Hearts, Lies, and Friends: Chapter I

Chapter I

Patrick didn’t think he had ever been so uncomfortable in his life. He stood just inside his own front door and looked out at the pair of virtual strangers on his front step. Joe grinned and walked past Patrick as though he had been to his house a hundred times before. Pete just sort of stood there wearing a forced smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Patrick tugged self-consciously at the hem of his sweater and cleared his throat.

“So… you must be Pete.”

Pete took the cue. His face relaxed a little and he offered a “yep” in return.

“Come on in,” greeted Patrick, taking a step back to let Pete pass.

“So where’s your kit?” asked Joe, completely oblivious to the discomfort of his companions.

“Uh… in the basement. I’ll take you down,” replied Patrick, leading the way to the rec-room-cum-practice-space he’d erected downstairs.

*     *     *

Patrick grunted as his lower back collided with an abused porcelain sink. The cinderblock walls of the filthy club bathroom spun around him as his brain melted from the heat rising out of his gut. All he could feel was the harsh but delicious suction of foreign lips on his neck. All he could smell was the sweet sweat of the tan-skinned stranger who’d stared at him intently from the tiny stage and pulled him violently into the bathroom at the end of the set.

Lost in a mess of eager-but-clumsy fingers, Patrick wasn’t even sure whose belt he was loosening, he just knew he was fumbling with a buckle that was in his fucking way. A moment later he received confirmation that it had been his own, because a hand pulled down his boxers and wrapped itself around him.

*     *     *

“Not bad,” commented Pete, when the crash of the cymbals faded out. “How long have you been playing?”

“Um, seven years… -ish.” Patrick put down his drumsticks and stood up, trying to think of a subtle way to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He’d always been just a little bit embarrassed by how much he managed to sweat after just a few minutes. With nothing coming to mind, he opted for speed over subtlety and quickly dabbed his face with the edge of his sleeve.

“You write, too, don’t you?” asked Joe.

Patrick hesitated for a moment and then nodded. It was true, after all, and he’d mentioned it at Borders, but now, knowing his audience, he was somewhat more reluctant to give a presentation. “I’ve got some rough recordings. They’re not… I mean, I just did them with some of my dad’s old equipment, so the quality isn’t all that great, but you sort of get the idea, I guess. They’re on the computer.”

Patrick again played escort as he led his guests through the house to the spare room reserved for the computer. He sat down and began to click his way through folders in search of something at least moderately impressive.

*     *     *

Patrick looked down and licked his lips, but hesitated.

“Come on, man. Don’t tease me. I’ve been staring at those lips since you first walked in.”

Patrick blushed; an impressive feat considering his face was already flushed with excitement. “It’s just… I’ve never…”

“You’ve never? Seriously? What the hell kind of groupie are you?”

Patrick stopped dead. “I’m not a fucking groupie,” he spat, more offended than he thought possible.

Pete eyes widened with instant remorse. “No, I didn’t… I was just kidding.” He kissed Patrick apologetically. “I don’t really think you’re a groupie. It was a joke.” Patrick’s eyes twitched as he searched Pete’s expression for sincerity, though it was difficult with Pete’s face pressed so close to his, scattering more apologies across his cheeks. “I was just making a joke. It… Forget I said it. Please. You’ve got the hottest lips I’ve ever seen.”

Patrick wasn’t sure if he accepted the apology because he genuinely believed Pete had been kidding, or because he was just too flattered to deny him, but either way he found himself getting on his knees and tugging down Pete’s fly.

*     *     *

“You’ve got to be the singer,” said Pete with such a tone of certainty that Patrick wasn’t sure he had permission to argue.

“I… guess,” he replied.

“No, not ‘you guess’, just ‘yes’,” confirmed Joe. “You’re perfect for a pop-punk band.”

“It’s just that I’ve never really sang before. I mean, on these, yeah,” said Patrick, gesturing vaguely to his computer speakers as though they were the songs they played, “but not for real.”

“You don’t have to have done it before to be good at it.” Pete threw a knowing smile that Patrick hoped to God Joe couldn’t interpret.

*     *     *

Pete threw his head back and let loose a groan so loud that Patrick worried for a minute if anyone outside the door had heard it, even though it did have a throbbing bass line to compete with. He rocked back on his heels and wiped his lips with the edge of his wrist, his confused brain making a vague effort at categorizing the lingering flavour on his tongue.

“Holy… fucking… shit,” panted Pete. “That… You’ve really never…?” Patrick shook his head and stood up. “Jesus Christ, kid…” Pete paused a moment. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Patrick.”

Pete smiled and let out a short breath that was almost a laugh. “Patrick. It suits you.”

Patrick wasn’t sure if it did or not, but starting a discussion on the matter seemed a little inappropriate. Actually, everything seemed a little inappropriate. Despite what he’d been doing for the last few minutes, Patrick found himself suddenly self-conscious. He considered asking Pete for his number, but before he could even open his mouth someone started banging on the steel door.

“Pete! They want us out there for another set!”

“I’m coming!” hollered Pete. He turned back to Patrick. “That’s… that’s me. Pete. Look, stick around. I’ll be done in half an hour.”

Patrick didn’t even have time to nod before Pete unlocked the door and darted out, closing it behind himself to give Patrick another minute of privacy. Patrick took the minute and then slipped back into the crowd, throwing a quick glance at the stage before finding the nearest exit.

*     *     *

“It was good seeing you again,” said Pete in a low tone, leaning in to keep Joe out of ear shot. “I’d like to see more of you. Again.”

Patrick swallowed thickly. “Um… yeah.”

Pete smiled knowingly and turned away, headed for Joe’s car.