Scott kind of smiled. "I always wear ties and stuff."

"You can get away with it," I informed him, helping myself to a doughnut hole.

"I never wear one when I can get away with it," Dad grinned. Scott laughed.

"We're running down to get Zac and Dave. We'll be back in a little while, we'll probably hang there for a little while," I informed my father.

"Okay, Taylor, but at one-thirty, we have a boring-o meeting with Mercury about the Def Jam issue."

I made a face. "Ugh. I can't believe Mercury's getting taken over."

Dad nodded, sighing. "I'm just glad they decided to keep you."

"You're Hanson, of course they're keeping you," Scott said, in the tone which obviously stated he knew all about our popularity with the teenies and critics.

My eyes fell. "Well, you'd be surprised," I muttered, thinking of how much Scott didn't know, about the merger postponing our second album recording schedule over and over, about how Def Jam wanted us to stop playing instruments and start being another "boy-band." I almost growled at the thought, but continued, "Anyway, Dad, I'll be back way before then, so I'll see ya in a little while."

"Okay, Tay, try to call if you're staying a while," Dad said, and then he guffawed at George Jetson saying, "Jaaaane! Stop this crazy thing!"

And so, Scott and I headed out.

The hallway was nice and empty, it being after the free-buffet rush that lasted till about nine in the morning every morning. Most tourists were out on the town by now, sight-seeing, and Scott and I walked alone and silent on the horrible peach and black deco carpet of the white and peach hallway. Instead of heading towards the elevators, we took a small detour into a side hallway that boasted both an ice machine and a vending machine, and a doorway leading to the stairs.

"Going up," Scott said as he opened the doorway. And thus, we began our ascent up the six flights of stairs that would eventually lead us to the seventh floor. The stairway was narrow, the walls painted harsh and white, and the steps were steep, but as Scott and I climbed and our heart rates went up, we began to talk, which made the climb go faster. "This is craptacular. And creepy. Don't you wonder who it was?"

"I've been wondering that," I admitted. "I'm hoping it's not an obsessed psycho freak murderer or a teeny off the deep end."

"When you say that, I picture a teeny with a blood-stained spaghetti-strapped tank top, pigtails, and a knife," he told me.

"Augh, oh my God, do you think this person means us any harm? Because it's certainly scary enough, the way they put in red, 'I Saw You.' Gee, that's not I Know What You Did Last Summer-ish or anything," I said sarcastically. "If she's meaning to scare us, she's doing a good job."

"At this point, I'm thinking it might have been someone on the street who saw us go into the hotel after we climbed off the roof last night."

My eyes widened. "Oh my God, you're right. The person could have just walked in off the street when they saw us, taken our picture, seen what room we went into . . ."

Scott nodded. "My point."

"Oh . . . shit. My left knee's beginning to hurt from these stupid stairs."

"I'm sorry. Wanna stop?"

"No. What floor are we on?"

"I think we're halfway up five."

Scott

"Damn," Taylor lamented. "We don't take PE in home-school. We just go out and play soccer and run around every once in while. These steps are killing my knee."

"We home-school, too," I informed Taylor quietly as we reached the landing of floor six. "I like it. I can't say I miss being at an actual educational institute."

"You've been to a real school? You actually went to one?"

"Yeah, in Vancouver. When I was little."

"Never been to a school. Unless we played at it." Taylor flashed me a charming smile as we rounded the curve to finish off the flight of stairs between floors six and seven.

"I hated school," I quickly revealed. "It's not something I care about a lot. It's only important because if the possibility arises where I can't do music, God forbid, I need something to quote-unquote 'fall back on.'" I shook my head. "Taylor, shoot me if I ever stop playing music. It's like chopping off a painter's hands. Just freaking shoot me. Give me the horse treatment. I break an arm and can't play guitar, shoot me in the head, because I'm useless then."

"Me too. Hey, idea. If for some reason, someday, the Moffatts aren't the Moffatts and Hanson is no longer functioning as a band, why don't you and I start a band?"

I gasped. The idea sounded like Heaven. Playing music with the guy I loved. That was a utopia as potent as sticking Zac in a room with ice cream and South Park.

"Definitely," I said. "And that's a promise."

We found ourselves standing on the seventh landing. Taylor turned towards me, smiling. His eyes dropped, and he laughed.

"Your tie is done kinda crooked."

