CHAPTER 19

Geo

There is no question about it, I’m one hundred percent gay for Zebulon Ingram.

I might have been able to write off our kiss in his truck as research, maybe I could have even attributed it to just being in the heat of the moment because I was trying to process, well, everything going on in my head.

But there was no writing off the way I felt when I saw him through the sliver of the open door this morning, naked in his shower.

There was no ignoring how my heart raced when he ran his fingers over my skin, tracing the lines of my tattoo.

There was no denying how hard I was, knowing he was hard, too.

Because of me.

Because he liked me.

He liked touching me, kissing me, holding me.

Grinding his cock against me.

And even if I could explain those things away, there was no explaining away the mess I made in my fucking sweatpants because I was so fucking aroused by all of it.

By him.

Familiar feelings of guilt and shame threatened to resurface, combating with the pleasure that lit me up like a star, trying to sink its poison into me and ruin what felt so fucking right.

So, I did the only thing I could think of and reached for my salvation.

I reached for Zeb.

And he didn’t push me away.

He let me bury my face in his shoulder, and he told me it was okay .

He didn’t judge me, didn’t look at me like I was broken.

He just held me and said it was okay, and that moment felt so right.

He felt more right than anyone else ever has.

I watch him, one hand gripping his steering wheel, with the other dangling over the door with his arm partway outside his window.

“What?” he asks.

“Do I have something on my face?”

The hot air filtering in through the open windows does nothing to help quell the heat that forms in my cheeks.

“Nope, just appreciating the view.”

I don’t miss the way his eyes crinkle a bit when he smiles.

“You keep saying swoony things like that, sunshine, and I’m going to have to turn this fucking truck around.” His tone isn’t angry or sarcastic.

It’s humorous.

“And stand up my sister? Please. You and I both know she’d hunt you down and you’d never hear the end of it.”

He laughs, shaking his head as my phone chirps with a text.

It’s Mateo.

Kevin get ahold of you?

I haven’t heard from Kevin since we got in, and I told him I was going to be unavailable until Wednesday, when Zeb agreed to drop me back off at the hotel for sound check at the stadium.

No, what’s up?

Mateo texts back quickly.

Concert Friday is canceled.

Rescheduled for Saturday.

Shit .

I’d planned on being back at the hotel and staying overnight for the concert Thursday into Friday.

Saturday is my birthday.

“Mateo?” Zeb’s voice is clipped.

“Yeah. He said the concert’s postponed until Saturday.”

“So... what does that mean for you?”

I shift in my seat.

“Well, it means I’ve got a couple extra days of R&R for one, but it also means that I’ll be leaving right after the show, Monday morning.”

“Oh,” he says as my phone chirps again.

Dare wants to know if you did the lean.

I told him it’s none of his business, but he’s insisting I ask you how your research is going.

I shake my head, a smile forming on my lips.

I don’t know how I got this lucky in life, to have such good friends in a business where so many people are cutthroat, but I thank God all the same.

Yes.

But if we’re being technical, he leaned first.

I flush, biting my lip as I steal a glance at Zeb’s profile, my gaze settling on his perfect mouth, on his dark facial hair, remembering the scratchy feel against my skin as he kissed me this morning.

My phone chirps like a hungry baby bird as a slew of texts come in, and I know Dare has abducted Mateo’s phone from all the emojiis and the OMGGGG’s, and a Yasss G!

Get that D!

When we park, Zeb gives me a sideways glance.

“What?”

“We didn’t have to do this, you know,” he says, flashing me with a smirk.

“I know.” I shrug.

“But I want to see you play. For real.”

“I could play for you at home.” He sighs.

“No, no. I want to see you in all your glory.”

“Mhmmm.” He opens the door, and I follow suit, helping him to unload his equipment.

The sun shines down on me, hot and unforgiving.

The parking lot is already starting to get full, and I’m thankful for the moment that I decided not to don my normal Gravedigger costume.

I’d showered, laid out my black mesh tank, and jeans.

I even had all my hair and face stuff set up, but then I took one look in Zeb’s bathroom mirror, at myself in my glasses and sweatpants, and I just wanted to be me for a day.

