Free Heated Beat 02 - Lucky Man by Garrett Leigh Page B

better.
    “Er, on that note….” Will slid off the table and ducked around Danny. “I’m gonna find Jack.”
    Will disappeared. Danny shut the door behind him. “You look surprised. Forget you invited me over?”
    “No, just wasn’t sure you’d come.”
    “You keep saying that to me.” Danny stepped closer and put his hands on Finn’s shoulders. “Don’t know why, though. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now.”
    Finn felt warm all over. “Not even asleep in your own bed?”
    “Rather be in yours.”
    If Danny was trying to be seductive, he hid it well. The comment seemed heartfelt rather than dirty, and despite the buzz of attraction between them, Finn didn’t mind. He slid his arms around Danny’s waist and pulled him into a hug rather than the kiss he so desperately craved. “Later. The guys won’t stick around after the game. Jack and Will are off to Paris, and the others have got wives to get home to.”
    “Sounds good.” Danny held Finn tight for a long moment, and then he pulled away and tried to tame Finn’s wayward hair. “Who’s winning?”
    “Hmm?”
    “The match. My mate Kev’s a Kopite. He’ll do his nut if Everton wins.”
    Oh yeah. Football. Finn found his focus and gaffer taped it to the front of his brain. “One-nil Everton when I last looked. Want to go see?”
    Danny shrugged. Finn took it as a yes and hopped down from the stolen bar stool he’d been sitting on. He started for the door, itching to grab Danny’s hand. He settled for the ukulele.
    The house Finn shared with Jack was big and old—four floors of bay windows, high ceilings, and drafty wooden floors. They’d never got round to fixing it up much, and instead kept warm by filling their home with friends and music. Finn stuck his head around the living room door to find every available sofa and floor space covered with a reclining man, beer in hand, gaze fixed on the flat-screen TV.
    Finn kicked Bigsy’s legs. “Shove up.”
    Bigsy made room for Danny on the couch and offered his hand. The rest of the band followed suit, then returned their attention to the match. Only Ben, the Lamps’ part-time fiddle player, seemed to be occupied with something else.
    Finn slouched on the arm of the sofa by Danny and peered over Ben’s shoulder. “Why are you writing the bass line in a different key?”
    “Shit. I’m not, am I?” Ben pulled his earbud out and stopped scribbling in the composition notebook that looked suspiciously like one of Finn’s.
    Finn took the notebook and flipped through the pages. “’Fraid so. A minor and D major. What the fuck are you trying to write?”
    Ben grimaced. “The Christmas play for my sister’s class. She got stuck with the nativity, and the only thing she could find at the school was a scratched backing CD and a bunch of untitled lyrics. I promised her I’d transpose it into something simple.”
    “On the piano?” Finn stuck Ben’s earbud in his ear and listened. The plastic Muzak-style backing track set his teeth on edge. “When does she need it?”
    “Next week. Thought I’d broken the back of it, but if I’ve written half of it in the wrong key, I’m fucked.”
    “Then you should’ve asked Finn in the first place,” Jack said without tearing his gaze from the football match. “He wrote the nativity for the New London Children’s Choir a few years back.”
    “You did?” Ben looked surprised, and Finn could hardly blame him. It wasn’t exactly rock-star stuff.
    Finn shrugged and began rewriting the mess Ben had made of his bass clef key. “I didn’t write the play—just the music. I was in the Priory, and they wouldn’t let me have my guitar. My mum convinced them kids’ music was good for me.”
    That shut Ben up. Finn’s illness was no secret, but it didn’t come up in conversation much. Only Jack—and lately Will—could talk about it without averting his gaze.
    Finn sensed Danny looking at him. He held up the music pad so Danny could see