Boy Banned

By RJ Scott

The judges of the reality TV show, SING UK, create a boy band from near-miss hopefuls. Agreeing to become part of the new band means Corey has to hide who he is and what Angel has come to mean to him. Is winning worth the price Corey and Angel have to pay?

Reuben “Angel” Jacobs is one step away from giving it all up. Losing a place in the live finals of Sing UK almost kills him. He has no choice but to go home and work for the family business, even though it means giving up his dreams and proving his old bullies right.

Corey Dixon is a rocker at heart. Being on the spectrum means that making sense of other people’s ‘normal’ is hard in itself, let alone in the chaos of a high-powered competition. Singing is his safe space, the only way he can think through the noise in his head. Messing up his audition for the live shows means his journey is over, and it’s the worst day of his life.

The judges throw them a lifeline and create a boy band from the near-miss hopefuls. Angel, Corey, and three others are put together in a room and offered the chance to sing as a group. Agreeing to become part of the new band means Corey has to hide who he is and what Angel has come to mean to him.

Is winning worth the price Corey and Angel have to pay?

• Language: English
• Publisher: RJ Scott
• Release date: May 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781785640469

RJ Scott

RJ Scott is the author of the best selling Male/Male romances The Christmas Throwaway, The Heart Of Texas and the Sanctuary Series of books.She writes romances between two strong men and always gives them the happy ever after they deserve.

Book preview

Chapter One

This sucks, Corey Dixon muttered and closed his eyes, willing the time to pass quickly.

He knew it wouldn’t be good news, but he’d rather get the bad stuff out of the way so he could go home.

I wish they’d call us soon, someone said near him.

Corey cracked open his eyes to see who had spoken, even though he didn’t really have to because he recognized the voice.

Angel.

Angel Jacobs was pacing, his loose white shirt swishing every time he turned.

Corey would know Angel’s soft tone anywhere, the voice matching the sexy blond who’d become part of Corey’s world over the last few days. He even knew his name. Angel. Which kind of suited the man as he was always dressed in white and always looked so much at peace. He had a focus in his dark eyes that Corey couldn’t help reacting to. Angel was a calming presence in any room; he didn’t even have to say anything.

I just want them to call us in, so we can get this over with. Or is it just me who thinks that?

And like he’d read Corey’s mind, Angel said, Is it just me, or is everyone feeling like they want this the hell over? There were no cameras in the room, but that didn’t stop Angel from speaking very quietly.

We’re fucked now, the youngest guy in the room said. He was hyperactive, always on the move, and had all the inherent enthusiasm of a puppy.

Only, Puppy swore a lot, he appeared to use cursing as punctuation. It was why Corey had become aware of him at the start of the auditions. He’d bounced in yelling Wanker! after the departing cab driver who had charged him a tenner for a mile, or something equally awful in Puppy’s eyes.

Corey wondered if swearing would help release some of the anxiety that churned inside him? All kinds of professionals had told Corey he didn’t have a handle on his emotions. Maybe he should try shouting a few choice curse words to see if that released some of his tension, or take a leaf out of Puppy’s book and curse and rant and hit walls. Maybe cursing would help him get his head around the fact he’d chosen the wrong song to sing in the second auditions.

He knew he’d messed up as soon as he saw all three judges exchanging disappointed glances. Singing Rihanna’s Stay, in a higher key than he liked, slower than he wanted, and with no soul was a ticket to getting kicked off the show.

Knowing his luck, he’d make it to one of the clips they showed on the show. The ones that that followed idiots like him with potential but who’d chosen a song too big for them.

In fact, including him, Angel, and Puppy, there were five of them in this room, and each of them had been fucked the minute they’d made it to the final selection process. Yes, they’d made it to the final hundred acts, and yes, they might have been the cream at the open calls, but all of them stank in one way or another at the final selection round of Sing UK, and they were paying for it now.

Maybe we’re last on the stage because we’re the ones who’ve got through? Asian guy—Double K—offered. He was man four, and Corey called him Double K because his real name had a ridiculous amount of k’s in it.

Which just left one other man, with painted-on jeans and a sullen expression. Corey called him Skinny, because he resembled a string bean.

I doubt it, Skinny said, more than a little morosely, as if Corey’s considering him had prompted him to speak. They won’t send me through after I threatened the judge.

Skinny was a tense kind of man, coiled tighter than a spring and with a sharp, spiky temper. He was also the funniest guy there, making dry comments about the judges, the acts, and mostly about Angel’s white-blond hair. Skinny had this inability to keep his mouth shut and his opinions inside. He swore he hadn’t meant to make a veiled comment about Brianna McCulloch being an uninformed moron, but it had slipped out nonetheless.

A cheer erupted outside the room. The five taken out from the room before were the remaining girls, all of them strong contenders, and included Hannah, the one who kept winking at Corey. She’d flown through her audition. The media were saying it was because her dad was best friends with one of the judges, or he had been until he died young of the ever-present combination of rock-and–roll, drink, and drugs.

