Running with Scissors (24 page)

railing? He drew his hand back, folding his arms again.

“What do we do now?”

“Well.” Jude crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. “I guess

we’ve got two choices.”

185

A.J. raised his eyebrows.

Jude mirrored him, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“We either keep this thing going and be discreet about it, or

we pretend it never happened and be adults about it.”

“I probably don’t have to tell you which option I want

to take.”

“Yeah. Same here.”

“What happens if things don’t work out?”

Jude’s eyes lost focus. After a moment, he shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

A.J. opened his mouth to speak, but the balcony door

opened.

They both turned as Vanessa leaned outside. “You guys

coming?” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Everyone’s

ready to rehearse whenever you are.”

“Yeah.” Jude gestured with his cigarette. “I was just

finishing up my smoke. We’ll be there in a minute.”

She eyed them both, then went back inside.

Jude faced A.J. again. “Look, I know we’re taking a huge

chance. And I’m not thrilled about that part, but I . . .” He

took a deep breath. “To be perfectly blunt, I want to see where this goes.”

A.J.’s stomach twisted and his heart fluttered. “I do too.

But . . . the band . . .”

“I know. But we already know we suck at staying away

from each other. We’ll just have to keep it on the down-low,

and no matter what happens, keep it separate from the band.”

“You really think we can do that, even if things go to shit?”

Jude’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I have no idea. But I can’t

think of any other option that’ll let me keep my sanity.”

“You and me both,” A.J. whispered. “So I guess that’s what

we do—keep it quiet, and keep it away from the band.”

186

Jude nodded. Some of the apprehension in his expression

softened, and his lips pulled into a subtle but spine-tingling

smile. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Despite his nerves, A.J. couldn’t help grinning. “Secret’s

safe with me.”

“Good.” Jude nodded toward the building. “So. Back to

rehearsal?”

“Yeah. Back to rehearsal.”

As they headed inside, excitement coiled behind A.J.’s

ribs, but so did a hell of a bundle of nerves. It was easy to say they’d keep this on the DL and, if things went to shit, keep

it separate from the band. Except he was pretty sure Connor

and Wyatt had had a similar arrangement, considering how

pissed off the band had been after their relationship had come

to light. And that had been
before
everything went up in flames.

But every alternative included “not doing this with Jude.”

And no matter how risky it was, no matter how downright

fucking
stupid
it was, A.J. just couldn’t resist.

187

the time they’d finished their first day of recording,

byJude was exhausted. His fingers were as raw as they’d

been when he’d rejoined the band. His wrists, elbows, and

neck ached.

And now, lying beside A.J. on that narrow futon, his

whole body ached, and he felt great. A day of nothing but

music and sex—he couldn’t ask for much more than that.

A.J. yawned. “What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

“Already?”

“Time flies.” Jude kissed his forehead. “And it was damn

near ten when we got here.”

“Still.” A.J. lifted his chin and kissed him gently. “We

should probably get some sleep. Early morning tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Jude’s heart sank. Sighing, he rubbed his forehead.

“At the risk of sounding like a selfish asshole, I’d much rather just stay here with you tomorrow.”

“Me too. I love working on an album, but . . .” A.J. grinned.

“I’m getting hooked on this.”

Jude met his gaze.
I’m getting hooked on you.
He touched A.J.’s scruffy cheek. “Yeah. And this is a hell of lot less stressful 188

than . . .” He winced. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bring that shit up in here.”

“It’s okay.” A.J. brought his hand up and kissed his fingers.

“We’re either in bed or in the studio these days. If you can’t

talk about it here, where can you?”

“Good point.” Jude sighed. “And it’s not that bad, I guess.

It’s just tough.”

“Which part?”

“Connor, mostly. There’s only so many hours you can

spend around someone you used to love while he’s probably

wishing looks really could kill.”

A.J. grimaced. “Yeah, that must be hard.” He paused.

“If . . . if you don’t mind my asking, were you guys ever happy together?”

Jude let out a long breath. “That’s the part that makes it

so hard. It wasn’t always bad between us. The thing is, I never want to go back to him because I know we can’t make it work,

but it hurts being this fucked up with him. We made a shitty

couple, but I miss my friend.”

A.J. nodded, lacing his fingers between Jude’s. “That’s

usually the worst part. Losing the good when you have to cut

away the bad.”

“Yeah. Exactly. And it . . . I mean, for all me and Connor

hiss and spit at each other, we did have good times. We

had—” Jude hesitated, his throat aching a little at the

memories. “We had a lot of good times, actually. It’s just hard to focus on those when things were so bad there towards the

end.” He swallowed. “So being around him . . .” He met A.J.’s

eyes, and shook himself. “It’s for the better.” He smiled and

moved in for another kiss. “I’ll get over it.”

A.J. returned his kiss. “Well, if you need help keeping

your mind off him, you know where to find me.”

189

Jude laughed, gathering A.J. in his arms. “You keep my

mind off everything. I’m lucky I can play when you’re there.”

“Pfft. You’re a prodigy.” A.J. brushed his lips across Jude’s.

“You could play in your sleep.”

“And yet you still distract the hell out of me.”

“Sorry.”

“Bullshit, you are.” They both laughed this time, and Jude

let another kiss linger for a moment before he sobered a bit

and drew back. “To be honest, sometimes I work myself up

about all this being a bad idea. Us being together. Me being

in the band again.” He smoothed A.J.’s bleached blond spikes.

“But the second I look at you . . .”

“I know the feeling.” A.J. clasped Jude’s hand in his. “And

for the record, it’s totally worth it when
we
can be alone together.”

