Complicating Roy by Megan Slayer
Book 2 in the Love Me Do series
General Release Date: 22nd March 2022
Word Count: 40,573
Book Length: SHORT NOVEL
Pages: 160
GENRES:
CONTEMPORARY,EROTIC ROMANCE,GAY,GLBTQI
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Book Description
Complication doesn’t always have to be a bad thing.
Duke Charles needs a break. He’s tired of life on the road and never having a place to settle down. He decides to head to Norville for a rest in his childhood home. Once there, he realizes his life isn’t quite so relaxed—he’s not only inherited the house, but a cat to go with it. When his friend from high school sends him on a date, he finds out how complicated life can be…in a good way.
Roy Mars likes his life as an artist. He paints, sells work and takes his cat, Raphael, for walks through Norville. He channels his emotions into his art…until he goes on a date and meets Duke. His uncomplicated life gets thrown into chaos, not least because Duke has rabid fans who insist on knowing every detail of his life.
Can Roy handle a little complication in the form of Duke, or will he quit before he finds his forever?
Duke tossed his drumsticks onto the floor. He practiced eight hours a day when he wasn’t playing live shows and right now, he didn’t want to look at his kit. He loved music but he needed a break. He’d been on the road for what seemed like an eternity. “How long have we been on this tour?”
Winston, the lead singer of his band, the Saints, didn’t look at him. “When have we not been doing the live circuit? Jesus. We’ve been on the road for as long as the band’s been in existence.”
Duke nodded. “Aren’t you tired?”
“Exhausted.” Winston plopped onto the closest stool. “We need to get off the road.”
“I want to go home.” He’d texted his friend, James, telling him how much he missed being in a real house and in the town where he’d grown up.
“Where are you going to go? We don’t have apartments. We have post office boxes and a bus,” Winston said. “We need to buy a fucking house.”
“I’m not living with you full-time, but you’re right. We need to do something.” Duke stood. “I’m going home. My folks left me their house in Norville, Ohio. It’s time I go there and take a break. I’ve got friends I want to see and a life that needs living.”
“You’re going to Ohio?” Winston stared at him. “Ohio, as in the middle of nowhere and not part of the music scene? You’re serious?”
“I am.” He put the sticks in his pouch, then dragged the cover over his drums. “I’m done.”
“What do I tell the fans? We’re supposed to play gigs.” Winston followed him through the recording studio. “We owe the label music. We should be writing.”
Duke stopped in the foyer and faced Winston. “We’ve been going nonstop for the last fifteen years. Non. Stop. I’m tired. We’re tired. The music is suffering. I have nothing to give right now. Nothing.”
“Then we dig deep like always.”
“That’s just it. I have nowhere else to dig. I’m tapped out.” Duke grabbed his phone from the rack. “I need to go.”
“Where? To Ohio?”
“Right now, I’m going out for some fresh air.” Duke left the studio. New York was so noisy. He liked noise. Being a drummer meant he dealt in noise and music and the ear-splitting sounds that got the crowd on their feet. But it didn’t give him a chance to breathe. He needed to stretch and experiment with sounds, not to be stuck in the box of the band all the time.
He stopped in the park area in front of the studio building and sat on one of the benches. He needed to go to his parents’ house. He’d left the home empty, save for their possessions, for two years. Paying his friend Rory to keep it up had been a boon, but he should be there instead.
He checked flights back to Ohio. If he wanted to go, he needed to get there.
Hart, the band manager, strode up to him. “I hear you’re looking to escape.”
He should’ve expected Winston to tattle on him to Hart. He’d probably convinced Hart to come out here to talk some sense into him. “Hi.”
“Are you?” Hart sat beside him. “You’re tired, I know that.”
“I am very tired and I want to go home. I told Winston I’m tapped out and it’s true.” He resumed searching flights. “Is that an issue?”
“Yes and no. Yes, because you should be on tour and recording, but no, because I know how much you need a break. The band is falling apart. Sure, the fans need you to be together, but you’re not playing up to your abilities and it shows.”
Duke put his phone down. “Then what do we do?”
“You take breaks. Winston needs to get back to writing. You should be writing, too, but you need a clear head,” Hart said. “You’re clean, but if you’re going home gets you the rest of the way there, then do it.”
