Blayne

Blayne gave himself one last look in the mirror. I look like an idiot, he thought. His boyfriend, Ethan Bond—one of the five members of the pop group ZERO—had assured him that the outfit was perfect for a concert. It was a white T-shirt under a black T-shirt, black skinny jeans rolled up at the ankles and white tennis shoes without socks. To complete the look, he also had a black lambskin leather jacket, accented with navy-blue satin lining. “I look like I should be a model.” In Blayne’s mind, that idea was not exactly reassuring. He applied some pomade to his hands and worked it through his short, blond hair until it was tamed to his liking.

There was a buzz from his left. He glanced at a text message on his iPhone screen.

Driver will be there in five minutes.

“The driver will be here in five minutes,” he announced to the small group of friends in his apartment living room. He grabbed his favorite cologne, gave a quick spritz and walked through the fragrant mist before pocketing his wallet, keys and cell phone. Coat in hand, he left his bedroom.

“It’s about time,” Kira remarked as he emerged. “I thought I’d have to rescue you.” She paused for a second and let out a low whistle. “Look at you, all grown up.” She pantomimed wiping a tear from her eye.

“That’s it, I’m changing,” Blayne declared.

“Why?” Kira asked.

Blayne gestured to his outfit. “It’s not me.”

“Wow, Mr. Dickenson, you look almost hot,” Jamie Reich teased from the couch. The sixteen-year-old had short, green spiky hair and wore a cast on his arm, a remnant from an attack a month earlier. The bullies had turned into violent sexual predators and were now behind bars. And while Blayne didn’t wish harm on anyone, he hoped the trio would experience a fraction of the fear and torment they’d put Jamie through.

“And, Blayne,” Dr. Madeline Reich, Jamie’s mother, said, “you look devilishly handsome. I’m sure you’ll stand out tonight.”

“Thanks,” Blayne replied, letting the corner of his lip creep up as he averted his gaze. Blayne was in love. It had only been a little over a month since he had finally met his now-boyfriend, Ethan, but they had been pretty much inseparable ever since someone tried to blow up Ethan, shot Blayne then tried to kill them both, along with Kira, all for a fucking cell phone. And no one seemed to know what had been so fucking important on Ethan’s phone that it cost hundreds of lives.

Honk, honk. The sound was right outside his front door. “I guess that’s our cue.” He took a deep breath through his nose and let it out as the rest gathered themselves, stood and headed toward the door. Kira opened it, and Jamie and Madeline followed as Blayne took up the rear. The last thing he did was enter his security code into the keypad next to the door, a recent addition to his apartment. The security panel was a ‘gift’ from Ethan’s manager and a complete security upgrade after ‘the incident’, as the band had called everything that had happened.

“Door is armed,” a robotic voice chirped as Blayne shut it behind him. He walked out into the parking lot and found Zahava Peretz standing next to the open door of the black SUV.

“Ethan told me he had arranged transportation. He hadn’t told me it would be you, Zahava.” The woman wore a black suit, white shirt and a black tie. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark sunglasses.

“I was available. They don’t need all four of us for a simple security detail at the venue.”

Ms. Z. was one of four bodyguards hired by Ethan’s band for their protection. While the other three bodyguards always seemed more stand-offish, Zahava had been friendly to Blayne from the start. Blayne knew little about her. She was in her late twenties or early thirties and had worked for the Israeli Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations before an injury had forced her into early retirement. Somehow, Ron Hightower, the band’s manager, was given her information, and Zahava had been flown to the States and never left. She was technically a dual citizen, born on the East Coast before her parents moved to Israel.

Blayne heard the door shut behind him as he sat down and reached for the seatbelt. A moment later, the driver’s side door opened, and Ms. Z. climbed in. Without checking on her charges in the back, her eyes were already scanning the road.

“ETA is approximately thirty-five minutes,” she said, but Blayne didn’t think she was talking to them. The SUV headed out of the apartment parking lot and headed to the Toyota Center for the ZERO concert.

