Starstruck Page 15

  “Oh.” Carter studied him for a moment. “Were . . . were you trying to kill yourself?”

  Heat flooded Levi’s cheeks, but he nodded. “Yeah. I was a mess. Bad shit with my family, having a bit of an identity crisis and . . . Anyway, I went out one night, and I was flying down the 101, just trying to work up the nerve to let go of the wheel.” Goose bumps prickled to life at the memory of the painted stripes whipping past his high beams way faster than they should’ve, and the deep shadows in the gaps between guardrails that had seemed so incredibly inviting in that cold, black moment. “I went around this curve, and I was going too fucking fast. I only went maybe a foot over the center line, but . . .” Closing his eyes, he shuddered, stiffening the already painful muscles in his neck. “Man, I almost hit that minivan. Almost.”

  “Oh, shit,” Carter whispered.

  “They swerved, I swerved, and we missed each other, but I was fucking rattled. I never set out to hurt anyone but myself, and that near miss, it shook me up good. And I guess it just made me realize I was being an idiot. So I started slowing down.” Levi gnawed his lip for a second. “The road was wet, though, and next curve was slicker than snot. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital.”

  “Oh my God.” Carter shook his head. “Sounds like you got seriously lucky.”

  “That’s what they tell me. Thank God for those old-growth trees, or the car and I would’ve gone right into the Pacific. As it is, someone told me the cops almost didn’t bother calling an ambulance because they didn’t think anyone could’ve survived the crash.”

  “Yeah, I saw the pictures. The fact that you’re still walking is unbelievable.”

  Levi shuddered again, and winced. “I never saw the pictures. I very carefully avoided those stories. I didn’t want to see what my car looked like, and I really, really didn’t want to see how close I came to doing what I’d set out to do that night.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Carter whispered hollowly. “So that”—he gestured at the pack of cold peas on Levi’s neck—“is left over from the accident?”

  “Yep. This too.” He touched the scar on his temple. “All the cuts and gashes healed pretty quick, but the muscles took two solid years to recover and get back to normal. Well, this degree of normal, anyway.” He rubbed his steel-tight neck. “I’m a lot better than my doctors ever predicted, so I can’t complain if it still comes back to haunt me sometimes.” He tried to roll his shoulders, but, Jesus, the muscles were stiff as fuck today. “When I get stressed out, this is the first place I feel it.”

  Carter’s eyebrow arched. “What’re you stressed about? The show?”

  “No.” Levi exhaled. “My parents called this morning. To confirm the details for their visit next week.”

  The eyebrow rose a little higher. “Doesn’t sound like your muscles want them to come visit.”

  Levi laughed softly. “Hell, even my cats aren’t going to be happy.”

  “Really?” Carter looked down at Link, who was sleeping peacefully in his lap. “I thought they liked people.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t care for people who stress me out.”

  “Oh.” Carter slowly petted Link. “They’re that bad, huh?”

  Levi nodded. “That bad. But we’ve been making progress. My family’s never exactly been, uh, functional, but we’ve all been trying to patch things up for the last ten years.”

  “Sounds like you still have a ways to go.”

  “We do.” Levi lowered the ice pack, tilted his head from one side to the other, and then put it back, grimacing at the ache in his elbow from holding his arm up. “But it takes a while to undo that much shit.”

  As he continued petting Link, Carter met Levi’s eyes. “Stop me if it’s too personal, but . . . how much shit do you all have to undo?”

  Levi blew out a breath. “Both my parents are as-of-recently recovering alcoholics. And they’ve got some pretty outdated ideas. Hell, they disowned my sister for a while after she got a divorce. There’s some . . . uh, well, typical things that go along with having two raging drunks for parents, even when they aren’t stuck in the Dark Ages.” The muscles in his neck definitely didn’t like the direction of this conversation. “It’s just kind of messy all the way around.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  Levi laughed self-consciously. “God, I’m sorry. You came over to watch movies, and now I’m telling you my lifelong sob story.”