“Norville.” He missed the place.
“What? What is Norville?” Hart asked.
“That’s where I’m from. It’s a town in Ohio and it’s where I’m going.”
Hart dipped his head once. “I’ll help you get tickets. I want you guys to be playing, but I want you in the right headspace. Let’s get you home and resting. Maybe you’ll end up finding a good guy to settle down with and get you back to music.”
He stared at Hart. He hadn’t told anyone he was gay. His sexual identity had been a secret—he’d thought it was a secret. “What?”
“What? You need a good man behind you. Winston is good, but not your type. He’s moody and cranky—and needs to get laid as bad as you do.”
He could’ve fallen over. “How did you figure me out? I’m still in the closet. Hell, I’ve barely admitted it to myself.”
“I see who you stare at and I know what you order on pay-per-view. You want to look at Sebastian Evans’s ass, not at Paulina Irina’s tits.” Hart shrugged. “Honestly, I’d look at Seb, too. He’s hot.”
“So you don’t care that I’m gay?” He fidgeted with his phone. Hart had to care—it was his livelihood to keep the band together, making music and appealing to the fans. “Hart?”
“I don’t care where you stick your dick. If you like guys, then you do. Who cares? I want you to be happy. Hell, fuck whomever you want as long as it’s legal. Just clear your head.”
“Thanks.” Damn. He’d made a big move and didn’t regret a thing about it. “I’m gay.” There. He’d said it.
“Congratulations.” Hart hugged him. “I’m proud of you. Being out is big and scary, but we’re all behind you. This is huge.”
“Thanks.” Relief settled around him. He’d come out and so far, he’d been accepted. Hot damn.
“Let’s get you home. You need a rest,” Hart said. “Besides, you need to be in a room that’s not on a bus or in a hotel.”
“Yes.” He couldn’t wait to be in a real bed in a real house with regular sheets and no bandmates in the adjacent space.
* * * *
Two days later, Duke drove into Norville and most of the weight on his shoulders evaporated. He was home. Sure, Norville wasn’t exciting. It wasn’t very big, either, but it was enough. He’d forgotten just how small and quaint the town was. The buildings had been refurbished from the last time he’d come home fifteen years ago. The businesses had added flowers and he liked the prevalence of Pride flags.
The place felt homey, too. Kids biked on the sidewalks and a splash pad sprinkled water in the park.
A sense of belonging surrounded him. He loved his band and couldn’t wait to get back out on the road. He couldn’t wait to play again, but he needed this split.
As he drove to his parents’ home, he thought about the news he’d read on his flight. A few guys who were his contemporaries in age, drummers in other rock bands, had died only a couple of days apart. Two from suicide and one shot by an angry ex-band member.
Fuck. Maybe they all needed a break, too. He hated that they were gone, even if he hadn’t known them well. The expectations to perform and to do it at a high level were a lot for anyone, but no one expected any of them to burn out so soon. He loved to play and entertain, but he’d grown tired.
Maybe those guys were burned out. What did he know? Right now, it didn’t matter.
He’d come home.
His parents’ house wasn’t extravagant—it was a split-level home with a finished basement perfect for a home studio due to his father putting in sound proofing to muffle his drumming. The huge back porch offered a great view of the yard and sunshine while giving a space to relax. His father once wanted to enclose the porch, but thankfully his mother had said no.
He’d have to renovate the home a bit. The place hadn’t been lived in for the last two years. His friend Rory watched the property and kept the grass cut, but the furniture would need to be replaced. He’d have to update it.
Was that bad?
He’d be erasing memories with his family. Then again, this gave him the chance to buy what he liked and create new memories. His parents would want him to be happy and move on.
God, he needed a real home, not a bunk on a bus or a hotel room for a few nights. He needed roots, too. Maybe he’d meet someone now that he was in town. Wouldn’t that be nice? He wanted a partner—someone to share his life and not think of him as a star or property. He wasn’t here to elevate someone’s status and he didn’t want the hassle of drugs around. He’d gotten clean and wanted to stay that way.
He pulled into his parents’ driveway. Rory stood on the front porch.
