Page 15 of Syncopation
Chapter Five
Having Zavier in the house with the rest of the band was distracting as fuck. His presence tapped on every last one of Ray’s nerves. His voice was like a caress and the sight of him was a constant reminder to Ray’s libido that he hadn’t gotten any in months and months.
Didn’t help that Zavier watched him like he was an item on a menu. Fucking around with the crew wasone thing; fucking a bandmate was another. Plus—and he had to remind himself constantly—he didn’t like Zavier. Desperation for sex wasn’t a good reason to throw yourself at someone. Especially not at Mr. Perfect Zavier Demos, drummer extraordinaire.
While the living arrangements were frustrating as fuck, the practices were incredible. Every piece they worked on, they elevated to a new leveland Ray gained a serious appreciation for how talented Zavier was. Wasn’t smoke and mirrors. Zavier workedhard. Despite the twinges in his features and the shoulder rolls between sessions, he never faltered behind the kit or complained about their marathon practices.
He also quietly backed up all of Ray’s musical decisions—or not so quietly when Carl was around.
Yeah, Zavier’s playingshowed he deserved to have gone to Juilliard. Hell, he should’ve been in some world-class orchestra or a multi-platinum headlining rock band, but here he was, drumming for Twisted Wishes. Ray didn’t understandwhy. What did Zavier get out of the deal? He didn’t trust Zavier, even if his body screamed to get closer, especially after Zavier stripped off his tank after one intense session. All thatink on Zavier’s back. Saint freaking Michael the archangel descending down to slay demons. More tattoos that dipped below Zavier’s waistline. All of it only made him want to stare longer at that unreal body.
Still, they made it halfway through their first album by the middle of the last studio day, thrashing, playing, and meticulously going over every note and beat.
“I don’t know why you’rebothering with all the songs,” Carl grumbled. “It’s not like you play them all on tour.”
Ray hid his wince by grabbing a bottle of water. “That was with Kevin. I need to know which songs are the best with Zav.”
“Zav?” Carl’s sneer deepened.
Fuck Carl. Ray’d known Zavier longer than anyone in this room, save Dom. He called back over his shoulder, “You don’t mind Zav, do you?”
Alaugh. “Zav is absolutely fine.” Zavier took a seat at a stool next to the table and grabbed one of the water bottles. “It’s what everyone called me at school.” The Zavier now was so much more than the Zavier in high school. Same fucking eyes peered back, though. “You can even call me asshole, if you want.” Sly-ass smirk.
Fucker. Ray turned back to Carl and shrugged. “You want us at our best,I need to figure out what the new best is.”
Mish joined them. “Hey, Carl.” Her words and grin were too bright, but Carl wouldn’t know that. He’d never caught on.
He smiled back at her, with thatlookhetero men got when she turned on the charm. “Hey. You sounded outstanding today.”
“Thanks,” she drawled. She stood over him—all six foot one of her—and there was the hint of discomfortthe same hetero men got when they realized Mish could break them in two. “Did you find us another studio space?”
Carl had to crane his neck to answer, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed. “No. There’s nothing available.”
“In all of L.A.?” Mish tapped her lip with a finger. “Huh.”
Carl focused on Ray rather than Mish. “You’re something else, Ray.”
Ray gave another disinterestedshrug, and ignored the burning in the back of his throat. He had as much control over Mish as anyone else—not a damn ounce.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darling,” Mish said. “We’ll be ready for the tour.”
“You’ve only worked through half an album and none of your newest material—you know, the songs that charted?” Carl leaned back and crossed his arms. “And you’ll be ready?”
Ray took another swallow of water. “I know what I’m doing.”
“That’ll be a first,” Carl murmured.
The calm Ray had been so desperately trying to hang on to broke suddenly, and he slammed the water bottle down on the table. “Now look here—”
He made to rise, but Zavier clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Not hard, but enough to zing through every nerve. Ray sank back downonto the chair. “I’ve gotten us this far.” A single in the top five. Sales that were decent. Tours and signing lines that were crowded enough. Fan mail. A gold album.
In the beginning, Carl had been so full of praise, even when he’d offered suggestions and picked at every one of Ray’s decisions. Now? The praise was gone. The critique remained, though.
“Oh yes,” Carl said. “You’re A-plusmaterial. Drive your drummer to drink. Throw a bottle at him. Make the news in such astellarway. Your band’s playing on tour has been shit. It’s a wonder the label gave you this chance.”
Zavier hadn’t removed his hand, and that was the only thing that kept Ray from leaning across the table and punching Carl. Thing was—everything Carl said was true. That was the worst thing. Carl was right.Ray’d failed Kevin. Failed the band. The burning turned inward and stabbed like daggers and he ground his teeth, face hot with shame.
Carl had even warned him, back at the start.Your songs are good, kid. But this isn’t like playing bars down at the Shore.It hadn’t been, either. Dude might be an asshole, but he did seem to know the business in a way Ray didn’t.