I actually blushed. "I didn't have a mirror this morning! I did it while walking out the door!"

"I'm not blaming you for having a messy tie! Here, I'll fix it, wimp."

Tay stepped in towards me and began to fix the knot at the base of my neck. I sighed.

"Tay, I don't know what I ever did without you. Seeing as how I can't dress myself anymore, what's it going to be like when we go to Portland at the end of this week and you go off to wherever it is you go."

"Probably back to Tulsa," Taylor said distractedly, pulling the knot loose and re-tightening it straightly. He continued to smooth my tie straight. "I don't want to see what kind of mess you get yourself into next time. I hope you put your pants on correctly. They're not backwards, are they?"

"You asshole," I laughed.

"Hey, I have the power to choke you with this thing, you know," Taylor said, menacingly wiggling my tie before letting it drop. "And just so you know, it's not crooked anymore, wish I could say the same for other things . . ."

"You are an asshole!!" I said, punching him in the arm.

"Ow! Fuck! Sorry. Kidding. Maybe," Taylor laughed. We stopped and gazed at each other. Taylor lowered his voice to a whisper. "Do you think it's okay if I kiss you really quick?"

I couldn't help smiling. Please, please, my body was begging, but I knew that it probably wasn't the best idea. I was prepared to say no, but suddenly Taylor's eyes seemed so alluring and the fact that I hadn't kissed him since the lobby last night surfaced in my mind, and I said,

"I think that would be okay, if your hands mind their own business."

"Oh, they will. I think they'll mind your business, too," Taylor grinned. Then, he tilted his head in, and I met him in the first really romantic kiss we'd ever had. A kiss that was perfect from the moment his mouth softly touched mine to the moment when the tip of his tongue gently traced my upper lip, stealing my breath and making my knees feel like Jell-O. Now I knew why people made such a huge deal out of kissing. Done properly, they could be mind-altering.

Zac

"FULGORE!"

Bob tossed his controller aside. "Yeah . . . you win."

"Again," Clint moaned. I smiled, satisfied with my rank as King of All Video Games. Then, I caught Dave's smirk. Okay, so I was King of All Video Games Except Family Feud, which Dave beat me in three times in a row earlier that morning.

Yes, it was now eleven in this realm of the Moffatts, and we'd been up since seven-thirty. That wasn't a problem, because Dave and I had passed out on the bed after talking a little more about last night's little shower experience, so I wasn't sleepy. In fact, we all felt kind of energetic, and bored, too, like we had a bunch of pointless energy to spend doing pointless things. At eight, we'd gotten up and drove to a radio station to do a brief (I'm talking one two-minute segment) interview while the Moffatts' single "Girl Of My Dreams" was played on the air. I think they should have let me talk during the interview, but Bob did most of the spokesman work. Scott wasn't even present, and we all talked about passing me off as Scott, and how we should trade me and Scott so Scott could be one with the dorks Taylor and Isaac, and I could come dye my hair purple on legal terms with Frank Moffatt.

That idea ended when Bob realized he'd be sharing his drummer spotlight. Thus, the Video Games Championship was launched upon our return to the hotel. They had a weak Super Nintendo system, with such fun games as Family Feud, Big Sky Troopers, the super-old Zelda, and Mario World. The only one we found suitable was Killer Instinct, until the triplets discovered how lethal I was with Fulgore.

Clint and Bob sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, Bob in long black jean shorts and a wife-beater with his long brown hair loose over his shoulders. Clint wore his Hawaiian print shirt open across his bare chest, and a pair of khaki shorts. Dave, however, was choosing not to show off a lot of bare skin, and was wearing a pair of camo pants and a gray T-shirt that stated "ARMY" on the front. With his particular haircut, none of us were leaving him alone, and kept calling him Gomer Pyle and Major Dave. He actually didn't seem to mind, and just saluted us right back when we tried to annoy him that way. Dave was really cool about teasing and stuff like that - he either just let it roll off him like water on a duck's back, or jumped right back at you with a better insult. That presented a bigger challenge to me. I mean, come on, I was used to Chewy and Blondie.

Which brings everything up to speed with what was happening now, which was Clint stating that we should probably call Scott soon, because rehearsal for the premiere was later that afternoon. The Moffatts had booked an amphitheater for the four-hour-long rehearsal, and wanted us to come hang and watch them rehearse, but I secretly thought that Taylor and Scott would just neck the entire time, and as enticing as it sounded, was probably as greatly thought out as Clint and Bob thought.