“Hi.” He left the car. “It looks exactly the same.”
“I kept it the way you requested. The drums arrived this morning.” Rory left the porch. “How are you? Life in the city got boring?”
“I don’t live in the city. I haven’t lived in one place for so long it’s crazy. I just keep going.” He strode up to the porch. “That said, I don’t want anyone to know I’m in town.”
“You must’ve told James. He knew.”
“He did because I did. I told him I wanted to come home.” He sat beside Rory. “Does anyone else know?”
“I haven’t any idea,” Rory said and rested his elbows on his knees. “I do know he thinks you’re gay.”
“He does, eh?” Nothing got by James.
“You were best friends in school and he’s perceptive.” Rory picked at his watch. “Are you?”
“Yeah. I am. Think James will make a pass?” This admitting he was gay got easier each time.
“Nope. He’s got his hands full with the salon and his dog.”
“Dog? That’s a horrible thing to call his boyfriend.”
“No, he’s got a real dog. A shaggy mutt showed up and never left,” Rory said. “Big ole black dog that’s pushy, but handsome enough.”
“I wouldn’t have thought he was a dog person,” Duke said.
“He’s not, but it chose him,” Rory said. “Sort of like you’re going to become a cat person.”
“I am?” He could barely take care of himself, let alone an animal.
“You are because Chester lives here.” Rory pointed to the window. A black cat reclined on the windowsill. “That’s Chester. He’s a runt I picked up, but he’s insisted on living here.”
“He’s yours.”
“Nope. He adopted your house. He’s a good cat. Doesn’t mark stuff, he’s fixed and he chases away the mice. He makes people think someone lives here, so it works out,” Rory said. “He keeps the place occupied.”
“But food and water? Doesn’t he need to be fed?”
“What about it? I feed him when I come over in the morning and he has a dish for water. He’s pretty self-sufficient.”
“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that.
“He just hangs around and sleeps on the furniture.” Rory toyed with his keys. “I have the keys and this place is back to being yours—yours and Chester’s. You’ll be fine.” He nodded. “I’ll keep checking on you.”
“Thanks.” He probably should have a handler.
“Oh and James is coming over tonight. He insisted.” Rory stood. “He has news or something. Said he couldn’t tell you on the phone or through a message I should give you. Whatever it is, it’s vital to the universe.”
“If it’s coming from James, it must be important.” James could exaggerate with the best of them, but usually with reason. “When is he coming over?”
“At six after Dye Hard Style closes.”
“Is he bringing the dog?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll have to get him to tame this mane.” He hadn’t cut his hair in a year.
“You will. Looks like he’s here and I need to get home. Tricia will be thrilled that I can be home in the evenings. I’d come here to get away from her mother. I know. I’m an ass. She gets under my skin and it’s hard not to snap, so I leave.” Rory hooked his hands on his belt loops and stood. “Your drums are in the basement in the soundproof room. Have fun.”
“I will. Thanks.” He stood and clapped Rory on the shoulder. “You’re a good friend.”
“I do my best.” Rory winked, then walked to his truck, parked in the grass. As he entered his vehicle, James left his.
“You always arrive in style.” Duke had no idea where James managed to find the vintage Mercedes roadster, but it made a visual statement when he showed up anywhere.
“Of course.” James ran his fingers through his slicked-back pompadour. “You know it.”
“I do. How are you? Striking as ever.” He hugged his friend. “I missed you. That phone call the other day wasn’t enough.”
“It wasn’t. We had good times.” James laughed. “But I’ll take it. I missed you, too. You look rangy, but okay.”
“I am rangy.”
James laughed again. “I can fix you up.”
“Good. I hear you have vital information?” Duke asked. “What’s so important?”
James sat beside him on the steps. “Have you officially come out?”
“Sort of. The fans don’t know, but my manager does and the band knows. Now you and Rory have figured it out.” He tensed. “Why?”
“I want to set you up with someone.”
“So soon?” He feigned shock. The idea of having a boyfriend and going on a real date sounded fun. “Okay, who is it? Is this the real thing or fake?”
“Real.” James recoiled. “You’ve wounded me. I would never set someone up on a fake date. That’s cruel.”