  Carter waved a hand. “It’s all right.” Then he dropped his gaze. “Listen, uh . . .”

  “Hmm?”

  Carter hesitated for a few awkward seconds, but then met Levi’s eyes again. “If it’s not too weird, I, uh, know some techniques.” He gestured at Levi’s neck. “For working out muscle tension.”

  “Techniques? What kind of techniques?”

  “Uh, well . . .” Carter swallowed. “Massage.”

  Levi’s heart skipped.

  “I won’t be offended if you say no.” Carter laughed uncomfortably. “If it’ll make things weird, I’m—”

  “No, it won’t. Not for me, anyway.” Levi raised his eyebrows.

  “Not for me either. As long as you’re . . .”

  “Honestly? If it’ll get rid of this stiffness—” Levi winced, heat rushing into his face. “I mean . . . goddamn it.”

  Carter laughed again. “I know what you mean.”

  Levi lowered the ice pack. “Well, it’s worth a shot. The ice and Aleve aren’t touching it.”

  “Okay. At the risk of making another double entendre, turn around.”

  Levi did as he was told, facing the other end of the couch, and his skin prickled as Carter shifted behind him.

  Then Carter’s hands materialized on his shoulders. Gentle at first, then more firmly. “I’d say this might hurt, but it’s pretty much a guarantee. It’s gonna hurt.”

  Levi exhaled slowly. “It already does.”

  “I can tell. It’s going to get worse for a minute, but this’ll help. Promise.”

  “Go for it. Can’t be any worse than anything my physical— Oh, fuck!”

  “Sorry.” Carter let off a little, but kept working at the painful spot. He pressed his thumbs into the tender center of a knotted muscle, and Levi held his breath, hoping the tension would just release and be done with it.

  “Breathe.”

  Levi did, and the knot slowly started to unravel. He focused on breathing slowly, and on Carter’s fingers, which expertly unwound the knots. Before long, the pain faded into the background. It was still present, of course, still red and angry beneath his skin, but the spotlight had shifted to Carter’s hands. This wasn’t how he’d fantasized about having Carter touch him, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The fact was, Carter’s hands were on him.

  And then, abruptly, they weren’t.

  “Did that help?” Carter asked.

  “Yeah.” Levi tugged at his shirt, which gave his own hands something to do, and pulled the material over his lap. “Yeah, it helped a lot. Thanks.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.”

  Levi hesitated, but then turned around again. At least his jeans made a cursory attempt to hide his hard-on, but if Carter looked, there’d be no pretending it wasn’t there.

  “So, um.” Levi cleared his throat. “Still want to watch some movies?”

  Carter shifted in his seat. “Absolutely.”

  “Great. Great. Let me get, uh . . .” He reached for the ice pack. “Another of these. Something to drink?”

  Carter grinned. “I’m assuming you have Coke.”

  “Of course.” Levi got up—please, God, don’t let him notice that massage turned me on—and went into the kitchen. He spent a moment longer than necessary putting ice in their glasses and finding a fresh pack of frozen peas, letting the cold calm him down a little.

  As Levi filled the glasses, Carter came in, Zelda in his arms and Link hot on his heels. They must’ve demanded his attention before letting him go into the kitchen.

  Levi sli
d Carter’s glass toward him. “Pity they don’t like you.”

  “I know, right?” Carter laughed and took a drink, still balancing Zelda on his arm. “So what are we watching today?”

  Levi gestured for him to follow, and as they started down the hall, he said, “I’m thinking La Disposición?”

  “Oh, I haven’t seen that one. Cool!”

  They settled in the theater, arranging cats and drinks until everyone was comfortable—as comfortable as Levi could get, anyway—and clicked on the movie.

  And the second it started, Levi regretted choosing that one.

  It was an amazing film. Like Romeo and Juliet, if the Montagues and Capulets had been involved in Mexican drug cartels. Absolutely glorious piece of work with spectacular cinematography, amazing dialogue, and a few incredibly poignant scenes.

  And some scorching hot sex.

