Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(22)

Mevi knew if he engaged in too much personal conversation right now, he’d end up confessing to Doyle. Not just that he was gay, but that he had the hots for Doyle. A key problem with that had hit him last night—Doyle might tell Clark and get someone else if he thought Mevi had the hots for him.

Torturing himself with Doyle’s presence was masochistic, yes, Mevi would admit that.

But considering his creative flow had returned with a tsunami vengeance, he didn’t want to disturb what was working in his brain.

If it meant unrequited lusting after his sober companion?

So be it.

Because it wasn’t just the creative spark fanned by the music. It was Doyle’s strong, comforting, quiet presence. Mevi had never trusted someone so quickly before. That was a miracle after what David had done to him and his finances.

Something about Doyle told Mevi the man would not only hold his confidences, but completely meant it when he told Mevi he could lean on him.

And that feeling, of being able to rely on someone besides himself—even then maybe not himself all the time—was a feeling he thought he’d never experience again in his life. He’d felt like that about David despite little red flags here and there.

Sure, he relied on Clark, but his trust in the man came from the fact that Bonnie and the others trusted him and used his services.

He would have to put on a mask and try to keep Doyle at arm’s length so the guy didn’t figure out Mevi had the hots for him.

That might be difficult.

But, somehow, he’d try to figure it out, even as his notebook pages started filling with lyrics that could easily be a man pining for a woman…or another man.

A love he knew he could never have.





Doyle wasn’t sure why, but Mevi’s mood worsened as they hit the Florida state line and made the final jog to the south.

He wouldn’t hold it against the guy. The trip had been grueling, and no doubt Mevi was dealing with a bunch of mental shit. At least he’d had an initial breakthrough with the man.

He’d take the win and bide his time.

Doyle had already texted Kel with their ETA at a gas stop a little north of Tampa earlier that evening. It would be after dark when they arrived in Sarasota, but that was fine. Clark had already transferred payment to Kel, so they were all set there.

Ironic that the more unsettled Mevi seemed, the more relaxed Doyle grew to see familiar landmarks. Even the changes didn’t bother him.

This was where he’d grown up and spent the majority of his adult life.

It felt damn good to be back “home” again in Sarasota.

“What the hell is this place?” Mevi asked as Doyle slowed to make the last turn into the industrial complex.

“An apartment,” he said. “A decent one. No windows, and you can play as loud as you want, day or night.”

“Great,” he muttered. “Fucking shit-hole.”

They parked in front of the warehouse unit, next to a pickup truck parked there. Doyle reached between the seats, retrieved the manila envelope from the back seat, and got out, leaving Mevi stewing in the passenger seat.

He also took the keys with him.

Doyle wasn’t going to beg the guy to get out. If Mevi was going to pick now to act like a three-year-old, Doyle would treat him like one. When he knocked on the door, it opened, and Kel immediately smiled.

“Hey, stranger.” They shook, and Kel pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “So I’m dying to know the super-secret…eh, secret.”

“Let’s step inside.” Doyle had tried to keep himself positioned so Kel couldn’t see into the SUV. “I hate to ask this, but I need a signed NDA from you.”

“Okaaay, but why?”

“Because of who my client is.”

Doyle fished one of the forms out and handed it to Kel. Kel scanned it and reached for a pen from a desk to sign and date it.

“You can’t tell anyone who’s here,” Doyle said. “Not even Mal, unless she signs a form, too.”

“She will. Give me one to take home with me and I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

Doyle removed another form from the envelope and handed it to Kel.

“You ever hear of Portnoy’s Oyster?”

Kel scowled. “Uh, duh. Why don’t you ask me if I’ve heard of Lady Gaga, Pink Floyd, Maroon 5, or the Beatles. Why?”

Doyle led him outside and pointed at a frowning Mevi, still sitting in the front passenger seat, arms crossed over his chest.

“Oh…shit,” Kel whispered. “No shit? That’s Mevi Maynard? He looks so different.”

“No shit.” Doyle led him back inside. “I cut and dyed his hair. Needed to. And client confidentiality, I can’t tell you why I’m here with him.”

Kel frowned. “There’s not going to be any violence or anything, is there? No crazy stalker he’s hiding from?”

“Nothing like that.”

“And what about paparazzi? I have to protect the privacy of the club members.”

“As long as you and Mal don’t say anything, no one will know he’s here. Another reason I wanted this place. No windows, lots of privacy, and he can practice without neighbors bitching about the noise. I have to get him to Chicago in a little over nine weeks for rehearsals before the start of their tour.”