“That’s never stopped some people.” He’d been set up on plenty of farcical dates just to drum up publicity. No one had ever figured out why he didn’t keep seeing the women. That, or they didn’t question him to his face.
“I’m not those people.” James flattened his hands on his thighs. “He’s a sweet guy, cute and a catch.”
“Why is he single?” Single people tended to have reasons why they were single.
“He’s picky.”
“And he’d pick me?” He wasn’t so great.
“He would.”
“Right.” He’d decide for himself if he wanted more than one date with this guy.
“You’re thinking too hard. Just trust me. You’re perfect for each other and I know because I have a knack for these things.”
“Then tell me who it is,” Duke said. “I’m not out to any other people and he might not like that. I’m hard to like.”
“You’re a walking piece of art and you’ll like him. I know him and you, so you can trust me.” James patted Duke’s knee. “Go to Club Jester at nine on Tuesday. It’s in the spot where the Thirsty Cowboy used to be. Go to the private area, the Viper suites. It’ll be all set up—you just have to be there.”
“And if I don’t?” He stared at James. “I told you I’m not a catch. I’m angry and used up. I’m tatted, pierced and not going to get into a club without using my fame.”
“So?”
“I attract certain people.”
“Uh-huh. You’re also talking yourself out of this before you even know the score,” James said. “He’s a sweet guy. He’s artistic, driven, creative, and he’s got his own business. He’s just fine alone, but he’d be better with you.”
The guy did sound like a catch on paper. He shouldn’t worry about James’s decision. If his friend thought he should be with someone and had an idea who he should be with, then he’d do it.
“Look, just do it. I’ll see you in a day or two to get you cleaned up, then you’ll be fresh for your date. Okay?”
“Deal.” He shook hands with James. “I’ll be there.”
“You will.” James left the porch and strode out to his car. “It’ll be epic.”
“Sure.” He watched James leave, then he headed into the house. He hadn’t been home in forever. He stepped into the living room and felt like he’d been transported back in time. He remembered Christmases in this room. He’d stood in front of the picture window with his dates for proms and homecomings.
His mother had told him he could come to her any time with his problems and had hugged him after he came out. The couch was the same one from his childhood.
He spied the black cat. “Hi, Chester.” He sat on the floor and held his hand out to the feline. “Looks like we’re going to be housemates.”
The cat crept over to him and sniffed Duke’s hand. He snorted, then bumped his head against Duke’s fingers.
“Will you let me live here? I’m loved. I like to drum at all hours of the day and night,” he said. “I don’t keep regular hours. I like to exercise and some people think I’m scary. They see me as my former self, the drug-addled drunk. I’m not. I’m recovering. Will that be okay for you?”
The cat wasn’t going to answer him. He wasn’t sure why he thought it might. The feline blinked, then crawled onto Duke’s lap.
“Well, okay.” He chuckled. He wasn’t a cat person, but he and Chester seemed to have formed a bond.
Good enough for him. If the date didn’t work out, he had Chester to keep him company.
“So, what do we do?” He petted Chester. “I’m thinking I should do the work and update this house one room at a time.”
Shit. He should ensure his drum kit was put together correctly and that the soundproofing was still in good shape. He scooped Chester into his arms and carried him through the house to the basement. The moment he stepped into his former practice room, memories hit hard. He’d come out to his parents in this room. He’d hidden in here to improve his skills on the drums and a few times to make out. His parents hadn’t questioned him when he’d come out. They’d accepted him and his decisions for his life.
He sighed. He wished he’d had more time with his parents to tell them how much he appreciated them, their hard work and faith in him. They were the models for the kind of love he wanted. They’d been partners who’d loved and cherished each other.
Would his mystery date be the one to cherish him, too? He hoped so, but he’d learned ages ago not to put too much faith in hope.
First, he had to get the house in order and his practice time completed.
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Megan Slayer
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and BDSM themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been the runner up in the Kink Category at Love Romances Café as well as nominated at the LRC for best author, best contemporary, best ménage and best anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on Amazon.com.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice.
Find out more about Megan on her website, and sign up for the newsletter here. You can also check out her Blog, Amazon Author Page, Bookbub and Instagram.
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