Finally Fallen


What’s the use of being a rock legend if you have no one to share the  fame and fortune with? Not that Dusty Davis is looking. He’s content  taking care of himself, his bandmates, and his rambunctious younger  brothers. 

And while the rest of The Dark Angels are happily  paired with men, Dusty can’t be gay. A night in a club brings him face  to face with the woman of his dreams. J is articulate, well-read, witty,  and smart. How could Dusty not finally fall? 

J didn’t mean to  deceive Dusty; he introduced himself as Justin, after all. He didn’t  realize the drummer heard, “Justine” and missed the other cues. Dusty’s  declarations of love sounded too good to be true. After all, who could  possibly want someone as broken as Justin? 

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and love knows no gender.

Finally Fallen Excerpt

Chapter 1

Fuck!  Why was the VIP section of The Iron Club so poorly lit? Atmosphere be  damned, Dusty Davis wanted to see what the hell he was drinking. The  Dark Angels had just finished playing a kickass show in the venue  attached to the club. Time to pay for living his dream by being a  fixture at the sponsor’s after-concert party.

It was one o’clock  in the damned morning; Dusty would rather be asleep in his hotel room,  or at least on his laptop. That was exactly where he’d be if The Dark  Angels’ manager hadn’t warned him about cutting out too early. He made  do with his iPod and cell phone for entertainment. At least he could get  a decent Wi-Fi signal.

Sigh. Here he was, living the dream, but  he couldn’t seem to appreciate everything this fantasy offered. He was  blessed, living a charmed life, some might say, as the drummer for The  Dark Angels. Fuck, lead singer Angel Luv had been his best friend since  grade school. He and Angel had gotten everything they’d ever dreamed of  while growing up on the unlucky side of poor: fortune, fame, and chicks.

Well,  Angel had more dudes than chicks. Though, now the singer had just one  guy in particular—their guitar player. But thank Heavens so far the  couple hadn’t screwed up the group. Dusty would never admit it out loud,  but Darius Stone was good for Angel.

Dusty still had to adjust  to the fact that Angel wasn’t always available to hang out anymore. He  tried not to be a third wheel. Hell, fifth wheel now that their keyboard  player, Robin, and bass player, Josh, finally got their heads out of  their asses.

He squinted out onto the dance floor and found the  two youngest members of the band. They danced, if practicing the Kama  Sutra with their clothing on could be called dancing. He patted himself  on the back. He’d been right. The keyboard player’s fear of abandonment  abated with the whole collaring thing. He’d been sure the kid just  needed Josh to step up to provide some stabilization, and ta da! Maybe  Dusty should be a matchmaker.

He gave them a salute and they  waved to him. A quick glance around confirmed Darius and Angel must be  someplace, doing something they shouldn’t be doing at the party. Heh.  Maybe he should rat them out to Megan, the band’s manager, but she  appeared to be enjoying the attention of one of the sponsor’s sons. He  wouldn’t cock block her for his own amusement. Was it called cock block  when the friend in question was female?

Everyone else was paired  up like animals on the ark. The stab of loneliness he usually got at  these shindigs came right on cue. He loved each and every one of the  idiots in The Dark Angels, and they returned the sentiment. He was happy  they’d each found love, he really was, but that didn’t stop him from  aching for something he would probably never find.

Truth be told,  it might be his own fault he sat here alone at this, and any other,  party he had attended. He’d effectively chased away all the well-wishing  fans who made it into the VIP section. Dusty didn’t claim to be a  philosopher, but he always found being alone had less to do with the  proximity of other people and more to do with not having what he wanted.  What exactly did he want?

Damn, no more beer for him!

If  he were honest with himself, he couldn’t find what he refused to look  for… Hell, he wasn’t even sure of what he was trying to find. At times,  when his guard was down, he thought Angel might be right. Even though  he’d only had sex with women, he might not be perfectly straight.

With  a mother who grew more religious with each passing Sunday, exploring  his orientation would bring nothing but trouble. He ignored his  sexuality as he’d done for years.

That heavy thought didn’t have a chance to weigh him down. A drunken television star weaved her way over to him. “Hey, Dusty.”

“Hi.” What was her name?

“I love The Dark Angels and I think you’re great.”

You  have no clue as to who I am. Dusty found himself doing what he always  did: he smiled and nodded until they left him the fuck alone.