“Yeah, it is.” Jude kissed him, and this time it was A.J. who

drew it out. Arms around each other. Tighter. Closer. Despite

his mind and body being exhausted as hell, he couldn’t help

getting hard when he made out with A.J. like this. Sleep?

Eventually. But they only had so much time together, and

only so much of that time could be spent between the sheets.

God knew how long this would last, or how much

opportunity they’d have once the band was on the road. But

for now, in between the secrecy and the tension with their

bandmates, Jude fully intended to seize every chance he had

to be as close to A.J. as possible.

We’ll sleep when we’re dead.
He gently rolled A.J. onto his back.
Tonight, you’re the only thing that matters . . .

190

They were barely a week into recording the new album,

and somehow Jude and Connor hadn’t killed each other yet.

Between pressure from the label to wrap the record within

the next two weeks and Connor’s usual sunny demeanor, Jude

was nearly at a breaking point. It didn’t help that he wasn’t

getting a whole lot of sleep—though staying up until dawn

with A.J. was certainly worth the extra fatigue—but it mostly

came down to the natural consequences of putting Connor

and him in the same room and adding pressure. The tour bus

hadn’t been as bad, since they hadn’t had to interact much,

and onstage their only contact had been the music.

But working on an album meant that from dawn till dusk,

they were in each other’s faces, under each other’s feet, and

on each other’s nerves. Connor was being too pushy. Jude

couldn’t get the tempo exactly right. They couldn’t agree if he was in or out of tune, and nobody else wanted to get involved.

Every single fucking time, it ended one of two ways—Connor

storming out for some air, or Jude storming out for some

smoke.

Standing out on the balcony, Jude took a long drag. He

closed his eyes and held the smoke in for a moment before

slowly releasing it.

Connor’s voice still echoed along his frayed nerves.
“So

you gonna half-ass the album just to be a dick?”

“Hey. Hey.”
Jude had put up his hands, but hadn’t bothered keeping his voice even.
“I have bad days just like everybody else.

Back the fuck
off
.”

“We don’t have time for off days. If you’re not gonna focus,
why don’t we just bring in someone who—”

“The deal was, I tour with you and I record on this album.”

“Yeah?”
Connor had narrowed his eyes.
“Then how about
actually playing the piece instead of whatever the fuck that was?”

191

Jude cursed around his cigarette. The nicotine wasn’t even

helping today. It never really did—it just gave him an excuse

to get away from Connor before the cops had to get involved.

As frustrated as he was, he reminded himself over and

over that this was temporary. That everyone was stretched

thin and stressed out because of the long hours they were

logging in order to meet the label’s tight deadline. If he did

something stupid like throwing up his hands and walking out

for more than a smoke, he’d be fucked.

As it was, there were no guarantees he’d still have a place

in the band after the tour. There’d be no more second chances

after this. The band had worked too long and hard—with

and without him—to let him waltz in and out whenever he

got pissed off. Or, for that matter, to put up with him and

Connor arguing at every turn. If things went to shit—if one

of these sniping matches got out of control as it inevitably

would—Jude would be the one sent packing, not Connor.

If he decided to walk out himself, the consensus would be

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, asshole.”

He’d already impulsively walked away from so many

things, and that had gotten him precisely
where
? Right here, with a thick wall of ice
slowly
thawing between him and the lifelong friends he’d fucked over once before, and some very

thin ice cracking beneath his feet thanks to his own stupid,

impulsive decisions.

He pulled in a long drag. After he’d released the smoke,

he took a few slow, deep breaths and willed the tension in his

neck and shoulders to melt away. He was just pissed off. It

was a bullshit spat with Connor. No reason to make a rash,

career-altering decision.

Another deep breath. Then another. He crushed his

cigarette in the ashtray while he mentally strangled Connor,

192

and that thought made him laugh softly. He’d be all right.

He’d go back in there, go with the flow, and get this album

done.For good measure, just in case that overactive flight

instinct tried to send him running for the door again, he

thought back to those eighteen miserable months spent in a

cubicle farm, encased in bland pastel walls beneath obnoxious

fluorescent lights while he and his coworkers drove each other

insane. That was what waited for him if he went back now.

Assuming, of course, he could even find a job.

Walk away now, and you might as well start practicing your

burger flip.

No. Not a fucking chance. He was not walking away from

Running with Scissors again. He’d cool down, smoke one

more cigarette, and then go back in there and get that bass

line right. Connor was a pain in the ass and always would

be, but the band was too important to let himself be pushed

away. And so was A.J.

His chest tightened.

A.J.

If there was one thing left in the world he
should
walk away from, it was A.J. It was a weird paradox—A.J. was

the last person in the world he should be involved with,

but their involvement was keeping him on an even keel.

Their relationship—whatever the hell it was—put the

band at risk, and yet at the same time leveled Jude out and

kept him calm and focused, just the way the band needed

him. Tonight, like every night, they’d disappear to A.J.’s

apartment, pull each other close beneath the sheets, and

A.J. would remind him with every kiss why this was worth

the gamble. And tomorrow, like every day, they’d come back

to the studio, and Jude’s conscience would nag at him while

193

Connor picked at him, and he’d be out here again, smoking

and talking himself out of leaving.

Leaving who? The band? Or A.J.?

He sighed. Neither. No way in hell was he walking away

from this band again, and A.J.? Not a chance.

But he was going to get kicked out of the band if he didn’t

get his ass down to the studio and back to work, so he put his

smokes and lighter in his pocket and headed inside.

When he returned to the studio, Richie was in the box