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semi-diplomatically.
    “Blake said you two were friends,” Yanmei said, offhand.
    “Well, he left out a fair bit.” Cal paused, unsure how much to tell her. He settled on, “We had a falling out.”
    “Oh.” Yanmei sounded contrite. Cal wasn’t trying to guilt trip her, though.
    “Just let him play,” Cal said. “You put a lot of work into this. And I trust your judgment. If you think it’ll be good for the bar, I’m sure it will be.”
    As much as Cal wished he could lock himself away in a bunker far from Blake’s influence, he wasn’t so upset that he’d trample all over Yanmei just to get free of him. She deserved better than that. And really, this was Blake’s fault, because he’d had the opportunity to tell the truth about their past.
    Cal avoided looking at the stage as he made his way over to the bar. He had a long night ahead of him. As soon as he’d confronted the truth—how badly he still wanted Blake—he’d had difficulty coping. Half a decade apart hadn’t dulled the talons of those feelings at all. It still rubbed him just as raw as the day he’d realized Blake didn’t want him in quite the same way.
    He typically avoided drinking on the job, but he wondered if today qualified as extenuating circumstances.
    Cal mixed himself a gin and tonic, muddling some mint leaves and trying not to look up at the man who only ever wanted him as a friend with benefits.

9
Blake
    P laying tiny , stripped-down sets was a pleasure Blake didn’t get to enjoy too often. At least not in these days of headline gigs and around-the-clock interviews. Sneaking off with Carlo to play a casual, bare-bones, banjo-and-percussion-only gig at The Garage was a dream come true.
    Sticking it to Cal was the icing on the cake.
    Blake wasn’t sure what the deal was between Cal and Yanmei, and after a half day in her company, their relationship remained a mystery. They seemed much closer than a boss and an employee, and she spoke of him with a reticence that could possibly have been interpreted as romantic...
    Why did he even care, anyway?
    Blake grabbed a big can of Coors for Carlo and a bottle of water for himself, then took the two steps up onto the stage for a quick sound check. Once Yanmei opened the doors, the sparse crowd inside grew thicker. The two of them had put out feelers—nothing concrete, just teasers, a couple of obscure Facebook posts—hinting obliquely at the show’s location and existence. It appeared to have done the trick.
    By the time Blake and Carlo started into their first number, the building was packed to capacity. Cal and Yanmei and some skinny guy Blake hadn’t seen before were run off their feet at the bar. The beer was flowing, the set was cozy and intimate, and in that moment there was no place Blake would rather be.
    He’d forgotten how much fun music could be, sometimes. Without Rhett around kicking up a fuss, he and Carlo joked and fucked with each other during the set, trying to throw one another off with time signature changes or the spontaneous addition of “Cripple Creek” to the set list.
    Blake played a couple of the Sinsationals’ newer songs, but just the big radio hits. A decent chunk of the crowd sang along, especially to “Sneaking Out,” a song Blake imagined just about everyone could relate to. Who hadn’t snuck out after curfew to fool around and stargaze with their special someone?
    Sometimes, when Blake sang it, he felt like a fraud. Not because he’d never done it—he’d snuck out on more nights than he’d stayed in as a youngster—but because it hadn’t ever been for love. Not like it was in the song. In a song, you couldn’t say you lied to your parents and snuck out at night to spend the night with a different guy or girl every week. People only wanted you to admit you broke the rules for someone special.
    That was a truism Rhett had nailed into his skull during their sessions for their sophomore album. And as much of an asshole as Rhett was, he wrote