Chapter 15

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Cillian shoved in a load of laundry while balancing his first cup of coffee of the day. He shut the washing machine door, pressed start, and took a swig of coffee as the toaster popped.

Perfectly timed.

He needed to grab groceries and be more organized since he was playing for the ballet for the next two weeks and his time would be limited. And twice on Sunday. Fuck…

Good money to play the same thing over and over again. He’d be thoroughly sick of Snow-bloody-White by the end, though.

Between rehearsing the ballet, learning the reworked pop songs, and dealing with students, he had been going flat out all week. His stomach grumbled as he buttered the toast and squirted on a dollop of honey.

There were a hundred things he needed to do.

Cillian sighed. He felt bad for not making an effort to see Anthony. They’d been messaging, but neither of them had suggested doing anything. Had Anthony left it up to him because he was the one with the schedule?

Given that it was Bevan’s opening night, he needed to decide, and fast…. He doubted there would be anyone attending who might be upset with Anthony, and it wasn’t a big event. He wanted to see Anthony, but the worry that he was taking the wrong steps gnawed at his gut. Cillian ate his toast without tasting it.

If he saw Anthony again, he needed to talk about his Hayden problem.

Anthony might walk away… which solved his ex-con lover problem, but not the other one. He’d lived under the weight of Hayden’s threats for several years; what were a few more? But the rope chafed, and fear rubbed him raw and picked at his brain. Anthony was the only chance he’d ever come across to slip the noose.

It wasn’t as though he needed to admit to anyone that they were dating. They were exploring. He was the rebound for the just-out-of-jail guy.

Yeah.

It was casual.

And he needed a plus one, and then after he’d discuss his problem, he’d see what happened. No, he wanted to get Anthony naked first… Stop. That was bad. No sex, honesty first.

Fuck, he hadn’t had enough coffee yet for all of this.

And in the back of his mind, various snippets of music played.

Snap head-butted his leg, wanting breakfast, and Cillian obeyed. He ripped open the sachet of wet food and tipped it into the bowl and gave the kibble tower a shake.

If only every problem was so easy to fix. Give it a shake.

Wasn’t he doing just that? Giving his life a little shake to find out what fell out?

That made it sound as though he was doing all this on purpose, which he wasn’t. He washed his hands and ate the second piece of his now cold toast. He wanted to see Anthony again, because he liked him, and that was the most disconcerting bit. Even their texts had been bright glimmers that made him smile.

“Fuck it. I’ll invite him. He might say no.”

Snap glanced up at him.

“You’re right, he’s not going to say no.” People didn’t say no to free tickets with a high chance of sex after. He never had.

What are you up to tonight? I have free tickets to a small gig in a small gallery.

No, that was a crap message. He deleted it and tried again.

If you aren’t doing anything tonight, I have tickets to the opening of a friend’s art exhibition. Nothing formal.

That was better. He hit send, then instead of waiting for a reply, checked his emails. He ignored them all except for the two from his agent. An extra show had been added to the Melbourne leg of the tour. Nice . If music sales were good, he’d get some tiny percentage, because his agent had argued that his name was worth something. It might be two parts of fuck all, but they eventually added up.

The other email concerned the soundtrack. He hesitated. Not because he was desperate to do it—though it would be a nice feather in his cap—but because he might not be good enough. There might be someone better.

Better to rip that bandage off than leave it to fester.

He opened the email and skimmed the text. The composer loved him and wanted him on board. Attached was the contract for him to review. As Cillian read it over, he had no doubt that his agent had pre-negotiated some of the contract before he’d even met the composer, and the meeting had been to find out if he was a prima donna to work with.

Unless he’d been invited to contribute, he shut up and played.

He replied, thanking Dahlia and that he’d check it over the weekend.

Still nothing from Anthony.

Well, he might as well finish his coffee and buy some groceries and do some meal prep before going to the gym and getting in a practice session.

He was almost home, lugging four bags of food, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He forced himself to wait until he’d made it inside and put the meat in the fridge before checking.

Would love to. Jeans ok? Give me the address and I’ll meet you there?

Cillian stared at the screen. Anthony didn’t want to be picked up. Because he didn’t want to be driven around? Or for some other reason? He needed to stop overthinking the situation. It made sense that they met at the venue. Plus Cillian wasn’t planning on driving when it was in walking distance, and he planned on having a few beers and enjoying his only Saturday night off for a couple of weeks.

Perfect. I’ll meet you in the bar out the front at 8.

He attached a map showing the location. They’d have time to socialize before the show kicked off.

Anthony sent back a smiley face.

Everything seemed fine, and he wasn’t about to ask why Anthony hadn’t suggested anything during the week via text when he hadn’t suggested anything either. That was a slide the question into conversation kind of thing.

With plans made, he returned to his list of chores, which now included hanging out the laundry as the machine had finished. He glanced at his ratty runners, grabbed the laundry basket, and heaved a weary sigh.

Oh… the glamor.