Be Your Mistake: Be Yours Stories #1 Read online

  Be Your Mistake

  Be Yours Stories, #1

  Sariah Skye

  Copyright © 2020 by Sariah Skye

  Cover design by LKO Designs

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Also by Sariah Skye

  Dear Reader,

  1. Wesley Jackson Greenway

  2. Miles Madison

  3. Wesley

  4. Miles

  5. Wesley

  6. Miles

  7. Wesley

  8. Miles

  9. Wesley

  10. Miles

  11. Miles

  12. Miles

  13. Wesley

  14. Wesley

  15. Miles

  16. Wesley

  17. Miles

  18. Wesley

  19. Wesley

  20. Wesley

  21. Miles

  22. Wesley

  23. Miles

  24. Wesley

  25. Miles

  26. Wesley

  27. Miles

  28. Wesley

  29. Miles

  30. Wesley

  31. Wesley

  32. Wesley

  33. Miles

  34. Wesley

  35. Miles

  36. Wesley

  37. Miles

  38. Wesley

  39. Wesley

  40. Wesley

  41. Miles

  42. Wesley

  43. Miles

  44. Wesley

  45. Miles

  46. Wesley

  47. Miles

  48. Wesley

  49. Miles

  50. Wesley

  Cast of Mentioned Characters...

  Thank you…

  About Sariah Skye…

  Looking for Readers…

  Also by Sariah Skye

  Contemporary Romance

  Be Yours stories

  Be Your Mistake

  The End, and the Beginning

  (MM dystopian sci-fi omegaverse romance (non-shifter))

  Sheltered

  (first of a series, appearing in the Apocalypse anthology in 2019, releasing on its own later in spring, 2020)

  Be Yours Trilogy

  (MF romance, crossover world/characters with The Infamous series)

  Be Your Downfall

  Be Your Savior

  Be Your Everything

  The Infamous Series

  (Slow build, fast burn reverse harem with MM and menage)

  Infamous

  Scandalous

  Notorious

  Glamorous (2020)

  Victorious (*tentative fifth book)

  Paranormal romance/fantasy/etc.

  The Curse of Avalon

  (Paranormal romance/reverse harem with a modern Arthurian twist)

  Invisible

  Inevitable

  Insatiable

  Invincible

  Incorrigible: The Scrooge of Avalon (a romantic holiday comedy with RH & MM romantic content)

  The Fated Saga

  (Slow-burn paranormal romance/epic fantasy—NOT REVERSE HAREM—with dragon shifters)

  Fated Souls

  Fated Magic

  Fated Hope

  Fated Fury (on or before December 31, 2020)

  Legends of Sherwood

  (gender-bent Robin Hood reverse harem retelling)

  The Shadow of Sherwood (2020)

  All release dates subject to change

  Dear Reader,

  Be Your Mistake is the first of a series of MM contemporary stories, spun off my MF series, The Be Yours Trilogy. You certainly don’t have to have read them to read this one, but that’s where Wes and Miles got their start, and some of the storyline intersects.

  There are also crossover characters and appearances from characters from my reverse harem series with MM, the Infamous series. But I repeat again: this can be read as a standalone.

  Be Your Mistake is a MM contemporary, “bisexual awakening” romance, featuring a famous disenchanted rockstar and a jaded tattoo artist. Since this is a gay romance, you can expect steamy gay scenes. Duh. There’s nothing real kinky or triggering here, just two men who can’t help falling absolutely, desperately in love with each other. Just the way I like it.

  You meet a handful of new characters that may get their own stories later. And please note that the timing of this book exists partially with the same timeline as the third book in the Be Yours trilogy featuring Seth and Jessalie, so if you read this first, it will contain spoilers for those. I sort of figured a lot of MM readers aren’t going to go back and read MF so it shouldn’t be a problem, but just in case you are one of the few who does, keep that in mind.

  Also note, this story contains a subplot of discrimination, which may or may not be representative of any business or record label; it has been created and embellished for the story. No such record label or business was referenced for this story. It’s all part of my over-active imagination.

  All that said, happy reading! This isn’t my first foray into MM content, but it is my first full-length “attempt.” I’ve worked my butt off to make it as good as it possibly can be, and I hope you enjoy Wesley and Miles as much as I do.

  xxx,

  Sariah

  1

  Wesley Jackson Greenway

  “Mistakes are part of the dues one pays for a full life.”

  -Sophia Loren

  “Just what is the big deal about Miles Madison of Oblivion Orange Zero?” I snorted as I read the headline of the article in the music magazine that sat on the desk.