"We are the chaaaampions, my frie-hends," I began to sing, thrusting my fingers into a V for victory sign, and rocking my body back and forth to my phantom beat.

"Put a dirty sock in it, Zac," said Dave, grinning.

"Bite the weenie, Dave."

"With relish!" piped Clint, ever one for quoting from movies.

"Zip your lip!" Dave shot back at Clint.

"Shut your face!" Clint retorted.

"En garde!" I shouted, grabbing the throw pillow I was leaning on and throwing it at Dave, who was sitting in a chair by the couch I was laying on.

"Touche!" Dave responded, swiping it and throwing it right back at me.

"Bite me!" I screeched back, whacking Dave with the pillow repetitively as he leapt up to grab the other one at my feet. To my absolute delight, he fought back, stinging me a couple of good jabs with his pillow.

"They're going to break something! I'm leaving the room," remarked Bob, deciding to go into the kitchen to play innocent. Clint just laughed and followed, leaving us involved in a fun, impromptu pillow fight.

The grin on Dave's lips was pure evilry. "DIE, fallen warrior!"

I burst out laughing. "Who's a Star Trek nerd? Dave is!"

"What?" Dave laughed, pausing. I whacked him hard on his arm.

"You sounded like a Klingon!" I replied.

"I don't even know what a Klingon is! And I'm a Star Trek nerd? Rethink yourself, pansy!"

Dave thrashed right back at me. We blindly laughed and swung the floral-print pillows at each other, then when that got us no where, Dave climbed right on top of me and began to smack me in the face with his pillow.

"You bastard!" I cried out, giggling mindlessly.

"Welcome to the army, Hanson!" Dave cracked, making references to both Full Metal Jacket and his army pants. Wow, this guy was just too good.

"They don't allow gays in the army, Dave!" I retorted.

"Don't ask, don't tell, Zac!" he shot back.

And with an extra-tough swing of his pillow, he knocked my pillow from my hand. It flew across the room, and I was left weaponless.

"OH, HELL YEAH!! King of Video Games my ass, Zac! Get a reflex!" crowed Dave in his triumph. "You're more like, King of Videos With Big Yellow Pansies!"

"Augh! I think NOT!" I cried, outraged. Suddenly, I thrust my hands forward and grabbed at his sides. Dave began to howl with laughter as I tickled him. I beamed. His face turned red and he began to writhe on top of me, spouting out about pansies and stuff, while I found his most ticklish spot and ran one of my hands up the inside of his shirt to tickle his bare skin.

But then, I found myself no longer tickling Dave, but running my hand along his side, feeling his ribs beneath his skin because he was so skinny, feeling his body heat, thinking about how close we were. I glanced at his face, and he was looking at me, too, breathing heavily, with laughs still caught in his throat, but silenced in the moment of heat we found ourselves locked into. For the first time, I felt myself completely open up, as if I was peeling a former skin off, letting Dave see straight into my head, into my thoughts, into my feelings, by looking into his brown eyes and holding eye contact.

Dave couldn't break it, either. He just lie there on top of me in an awkward position, breathing hard, hot in my arms, his chest expanding and contracting under my hand. In a way, I felt naked for not having a caked layer of homophobic, frightened thoughts in the way, and saw it for what it was. We were both recognizing the natural electricity that existed between us as individuals, feeling the karma.

I felt my heart leap into my throat suddenly. Dave's hand dropped his pillow to the side, and he then placed it kind of on the back of my neck, his thumb tracing my jawline as he slid his hand back a little. The urge was as overpowering as the smell of a room recently painted.

Kiss me. Touch me. Do something. It feels good. And I'm not afraid.

Yes, yes yes! Excitement typhooned over my body. Dave leaned in a little, and I wasn't sure it was all real, were we going to kiss? I tilted my head in a natural instinct as an answer.

The short raps came like three huge grenades set off three feet from us.

The moment was broken, pieces of it lying on the floor shattered, as Dave and I realized the door was being knocked on In a flash, we scrambled from each other, the sudden break leaving me confused and horny, and just a little afraid of the intimacy level Dave and I had almost achieved. Bob came out of the kitchen and headed towards the door.

"Don't forget to look through the peep-hole first," advised Clint.