Double Rolled Read online

  Double Rolled

  An MMF Bisexual Romance

  Aly White

  Rain and Cocoa Press

  Double Rolled

  An MMF Bisexual Romance

  By Aly White

  Copyright 2018 by Rain and Cocoa Press

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental. This work intended for adults only.

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  To Kyrene

  Contents

  1. Maxene

  2. Caleb

  3. Tristan

  4. Caleb

  5. Tristan

  6. Maxene

  7. Maxene

  8. Caleb

  9. Maxene

  10. Maxene

  11. Tristan

  12. Maxene

  13. Caleb

  14. Tristan

  15. Maxene

  16. Maxene

  17. Tristan

  18. Maxene

  19. Caleb

  20. Maxene

  21. Tristan

  22. Caleb

  23. Maxene

  24. Maxene

  25. Maxene

  26. Tristan

  27. Caleb

  28. Maxene

  29. Tristan

  30. Caleb

  31. Maxene

  32. Tristan

  33. Caleb

  34. Maxene

  35. Violet

  Afterword

  Maxene

  I’m not a huge believer in the whole ‘the universe listens’ shenanigans, but I am starting to believe it. My mind is leading me to think that the universe is really against me.

  For so long, I believed that if there’s something you want, you just need to focus on it and work hard for it. But I have been going through auditions, this being my fourth one for the month, and like this others, I cannot fucking believe that this audition is no doubt, another failure.

  Fuck, Max. Fuck.

  As soon as I step out of the audition room, my vision blurs as tears slowly gather at the corner of my eyes. You’re not going to cry in here, Max, I tell myself as I gently wipe away my tears, lest I ruin my mascara.

  I let out a shaky breath before I continue walking towards the exit, holding up my head high as if I just bagged the audition. They did not outright reject you, Max. You still have a chance.

  I flash a smile at the security guard of the building as I leave the place, hoping that my irritation—directed at myself—does not show. If there is one thing that I learned from this industry is that you have to be polite to the staff because most of the time, they give the best intel. And really, it’s just free; it does not even take me to put up effort. All I have to do is to put on my goody two shoes and flash them my blinding, bright smile.

  My smile immediately turns into a frown as soon as I am out of the door, and I could not help but think of all the possible faults that I unconsciously made during the audition.

  Did my voice cracked, and I did not notice it? Was my pitch off? Were my facial expressions weird when I sang? Did I choose the wrong song? Am I that bad for them to ask me to stop, mid-chorus? Or is Mr. Good-fucking-luck just not on my side?

  Max, you’re a fucking loser, I tell myself as I get in my car, shutting the door a little hard. Positive thoughts are long forgotten as I curse myself once more because there’s no doubt that I might have indeed failed that audition.

  I gently bang my head on the steering wheel and lean on it as I try to gather my wits back. What the fuck is wrong with you? I whisper to myself as tears burn my eyes. I shut my eyes tightly, my lips trembling as I let out a series of shaky breaths.

  Ah, fuck, I mutter as my tears fall down to my cheeks. I wipe it off, running the back of my hand harshly against my face, no longer caring if I smear my makeup.

  My phone rings, cutting short my self-loathing session. Taking a deep breath and letting out a shaky one, I answer it on the third ring. I do not even have to see the caller I.D. to know who it is that is calling me.

  “This is Max,” I say, hoping that the tone of my voice is even and devoid of any emotion.

  “Are you on your way here?” my boss starts, her voice grating in my ear, and she could not even hide the lace of annoyance in her words.

  “Yes,” I reply as I keep myself from gritting my teeth. “Sorry, traffic’s just—so bad. I am already on my way.”

  “Well, hurry up,” she retorts before hanging up, knowing fully well that I have an audition today. For someone who owns one of the tackiest restaurants on this side of the city, my boss is sure hands on.

  I throw my phone to the other seat, only to pick it up again to look at the time. It’s only four in the afternoon, and my shift does not even start until six in the evening. I catch a look at myself in the rearview mirror, and a glimpse is enough to let me know that I need to fix my makeup.

  You will get in that audition, I tell myself as I apply a fresh coat of mascara on my lashes, the last step to my touch up.

  Moments later, I find myself already pulling in the parking space reserved for the staff of the restaurant. I get off the car, locking it behind me as I look up and admire the swirling colors of the different hues of oranges, reds, and yellows on the sky. I smile as I realize that another beautiful day has gone by and I did not even notice it.

  Don’t let her get to you, I repeat the words, chanting it over and over again like a magic spell as I go through the back door of the restaurant.

  “There she is!” the shrill voice of my boss fills my eardrums as soon as I get in through the back door. I flash a polite smile at her, trying my best to keep the annoyance off my face. “How was the audition?” she asks as she follows me towards the staff’s locker room.