“Well, hey um… you wanna go to my place? I live…” She giggled.

“Some place lovely, I’m sure,” Dusty helped her. Poor thing.

“So yeah, should we get out of here?” She pushed back her shoulder-length hair.

“Sorry,  I can’t.” Dear Lord, did people actually pair up with people they’d  just met? No conversation, no getting to know each other? Just hopping  in bed with a stranger? Of course they did, but he didn’t. Maybe he was  demi-sexual.

Fucking Angel! He’d been so proud to share his  opinion that Dusty was ‘demi-sexual’. The guy acted like he’d discovered  the Sexuality Fluidity Project’s label himself. Angel lectured him on  ‘demi-sexual’. Dusty couldn’t deny he fit the definition as someone who  needed to have a strong emotional connection before he could experience  sexual attraction.

The actress scrunched her face into a grimace. “No worries.” She headed directly over to the next available guy.
Damn,  she was lovely and seemed nice enough. What was Dusty searching for in a  potential mate? Hmmm, way to pick a gender-neutral title. He wanted  someone smart, kind, and funny. He wanted to have wonderful sex with his  best friend. Not Angel! Ew! No, he wanted a new best friend; one he  could spend the rest of his life loving.

A few minutes later, the  woman who’d given up on him strutted past as if she’d won the debate,  clinging to a man’s arm. Dusty saluted her with his bottle of beer and  hoped she found happiness.

Maybe he was a fucked up romantic, but  he believed in love at first sight. Fairy tale bullshit or not, if he  met the person meant for him he’d know it immediately. He just hoped  like hell that person was a woman. There’d be a whole lot less trouble  that way.

Whatever. He was never one to lament about things he  couldn’t change. He’d dealt this long, he didn’t sweat it. Dusty glanced  around the shadowy, loud club.

He finished off another bottle of  beer, which was rapidly replaced by efficient waitress who gave beers  and a friendly smile but understood his disdain for idle chitchat.  Tonight, he’d allowed himself a couple more beers than usual and was  feeling no pain. He probably should have listened to the band’s doting  manager and eaten something so he was less buzzed.

But fuck it. They  were celebrating, after all. Their new album had outsold their first  two. The Dark Angels’ second US tour was so successful they’d announced  today that they were going on an international.

Actually, in a  few hours they were due on a plane. Their label had set up a press  conference for them and several television interviews. California was  their first stop before they left for overseas.

Shouldn’t he be  rejoicing? Pouting about things he couldn’t have wasn’t very productive.  He had everything most people wanted. Why couldn’t he be happy?

In  truth, he’d never gotten into the whole groupie scene. More evidence  that I’m demi-sexual, or just that I’m selective in my bed partner?  Hell, he wasn’t even sure when he’d last had a bed partner. It was at  least a couple of years, maybe longer. Even then it had only been an  awkward one-night thing.

Angel blamed Karen, Dusty’s high school  girlfriend, for making him gun shy. She might’ve been one of the reasons  why he shied away from intimacy. Once burned, he’d learned never to  trust anyone like that again.

The conniving little witch had  nearly ruined his life with her trumped-up pregnancy. He’d almost  dropped out of school to marry her. Luckily, Angel had saved his ass  with reality.

His phone buzzed, and chimed immediately again. Two  texts—must be his brothers fighting. He held out his phone. Maybe he  should start using his glasses. He made the print bigger. Ah, it was the  troublesome twosome.

”Jordon is sexting,” his middle brother Zack claimed through the message.


Jordon’s  retort made Dusty laugh. Of course the fifteen-year- old was sexting;  he had his mind on his zipper twenty-four/seven. Dusty lectured, he  warned, and he’d threatened.

What else could he do? He inhaled deeply. Time to play big brother.

“Sexting is dangerous. Do you even know who it is?”

As expected, two texts came immediately: ” “No!” and “YES!”

“Stop!  Serious!”’ Damn it! Had the kid heard anything he’d said? No, Jordon’s  hormones weren’t allowing him to hear the warnings. The kid was going to  get himself into a bad situation.

“I do know him,” Jordon whined through his text.

Within seconds, Zack added his two cents, “F-booking doesn’t count as knowing some 1!”

“Should I take ur technology, Jordon?” Dusty asked.

