Roadie Read online

  “Roadie”

  M/M Gay Romance

  Jerry Cole

  © 2018

  Jerry Cole

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is intended for Adults (ages 18+) only. The contents may be offensive to some readers. It may contain graphic language, explicit sexual content, and adult situations. May contain scenes of unprotected sex. Please do not read this book if you are offended by content as mentioned above or if you are under the age of 18.

  Please educate yourself on safe sex practices before making potentially life-changing decisions about sex in real life. If you’re not sure where to start, see here: http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com/safe-sex-resources/.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner & are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Products or brand names mentioned are trademarks of their respective holders or companies. The cover uses licensed images & are shown for illustrative purposes only. Any person(s) that may be depicted on the cover are simply models.

  Edition v1.00 (2018.04.12)

  http://www.jerrycoleauthor.com

  Special thanks to the following volunteer readers who helped with proofreading: P Bland, Jim Adcock, maw, Bailey H.S., Julian White, Beth Key, Bradford Williams, D. Fair, Michelle Beer, Thomas Mootz and those who assisted but wished to be anonymous. Thank you so much for your support.

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  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Authors Note

  Books by Jerry Cole

  Chapter One

  Wyatt looked at the rigging and wondered if it could even hold that many electronic gizmos. It was always the same with these fancy spoiled stars. They wanted all the best lighting, all the biggest sound systems, spinning disco balls, flashing LEDs and trapeze artists. But they never considered the practicality of how all this stuff fit together. Or the job of the poor guy having to set it up.

  Who was this even for, anyway? Loads of lights and sound gear, some confetti bombs, but not much in the way of true performance gear. And definitely not much room on the stage for a band. So probably another over-hyped DJ.

  Wyatt picked up a flier from the table. Yep, a DJ.

  "Vicio." "Vice." Typical dumb stage name for a typical DJ. It was amazing any of these guys made it big, in Wyatt's mind. They just gave themselves a name that would look cringe-worthy on social media in 2006, hit a few buttons to make good songs sound dumb, and then got a load of attention for it.

  None of them seemed to have any talent, to write any music, to actually study anything or do anything with themselves. They just learned to hit buttons right to make a repetitive beat that impressionable teens could shake their butts to. It was a nice living if you could pull it off, and the sort of person who loved the limelight would fare well in it.

  But Vicio was cute. He had that going for him. It was probably ninety-nine percent of the reason why he was popular anyway. Wyatt noticed that even under the ridiculous hairdo and the rave make up, Vicio was a well-shaped, handsome young man, with sparkling brown eyes and a fit, lean body that he showed off through a mesh top. Everything about the man screamed "camp."

  And yet there he was flanked by two girls on either side, all of them clinging onto his legs and looking up at him with the same adoration usually reserved for a cult leader. Vicio was somehow straight. Which was a pity. He was definitely Wyatt's type, but Wyatt was definitely not Vicio's type.

  Wyatt was not what anyone would call "cute." "Handsome and rugged" perhaps, but definitely not "cute." Standing at six foot two and built like a professional wrestler, his rough figure had been constructed from years of working on sets and rigging, from theater to where he was now, setting up stages at a local nightclub. His black hair was kept close-cropped to avoid getting it caught on anything, and his stubble was rough due to never quite getting up on time to shave. He had an upper body tan from pulling his shirt off as he worked on outdoor stages most of the year.

  But it didn't matter that he was a little rough. It wasn't as if he were dating anyone, or as if he would date someone who cared.

  "Do you ever get bored with this?" Sam asked, putting the light down and looking up at the rigging warily.

  Sam was his coworker. They were regularly assigned the same jobs by the agency because they were a similar age, Wyatt at twenty-nine and Sam at thirty-one. Other than that, they had nothing at all in common, but somehow the agency's pairings always worked, and they were no exception.

  Sam was a smallish, but very loud married father of three who always seemed to have something to say to anyone about anything. And Wyatt, not much of a talker, was always happy to listen.

  "What do you mean?" Wyatt asked Sam, also looking up at the perilously balanced high beam lights.

  "I just find that it gets kind of dull. I mean, outdoor festivals you can swing around on the rig, and theater you have the sets, but the lighting stuff for these clubs is all the same," Sam explained.

  Wyatt nodded. "I feel you."

  "And the manual work side adds up, you know? I'm going to have a hernia by the time I'm forty," Sam added.

  "I've always enjoyed it, though," Wyatt replied. "Always worked in construction, always worked putting things together. I suppose I'm good at it."

  "You gonna keep on doing it?" Sam asked.

  Wyatt nodded. "Yeah, I want to keep doing this forever. Maybe around the country a bit."

