Page 1 of Counterpoint
Chapter One
There wasn’t anything better than fine wine and mac and cheese made with some hipster, high-end, small-batch, aged-and-smoked cheddar, Dominic Bradley decided. Especially when it came with bacon.
God bless New York City. Or more specifically, Brooklyn.
Dom had found that the aptly named little bar, Poet and Whiskey, in his neighborhood was ideal to sit in on a late Saturday afternoon. Not crowded yet, so he could eat and drink and read in peace, and the food was really damn good, even if slightly pretentious.
Then again, so was he, with his bowtie, button-down, suspenders, andjeans.
He’d rapidly become something of a regular. The staff knew him by name now, and often just brought him a glass of merlot with his water, and let him stay and read as long as he wanted. For the most part, he was just another body in the city, but here, he’d become part of the familiar scenery.
Granted, the experience of being out and around in public and—for the most part—completely ignored was a strange one. Sure, he got the occasional appreciative glance and sometimes even enough banter for a hookup, but generally, he was just another guy in the city. No one remarkable. A dude eating a late lunch or early dinner, with a glass of wine and a copy ofThe Sins of the Cities of the Plainas a companion. Lately, he’d been working through all the gay erotic classics he could.
What he wasn’t at all was Domino Grinder, the most recognized and easy to spot member of the rock band Twisted Wishes. Even though that’s also exactly who he was. He often got an illicit thrill when one of their songs played in the bar and he caught the bartender singing along under his breath.
So close—so anonymous, thank god!
He’d been so damn lucky people were oblivious and hadn’t figured out he and Domino kind of sounded alike, though Dom was far more brash onstage. The whole hiding-in-plain-sight kept his nerves from becoming too damn frazzled.
One of the great things about having a persona he could shed at will was that he didn’t have to be as cautious when he left his home, unlike the rest of the band. For the most part, the fans didn’t bother his other bandmates, Ray, Zavier, and Mish. Some requests for selfies once and a while, but on the whole, they were respected.
For themostpart. Ray and Zavier got photographed a lot. Mish had it worse—some of the fans tended to think that because she was a woman they could have more access to her time and space.
Dom took a sip of his wine. So far, nothing had come of that, but he didn’t know how Mish handled it. He couldn’t deal with that kind of stress—that was part of the reason Domino Grinder existed in the first place.
When his best friend, Ray Van Zeller, had first asked him to play guitar in the band he was forming, all Dom wanted to do was hide under his bed. Yes, he’d absolutely wanted to play in Ray’s band—as long as they never ever left Ray’s garage. The thought of getting up onstage had been too much for shy young Dominic. Hell, even playing at the talent show their senior year in high school had nearly done Dom in, and all he’d done was stand out of the spotlight and play guitar. Ray had been the sole focus then.
So, to survive climbing on that stage, he imagined what someone unlike the nerd he was might look like. He’d gelled up his hair, changed from button-downs to tight, ripped tank tops, faux leather pants, huge boots, spiked collars, and a bunch of makeup. An outrageous costume, something only someone with brass balls might wear. Dominic didn’t have the guts...but Domino did.
That had made all the difference. He could play like he wanted to as Domino. Dance and scream and say whatever the fuck came into his mind. And when they were done, when they weren’t touring, he could peel Domino off and be Dominic again. The nerd. The guy no one expected to be able to be a rock star. No one laughed at Domino.
As a bonus, he’d managed to keep himself—his true self—out of the limelight. Just as well, too. Because in the years that Twisted Wishes had risen to the top, Domino Grinder had become an unapproachable force of nature. A sex god no one could touch.
Which didn’t suit Dom at all. Helikedbeing touched. Enjoyed the company of other men. Was even happier if they preferred Dom on his knees, under their bodies, or riding their cock.
Which was exactly the opposite of what everyone thought Domino wanted.
Then again, being able to take Domino off at will meant Dom got his fill of one-night stands with the kind of men he did enjoy. Artists. Writers. Professors. Dancers. Any man interested in art or literature or history who wanted a nice roll in bed with someone who’d beg to be fucked.
Hey, it was a living. And a good one, too. Rock star most of the time, but a twink in bed.
Except now that they weren’t touring, Dom had settled back into being his nerdy self one hundred percent of the time. Felt so fucking good—including the fucking part.
Though he hadn’t had any of that for a while, not with moving into his new place and getting a feel for his neighborhood and the scene here.
So instead he sipped wine, ate mac and cheese, and read tales of a rentboy in London in the nineteenth century while some baseball game flickered on the TV above the bar.
Dom had gotten so into the recounting—which was pretty lewd despite the time in which it was written—that the world around him had vanished. Probably why he didn’t notice the guy who’d sat down at the table next to him until a velvet voice had murmured, “Jack Saul. That’s quite aninterestingbook.”
Dom looked up and into the richest brown eyes he’d ever encountered. Depth and color. Flecks of gold. They were framed by stunning cheekbones, and auburn hair. And that grin... Dom’s bones melted even as his dick did the opposite.
They weren’t more than an arm’s length apart at the tightly arranged tables, and shared the bench that ran all the way along the wall.
“It’s fascinating,” Dom managed.
“That’s one way to put it.” The smile deepened. “Pretty explicit from the get-go, in its own way.”
Dom slipped in his bookmark and nodded. He let his gaze drift over the man’s torso. Broad shoulders. Trim frame. And he was nicely put together, even dressed down a bit. Crisp pastel-green shirt that had probably held a tie earlier on in the day. Dark brown trousers that might have been paired with a suit coat. Belt looked well-made. Not a cheap thing.
