I forgot to say "no homo."

It was the first thing I thought when my eyes ripped open to the ceiling of my bunk as the bus carted us off to the next city. My stomach ached as the memories of the night before with Rigo resurfaced, feeling like a punch straight to the gut as my arms wrapped around me and I groaned.

"Someone's gonna fuckin' barf," Rhett snickered from his bunk below mine.

"Shut up," I choked out, just in time to roll over and rip back the curtain, retching burning bile all over the floor.

"Aw, dude!" Rhett complained. "How am I supposed to get out now?"

"I got it," our tour manager Davey grunted, slowly moving down the aisle with a towel.

"Thanks, Dave," I sighed, dropping my head back on my pillow.

"Don't thank me," he replied gruffly with exhaustion. "Don't drink so damn much."

"Sorry."

"Mhm."

Davey knew my dad from high school, and while their lives went down very different paths, he still felt a responsibility to keep me in line with my dad's insane standards. Standards that just didn't fit a twenty-three-year-old rockstar, not that I really thought of myself as one. Davey was determined to keep me from turning into one either way. The part I wasn't sure about was if I could trust him to keep this between us. My dad wouldn't like to hear that I'd had so much to drink, and the thought made my stomach churn again.

"Do we have any buckets?" I asked Davey weakly.

He sighed heavily, the vein in his temple pulsating with his growing frustration. "You're a pain in my ass, kid. You know that?"

"Good thing he's so pretty!" Rhett called out.

Ryan groaned with agitation in his bunk across from mine. "Oh my God, shut the fuck up!"

"Why's everyone yelling?" Andy whined from his bunk below Ryan's.

"Go back to sleep!" Davey boomed. "All of you!"

"Sorry," my bandmates grumbled in unison.

"Yeah, yeah. Everyone's sorry the next morning."

Davey disappeared for a moment and returned with a five-gallon bucket, dropping it on the floor beside Rhett's bunk. He eyed me hard one last time, then returned to the front of the bus where he'd set up a little bed for himself on the seats. There were extra bunks for him and a few others, but he preferred sleeping upright for some odd reason.

With the bus returning to silence, all I had left were my thoughts. How badly I'd fucked up a good thing. How things between Rigo and I would never be the same after what we did. I didn't even know if I could stomach sitting in the back lounge anymore. Just thinking about it flooded my brain with images of Rigo, naked, and looking at me with a hunger in his eyes I'd never seen in another man for me before.

He was probably thinking the same thing as me right then: What the fuck did I do? We fucked up, that's what we did. We gave into a stupid temptation we had while drunk, and we'd probably never look at each other the same again for it.

FUCK.

My arms squeezed around my midsection a little tighter, but it couldn't stop the motion that had already begun. I leaned out of the bunk and retched again, hearing Rhett's quiet complaints below me and wishing I had the strength to get down there to make him shut up. But I was still stuck in my head, desperately reasoning with myself that what happened was nothing at all.

It was just the alcohol. We didn't really feel any of those things. We didn't really want anything with each other. It was just the alcohol.

It was just the alcohol.

It was just ... Why did it feel less convincing the more I thought it?

Rigo had to be thinking the same thing as me. He had to. That, at least, gave me some reassurance. Just enough for the hangover to drag me back to sleep.

🎵🎸🎵

"Chris," Rigo's voice crooned inches from my face, just an hour later.

My eyes peeled open slowly, willing him to be a figment of my imagination as I took him in. My breath caught at the sight of him, and his stupid little smirk twisted my stomach up in knots. I held my blanket over me tighter, not making room for him.

"I'm too hungover today," I told him gruffly.

He glanced down at the bucket beside him with a grimace. "I see that."

"Yeah. So. Let me sleep."

He pursed his lips momentarily before leaning in close to whisper, "We should talk."

I froze up as his breath hit my ear, remembering the way it felt the night before, too. Fuck, I couldn't deal with that for the rest of the summer. He was right. We needed to talk.

I exhaled a heavy sigh, mentally scanning my body to know just how much hangover I needed to compensate for as I got up. Not much, thankfully. I think I'd gotten it all out before I fell back to sleep.

Rigo stepped back as I flung my legs over the edge and slowly slid out of my bunk. My stomach continued churning sickeningly as I landed on my feet, tossing a glance down at the bucket and quickly turning away in disgust. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make me feel like needing to use it again.

"I'll get that later," I grumbled, knowing Davey would have it gone before my return.

We made our way to The Mezcla's van in silence, just the sounds of distant bands and screaming crowds in that space between us. It felt solemn. The ultimate walk of shame. Off to try and minimize the gravity of what we did, as if any amount of conversation could ever make it okay. But it had to, because we weren't gay. That was the bottom line.

"Where we going, rich friend?" Rigo quipped once we had the doors shut.

I pulled out my Blackberry slowly and leaned back into the seat as I began browsing. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, but I needed that. I felt sicker by the minute to talk about everything.