  I give her a tight smile, and it is all that she needs to figure it out. “When will you believe me that you are not just really made for the big industry out there?”

  I can almost see the corners of her mouth turning upwards, a wicked smile slowly painting her face.

  My boss is just an asshole, plain and simple.

  She loves to degrade people and their talents. I glare at her retreating form as she makes her way towards the kitchen. If glares could kill, I have already stabbed her a thousand times.

  “Honey,” she adds in her sweet, sickly tone as she stops at the doorframe, her body turning towards me. “I do not really think you have the talent to shine out there and compete with the other much more skilled artists,” she continues, her smile still plastered on her face.

  “You should stick to playing the piano and focus on it because if you want me to be honest, you should already be thankful that you have a job that pays for your bills. Be content, instead of hoping for more.” She then turns her back, but not before she flashes me a mocking smile, the kind of smile that makes me want to rip her lips off her face, before completely disappearing into the other room.

  I annoyingly take off my casual clothes and change into my ‘uniform,’ a dress, fit for a pianist at one of the biggest restaurant in the area, where the ridiculously rich people dine in. I check myself in the mirror, the velvet, knee-length black dress hugging my curves in the right places. A simple silver necklace graces my neck, the only accessory that I wear during my shift.

  I see my boss glancing at me from the outside, her impatient eyes burning holes in my back, and I take it as a cue to leave the locker room. As much as I hate the harsh treatment that I receive from my boss, the pay is actually good, and my shift allows me to go on auditions during the day while I work during the night. Well, most nights.

  Moreover, playing the piano is one of the
things that I am confidently good at, and it does not matter how long I’ll play without even going on breaks because the piano is, even though this sounds cliché, my first love.

  The sound of the clacking of my heels somehow calms my nerves as I take my position in front of the piano. I slowly run my fingers on the keys, caressing it as if it is my long-lost lover.

  I smile fondly as it dawns on me that I am not probably going to get tired of playing the piano. I take my seat, my hands automatically finding its places among the keys, feeling it as I ease myself before pressing the first few notes of a classic composition.

  I close my eyes, my mind drifting away from the sounds of the chattering of the rich people and the clanging of the utensils that surround me, as a sense of peacefulness slowly envelopes my body. The music drowns out my thoughts and my worries, and instead, I focus on what I am going to achieve soon.

  A soft laugh escapes my lips as I imagine myself finally getting the big break that I want, but for now, I have to tolerate the small spotlight that I have managed to get for myself, playing classical music for a couple of rich people. If this is the sacrifice that I have to make to make it big in the music industry, then I am more than willing to do anything.

  You are going to make it, I tell myself, my voice soft, as I end the current song and starts playing another one. I am the one who makes my destiny. I am the one in control.

  Hang in there.

  Caleb

  From the outside, you would never have guessed that this place was a recording studio. Dull brown walls that are flaking at the edges blanket the entire space, it doesn’t help that the grey carpet—previously white—is also practically covered in patches. The place isn’t all that great but the rent was cheap, and by the time they had done all the necessary renovations it passed for a professional studio. I mean, it beats having to record songs in my basement.

  I sigh, my old recording studio standing in front of me. Nowadays, this building gets rented by film production houses or photographers as the location for their respective shoots.

  It’s been almost two years since we moved out of this place. After five long years of hard work and multiple records produced, we finally earned enough to move up.

  Technically, we earned enough to move out years ago, and we should probably have moved out when we did.

  But everyone, especially me, got so sentimental about the place, so I wanted to stay. Plus, I don’t see the point in moving. We have all that we need right here. If it weren’t for Miguel and Tristan insisting that we buy a new studio, I would have stayed here until the day I retired.

  I floor the gas on my car, eager to bring myself to our ‘new’ place. Technically, we’ve been staying there for two years or so, but I just haven’t had the heart to love it, to the point that I have stayed away from it, practically since the day everyone moved in.

  Not that the new place is bad, in fact, it’s the opposite. It is a state-of-the-art recording studio, a much bigger lot than our old one, better equipment and facilities. I’ve heard from my assistant that we’ve had more people now, too.

  Parking the car in the curb, my new recording studio parades in front of me. The building is modern and has no sense of quaintness unlike the old one. I march to push the glass doors and take in the new environment.

  My thoughts are interrupted when I hear a door close from the hallway. Violet comes into the lobby a few seconds later, her baby blue eyes widen when we make eye contact.

  “Mr. Woods! I—um...good morning. We didn’t expect you to come in today,” she places the CDs in her arms down onto the coffee table in the lobby, next to the table is an open box with more CDs inside.

  “I just came by to check on…some things. Are they all recording in there?” I take a few steps towards her and look at the CDs on the table, they’re old submissions.