  "Not me," Sam replied. "I want to get my degree finished and become an engineer. Be one of the guys planning this instead of one of the guys setting it up. I know I'm a bit late to join the game, but I think I will be able to add a lot, having been on both sides."

  Wyatt nodded again. "Well, when you're the one planning it, don't assign five thirty-pound high beam light
s to a two-hundred-pound beam when a speaker set has to go on it too."

  Sam was about to say something when a woman's voice interrupted them. "Not enough work has been done for you bums to stop and talk."

  They turned around to see Clarissa Edwards walking up to them.

  She was stunning in every way. Wyatt had never fancied a woman in his life and even he could not deny that she was in every way the ideal woman. Five foot five, curvy like a perilous mountain road, strawberry blonde hair, piercing brown eyes, bold red lips, and an attitude that cut like a knife. She was immediately identifiable as Vicio's manager. She had been the manager for many other successful DJs before him, but since Vicio had become an international superstar she had become a bit of a thing herself.

  She looked up and down the rigging as she walked up to them, muttering under her breath and shaking her head until she was right in front of the men. She was much shorter than them, but then again so was a wolf and that didn't make it any less intimidating to face one.

  "What are you doing?" Clarissa asked coldly. "I need this set up now. No time for chit chat. Hurry up and get it done."

  Wyatt nodded. "Yeah, but the setup is not safe. See that beam? It can only take the lights or the sound, not both."

  "Then put up another fucking beam, Einstein," Clarissa replied, digging her long red nails into the palm of her hand hard. "Can't you do anything without asking me first?"

  "Officially, no, Miss Edwards," Sam replied with a smirk.

  "Don't get smart with me, just do whatever it takes to get Vicio live by nine," she snapped, turning around and walking off.

  "She is a ball buster," Wyatt mumbled. "Managers. Can't live with them, wouldn't have a job without them."

  "Well, that's true," Sam replied, "not like these dumb little DJs with all their fancy toys are going to know jack shit about how to set up their own stage. All they know is how to turn on a computer. Even then they fuck up sometimes."

  Wyatt just nodded and looked up and down the rig. "We can add the extra beam along the third space, there's plenty of room there and it will carry the load."

  "Wow, are you guys almost done in here?" a quiet voice asked from behind him.

  A young man of around twenty, with bright eyes, hair buzzed down both sides of his head, and a neon t-shirt, emblazoned with some sort of brand logo, stood there. He was tall, a little lanky, but pretty sweet looking. He was also not wearing any form of ID. Wyatt was used to people sneaking past security, but this was ridiculous. This kid looked too weak to have broken in, and too clueless to have outwitted anyone.

  The kid just kept walking around, looking at the rigging, tapping the lights, and then climbing up toward the DJ booth, muttering to himself. For a moment Wyatt and Sam just looked at one another and shrugged. Neither of them knew who this intruder was.

  He was cute, but he looked like a deer caught in headlights, or a confused little kitten in a new house, darting around, looking at things, then freezing, confused and scared. It was pretty obvious he knew he didn't belong there.

  Then why would he announce his presence? Why would he let himself get caught before he could meet DJ Vicio? That had to be his end game, of course. That was everyone's end game when they broke backstage. They wanted to meet their idol.

  The kid was probably high on something. That would explain his attitude. Even more reason for Wyatt to get rid of him before Clarissa got back and busted their balls for having someone without ID in the room during set up.

  "We can't let fans back here," Wyatt remarked. "I know you probably want to see the DJ and shit, but it's my job to tell you to fuck off or I'll call security, OK?"

  The young man looked up and shook his head. "Oh, I'm not—" He shrugged.

  "Are you drunk, or high, or something?" Sam asked. "You aren't allowed back here. Go away. Shoo."

  The young man shook his head. "Don't you guys know who I am?" he asked sheepishly.

  "Whoever you are, nobody is allowed anywhere here without ID. We have a big star whose butt we've got to kiss and if there's a security breach like this then we're screwed, and we might even have to start over, so get out," Sam explained. "Calling security is the last thing any of us want."

  "Wait," the young man said, shoving a hand in his pocket and pulling out the usual ID card.

  Wyatt and Sam breathed a sigh of relief in unison. At least there would be no do-over caused by some sort of a stalker panic.

  Nervously, the young man raised his ID to Wyatt's eye level. Wyatt looked at it, looked at the young man, and looked back at the ID. That couldn't be right. But sure enough, the faces matched. This was "Vicio"? He felt like he was about to start laughing out loud. This nervous brat was the twenty-three–year-old superstar who had models hanging off his body in every photo op he ever did?

  "There you are, I was worried," Clarissa said, materializing in the room as though out of thin air.