He’d  gotten his little brothers the latest and greatest phones and laptops  for the holidays, so they could always be in touch with him. The gifts  had come with the understanding that they weren’t to do dumb shit like  this.

“No. Stopped. Ok?” Jordon wrote.

“He stopped. Thanks,” Zack verified.

“Behave. Don’t want u hurt,” Dusty typed.

Why  couldn’t Jordon be more like Zack? His middle brother had made it  through puberty without a moment of drama.Good Lord, Dusty didn’t quite  know what to do. Trying to be the “dad” when he was barely ten years  older than his brothers sucked, but maybe the old man left because he  didn’t know any more than Dusty did. The fact his brothers might be gay  didn’t help matters much.

Having Angel as his best friend helped  Dusty to deal with his overly expressive youngest brother’s interest in  the same sex, but his middle brother seemed to be locked into the  closet. Although not exactly healthy, Zack staying low key about his  sexuality made it easier for him to avoid detection by his mom.

Shit!  Dusty hated to think what would happen if his mom even found out his  brothers’ orientation. She’d go around the bend if she had a clue her  sons were what her loony church friends considered an abomination. Fuck,  is it any wonder why he had never explored his own preferences?

Mmmm, what was that smell? Dusty inhaled a blend of vanilla and amber. A sultry voice gave him chills. “So, I have a question.”

Dusty  turned. The glow of his cell phone allowed him to lock gazes with the  most bewitching, stormy grey eyes he’d ever seen. Wow, um…a… He pulled  his head out of his ass to speak. “Please. Ask me anything.”

A grin quirked to the side of this alluring creature’s mouth as she asked, “Kirk or Picard?”

Dusty  tried to blink the dark room into better focus. Who was this? He  expected the typical questions like: What’s it like to play with The  Dark Angels? What’s Angel really like? What’s your favorite song? You  want to take me home? Or some general variation of icebreakers to which  Dusty already had any number of answers ready.

“Picard. Kirk was a  moron with too many hormones to be an effective leader.” A big-time  closet sci-fi geek, he blurted out the response too quickly to hide his  nerdiness.

“Good answer. Agreed.” The answering smile made him want  to do a happy dance. Before he managed so much as a two-step, the  alluring blonde asked, “Lexx?”

Impressive that someone he hadn’t  forced or bribed to watch the cheesy sci-fi drama asked about his  favorite show. “I worship his shadow,” Dusty responded, quoting Tales  from the Darkside. “Question?”

Expressive eyes blinked once. The beauty nodded. “Answer?”


Dusty  thought the vision in front of him said, “Justin”. That couldn’t be  right. The noisy din of the crowd made it difficult to hear the lovely  creature in the Asian dress.“Justine?” Wait, he’d seen her! He  recognized her from her profile picture. “Wait. Are you DarkJustine28?”

Slowly she leaned in close to his ear to breathe the words, “Call me J.”

“Hey,  you’re one of the writers on The Dark Angels’ fan fiction site.” Wow,  it had to be her. Her stories were sexually creative, hot, and not just  because they were always very flattering toward him.

Dusty inhaled her scent; he loved the intoxicating mix of amber and vanilla.

“You actually read it?” Her surprised expression gave way to a mischievousness gleam.

Dusty  admitted the truth with a nod as he took in her appearance. Her look  was interesting, not the usual slut wear Dusty saw most women sported in  the clubs. J wore a short, grey Chinese dress to match those  mesmerizing huge stormy eyes. Low heels let her move easily. J would  come right up to Dusty’s chin if he were standing. The cut of the dress  showed off a trim, lean figure and had splits up the sides, giving  glimpses of awesome legs.

“Of course. Your stories are great, and  that’s not just because you’re a Boston Red Sox fan.” Although, having  her pull for his team helped.

“They’ve had quite a season so far. I think we’re on a roll.”

“Definitely,” Dusty agreed and moved a bit closer.

J  didn’t have much on top, but if the truth be told, Dusty was actually  an ass man and, from what he could see, J had quite a backside. Even in  the demure dress, her butt made a firm mound beneath the fabric. He  wanted to grab it in both hands. 

Wait? Really? So not like him.  Especially within five minutes of meeting someone. J’s hair hung in long  blonde waves around a sweet, oval face. In a word, J was delicious.  Everything about her called to Dusty on a basic level.

And Dusty wanted more than anything to answer.