  It wasn’t the first time they’d watched a movie with explicit scenes—indie directors, especially foreign ones, were notorious for going all out with sex and nudity. And Levi had seen this film at least a dozen times before.

  But tonight, he wasn’t as comfortable with it as he should have been. While the tastefully covered but fully nude bodies tangled together on the screen, he was hyperaware of Carter one seat over. Of how different he’d felt since Carter had shown up.

  His parents had called this morning to confirm their flights and the dates they were coming out to visit, and Levi had been a sore, locked-up mess ever since. Same thing that happened every time.

  And then Carter had texted him. Be there ASAP.

  And then he’d pulled into the driveway.

  And then he’d knocked.

  And . . . Levi had relaxed. Little by little, minute by minute, he’d returned to a better state of mind and his body had reflected that. The skillful—if painful—massage had helped too. Carter obviously knew what he was doing, but there was also something about having those strong but gentle hands on him. There’d been nothing suggestive aside from their ill-timed, badly judged comments beforehand, but from the moment Carter had touched him, Levi had been off-balance. Even now he was still reeling: his muscles felt better, but his mind was all over the place and he had no idea what to make of anything.

  He’d confessed a couple of his most shameful secrets—the accident, the power his family held over him even at this age—and Carter hadn’t shied away. No judgment, no “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nothing more than an offer to do what he could to help, even if it meant crossing that blurry boundary between platonic and not.

  Sitting here now in the theater, without a soul around besides Carter, as they both watched two naked bodies moving on the screen, his mouth was dry. The actors and cameras had been expertly angled so the images just toed the line between explicit content and pornography, but with the way his heart was pounding and sweat was beginning to cool his hairline, they may as well have been watching a hard-core porno. His head was spinning. He couldn’t—and didn’t really want to—shake away the phantom fingers still kneading his stiff neck. What he wanted was the real thing touching him now. Touching him all over.

  He suppressed a shiver and let his gaze slide toward Carter, turning his head as much as he could without being obvious about it.

  The flickering, silvery light from the screen illuminated Carter’s features, highlighting his eyes and playing on his carefully arranged blond hair. Jesus, it was no wonder the kid was in demand by fans and casting directors alike.

  And Levi had kissed him. And he’d had Carter’s hands on him tonight. And he wanted more of both.

  Facing the movie again, he tried to hear the dialogue over his thumping heart. He could change this. The attraction was obviously mutual, and the only thing keeping them apart were Levi’s issues.

  All he had to do was bite the bullet and come out. It wouldn’t be a big deal, would it? He’d only lose the role of his dreams and turn back a decade’s worth of progress with his family.

  He rubbed his neck, which was tensing up again, and tried not to notice the sideways glance from Carter.

  Yes, it hurts again.

  Yes, I’d love it if you offered to rub my neck again.

  Yes, I know it’ll turn into more.

  But Carter didn’t offer. Levi didn’t ask.

  And the movie played on.

  As his Porsche’s engine roared to life in Levi’s driveway, Carter let his head fall back against the seat.

  What the hell was he thinking, offering a massage? Okay, fine, Levi had been in obvious pain, and Carter had a little experience in relieving that kind of pain, and . . .

  And he shouldn’t have been surprised his fingers had taken his mind to places it had no business going, and that the evening had turned into an exercise in unbearable frustration. A massage he’d meant innocently enough. A movie he hadn’t heard a word of. A man he wanted but couldn’t have. Jesus Christ.

  God, he wanted Levi. After tonight, though, he was a breath away from coming completely unglued. Or turning around and burning rubber back down that driveway to tell Levi that he’d seen the way he’d looked at him during the movie, and yes, he’d noticed that Levi had been hard after the massage, and yes, he’d been hard as hell too.

  Just like he was hard as hell now. As he turned onto the dirt road at the end of the driveway, he could barely manipulate the damned steering wheel, never mind the gearshift. He was beyond wound up, too turned on and fucking frustrated to see straight. Ever since they’d agreed to just be friends, he’d forbidden himself from jerking off to thoughts of Levi. Giving those fantasies even a second to take shape in his mind would only make things worse.