  Wyatt shrugged. "We thought he was an intruder because he wasn't wearing his ID."

  "Please leave him alone. He needs to save up his creative energy for the show tonight," Clarissa said, sweeping the young man away. "He shouldn't even be out here. You get back to work, I'll make sure he isn't too traumatized to perform."

  As the two exited the room Wyatt stared for a moment, then shook his head and walked back over to Sam, who was staring as though begging for updates.

  "One of Clarissa's little friends?" Sam asked. "Why am I not surprised? Do these people think the rules don't apply to them or something? So, who was it? Press? Opening act? Her coffee boy? The suspense is killing me."

  Wyatt laughed. "I think we should get on with work."

  "No, seriously, tell me," Sam said, picking up his light again and looking at the rig.

  "You're not gonna believe this," Wyatt said to Sam. "Want to try and guess instead?"

  Sam shrugged. "It was Vicio?"

  "Got it in one," Wyatt replied.

  "Seriously?" Sam asked, almost dropping the light. "That string bean with the personality of moldy lettuce was Vicio? No wonder he wears make up, he probably has to pretend to be someone else to feel confident enough to get on stage."

  Wyatt nodded. "I guess it must be a stage persona."

  "Loads of these stars have them," Sam replied, climbing the ladder slowly and beginning to fit the light. "They can't handle the stress, so they develop something like a split personality on purpose."

  "Apparently, I might have made him too scared to perform or something," Wyatt remarked. "As if hitting buttons would be a huge challenge for the brat. It's not rocket science."

  "What does he want? A medal for appearing on stage? I mean, if it's such a tough job being rich and famous then maybe he can just give it to literally any other boy-band-looking twenty-something out there. I bet his fans won't even notice the difference," Sam replied, climbing back down the ladder and looking at the rig again. "It's not real work like what we do. Doesn't take any brains. And most of the tunes are written by some nerd in a basement anyway."

  "Yeah, I heard most of them just plug in and play," Wyatt said, taking the wires and feeding them through.

  "I bet I could do it and all," Sam said, walking up to the DJ booth and flipping a switch. "See? We know where all the buttons are and what they connect to. If anything, I could do this better than that brat. All in the house, please stand for DJ Sam-wich."

  Wyatt laughed. "Be careful, Sam, don't want to traumatize them any more than they already are."

  Sam hit another switch and watched the light he had just installed slide up and down the rig. He pressed a button and a klaxon sounded before the light started flashing in pink. "I am a genius! I am a DJ prodigy!"

  There was an audible gasp and a slight growl from the doorway. Wyatt turned around to see Vicio standing there, glaring at Sam.

  "Don't touch that!" Vicio shouted, his pupils shrinking right down in rage, as he stormed up to Sam, blind to anything else.

  Vicio almost tripped over the wire before Wyatt caught
him. "Now, now, he hasn't broken anything. We're professionals, we know what we're doing," Wyatt reassured Vicio.

  The young man glared at him and then marched up to the booth, looking over everything intently and slowly reversing everything that Sam had done. "We set things up in a precise way for a precise reason and you are fucking with it," he grumbled as he adjusted the light back to a fraction of an inch.

  "I would have put it back anyway," Sam said.

  "Please keep an eye on him," Vicio said to Wyatt. "And don't let him near my booth again."

  Wyatt nodded. "Sure thing. Sorry about the trouble. I'm sure nothing was damaged."

  Vicio looked a little taken aback by Wyatt's politeness. "Well, no, it could have been though. Watch him."

  And with that, Vicio vanished out of the room almost as suddenly as he had walked in.

  "What crawled up his ass and died?" Sam asked indignantly, getting back to work. "And why was he even here? Not like he had anything he needed to do in here. Just trying to bother us, that's all."

  Wyatt nodded again and got back to work.

  Chapter Two

  Vicente Almodovar checked the booth over and over. Something had to be broken. Something had to have gone wrong. That guy was messing around with stuff that was not his to mess around with. It was not as if some blue-collar stage hand would understand the intricacies of one of Vicio's performances, nor the importance of how everything was set up. Apparently, Clarissa had a hard time getting them to position everything correctly in the first place.

  Nothing looked out of place at first glance. Or at second glance. Or at third glance. But something had to be. Vicente could feel it in his bones. Something had to be wrong. He just needed to find what it was and fix it. Then he could get ready to start the show stress-free.

  At only twenty-three, Vicente Almodovar was a world-famous DJ with millions to his name, a whole brand, a clothing empire, and more. He had begun his work at fourteen, only really hitting the big time at nineteen, but by now he was an established household name in most clubs and music venues around the world.