Corey wasn’t sure what effect that had on Hannah’s chances. All he saw was someone who could sing, and who had a better song at this last step in the competition before the live shows.

Then Corey heard whooping and cheering and even a scream. Happy noises. No hitting walls or yelling or crying.

See? That selection of girls got through, Double K said, That’s a good sign, right?

Corey shook his head. They’d sat in this room with the last hundred or so acts, and they’d heard screams, shouts, cheers, and loud arguments. The room was right next to the corridor from the stage, so the waiting acts could hear everything except the actual decisions.

Psychological torture. The whole singing talent show was an exercise in cruelty, pushing and pushing to see how far contestants would go before cracking. Which wasn’t far for some given Double K descended into tears at the drop of a hat.

Corey had kept count, and he didn’t for one minute think that he and the guys he sat with had any chance of getting through to the next round.

The door opened and one of the showrunners, with a clipboard and headphones, came into the room followed by the cameras.

Okay, guys, you’re up.

Double K started to cry again, wiped at his tears, and then stoically and dramatically pushed back his shoulders, looking all brave and throwing a cocky grin at the nearest camera, with an added wink for good measure. Skinny and Puppy followed, both with their heads down. Angel gestured for Corey to go next, and, despite not wanting to leave the room at all, he went through and nodded his acknowledgment of the polite act. Still, part of him wished he was behind Angel, then maybe he could stare at Angel’s sexy swaying rear and forget the fact he’d fucked up.

The five of them trailed onto the stage. All three judges sat with their heads together, poring over a pile of papers. They’d assumed the positions they did best: strong judge, funny judge, and crying, girly judge, and the cameras caught them from all angles.

There was a delay as the makeup guy fluttered around Brianna, the woman at the judges’ table who had consoled Double K, the judge who felt every emotion and was the nation’s sweetheart.

Corey knew he was cynical, just as he knew they were getting kicked off the show today.

Filming in five, four….

Brianna was clearly the leader in this particular choice. Hi, guys, she said strongly, her tone belied by the fluttering of her hands around her face. She had assumed the we have terrible news expression. Both the male judges had relaxed back in their seats.

All five of the contestants said hello back; the other four were as worried and subdued as Corey sounded to his own ears.

Okay, she began, boys, boys, boys… you all know that the auditions at boot camp weren’t so good. Mistakes, wrong song choices, emotions getting the better of you…. She trailed off and looked into the distance with a soft pout. She was acting out the whole disappointment thing and was a freaking expert at it.

Corey shifted from one foot to the other. His head was banded with the start of a headache, which he was convinced would deteriorate into a migraine if he didn’t get some meds soon. That would just be the perfect shitty end to the perfect shitty day.

We’ve considered you a lot. You’re the hardest group of singers, and it took us a long time to come to a decision.

Another dramatic pause, in which Corey imagined music would be inserted for added drama. He stopped breathing, waiting for her to finish what she was going to say. Maybe, somehow, they’d been given the chance to prove themselves again, and she would say they were through.

She shook her head slowly. Sorry, boys. We’re not taking you through as solo singers to the live finals.

And there it was. Corey’s dream gone. Finished.

He’d messed up worse than the worst fuck-up ever, and the disappointment was visceral, unforgiving, heartbreaking.

Double K let out a harsh sigh and then draped himself all over Angel, who didn’t push him away, simply held him gently.

At least Double K wasn’t crying.

Corey wanted to cry.

Not at the fact he’d come this close to getting to the live shows, but the fact it was all his own fault that he’d blown his audition. If only he’d stuck to Kasabian, or maybe another old Bon Jovi, he’d have made it through.

Corey didn’t cry, though. He let himself feel the pain of disappointment, then looked to the stage manager as to what they were going to do next. If the cameras caught him at that moment, they would see a man who’d been dealt a blow but was stubbornly determined not to give up.

But— Brianna was talking again, saying something about wildcards and judges’ choice and compromise. We have our wildcard choice, and all five of you made the list as being just outside those we selected who made it automatically to the shows. You’re all good, but you just didn’t raise your game enough to make it through automatically.

Corey tuned back in. Were they going to make the five of them repeat their performance? Was he still in with a chance? He was way better than Skinny, Puppy, and Double K. Only Angel was anywhere near his skills vocally. Angel, who was still supporting Double K, which made Corey’s skin itch with a prickle of resentment. He pushed it away.

Hope bloomed inside him at the thought he might have another chance. He wouldn’t mess up again. He could do this.

And then, as suddenly as hope began to grow, Brianna dashed it by using her serious tone, the one that had viewers falling for her all over again.

We’d like you to consider grouping together, becoming one band, and going through to the live finals as our wildcard choice in the group category.

Stunned silence.

Double K was quiet, and Puppy had even stopped swearing quietly under his breath.

Go, Brianna said. Take some time. Talk it over.