So, I grabbed one of my white tees I usually use for layering, and instead of jeans, I went for a pair of black athletic shorts that I would usually reserve for the gym, grabbed my incognito baseball cap, and didn’t put my contacts in.

I felt like a million bucks.

Though, I’m sure kissing Zeb might have contributed to the feeling, too.

Good God, no one has ever kissed me like that.

“You owe me later, you know.” Zeb’s voice pulls my attention.

I turn to see him leaning against his truck with a dark look in his eye that makes my stomach flip.

Yep, I think I most definitely identify as a Zebsexual.

If I’m gay, I’m gay for him.

Because as far as I’m concerned, no one is as perfect as this man.

“Oh, do I now?” I cross my arms, entering his space.

He reaches out in the slightest, setting his hand on my hip.

He tugs me softly and I shift closer to him, imploring him with my gaze.

“Yup.” His green eyes glitter with flirtation as he leans in closer to my space, capturing my gaze, his lips inches away from mine.

I’m acutely aware that we are in public and anyone can see us.

Including my sister, who is supposed to be meeting us here.

Panic starts to build as those familiar feelings of guilt threaten to upend me, but I take one look at Zeb and they seem to get a little quieter.

I lean into him, into his space, flashing my gaze up at him.

“I’ll buy you a sour apple martini later.” I smirk.

“I’ll hold you to that, sunshine,” he drawls, and I don’t think twice about kissing him.

I break away, noting his grin as we pick up his equipment and head inside.

Katy arrives not long after, but she isn’t alone.

Katy hooks her arm in Zeb’s.

“The talent and I must be off now. Autographs are fifteen dollars and our booth is over there,” she teases, winking at me.

Zeb rolls his eyes.

“This is your fault,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me.

“Remember that.”

My mother laughs.

“Break a leg, Zebulon!”

He smiles as Katy pulls him in the other direction, leaving my mother and I alone.

Fuck.

“So... cancellation, huh?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

She shrugs, hooking her arm in mine as we head for the seats that are starting to fill in.

“God works in mysterious ways,” she says, and I purse my lips.

“Yeah, I guess he does.”

We take our seats, sitting three rows back from the stage.

“I heard your concert was canceled.”

I cross my legs.

“Postponed, not canceled,” I say.

She waves at me dismissively.

“That means you have a little more time off, right? More time to spend with us? With Zeb?”

I look at her, feeling on the spot.

Her words don’t feel suspicious, but my mother isn’t one of those outwardly deceptive people.

She’s like one of those little African cats that look like kittens, but are one of the most vicious predators alive.

“And my friends,” I say defensively.

Mateo did say we should hang out.

Maybe I should take him up on it, bring Zeb.

Maybe it would be fun to hang out with another couple?

I blink as the thought lands.

Are we.

.

.

we aren’t a couple, are we?

I’m not entirely sure what we are, to be honest, because this really is a new demographic for me, and I don’t have the best track record with my previous demographic, either.

Do I want us to be a couple?

What would that even look like?

Me in LA with Kevin and my label breathing down my neck while he’s here playing shows with my sister?

I don’t have time to process my thoughts as the lights dim, and Zeb comes out on stage.

I look around at the cozy atmosphere.

There’s a bar in the corner with someone pouring champagne, and I vow to stay as far away from that as possible.

Apparently, I have no filter when I drink champagne.

Zeb takes the stage, slinging his acoustic over his shoulder.

The lights make his dark hair shimmer with copper highlights.

He introduces himself, his expression full of light and excitement.

He strums out a few chords I recognize instantly.

Whitney Houston’s I Want To Dance With Somebody.

“Oh, I love it when he performs this,” my mom says, nudging my arm.

I look at her as his voice fills the air.

“You’ve seen him? More than once?” I ask, dumbfounded.

“He’s quite popular,” she says with a grin.

“With the girls and the boys.”

I feel frozen by her words.

Does she know?

I blink as I turn to focus on him.

My mom links her arm in mine, running her nails along my forearm.

He croons out Whitney’s words, and I can’t deny they sound good in the timbre of his deep, sexy voice.

He rolls his words, breathy and emotional as the guitar plays.