  The man in question, Miles Madison, graced the front cover, wearing tight jeans and an equally tight shirt on a stage with a spotlight on him, microphone stand in hand as he sang his heart out. Rain poured down on him, matting his hair down his forehead and dripped down his neck as he kicked out his leg and leaned back, the mic stand between his legs in a move that could be construed as sexual. In front, fans by the hundreds and probably thousands with their hands in the air reached out to him, cheering wildly like he was some sort of god to worship.

  “Oh please…” I muttered. “He’s just a guy.”

  Glancing up at the glass door to the tattoo shop I owned, Crushed & Vibed, I sighed as I waited for my client. He was about fifteen minutes late, and about at the point where I would write him off if he walked in any later. When the door didn’t open, and the thunder crashed and the rain poured down in sheets, slapping at the glass windows, I shook my head and went back to the magazines stacked up on the desk.

  Most of them were music or tattoo related because of course—music and tattooing went hand in hand. But many of the music-related ones had one thing in common: Miles Madison, frontman for the rock/pop group Oblivion Orange Zero, graced the pages of many of them. I just didn’t get it. Just like I didn’t get their name.

  According to an interview I read, it was something random they came up with. Miles was probably high as a fucking kite to come up with that one. Whatever.

  He was probably good looking, honestly, but I wasn’t looking. Not like that, anyway. I had a certain fascination the past couple months with him ever since my best friend and his band, Night Addiction, were personally asked by Miles Madison himself to perform at a music festival in Florida. Then he had asked my friend, Seth Archer, to work with him on a couple of songs. Of course it was a huge deal, to be asked to work with a high-caliber, award winning, platinum-selling artist like Miles Madison.

  I’d seen him before. Met him in person. Over the summer, Miles came to crash Night Addiction’s performance in Wisconsin. Why Wisconsin of all places? Beats the hell out of me why a guy like that would want to slum it with some garage band but… hey. I heard the rumors. He’d gotten busted for drug use; harassment. Sleeping with his engaged manager. All that shit. I guessed he wanted someone to take pity on him and Seth being Seth—he did. He stayed at their place in Wisconsin, but there wasn’t enough room in Seth’s car, so I was volunteered to drive him.

  He sat on his phone the entire drive over, and pretty much kept to his room. I saw him at breakfast when he stumbled downstairs wearing a t-shirt that probably cost more than the rent on my apartment and fuzzy Spongebob pajama pants. His hair was all messy, he hadn’t shaved and appeared nothing like the giant A-list, arrogant celebrity he was supposed to be. In fact, he actually looked like he’d been crying. Didn’t ask him about it; man-code and all that shit.

  But he was truly nothing special. Trust me.

  Okay so admittedly… a part of me was a little butthurt. This guy, who resembled the slacker smart-ass in your high school class, and got everything handed to him because he could smile and play the game had everything handed to him, and people like Seth and I? We had to really work our asses off for it.

  I had only myself to blame for some of that though. Because I was the one that encouraged Seth to join Night Addiction when my cousin, Quin Greenway, told me that his band needed a new lead singer.

  Of course first he ask
ed me if I wanted to, but… yeah, too much commitment for me. So I suggested Seth, who was having a hard time anyway, dealing with his bipolar and anxiety. We’d been friends since high school, we belonged to another short-lived band together, and he lived with me, too unstable to keep a steady job. I hoped that it would help give him something to live for.

  And, I was right. It did. Seth’s life was great now.

  Mine? Well… ha. It was less than great. But unlike Seth, I had nobody to blame for that other than myself. I could have joined the band and stood up on the stage with Miles Madison like an equal instead of just a background peon but… whatever.

  I really had no right to be bitter about it, I knew that, but it still couldn’t help from feeling that way. It didn’t help that I had to hear all the comments about “how awesome Miles was” or “how hot he was” or “how much they wanted to fuck him”—and that was from women and men.

  Since Seth told me they were working together, I admitted I became curious trying to figure out his appeal. Even more so after meeting him. I didn’t get it.

  In every article I came across about Miles he seemed arrogant and fake. Something about him was so artificial and rehearsed, it drove me up the wall. He gave diplomatic answers, used too many exclamation points in his social media posts, always seemed to be just a bit too hyper—he reminded me of a teenager on Speed and was just full of whatever someone told him to be.

  Seth told me that the real Miles wasn’t anything like that, and that pissed me off even more. If he wasn’t like that… why act like that? All for attention? The women?

  I hated that. I hated fake people.

  Of course I don’t know why it bothered me other than the fact that he was the topic of many of our conversations around the shop, because lately he’d gotten into quite a bit of shit. First, there was talk about his drinking or drug usage; that he’d partied a little too hard. Then, because he got a little too flirty and a couple girls came forward and said he harassed them. They stopped short of saying “rape,” but… you knew that’s what they were alluding to.