He listened to idle chitchat around him, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Immediately, Ethan’s face, with his boyish features, brown hair and blue eyes, filled his mind, the image of Ethan smiling. Of course, Blayne immediately remembered all the other things Ethan’s lips had done to him the previous night. Ethan may not have been the most experienced lover Blayne ever had, but Ethan made up for his lack of experience with a willingness to satisfy Blayne that was unparalleled. Ethan wanted to try everything with him. Since Ethan had come home with Blayne after the attack, he’d been like a kid in a sexual candy store. Millions of fans worldwide may have wanted Ethan, but only Blayne got to be with him—got to touch Ethan, got to taste Ethan, got to feel what it was like to be inside Ethan. Blayne’s crotch stiffened against the skinny jeans as he remembered the night before. Ethan’s nipples, like Blayne’s own, were hardwired directly to his cock. Play with those while stroking or blowing him, and the ultimate climax would blow them away.

Blayne felt the SUV exit the interstate. He looked out of the front window and saw the Toyota Center looming ahead in the late afternoon sun. The SUV drove past the outer parking lots that would soon be filled with cars, trucks and SUVs, all there to see his boyfriend perform. They could watch him, but only Blayne got to have him.

The SUV drove around the outer perimeter of the Toyota Center before heading south on Jackson, then west on Bell. The SUV pulled into the Tundra Parking Garage next to the arena. It slowly crept up to the third story before stopping near the sky bridge that would take them to the Center.

Ms. Z. parked the SUV in the middle of the garage and turned to them. “Make sure you keep this around your neck.” Ms. Z. handed Blayne a stack of security badges and lanyards. “These are your all-access passes to the facility.” Blayne wore a lanyard around his neck and handed the others theirs. “I’m going to let you out here. You’re going to cross the sky bridge. When they scan you in on the other side, see Meghan, the Event Services Coordinator for the Center. She’ll take you to the green room, where you can wait for the band until they’re ready.” Ms. Z. turned to Blayne. “Don’t be surprised if Ethan’s PA comes to drag you back to his dressing room. He’s been worried all afternoon that something would go wrong with getting you here on time.”

With that, Ms. Z. exited the vehicle and came around to open the door for Blayne, Kira, Jamie and Madeline. Blayne finally shrugged into the leather coat. He glimpsed himself in the glass bridge while the group started crossing as Ms. Z. drove away. Ahead, they could see ticket people already poised with their scanners. There was no one else on the bridge but them at this early hour, but a few people who worked there were milling around ahead.

“It’s a shame Alan couldn’t join us this evening,” Blayne told Madeline. Madeline had been quietly dating the Pennington University Vice Provost for a while.

“Surprisingly, pop concerts just aren’t his thing. He’d much rather hang back and chill at a wine bar or take in some jazz at a back-alley bar in New Orleans,” Madeline said.

Her collar had flopped up when she’d put the concert lanyard around her neck. Jamie noticed and immediately reached over to fix it.

“Please have your passes ready,” a ticket taker said as they approached the arena side of the bridge.

“We’re supposed to be meeting Meghan,” Blayne said.

“Ah yes,” the woman said as she scanned their badges. “The guests. We were told you’d be here shortly. Let me call Meghan.” The woman pulled a walkie-talkie from her belt and said, “Meghan, it’s Sharice at the Tundra Entrance with the VIPs. Again, the VIPs have arrived.”

A squawking sound came over the radio that Blayne couldn’t make out, but Sharice said, “Ms. Flores said she’d be here momentarily. You can go stand over there.” She motioned to a side lobby next to the glass that overhung Bell Street. Blayne looked down at traffic passing underneath.

“Good afternoon. You must be the friends of ZERO,” a voice cut through the silence.

Blayne turned to look at the businesswoman walking toward the group. She wore a gray pantsuit. Her shoulder-length black hair had light brown highlights that popped in the foyer lighting.

“Blayne Dickenson.” He extended his hand to greet the woman, who freely took it and shook it. “And with me are Kira Strickland and Madeline and Jamie Reich.”

“Meghan Flores,” the woman said, turning and shaking everyone’s hand. “Welcome to the Toyota Center. Please ask me or anyone on my staff if you need anything while visiting us. If they can’t help you, they’ll find me. Are we all here?”