  “No. They’re just talent scouting. They’re listening to the last batch of audition CDs right now,” she smiles.

  “How’s that going?”

  “Not so good. Miguel’s just settling for some auditions,” she shrugs, “I can tell he doesn’t really care for it that much.”

  I click my tongue and sigh, “Okay. Well...I’m heading inside to see what auditions we have.”

  “Right. I’ll just be out here if you need me.”

  Violet starts boxing up the CDs, and I make my way to the recording room where Miguel is. Because of the soundproofed walls, you can’t really hear if they’re still listening to anything inside. I crack open the door to peak first before opening it wider.

  Everyone in the room looks at me. There’s not many people inside, just Miguel and two of our staffs who are boxing things up.

  “Whoa, look who rose from the dead,” Miguel pauses the audition tape and laughs, “It’s been...what? A casual six months since you dropped by?”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t changed the décor.”

  “I was thinking about it, but I decided not to turn the entire office into a strip club,” he leans into his chair, “A shame, now that I think about it. That would be a lot more entertaining than what we have here.”

  Nodding towards the stack of CDs he has in front of him as I take a seat, I ask, “So what do we have?”

  “Oh...? I’m worried that you’re interested. You haven’t been here in so long that we all just thought you’d be watching from the sidelines,” Miguel scratches the stubbles on his chin, “Well...there’s not much. A few auditions. Lousy ones at that.”

  “How bad?”

  “Let’s just say that I would rather stub my toe on all sorts of furniture for seven years than have another go at the CDs I’ve already listened to.”

  The pile of CDs suddenly appear less appealing to me. I thought maybe we had some good news, but I guess I held on to too much hope.

  “Not even one good submission?”

  He shrugs, “Talent-wise, no. But I have someone that I want to sign. Her voice is...okay. Mediocre, but that’s what’s auto-tune is for.”

  “Wait, if you’re not signing her for her voice then what’s your reason?” I hold up a hand and furrow my brows, Miguel pauses momentarily before speaking again.

  “Get this, her name’s Ruby Topaz.” He looks at me as if I’m supposed to have some sort of realization.

  I blink twice, “...her name’s two gemstones, and it sounds like a stripper’s alias.”

  Miguel gives me a deadpan look before rolling his chocolate brown eyes at me, “Jesus Christ, Caleb.”

  “Just tell me why you’re interested in her.”

  “Topaz! As in...the Topaz from M&T Entertainment!” He raises his hands in defeat, obviously flabbergasted that I missed his point, “Her dad’s that award-winning producer!”

  “Her dad’s Leonardo Topaz and she auditioned for our company?”

  “Bingo!” He snaps his fingers.

  I shake my head, “That’s all the more reason not to accept her, Miguel.”

  “What?! Listen to me, man,” he leans closer, “We’re not exactly the best studio out there. We have to do something to get people’s attention.”

  “Oh, come on,” I let out an exasperated sigh, “Don’t tell me we’re going to talk about selling out again, we’ve had this discussion before, and I am having none of it!”

  “Caleb, look, just this once. We do it once and get the word out. And then we do what you want,” he looks around, “Look at us, we’re moving up! It’s time we signed better deals!”

  “No. We’re not doing this. I don’t even know what she sounds like, but if you’re telling me she’s not up to your tastes and even going so far as to say that we use auto-tune, then it’s not good enough for me.”

  “But—”

  “Her own dad didn’t take her into his company! There are no negotiations, Miguel. As you’ve said, we’re moving up. And that means we’re building the studio for talented individuals. We can’t just pluck someone out from a list and decide they deserve the chance because they’ve got t
he connections,” I look at the staff members with us and nod to the door, “Leave us for a sec.”

  Once they leave, I look back at Miguel. He looks defeated. I hate having to tell him these things because I know he only wants good things for the company. It’s just that in the long run, these suggestions of his will do more harm than good.

  “Miguel...I’m sorry. I know you just want the company to rise up ranks. I get that. I appreciate that.”

  “No, it’s...I lost touch. I lost focus. You’re right,” he chuckles, “Her own dad didn’t think her talent was good. I guess I was impatient.”

  “Don’t worry, man. We’ll get there someday,” I look over at the stack of CDs next to him, “Who knows? Maybe our ticket to better talent is in there somewhere.”

  He takes a few of them and hands them to me, “Put them in, those are the only ones I haven’t played yet.”

  The CDs are all identical. Generic CDs with scribbles of names on the front of the case. If we lost the corresponding case to the CD, we’d have a lot of trouble on our hands.

  I insert one of the CDs, and it starts playing. My ears strain once the song begins, I start to understand why Miguel slowly was impatient. Listening to all these crap auditions really took a toll on him.

  The second CD was no better than the first, and for some reason was even worse than the first one. It’s like the band couldn’t decide if they were reggae or jazz.