  Honestly something didn’t sit well with me.

  So now you were either “Team Miles” or “Team fuck-off Miles.” You believed him that he was innocent, or guilty. And still with all his “scandals” he still had a huge following. Plenty of haters, but still plenty of fans.

  That pissed me off. If I had been accused of doing the things he did, do you think people would believe me? Or still care about me? No.

  I supposed that was part of it; trying to figure out the hold. The spell Miles Madison cast on you.

  A bell chimed, interrupting me from my thoughts and I looked up hopefully. Then promptly scowled, realizing it was only my colleague, fellow artist Remy Slater. He was tall but lanky—he sort of reminded me of a bleach-blond version of Seth, covered with tattoos. Oh, and gay.

  He was drenched, and shook out the rainbow umbrella he had been carrying on the sidewalk before a crack of thunder sounded, and he came in all the way. “Holy shit, it’s like Armageddon out there!”

  I snickered. “Nah, bro, it’s just Minneapolis in the summertime. Try to keep up.”

  Remy curled up his mouth in a sneer. “I’ll never get used to that,” he muttered, shaking his head as he shrugged off a black trenchcoat and hung it on a hook near the door. He wore ripped black jeans and a black tank which showed off all the ink on his slim shoulders and arms. He even had a small “male” symbol on his temple, in front of a square rainbow block—you know, just in case anyone missed the fact he was gay right off the bat. With his tight clothes, eyeliner, and blue polished nails, he was sort of a “punk femme” version of gay—he called it. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. He was a great guy and did great work. I didn’t care who he fucked.

  Remy was from California, but a couple years ago he applied to be an artist after being a follower of my work for some time. I accepted him and he flew to Minneapolis to live; we’d been decent friends ever since.

  He sauntered through the lobby; the black walls were covered with artwork from all of us—but mostly mine since it was my shop—band photos and concert photos and colorful lights strung up everywhere giving it a relaxed, edgy feel.

  “What’cha lookin’ at?” he asked, grinning as he peered over the desk. I slapped my palms over the top magazine cover and he rolled his eyes, shoving aside my hands. “Oh damn… him. Please do me a favor and when you see him tomorrow just pinch that ass for me. Please.”

  I laughed as I wrinkled my nose. “Fuck no!”

  He feigned shock, dropping his mouth open. “You have to! Come on—straight or not—you have to admit he’s gorgeous.”

  “Eh. That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Why does anyone care about him?” I glanced down at the magazine on the desk, shrugging as I looked it over.

  Remy groaned, and grabbed the magazine out of my hand and flipped through the pages. “There. This. This is what’s the big deal.” He slid the magazine back over the desktop, opened to a two-page spread and series of photos all with the famous singer.

  “Miles Madison raw and unfiltered…” Scoffing, I pushed it back at him.

  “Just look. Look goddamn you!” Remy insisted, jabbing his finger at the pages. Begrudgingly I looked at a series of photos, the first of which featured him leaning up against a wall, head thrown back with his hands roaming over his naked torso. The next was a bit closer up; he had big brown eyes and thick dark hair, one piece was always hanging in his face, I noticed. Whether purposeful or not, I didn’t know. But he was purposely biting his lip, probably supposed to make him look sexy or… something.

  Okay so… he was an attractive guy. I had no issues with admitting that. I didn’t pay a ton of attention to him in person. I didn’t think he was as broad as I; he was smooth-skinned, leanly cut with sinewy muscle wrapped around his shoulders, arms, pecs, and abs; a deep “V” disappearing into his jeans. According to my cousin’s wife, Christi, that was the hottest part about him. “I want to take my tongue and lick every inch of that goddamned V…” she said.

  I still didn’t get it, but then I’d never really been attracted to men.

  “Really been”? No, I’d never been attracted to men. Really. Really.

  “I still don’t get it,” I replied, with a dismissive shrug, as Remy let out a sharp noise.

  “What? Listen to this…” he grabbed the magazine from me, and cleared his throat. “‘My whole life I’ve been exactly what people have expected from me. Everyone said ‘rock and roll, try this pill, this drug—that’s what we do’. Drink this, go to this party. Wear this shit. Blah blah blah… well it’s not me. None of it is me. And I think people will realize that with this new solo album. I’m still trying to find my individual sound, but I really think that I’m close to finding it. This is the most ‘me’ I’ve felt since the guys and I started the band. In the end, I’m looking forward to everyone finally seeing the real me, and even though I hope they like it, at least if not they hate me for me instead of liking me for being something I’m not.’” Remy slapped the magazine back on the counter and pointed at the paragraph he just real. “Come on, that’s sweet!”