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knob on one of the French doors behind him and slipped back into the ballroom.  
    Noise and heat washed over him. He started walking, feeling a little unsteady on his feet, with only one thought in his mind: snagging a bottle of tequila from the bar and getting up to the room he’d been given for the night. Nick wanted to drink himself into a fucking stupor, until he forgot all about the scene he’d just witnessed and the aching tenderness in his brother’s voice when Shane had said he loved Jesse.
    Nick was so distracted he didn’t notice the waiter in his path until he’d crashed into him. The tray in the waiter’s hands slipped; two champagne flutes slid over the edge and shattered on the marble floor at their feet. Nick automatically grabbed for the tray and managed to right it before the rest of the glasses went over.  
    “Oh, shit,” he started. “My bad. I wasn’t—”
    Nick broke off when he found himself staring down into a pair of stunning green eyes. He’d bumped into the tight-bodied, little cater waiter who’d been cruising him all night. As hot as the guy was, Nick hadn’t really been interested before, but now he took the time to really look him over. The guy had beautiful skin, the color of café au lait, and his hair was a mass of loose, black curls. Nick couldn’t have guessed what his ethnicity was, but those eyes and the texture of his hair gave him away as some kind of mix. Nick found that he liked the contrast of those pretty green eyes, that dark, dark hair, and that smooth, golden brown skin. His gaze dropped to the waiter’s mouth; lush and perfectly shaped. Nick could easily imagine those plump lips wrapped around his cock while those eyes stared up at him. What he saw in the waiter’s face told Nick that the guy knew the exact turn his thoughts had taken.
    Nick took the tray from him and set it on a nearby table. “Come on.”
    The guy followed him without a word as Nick crossed the ballroom and paused at the bar long enough to grab one of the liquor bottles that lined the edge. He didn’t even bother looking to see what it was—at that point he was beyond caring.  
    Nick heard someone calling his name as he stepped out into the hallway—Dre, maybe—but he didn’t stop. He led the waiter up to his room on the third floor. All of the wedding guests had been provided with a room for the night, courtesy of their host, Edward Mead. The fact that the notoriously homophobic owner of Blue Horizon had offered to let Shane and Jesse have their wedding at his mansion for free had surprised the hell out of Nick. But, then, Luck was the label’s biggest seller and Jesse fronted one of the most popular bands in the world. Edward Mead was many things—not the least of which was a total asshole—but he was far from stupid. Whatever his reason for letting the big gay wedding of the century happen on his property, Nick was sure it served his purposes more than anyone else’s. It wouldn’t hurt to stay on his leading front man’s good side, would it, especially when Shane was marrying the singer music execs everywhere were salivating to get their hands on.    
    Nick dismissed those thoughts the moment he and the waiter stepped into his room. What business was it of his anyway? He got paid to play the bass and sing backup vocals, not to worry about what his bosses may or may not have up their sleeves. Maybe Edward had been softened by the spirit of the holiday season. Stranger things had happened.
    He watched as the waiter locked the door and then turned to look at him. “My name is—”
    “Doesn’t matter,” Nick interrupted. “I won’t remember it.”
    The waiter nodded, seeming unsurprised.  
    Nick set the bottle of—vodka, he saw now—onto the nightstand, toed off his shoes, and gestured for the guy to come closer. “C’mere.” The guy crossed the room to stand in front of him. He leaned up toward Nick, as if to kiss him, but Nick fisted a hand in his thick curls and