  But tonight . . . tonight he couldn’t resist.

  He didn’t make it home before he gave in and pulled over. He hadn’t even made it a half mile down that long secluded road between Levi’s place and the highway, but to hell with it. With the engine still rumbling, he killed the lights, reducing the world around him to total darkness except for the faint glow from the dashboard. His heart pounded. The click of his seat belt seemed to echo through the forest, and when the belt snapped back against the door, he almost jumped out of his skin

  This was crazy. This was absolutely insane. Levi could come down the road at any time, heading into town for whatever reason at this hour. Someone else could drive past. And a Porsche on the side of a dirt road was hardly inconspicuous.

  Oh fucking well. With shaking hands, he unzipped his pants. He didn’t care if he got caught as long as he got off before he lost his goddamned mind.

  All concern—hell, any awareness of the outside world at all—vanished as soon as he wrapped his fingers around his rock-hard cock. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand, jerked his dick with the other, and the close confines amplified every sound—leather protesting, skin rubbing over skin, sharp breaths, throaty groans.

  A million images flashed through his mind of remembered moments and what they could’ve been. The kiss on the stage turning into a desperate fuck against the wall. The completely platonic shoulder massage becoming something hot and heavy and long overdue. Their bodies tangled up on the boat and keeping perfect time with the proverbial motion of the ocean. Levi fucking him, Levi taking him . . .

  Even though it was fake, an expression and a sound manufactured for the camera, Carter had seen and heard Levi come. God, how many times had he watched that scene in Broken Day? How many times had he watched it with his hand on his dick, mesmerized by everything Levi did, just like right now as that scene played and played and played in his mind?

  He knew it by heart, and he saw and felt every nuance of it. Levi and the actress, their bodies had been so close, their pounding hearts almost audible, and Carter had wondered a time or two if that sex scene hadn’t been fake after all. If Levi had really been inside her, and if the way her eyes had flown open hadn’t been because the script had told her to, but because he’d moved just right, touched her just right, and she’d been his and only his for those few seconds o
f screen time.

  And then Levi had thrown his head back, eyes squeezed shut and features taut, and every shudder and tremor had looked real, and Carter had imagined it was his nails scratching Levi’s chest and making him groan like that and—

  “Fuck!” He gasped for breath and shook as semen coated his fingers. The fantasies in his mind exploded into white light, and he heard himself swear again, heard the leather protest and the steering wheel creak as he tensed and trembled.

  Then everything was still and silent.

  Panting, he rested his forehead on the hand still gripping the wheel. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come that hard. It wasn’t the first time he’d ever jerked off thinking about Levi, but it was definitely the most intense. Jesus, if that fantasy ever became reality, he didn’t know if he could handle it.

  His heart rate slowly came down. The rest of the world faded in around him. He caught his breath. Found some napkins in the glove box to clean off his hand.

  And felt like shit.

  It wasn’t shame. Just the feeling he’d gotten a taste of something he desperately wanted, and once that taste was gone, he remembered how far out of reach that thing really was, and no amount of denial or wishful thinking would change that.

  He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t been holding on to a glimmer of hope that he and Levi might turn into more.

  But . . . there was always a “but.” Always a reason they couldn’t do this.

  Or, more to the point, reasons why they wouldn’t do this. Carter wouldn’t be a secret. Levi wouldn’t go public. With no middle ground . . .

  Carter blew out a breath. He could never imagine sympathizing with Dylan Masters for outing Levi, and God knew he’d never dream of outing anyone, but a weird feeling knotted in his gut now that he knew what had happened between them. He couldn’t imagine being in Masters’s shoes—being such a deep, dark, dirty secret in Levi’s closet that the man wouldn’t even cop to it when asked point-blank about it years later.

  Carter ran a hand through his hair. These feelings he had for Levi—whatever the fuck they were these days—weren’t going away anytime soon. He couldn’t just turn them off, and he couldn’t stop them from getting stronger the more time he spent around Levi.