Chapter 17

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Cillian stood at a table near the door of the bar, waiting for Anthony. He was late, but he hadn’t messaged to say he wasn’t coming. If he didn’t show without saying anything, this—whatever it was—was over. Cillian hated being stood up.

His fingers tapped on the tabletop.

He glanced around, unsure who was there for the show and who was there for drinks, but if he made an effort, he’d find someone to talk to. Some of Bevan’s other friends must be coming.

Cillian took a sip of his beer, annoyed with himself for being annoyed in the first place. They weren’t serious. They weren’t anything, so it shouldn’t matter. He hated that he wanted more because everything about the situation was messy.

Then Anthony walked through the door in a black shirt and jeans, and Cillian had to force himself to blink and breathe. He was so fucking hot; it was a damn shame they couldn’t go home now.

No. He could not drag Anthony into bed until he’d told him the truth.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic and poor planning…” Anthony stepped in, his hand brushed over Cillian’s lower back, before pausing.

Cillian leaned in and tilted his head, trusting Anthony to keep the kiss he obviously wanted appropriate. Which he did with the most disappointing brush of his lips over Cillian’s mouth, one that left him hungry for more. “It doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Do you want a drink?”

“I’d love one… Do you want another?”

“Sure.” The one in his hands was halfway gone anyway. He walked to the bar with Anthony, finishing his drink as he went. “Busy day?”

“The usual. A run and job applications, trying not to lose my mind.” He laughed, but it sounded tight. “You?”

“Chaos. The next two weeks I’m playing, so if you want to catch me, lunch will be best.”

“Artist hours?”

“Yeah. Late to bed, late to rise. Not a brush off.”

Anthony smiled, his eyes softened and then narrowed. “What happened with the soundtrack thing?”

Cillian grinned. “Got it. It’ll be a full week of rehearsal and recording.” There would be a lot of jugging over the next two months, but he wasn’t about to turn work down. When the tap was on, he was drinking.

“Well done.” Anthony leaned over and kissed his temple. His hand lingered on Cillian’s lower back as they waited for their drinks. The pose felt natural, like they’d stood in this exact way many times before.

“What about you?”

“No bites. It’s harder than I expected. Next week I have to do an interview prep class, as if I don’t know how to do that.”

“If I hear of anything, I’ll let you know.”

Anthony stepped up to the bar. “What are you drinking?”

Cillian pointed to one of the taps. It was low carb, low strength.

“Two of them, thanks.” Anthony pulled his wallet out of his pocket.

“I can—” He didn’t want Anthony wasting what he had on buying him drinks.

“It’s one beer. I’ve got this.” From the look on his face. It wasn’t about the beer. He didn’t want to be dependent.

Cillian didn’t argue. It was one beer, and he’d buy the next ones. He put his empty on the bar and picked up the fresh one. “Come on, the door should be open.”

“I didn’t even realize there was a gallery here.”

“It’s through the back, one of those small spaces for emerging artists. I saw a play here about six months ago.”

“More free tickets?”

“No. I only got free tickets tonight because Bevan is a uni friend.” He gave his name at the door and was allowed through. Last time, the area had been filled with chairs. This time there were photos and paintings on all the walls, and extra walls had been set up to display more works.

“This is not what I was expecting,” Anthony murmured.

“It’s part-art, part-performance.” He walked over to where Bevan was setting up. “This looks amazing. Congrats.”

“Thank you.” His gaze flicked to Anthony, and he straightened. “Hello.”

“Bevan, this is Anthony. Anthony, Bevan.” For a heartbeat, he wondered if he should have called Anthony his boyfriend, not that they were.

“Pleased to meet you.” Anthony offered his hand.

“Same.” Bevan glanced at Cillian with a look that suggested Cillian had left out details . “Have a wander, then you have the pleasure of listening to me for the next hour. And yes, everything is for sale.”

Cillian smiled, knowing full well that someone needed to buy the first piece because once those red stickers went up, other people would start buying. Bevan wouldn’t be making money on the tickets; they’d cover the venue.

No, he’d be hoping for sales. Since he’d sold stuff in the past, it wasn’t an impossible dream.

They walked around for a bit. The mixed media paintings that include lyrics that Bevan had written were much more interesting than the photos—but that was only his opinion, and the photos would probably sell.

Anthony stopped in front of a large canvas. “This is the kind of thing I would’ve bought before.”

Bright and bold, it was a statement piece. And from the four-figure price, not something Anthony could buy tonight.

As the venue filled, Cillian let others move toward the front. He’d heard Bevan sing many times before.

“Thank you all for attending. This is the first time I’ve combined my music with my art. If you want to move about while I’m playing, please do as the pieces and music are meant to be enjoyed together.”

After a couple of songs, Anthony leaned over and whispered in his ear. “He’s very good.”

“He is.” That he didn’t have a record deal was a crime. He sold some of what he wrote and worked in a supermarket for a stable income.

“This next one I wrote with a friend… He is the greatest pianist you’ve never heard of, and he’s here tonight.”

Cillian bit back a groan.

“Cillian Fraser.” Bevan clapped and so did others as they turned to see who and where he was. Cillian lifted his hand. “Now, I didn’t warn him about this, but I’m hoping he’ll come up here…”

Someone brought a keyboard out and set it up next to Bevan.

“Hold my beer while I kill my ex-best friend.” He took a sip before handing it to Anthony. As he wove his way to the front, he smiled, and when he got there, he gave a stage bow.

Then he turned and glared at Bevan.

“I have the sheet music for you in case you’ve forgotten how it goes.”

He kind of remembered, but it had been a while, and his head was full of other music. He took his seat at the keyboard. “One moment while I warm up my fingers and check the volume.”

He was sure that the volume had already been checked, but he needed the time to prepare. He checked the key of the song and played that scale as he skimmed over the sheet music to refamiliarize himself with the piece. “Not too loud?”

“Perfect. Do you think you can stick to the music instead of getting fancy?” Bevan gave him a smile.

Bevan wanted him to get fancy.

He tilted his head. “I’ll see how I feel.”

They hadn’t rehearsed this or anything. He really would’ve appreciated a heads up because if there was one thing he hated, it was sounding like shit. But there wasn’t much he could do about it now. One song. Under four minutes, if he remembered correctly.

He waited for Bevan to count him in and started. For the first verse and chorus, he followed the music. By the second one, he knew what he was playing and let himself have some fun. Then he owned the bridge before dropping so Bevan took the finish as if it had all been planned.

Everyone clapped. Cillian stood and held his arm out to Bevan. “Mr. Bevan Stirling.”

The applause continued, and Cillian reveled in the buzz. Yeah. He loved it.

“Mr. Cillian Fraser.” Bevan clapped and Cillian took another stage bow. When he stood, his gaze landed on Anthony, still holding both beers, lips parted in an awestruck smile.

Cillian’s heart gave a little hiccup and threatened to fly away.