Kira answered. “Another one of our party will show up later—”

“Yes, Special Agent Sarah Murphy,” Meghan cut in. “I’ll ensure she is ushered into the greenroom as soon as she arrives.” Then, without skipping a beat, she spun on her heels, all six inches. “Follow me.” Meghan Flores started walking through the arena without waiting to see if anyone would follow.

She walked the group around for almost thirty minutes as a tour guide. “We broke ground in 2001 and opened in 2003.”

“Have you been here this whole time?” Madeline asked.

“No. I joined the team in 2015. Before moving back to Houston, I worked at the Toyota Arena in Ontario, California, in guest relations and event management.”

“How many seats does this place have?” Jamie asked. The group stood in one of the many social clubs with amazing views of the arena inside.

“The arena sits eighteen-thousand, three-hundred guests on game days, and we can seat about nineteen-thousand guests for concerts.”

“There are going to be nineteen-thousand people here tonight?” Jamie asked, the shock in his voice clear.

Blayne walked over to the railing and stared into the arena.

“No,” Megan answered. “Tonight’s concert only uses about two-hundred and seventy of the full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. The band’s layout doesn’t enable concertgoers to sit behind the stage. I think we’re expecting some fourteen-thousand visitors tonight.”

Blayne looked down across the arena at the stage on the other end. Behind it was a giant wall of monitors. Images flashed across the giant screens. The crew scurried back and forth on the floor like ants. He marveled at how so many people seemed to know exactly what they were doing and how their small part fit into the larger picture of a multi-million-dollar concert.

“Mr. Dickenson?”

The sound of his name snapped him out of his wonderment.

“Yes?” The words were out of his mouth more by instinct than anything else.

“It’s time to head down to the green room,” Meghan said.

Blayne smiled and started following the group. Meghan led them out of the club area to an escalator down to the stadium floor. She passed a few checkpoints, and everyone was summarily let through as they followed their guide, who continued to rattle off facts about the facility.

They walked through an entryway and right onto the floor of the Toyota Center. Blayne paused just for a moment to take in the arena’s size. He’d been inside a large arena before but never a professional one.

“And it only cost us about two-hundred-and-thirty-five million dollars,” Kira mumbled from his left. “Imagine what the city could have done with those funds.”

“You’re right, Ms. Strickland. The citizens of Houston made a substantial investment in the Toyota Center when they voted to increase the sales tax by zero-point-one percent. But it was an investment. For example, we held a UFC event several years ago estimated to have had an economic impact of twenty-five million dollars. Half of that was in direct spending by the organization and our out-of-town visitors. That one event garnered almost a half-million in direct tax revenue for the city. People only often hear about the initial investments in these facilities. Still, they rarely hear the full story about how these facilities pay for themselves over time.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kira responded, clearly not wholly buying the argument.

Meghan had clearly dealt with skeptics before, because she smiled and led the group through the arena floor to a side tunnel area to the left of the stage. For the first time, Blayne saw heavy amounts of security. Blayne recognized Mr. J. talking with security personnel Blayne didn’t recognize. At six-five, with three-hundred pounds of solid muscle and a bald head that glinted in the stadium lights, Mr. J. stood out like a giant security beacon. Of course, Mr. J. wore his sunglasses. Blayne had seen none of the ZERO security team without sunglasses…ever.

The group was led through a metal detector, and their bags were checked by security personnel. In a few minutes, they entered the part of the arena that was more business than entertainment. The gray concrete walls had a few decorative items adorning them, reminding you that the arena was the home of the Houston Rockets. Still, it was mostly plain gray industrial walling.

“Here you go,” Meghan said, opening the door to a room. “The band will be with you when they finish getting ready. You probably have”—she glanced down at her watch—“at least thirty minutes. So please, enjoy the buffet.” She gestured to the tables of steel chafers. Caterers immediately began unrolling the tops of the dishes and the smell of food entered the room. “And if you need to use the facilities”—she gestured toward a hallway at the other end of the room—“they’re right down there.”

With that, she spun on her heels and left the group, who were now outnumbered by attendants and caterers to serve them.

“So, this is how the other half lives,” Madeline commented. “I hate to admit this, but getting used to this kind of treatment wouldn’t take me long.”