"You okay?" Rigo asked softly. The same way he had the night before when we ...

"I'm fine," I spat, keeping my eyes locked on the screen as my rising blood pressure churned my stomach faster.

"Okay," he relented, facing forward and turning the ignition.

I had a cafe picked by the time we reached the road, and I told him where to go without ever looking at him. His music played through the speakers low, a song in Spanish with a repetitive snare beat to it. I didn't know what it was called, but I'd heard it on the radio once or twice. None of my friends listened to that.

The silence continued as we entered the cafe, and I kept my distance as much as possible. It was a small cafe, so in the end that didn't mean much. I focused on keeping my eyes ahead and looking as casual as possible despite my persistent urge to vomit.

"They don't have donuts," Rigo noted with pursed lips as he perused the menu.

My heart sank at his words as my eyes whipped to the pastry case beside me. Tarts, scones, croissants, danishes, bagels ... It was full of everything but donuts. That was one way to make a shit morning worse.

"That's fine," I replied bitterly, still not looking at him.

"We can go somewhere else."

"You don't even like donuts."

"But you do."

I fought the urge to look at him then, crossing my arms over my chest as we stepped forward. "We just need to talk."

He was quiet for a moment. "Okay."

He handled ordering our coffees, and I paid as usual. It was ridiculous how much more embarrassing that felt after what we'd done. As if everyone could see it on us, branded like a scarlet letter to keep others wary. Even our most innocent interactions were tainted by memories and what if's now.

"Chris," Rigo began once we sat down. "Look at me."

I kept my eyes on my coffee. "Just talk."

He sighed heavily, audibly annoyed. "I don't understand what is the big deal."

"That's obvious."

"No, it isn't. So tell me."

I finally looked at him and leaned in just slightly, quietly seething as every damn reason jumped to the forefront of my mind. "We're not gay," I said, my voice so low no one around us could possibly hear.

The fucker shrugged. "I didn't say we were."

"What we did, Rigo," I reminded him tersely.

He leaned in closer, shaking his head. "No fue nada. We were drunk."

"So what?" I challenged him. "We're just supposed to pretend it never happened?"

"No, I was thinking we could do it again," he replied easily with another shrug.

My eyes felt like they were bulging at that point. "Are you fucking nuts?"

"No. You don't have a girlfriend and mine are in San Diego. What's the matter?"

A lump grew in my throat as my eyes retreated to the safety of my coffee. "My dad will disown me, Rigo."

He was quiet for a moment. "Nobody will know, Chris," he said finally, his voice so soft I could barely hear it.

"If our bandmates find out—"

"They won't."

"They could."

"We'll be careful. It's one summer."

One summer ... and for the whole thing, he'd be mine every night if I agreed. I hated how tempting it sounded. I hated how effortlessly perfect he looked across from me with a stupid, hopeful smile growing on his lips as he watched me contemplate. He saw right through me. He knew how badly I wanted to say yes.

But that fear felt insurmountable.

My eyes fell from his once more. "I can't, Rigo."

He leaned back with a heavy exhale, bringing his black coffee to his lips for the first time and gulping down half of it. It landed on the table hard, splashing a few drops as he leaned in again with a determined look in his eyes that I couldn't turn away from.

"My dad will disown me, too," he told me quietly. "My whole family will."

I chewed the inside of my cheek pensively. "Then why would we do this?"

"Because we want to."

I swallowed hard as my mouth welled with saliva and the urge to vomit came rushing back. "I don't think it's worth the risk."

"You know it is. You liked it."

"What I liked doesn't matter."

"It's all that matters."

I shook my head slowly, balling my hands into frustrated fists under the table. "Rigo—"

"Just think about it, okay? You don't want nothing tonight? Okay, todo bien," he insisted with his third fucking shrug.

"Fine," I relented in irritation. "I'll think about it."

But I didn't really need to think about it. There was nothing to think about. Losing our families would never be worth the orgasms. As amazing as they'd be ...

We returned to the festival grounds in another, more comfortable silence. Well, I thought we were returning to the festival grounds. Rigo suddenly made a pit stop at another cafe, insisting he forgot something as he ran in and left me in the heat. The fucking air conditioning didn't even work in that damn van.

He returned a moment later with a single brown pastry bag, sliding into his seat and dropping it in my lap with a proud grin. "I picked the grossest looking one."

I hesitantly opened it, peering in to see a big fluffy donut with globs of white icing, berries, and cereal crusting the top. Warmth spread through me like a wildfire, and I had to bite my lip to hide my smile. I snickered as I pulled it out, taking a big bite in spite of my still-sick stomach. "You picked a good one."

He turned back to the road with that subtle grin still occupying his face as we finally took off for the festival grounds. I dug into my donut as my appetite slowly returned and my cheeks burned up with feelings I couldn't tamp down if my life depended on it.

Maybe I'd think about it after all.