Kingston
“What just happened?” Tommy demanded as soon as Devyn was gone.
“That was pretty fucking cool,” Kellan said, grinning. “She’s badass.”
“She?” I stared at him. “He’s a dude.”
Z arched his brows. “Is he? I think he’s a she.”
We all stared at each other.
“I can’t tell,” I admitted. “He or she is androgynous as fuck.”
“I guess now that you say it, his voice is really neutral too.” Kellan made a face and shrugged. “I dunno, but he or she can play. I like her. Him. Them?”
“Maybe Sasha can ask,” Tommy suggested.
We all looked at him.
“That’s not at all insulting.” There was no mistaking the sarcasm in my voice.
“What if she’s transitioning?” Kellan asked, grimacing. “Then she might be offended.”
“Okay, I don’t care if she’s female, male, or amphibious,” Z said drolly. “She plays like a fucking dream and I want her back. Immediately. I don’t know why we had to play that ‘we’re narrowing it down to two’ game.” He cut a look at me.
“I wasn’t going to speak for the rest of you,” I said. “We had to talk first. Are we on board to give Devyn a shot?”
“I’d like to send him or her a set list to learn before coming back so we can jam,” Z said. “That’s how we’re going to get a feel for style, stamina, and chemistry.”
“There was definitely chemistry,” Tommy mused. “She moves a little bit like a cat. Sleek. Aloof. Almost mystical.”
“I like it,” Kellan added.
“Have Sasha send her our most popular live songs to learn by Friday,” I suggested. “And we’ll go from there.”
“I was pretty frustrated up until she got here,” Kellan admitted. “They were all talented, but there was no spark, no nothing.”
“Huge yawn fest,” Tommy agreed.
“Except for Larry,” Z deadpanned. “I liked him a lot. He should be the other guy we invite back.”
I flipped him the bird.
He rumbled out a laugh. “Yeah, I know.”
“He’s not all that anyway.” Kellan shrugged. “But Devyn…” He paused, scratching his chin. “How do you think Carter knew him? Or her?”
“If she’s a her, they probably hooked up,” Z said.
“Doesn’t matter if it’s a guy or a girl,” Tommy said quietly. “Carter was PAN.”
Pansexual?
I’d thought he was bi, although I knew he leaned heavily toward women. He’d been obsessed with tits, so I’d never given much thought to his sexuality. I’d seen him make out with guys a few times, but hell, so had I. In my case, it had been more drunk curiosity than anything else because I was straight. Just a little loose and curious in my younger days, the same way I’d dabbled in drugs. Eventually I’d discovered that wasn’t for me, so I hadn’t done anything like that in years, and probably never would again. And I didn’t really think about other people’s sexuality because I didn’t care one way or the other.
In this case, though, I was fascinated by Devyn Cates.
Everything about him… her… was intriguing.
The way he looked.
Moved.
Carried himself.
And the way he played.
Fuck.
He was brilliant.
Exciting.
Talented.
If he had decent background vocals, this could potentially be epic.
We might not have been excited about replacing Carter but I finally understood why he’d given us Devyn’s name. Now we just had to figure out if he was a guy or a chick before we embarrassed ourselves.
“Twenty bucks says Devyn’s a woman,” Tommy said, pulling a twenty-dollar-bill out of his wallet.
“Agreed.” Z pulled out a twenty and handed it to him.
“Woman,” Kellan said, reaching for his wallet.
“Dude,” I said finally, handing over a twenty.
“If the three of us are right,” Tommy said, “we each get our money back but Kingston donates a thousand bucks to the homeless shelter.”
I chuckled. “And if I’m right, I get all the money and the three of you donate a thousand bucks each to the shelter.”
“Deal.”
We donated to local shelters regularly, so this wasn’t about the money.
“Sasha’s calling,” I said as my phone buzzed. “Let me put her on speaker—hey, Sasha!”
“Hi. Are you done for the day? How did it go?” she asked.
“Well, it was a dumpster fire followed by a shit show in the beginning,” I said, “but the end was epic.”
“Devyn Cates,” she said knowingly.
“Fuck yeah,” Z rumbled. “We jammed and it clicked.”
“Oh.” Sasha sucked in a breath. “That’s exciting… right?”
“It is,” I said. “We want him to come back.”
“Him?” She paused. “Isn’t she a woman?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” I said, laughing. “Very androgynous.”
“Well, her legal name is Devyn Caitlyn Monahan, so I’m going with female.”
“Ah, shit.” I groaned. “I just lost a bet.”
She laughed. “Sorry.”
“What if she’s a trans guy, though?” Tommy countered. “Like, transitioning from female to male?”
I didn’t care one way or the other. What people did was none of my business as long as they weren’t hurting anyone else, but something about him—her! She was a woman, dammit—was so captivating, I would have considered hooking up with a man again just for a taste.
Oh, what the hell was wrong with me?
I couldn’t lust after our new bass player.
Man or woman, that was nothing but a disaster waiting to happen.
I realized the conversation had been going on around me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said, what do you want me to do next?” Sasha asked.
“Get her a set list,” I replied immediately. “I’ll text it to you and you can forward it. We told her we’d narrowed it down to two and wanted them both to come back, but that was a lie. No one else came close. But we need to play more than one song together to get a feel for what’s next.”