Zeb croons on about wanting to feel the heat with somebody, closing his eyes, and I feel my mother’s nails squeezing my arm.

“He’s so good,” she sighs.

“Too bad he’s not in it for the fame like you are. Because, can you imagine ?”

Her praise isn’t lost on me, and I can’t argue with her.

I’ve always known he was talented, that he had that “thing.”

The confidence, the sex appeal, the voice.

Not a day goes by where I don’t wonder what things would be like if he came with me to Hollywood.

Would we have just been the best of friends, writing music and selling out shows?

Would we be like we are now?

Zeb opens his eyes, staring right at me as he sings about needing a man to take a chance, and I wonder as he smirks at me, if I can be that man.

I watch in awe through every song, but the last one is the best.

Beautiful Things by Benson Boone.

By the end of the show, he’s traded his acoustic for an electric guitar, and his black button up is rolled up to his elbows.

He cries out, his voice the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever heard.

He closes his eyes, and the emotion in his voice, his presence, is undeniable as he sings about not wanting to lose the beautiful things he’s got.

When the song ends, the crowd applauds.

My mother wipes her thumb underneath my eye.

I shake her off.

“What the hell, mom?”

She smiles at me, a sparkle in her blue eyes.

“Got a little something there,” she says.

“Must be your allergies, baby.”

Allergies, my fucking ass.

We both stand, and she links her arm in mine once more.

“Told you he was good.” She leads me through the gardens, and for a moment I think maybe she has changed.

But then she speaks.

“So... how are things in Hollywood, baby?”

I tense.

Like a shark, my mother can smell fear, so I try to remain indifferent.

“Good, I guess.”

She casts me a rueful gaze.

“Your last two albums barely scratched the billboard charts,” she says pensively.

I frown.

Great, she’s been keeping tabs.

Though, I don’t know why she wouldn’t, if only for a moment precisely like this one.

To throw it in my face and make me feel like a failure.

“It’s not the songs that are the issue,” I bite.

She sighs.

“So what is it then?” she asks as we stop at an arrangement of cactuses.

“Does it really matter?” I ask, pulling my arm away from her.

“Of course it matters. If it’s something I can help you with?—”

I shake my head.

“Doubt it, mom.”

She sighs, looking up at the flower arch in front of us.

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asks, and I close my eyes.

I want to say yes, but I don’t even know if I am technically seeing anyone.

I’m kissing him.

I’m coming in my fucking pants, but I don’t know if I’m messing around, seeing, or dating him.

So, I settle on the safe answer, which is probably truer than I want to admit.

“No,” I reply.

She purses her lips.

“You’re going to be forty Saturday, baby.”

I grind my teeth.

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder, I totally forgot.” I roll my eyes.

“I’m just saying, you aren’t getting any younger. You can’t be a bachelor forever.”

The audacity of this woman.

How dare she tell me I need to settle down, I need to find someone, when she and my father were so adamant I remain abstinent for the majority of my fucking life.

It’s because of them , because of their “morals” that I am the way I am.

“You think I want to be alone, mom?” I snap, feeling a flush of heat.

“Of course not,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing.

“I didn’t mean?—”

“No, you never do, that’s the problem mom. You never mean to hurt me, but you do.”

“What is that’s supposed to mean?” she asks.

“Nothing.” I hold myself tight.

“Baby, talk to me, tell me what’s wrong...”

I shake my head, and that’s when I see them.

Katy and Zeb.

“I can’t do this with you, mom, I just can’t.”

Zeb catches my gaze, and I focus on walking toward him.

One step, two step, three.

Katy looks up at me, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Geo, what?—”

“Take me home, please,” I say, feeling the cyclone of guilt and shame starting to build.

I have to focus on my breathing, focus on my nails digging into my skin.

Zeb’s expression falls, and he reaches out for my arm.

Katy’s gaze falls to the spot where he touches me, but I don’t have the guts to shake him off.

His touch is warm, soothing, and I want nothing more than to fall into him.

“What happened?” she asks calmly.

“Mom happened,” I reply as I bite my lip.

Katy sighs.

“I’ll talk to her.”