In a daze, his chest tight, Corey left the stage, the last of them to leave, following Double K back into the large room they’d just been sitting in. Cameras followed them in, and all of them stood looking at each other.

Okay, guys, this is a big decision, the showrunner said. We’ll keep the cameras out of the room. Let me know when you’re done. You have an hour before we offer this to our next reserve.

He turned to leave, but Corey needed to ask one thing.

If we say no, does that mean one of us alone would become the wildcard?

Hope sat in his chest, and he willed the man to say yes.

The producer checked his clipboard and shook his head. No. It’s all or nothing, because we have a girl up on second reserve if you decide you want to call it a day.

Silence.

The cameras left; the door shut.

Angel shook his head, Puppy cursed loudly, Skinny thumped the wall, and Double K burst into tears.

And all Corey could do was stand there and use every available ounce of energy to focus on what the hell had just happened.

Great.

Chapter Two

Corey hadn’t even bothered to learn their names, apart from Angel’s, and that was only because he’d become a little obsessed with him. Not because Angel was gorgeous, or sexy, or his voice was like the best softness ever, but because it helped Corey to focus on one thing or person. Angel was that person. He was more or less the same height as Corey, his hair dyed white-blond with a hint of a darker color beneath. The sides of his head were shaved short, and the rest was in long layers, spiked up in a gravity-defying kind of way. He always looked so put-together, always in white, and his makeup was perfect. There was a beautiful symmetry to his face, and Corey could spend all day staring at his soft brown eyes.

He didn’t. At least, he didn’t think he was staring too obviously.

As to names, though, what was the point in learning everyone else’s in this competition? Making friends, even as far as calling rivals by their first names, was not on his to-do list. He was there to make it to live TV shows for Sing UK, to become the next singer who could make a reasonable living from his voice. And suddenly he was in this room being asked to make a connection to other people, other soloists who up to today had been his rivals, and Corey realized he had no clue what to do next.

Shit, fuck, bollocks, Puppy said.

Again with the curses. Coming from a cute, pouty mouth, with all the associations of innocence, the cursing sounded wrong.

I’ll do it, Double K said nervously. I need to do it.

Fuck yes, Puppy added after a little while. I’ll do anything to get on the live shows.

Corey heard desperation in his curse.

That left Skinny, Angel, and Corey himself.

Skinny slumped to the floor, a messy tangle of long limbs, and hell knows where his junk had gone given his jeans had pushed way up his ass crack. But we’d be shit, he murmured. He took his glasses off and pushed them up in his hair.

Corey couldn’t fail to see the smudges of exhaustion on Skinny’s face or the bruise on his eye—probably the reason he was wearing the glasses. The man had a way of holding himself, a solid steady pose of threat that Corey didn’t like. He guessed if he had to put a name to it he would call it restrained violence, but then, he was probably reading it all wrong as he often did.

We’re not shit, Puppy said with heat. Fuck off, if anyone says we are shit!

Skinny rested back on his hands, looking up at the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. I’m in.

Which left Corey and Angel.

Corey turned to face the man with the flowing white shirt, the dyed white-blond hair, and the eye makeup.

It won’t work, Angel said. We’re all so different.

Didn’t matter they were in the most difficult moment of Corey’s life, Angel’s voice was still like silk, and he couldn’t help it, but he found it so sexy. Corey didn’t find much in life sexy; the idea of physical contact with another person in that way had been enough to ensure that he made it to twenty-three as what others would call a virgin. Hell, there was no other way to explain it—he was a virgin. He didn’t care for the term, he wasn’t lacking in orgasms by himself, and he didn’t exactly require all the baggage that came the messiness of a relationship. But Angel was… hell, he didn’t know what Angel was. Angel was a danger to the peace Corey had found in admitting to himself that he didn’t need anyone. Because since meeting Angel, the idea of kissing him was forefront in Corey’s mind way too often.

Angel was different.

I’m getting hard. What the hell? Thank God for long T-shirts.

Corey focused on the fact that Angel was attempting to be the voice of reason, talking about how their combined vocal styles would be all over the place, and he nodded his agreement at the sense that Angel was speaking.

I agree with Angel, he blurted. All eyes looked at him, and abruptly Corey didn’t know what to say. So instead he spoke the absolute truth that was like a lump of lead in his stomach. He huffed. Like there’s any possibility I could be in the same band as the rest of you. I don’t even know your names.

Corey’s people skills were lacking and the words came out in what his Aunt Mim called his rude tone. He could identify his own failings; he just couldn’t stop himself. He caught Angel raising a single eyebrow in silent condemnation of the way he’d spoken, and just that simple action had Corey feeling all kinds of shit. I’m just being practical, he defended himself.

Practical was a good word to use, he often got away with that as an excuse. Somehow just saying that made people think he was not a complete asshole.

It clearly didn’t work with Puppy. Fuck you, wanker, he snapped. It’s not like you’re anything great.

Corey rounded on him. At least I remember my words. That was a kicking comeback. He wasn’t the type of man to be deliberately