“We’re going to have to pull the trigger on the European tour soon,” Sasha said. “The first gig is tentatively set for New Year’s Even in London. There are a lot of details to iron out in a very short time.”
“What are the chances we can get Nobody’s Fool on board?” I asked thoughtfully. “We need backup in case something goes wrong, and Tyler knows our set.” Tyler Thompson was the bass player for a band called Nobody’s Fool, who’d opened for us for nearly a year. We’d become good friends, and Sasha managed them as well.
“I can talk to them,” she replied.
“Great, let us know,” I said. “And find out if Devyn is available to play with us either Friday night or Saturday. I guess she works a day job.”
“She’s a studio musician at Black Kat Studios,” Sasha said.
“How have I never heard of her?” I demanded. “I would remember that name.”
“She doesn’t go by Devyn. At the studio she’s D. Monahan. That’s why it was hard to find her.”
D. Monahan.
I knew that name.
Everyone talked about him.
Him?!
“Oh, I’ve heard of him!” Tommy said. “He played bass on the theme song for ‘Temperate Heat.’ It was a huge deal.”
“She,” Sasha corrected mildly. “And yes, that’s her.”
“Someone is going to have to ask her what her preferred pronouns are,” I said after a moment.
No one responded.
“You guys suck,” Sasha said when she realized the question would fall to her.
“That’s why we pay you the big bucks,” Z said with a chuckle.
“I’m on it.” Sasha laughed and disconnected.
* * *
I got home and showered, sprawling out on my king size bed. I was tired since I’d been up drinking and fucking half the night, and I momentarily thought back to the blonde from last night. She’d been nice enough, but as always, once the sex was over, I didn’t give most women a second thought.
I’d been dating an Australian supermodel for a few months, but we both had busy careers, and she was young. Just twenty-two, and nowhere near ready to settle down. I would be turning thirty-one soon, and it felt like it might be time to think about that. The problem was finding someone to do it with. I loved women and dated a lot—more than any man should have a right to—but none of them had ever felt like forever.
Maybe I wasn’t giving any of them a chance. I hadn’t even paid attention to the blonde’s name, which was one of my shortcomings. I’d gotten used to one-night stands, so I didn’t think about much beyond that.
Cheyenne had been different, and we liked each other a great deal, but we’d agreed it was nothing more than sex and friendship. Just over a month ago, she’d taken off for Europe, so we’d decided to call it quits. There were no hard feelings, and she was still a sweet, beautiful girl, but deep down, I’d known she wasn’t it for me.
No one ever was.
I almost wondered if something was wrong with me.
I hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in years. Almost a decade, in fact. I’d had short-term relationships where I was faithful, but those had always been with the understanding that we were just having fun until we mutually decided to end it. Cheyenne had been perfect because she was gorgeous, but busy and independent, so she hadn’t needed to constantly be with me.
And the worst part was, I didn’t know if that had made me like her more or less.
I couldn’t seem to nap so I got up and wandered into my living room.
My Beverly Hills condo was only two thousand square feet, but every inch was bathed in luxury. From the marble flooring to the handmade built-ins to the grand piano by the window—my home was indicative of the life of I lived.
Rich, beautiful, and without depth.
There were only a handful of photographs, I almost never used the kitchen, and even my bedroom was somewhat bare. Almost as if this place was nothing more than a place to rest my head in between tours. The road felt more like home than my condo, and I didn’t know whose fault that was either.
My phone buzzed and I saw my agent’s name flash on the screen.
“Hey, Lorelei.”
“I hope you’re ready to put your actor’s hat on because they want you to do the show.” Her voice was filled with excitement.
“Great.” I couldn’t manage to muster up much enthusiasm since working in television was usually a slog of hurry up and wait.
“Wow, lots of excitement in there,” she said dryly.
“Sorry. I’m excited, just in the middle of something,” I lied.
“All right. Well, I’ll email you the contract. I know you’ll want Madeline to look at it, and we’ll talk tomorrow.” Madeline was my attorney.
“Thanks, Lorelei.”
After doing a couple of commercials, I’d decided I had no interest in acting, but Lorelei had been pushing, and after Carter’s death, it occurred to me it might be smart to have alternate revenue streams.
Not that I would ever be hurting for money unless I did something stupid.
I’d made a lot, invested a ton, and would continue to make money from album sales for a long time.
No, money wasn’t something I worried about.
Boredom, however, was on my mind constantly.
Because I was already bored.
Once the shock of Carter’s death and the subsequent grieving had started to let up, boredom set in hard.
I wasn’t used to being at home for any length of time. Even after a visit to Vancouver to see my mother, a trip to Fort Lauderdale to spend time with my older brother, and a week in Hawaii with Cheyenne, I was restless. The timing for a European tour couldn’t have been better, but even if everything went well, it was still October and we weren’t leaving for two more months.
What the hell was I going to do for two months?
There would be rehearsals for the tour, and we’d been writing some new music, but that wouldn’t take two full months. So doing a few episodes of a television show would keep me occupied, which would be a blessing, no matter how irritating it was to be on set for a week or two.
I didn’t know what was wrong with me lately, but I wasn’t stupid.
Carter’s death had impacted all of us, made us realize that we not only needed each other, but that life was surprisingly short. Even at thirty, with all the fame and money a guy could ask for, something was missing.
And I’d finally realized it was time for me to figure out what it was.