were beyond his limited experience.
Would Alasdair give him a chance to find out? Or was he just a plaything—his boy toy for the night? The thought hurt more than it should have.
Confused, Cosmo looked down at the guitar again. The music. That could always carry him through. He knew the notes. They were something he could always understand—how they worked together, harmonising, the majors and the minors, the flats and sharps. He picked out a simple melody of his own, before segueing into “May You Never”.
Cosmo didn’t look up as he sang. His voice sounded strange in his ears, hoarse still from the battering his throat had taken over the last twelve hours, but it seemed to work, making him sound older than his twenty-four years. Reminded him of that first album from Kings of Leon, Caleb’s voice already sounding whisky-damaged when he was barely out of his teens. Unless the guy had been deep-throating too. Somehow he couldn’t see it.
But as the lyrics worked their spell on him, Cosmo stopped thinking about sucking cock. He changed the wording a little just for Alasdair, asking if he’d ever lost his “boyfriend” instead of his woman. He heard a sharp intake of breath at that, but he didn’t look up. Not until the end, when he caught Alasdair wiping his eyes with his hand.
“That was beautiful,” he said, his voice all husky and cracked. “I didn’t know you could sing like that.”
“I don’t, usually. I’ve got a bit of a sore throat after swallowing you.”
Alasdair’s face fell. “God, I’m so sorry. You should have said something.”
“It’s all right. It was totally worth it.”
“But this is your livelihood. You can’t let me do something that’s going to damage your chances of making it as a musician.”
Cosmo thought about that one. Alasdair had a point, but then again… “I think I sound better like this. Gives me the voice of experience. Like when Tom Waits started putting on the old-man voice. He hadn’t sold shit before he did that.”
“I’m not sure that’s entirely true,” Alasdair began, but Cosmo cut him short. He wasn’t about to start arguing music history with the bloke. He had quite enough of that from the guys in the band. Rizzo had taken to proving his points by looking things up on his new smartphone, but it wasn’t like everything on the internet was gospel truth, was it?
“So listen, if you want to hear me play some more, my band’s got a gig in the Horse
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