“Come on.” Zeb tugs my elbow.

Katy takes two steps, then turns around, staring at the both of us, then she shifts her gaze to Zeb.

“Be careful, Z,” she says, then turns around and heads toward our mother.

“What was that about?” I ask.

He slides his hand around my waist, settling his palm at the small of my back.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice faraway.

When we get to the car, I let go.

I take my hat off, running my hands through my hair as he turns the car on.

The tears come faster than they ever have before.

“She doesn’t fucking get it,” I say, shaking my head.

“I spent twenty-nine years of my life being perfect. Poised, pure, and perfect. I sold records without ever having to show my fucking skin, but I was never allowed to be a fucking person!” I growl.

Zeb drives, sliding his hand over my knee, using the other to palm the steering wheel.

“I know,” he replies softly.

“My last two albums flopped miserably. Not because they weren’t any good, because they were, but because—” I look out the window, the truth lodged in my throat.

“I’m not sexy enough,” I say, shaking my head.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Zeb says, surprise evident in his tone.

I turn to him, imploring him with my quickly blurring gaze.

“Kinda hard to be sexy when you’re a fucking forty-year-old virgin.” I scoff.

“Who’s going to buy my sexy ass songs about fucking when I haven’t fucked anyone?” I bite the words with venom, sinking into my seat.

“God, you must think I’m an idiot,” I say harshly.

Zeb’s voice is smooth, comforting.

“I don’t think that at all, Geo.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, looking to the bright blue sky.

God, give me strength to make it through this fucking week.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be unloading my defective sex shit and my mommy issues on you.” I breathe deep.

“Or my dying career shit.” I rub my eyes.

“I’m a fucking mess.”

“No, Geo. You’re not.” His voice is soft, even.

Warm and safe.

“You are not defective,” he says, squeezing my knee.

“I didn’t even start masturbating until I was thirty, Zeb. And half the time, I couldn’t even come because of all the fucking guilt. So, trust me, I am defective.”

He’s quiet for a moment as we pull up to his house, and then he shuts the car off.

Neither of us move.

“Look at me,” he says.

I run my hands over my face.

“Look at me, Geo.”

I remove my hands, looking at his bright eyes.

It’s like seeing the sun.

He reaches out, pulling me closer into his space, and I move without question.

Into him, into his warm aura.

His tonka bean-teakwood scent fills my lungs, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff.

“You are so fucking sexy. ” He reaches for my glasses, smirking.

“And you’re so fucking talented, and strong. Shit, you left to chase your dreams, man. And you made it a reality.”

I don’t fight the tear that rolls down my face, because the sincerity in his words are like a praise I never knew I needed.

And the way he looks at me, touches me.

.

.

it’s a forgiveness I don’t deserve, but it’s also something I desperately want.

His forgiveness, anyway.

“You are not defective. You are perfect. Just the way you fucking are.”

There is a pregnant pause, and then he looks at me with the softest smile.

“You always were. Perfect, I mean. At least to me.” His voice drops an octave as his gaze drops to my lips, then back up at me.

“Really?” I ask.

“Yeah. Really,” he breathes.

Zeb brushes away that one kamikaze tear, and then he kisses me.

But this kiss.

.

.

it’s different from the others.

It’s softer, deeper.

Zeb opens his mouth just the slightest, his tongue sliding into my mouth.

His lips are smooth, but his rough facial hair against my skin tickles.

And all at once, I know.

This.

.

.

this is what I’ve been waiting for.

He’s who I’ve been waiting for.

He breaks away, leaning his forehead against mine.

I sniffle as I grab his neck, squeezing lightly, savoring the sweetness of his kiss.

I never want to stop.

Ever.

Because when Zeb kisses me, it chases away all my demons.

It makes everything feel right again.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Zeb rustles the edges of my hair at the nape of my neck with his fingers, making my eyes flutter, making my heartbeat skip.

How can a simple touch do so much?

“Anytime, sunshine,” he says, the corners of his lips lifting up into a soft smile that melts my heart and makes my stomach do a little flip.

My mother was right.

He is good.

He’s fucking perfect.

And I think I might be falling in love with him.