The metal locker door swung open fast, giving a loud bang as it hit the next locker. Landon wince at the sound. He reached inside and pulled out his trumpet case and music folder tucked inside.
“Dude, try slamming that a little harder next time,” a sarcastic voice called from down the hall.
Landon flipped a rude gesture toward the voice. He pushed the locker door shut and spinning the combo lock. Turning, Landon gave the owner of the voice a grin. He walked toward Landon, his mess of spiky brown hair held back with a bandanna. A case a little bigger than Landon’s was in his hand.
“I will, Kyle,” Landon said. “How’s my favorite reed sucker?”
“Ha,” Kyle replied. “Better than you, buzz lips.”
“Hey, you know exactly what they say about trumpet players.”
“They’re full of hot air?”
“You know what? Fuck you.”
Kyle laughed as Landon fell into step beside him. Both were members of the Tri-Pac Concert Band and rehearsal was due to start in twenty minutes.
“Enough about me,” Landon said with a grin. “What’s this I hear about you and Hannah?”
“Bro.” It was all Kyle had to say. Landon crowed in victory. Several people in the hall turned toward them. Landon patted his friend on the back.
“What about you man?” Kyle asked, raising his eyebrows in suggestion. “Meet anybody?”
“Not really,” Landon said, giving a shrug. “Just the usual one-offs. It was a busy summer. And it’s not like there’s an active gay community in the middle of nowhere. But a group of firefighters got stationed in our town for a while. They were a good time.”
“Dude, that’s like every gay man’s wet dream, right?” Kyle said as they entered the rehearsal hall. They stood by the main door for a moment.
“Ha, pretty much.” Landon laughed, a slight red flush rising to his cheeks. He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his head, playing with the hair there.
“Aww, don’t get all cute now. Go play some notes, man. I’ll see ya after rehearsal in the lobby, ‘k?” Kyle lifted a hand as he walked away backwards, bumping into a rack of music stands.
“Sure, man,” Landon said, giving a snort at Kyle’s clumsiness. Turning, he made his way to the back row. He gave a sigh of relief at seeing the chimes and xylophone behind his chair. Every once in a while the bass drum or, heaven forbid, the timpani would be set up right behind him. He’d have a throbbing headache for hours. In tempo.
Taking a seat, Landon noticed a selection of new band music on his stand. Leafing through the papers, he recognized a couple of the pieces and smiled. Landon turned and opened his case, lifting his trumpet out. He had saved for years for this baby. After playing on many beat-up school trumpets, he finally had his own. It took him months to find the instrument once he had the money, but he was glad he took his time. Every time he played, he felt as though he were home.
“Hey, Landon,” Carson said, interrupting Landon’s thoughts. Looking up, Landon grinned as Carson took his seat.
Carson pointed to the trumpet in Landon’s hands. “You finally got your new horn?”
“Yeah,” Landon said, lifting it toward Carson. “Bach-Strad. You wanna hold it?”
“Uh, duh!” Carson put his case down, still a school instrument, and held out his hands. Landon passed the instrument over, his stomach giving a mild flutter of anxiety.
“It’s so pretty,” Carson breathed. He held the trumpet as though it were a dozen fragile eggs. “How does it sound?”
“Like a dream,” Landon said, heaving a dramatic sigh. He reached for his horn. “Here, I’ll show you.”
Carson passed the instrument back and Landon grabbed his mouthpiece from the case. Attaching the mouthpiece to the horn, Landon blew a few bursts of hot air, warming it up. Then he set the mouthpiece against his lips and began to play.
He ran a few scales then held some long notes to show off the bright sound. A couple of heads turned, some nodding in appreciation, others giving a thumb’s up. Carson sat enraptured as Landon ran through a few licks from memory.
“You’re so good,” Carson said, admiration evident.
“Most of it’s the horn, I promise. One day, you’ll have the horn made for you and the world will make sense. Get your horn out, let’s play!”
Carson grabbed his horn and began to warm up. The hall filled with sounds of various instruments, a comforting chaos to Landon’s ears. He could pick out the sounds of the clarinets and flutes from the front and the tubas on the other side of the hall. He sent a quick nod to Kyle, who was running through a few scales on his saxophone. A deep warmth began in the center of his chest, its fingers spreading throughout his abdomen.
He had missed this!
Landon focused on reading through some of the new music. He was a decent sight reader, but the more he could get under his belt now, the better.
A few claps from the front of the stage caught his attention. He looked up at the podium.
And nearly dropped his horn.
Derek stood on the podium, hands raised. The dark blue button up shirt from this morning, tugged against the man’s chest and shoulders. The black slacks clung close to his hips and legs, making Landon’s mouth water. As he watched, Derek flicked his inky hair out of his face, exposing his long neck for a brief moment.
Landon shifted in his seat.
“You’re drooling, again,” Carson said, his voice a whisper. Landon lifted a hand to the back of his head, a blush covering his face.
“You can’t deny…” his voice trailed off as those dark eyes met his. They held for a moment, time slipping away. Then they moved, glancing around the rest of the band. Landon sucked in a breath. His heart began to pound.
Carson chuckled. “Breathe,” he whispered.
Landon nodded, unable to speak.
“Good afternoon,” Derek began, his voice smooth and low. “I’m Derek Serrano, the new Director of Bands and Orchestra. You may call me Derek. I’m a former graduate of Tri-Pac University and I’m excited to be back here and play music with all of you.” He accompanied the words with a slight upturn of his mouth. Landon’s abdomen clenched.
“The syllabus and a few pieces of music are on your stands, but we’re going to ignore them for now. Let me know if your section needs any additional parts and we’ll get copies made.” Landon watched as Derek picked up a baton from the stand before him. He gestured to the oboe in the front row. “Can I get a B-flat, please? Let’s tune.”
The oboe played a high and clear note, the timbre easy to hear over the other instruments. Landon turned his focus toward the sound, though he kept his eyes on Derek. Derek’s gaze returned to his.
Landon shut his eyes. His palms began to sweat.
A few more claps from the podium halted the tuning.
“I want a concert B-flat scale, nice and tenuto. Don’t repeat the top note.”
Landon knew he was in trouble. Any musician worth his salt needed to keep at least a peripheral gaze on the conductor. There was no way he could avoid looking at Derek. Two minutes into rehearsal and Landon was already half-hard and sweating. Two hours in rehearsal would be nothing short of torture.
Everybody lifted their instruments as Derek lifted his baton. Landon felt a thrill race through him.
Derek looked magnificent. Calm and controlled, his arms moved with enough grace to convey the style he had asked for. A wordless command.
“Less trumpet, more trombone and clarinet, please,” Derek said, the last note of the scale fading. “Listen to each other. Again.”
Landon gave a slight shudder at the demand. He played quieter on the next scale, wanting to show the new conductor that he could listen.
“Nice.” Landon smiled at the praise. “Staccato.” And again, they played the scale. This time, the notes were short and light.
Landon watched Derek. He noticed when Derek closed his eyes, listening intently to the sound of the band. He noticed every time Derek flicked his bangs away from his eyes. He would have bit his lip at the motion if he wasn’t already playing. As it was, he cracked a note. He felt a flush rush up his neck, hoping Derek hadn’t hear that. Derek slid a look his way. Landon shut his eyes, wishing he could hide.
“Good. Let’s pull out the Holst and read.”
Papers ruffled on the stands and a few band members called up to Derek about parts. Derek pulled out a pencil and jotted down notes. “Give me the parts on your way out today and I’ll get copies made.”
Then, Derek lifted his baton, poised for action. Landon sucked in a bracing breath.
It was a rough read-through. Derek had stopped the group a few times to reset. Landon knew he wasn’t the only one distracted by the new conductor. He tried to force the tiny flare of jealousy aside.
“Trumpets, I know this is the first time you’re reading this today, but I’m going to need less of you already. Let’s start at B, please,” Derek said, already moving on.
What? Landon felt frustration stir in his chest. Less again? He didn’t think the section was being that loud. He sent a quick look to the rest of the members of his section. Looks of confusion met him. He rolled his eyes, trying to lighten the mood. He earned a few chuckles.
“Something funny back there?” Derek asked. Landon looked up at him, meeting his gaze head on.
“No, sir,” Carson called, preventing Landon from saying anything he would regret later.
Derek lifted a disbelieving eyebrow. Landon felt a twinge of irritation settle on his shoulders. He kept his silence.
The next hour and a half went much the same way. The band continued to read new pieces and Derek still ragged on the trumpets. To be fair, he also asked the flutes and saxophones to lower their sound. It only added to Landon’s irritation. Didn’t Derek know he was conducting a band?
Landon wiped down his trumpet before putting it back in his case. Landon knew he would get over his irritation. He needed to trust Derek to guide the band in the right direction.
But it still stung.
The hairs on the back of Landon’s neck stood on end. Somebody was watching him.
Looking up, Landon felt surprised to see Derek’s dark eyes on him. He froze mid-motion, music in hand, watching back. Derek’s desire was obvious in his hooded gaze. Anybody could see what Derek wanted in that moment. Landon flushed. The typical rumble of the musicians putting instruments and stands away faded into a low hum. His racing heart roared in his ears. Landon imagined this is what prey must feel like.
The spell broke as a student approached Derek. Landon sucked in a deep, steadying breath, unable to look away.
“Woah, bud. You alright there?” Kyle said, pulling Landon from his own world filled with dark desires. Landon glanced around. While he had been stuck in a dazed stupor, most of the musicians had filed out. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
“Yeah, lost in my own head, I guess,” Landon said. He snapped his music folder shut. Grabbing his case and his music stand, he followed Kyle out. They deposited their stands in the racks. Landon shuddered as he imagined the heavy weight of Derek’s stare between his shoulders. He didn’t dare turn around to check as he left the rehearsal hall.
“You’re quiet,” Kyle said, his tone casual. “Is it the conductor?”
“No,” Landon snapped, then blushed. “No, not at all. Just thinking about the music.”
“Okay, now I know you’re lying,” Kyle said, grabbing Landon’s arm, pulling him to a stop in the middle of the hallway. “He was on you guys all rehearsal, telling you to play quieter. I know that would irritate the shit out of you, especially with it being the first rehearsal. What gives?”
Landon sighed, feeling the irritation grow behind his ribs again. “Yeah, that was annoying. We’re a band, not a chamber group. He should know sounds change as the band gets familiar with the music, more comfortable.”
“Yes, I imagine he might know a thing or two about that,” came a deep, familiar voice. Landon’s lungs seized, a rush of cold realization flowing through him.
Fuck.
He turned, a defensive glare already set on his face. Derek stood behind Kyle and Landon. It was clear he had heard the tail end of their conversation. His face was blank, those deep eyes looking only to Landon. It was unnerving. Landon swallowed and sucked in a breath.
“Then why were you all over the trumpets during rehearsal?” he asked.
“Because you were still playing too loud. I could barely hear the rest of the band over your noise,” he said. The words were even, as though Landon should have figured that fact out on his own.
Landon bit his lip. Anything he said would sound like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. Instead, he kept his glare fixed on Derek.
Without another word, Derek turned his back on the two of them and walked away. Landon couldn’t help his eyes drift lower, admiring Derek’s long, steady strides. Those really were some flattering slacks.
A low whistle interrupted Landon’s thoughts. He shook himself and looked over at Kyle.
“Damn, boy, you aim high,” Kyle said, a mischievous grin spreading.
Landon glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. The guy’s an asshole.” He turned away and marched up the stairs, toward his locker. Kyle followed him.
“Sure, sure. Just be careful, dude,” Kyle said, his voice turning serious. Landon cast a glance back at his friend. Worry crinkled Kyle’s forehead.
Landon stopped walking and cast a look around, making note of anybody nearby. Landon lowered his voice. “Yeah, a blind man could see Derek is damn hot. But, aside from him being a professor, he needs a serious attitude adjustment before I would even consider tapping that. Besides, I’m way too busy for that shit, ya know?”
Even Landon was beginning to convince himself.
Kyle stared at him for a moment, a frown on his face. “You need to get laid, bro.”
Landon laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, brushing off the comment and resuming their walk. “What class do you have next?”
“Ugh, U.S. History. Kill me?” Kyle asked, stopping at his locker. He gave Landon his most pitiful puppy dog look. Landon continued on toward his locker, giving a sharp bark of laughter.
“Nope. Gonna enjoy watching you suffer. I hated that class.”
“Thanks, friend!”