Page 7 of Counterpoint
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zavier leaned against the wall, his black tank top still pristine. Not even a drop of sweat. They hadn’t been playing long enough to warrant a break.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just—” Dom waved his arm. “I’m fine.”
A wry chuckle. “Dom...”
Damn Zavier, because he knew. Somehow, the man knew something was up. Zav had this way of reading people and was so damn fucking sensible most of the time. Then again, he had married Ray, who wore his heart on his sleeve and buried his problems behind fear, so one of those two had to be the grounded one.
Zavier was so grounded, it was a wonder he didn’t grow roots with each step.
Dom glanced back at their leader. Ray was a hell of a lot better emotionally and temper-wise, which was good, since Dom had never been this shitty of a guitarist before. A year and a half ago, a flub like that from Dom would have caused chaos in the band. They’d been under such pressure, between a band manager out to get them, a horrible label, and a grueling tour as the opening act for one of the best bands in the country. They’d all learned how to rely on one another during those months, and Zavier, their new drummer, had become family and Ray’s greatest ally.
Now he was Ray’s husband.
Dom took a drink of coffee and pondered how much to say. Finally, he let it slip. “I met someone yesterday.”
Zavier’s eyebrows lifted, but his expression didn’t change. “A professor in tweed?”
Dom grunted. Yeah, that was his normal candy. Maybe that’s why Adrian threw him so much. “No, a computer engineer who’d taken off a tie and a suit jacket.”
“Oh.” Amusement crept into Zavier’s voice. “Did you have fun?”
Yes, but he’d had more than that. He’d been excited and turned on and...curious. Who was Adrian? What had he thought of the book Dom’d been reading? Which museums did he like? Dom wanted more of Adrian, and that was rare. Maybe it was because they hadn’t fucked.
You know it’s not.
Zavier was quiet and watchful, and his smile had fallen into seriousness.
More coffee didn’t do a damn thing for Dom’s nerves. Likely made things worse. “He fed me lemon meringue pie, felt me up, kissed me, then asked me to dinner this Wednesday.”
“A date?” Zavier’s brow crinkled. “That’s unusual.”
Yeah, it was for Dom. He pretty much only did one-night stands. He rolled his shoulders, and found his cheeks heating. “Domino Grinder doesn’t go on dates.”
“Domino doesn’t whip out his dick at all,” Zavier said. “That’s not the image you take out when you go hunting while on tour. Domino isn’t a thirst-trap for toppy intellectuals.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Butyouare. And you like this man. Enough to see him again.”
Fucking perceptive Zavier Demos. “I hardly know the guy. I just—” Couldn’t stop thinking about Adrian. That voice, the touch. His approval. What it would feel like when those hands were finally on his naked skin. “I have to focus on this.” He gestured at their instruments. “Ray’s right. I need to behere.” Not daydreaming about Adrian bending him over or hisbook recommendations.
A nod. “Yeah, I get it. How can we help?”
See, now that was exactly why Zavier had been the right drummer for Twisted Wishes and the right man for volatile Ray Van Zeller. Hecared. Tried to find solutions. Didn’t get riled up easily.
Dom snorted. “You have a way to get my head into Domino? ’Cause that’s where I need to be.” Not stuck in an endless loop of twink Dominic. He needed that edge, that chaos.
Zavier got that damn grin of his, the fucking bastard. “I might.” He pushed off the wall. “Hey, Ray? Mish?”
It was always a little amazing to watch Ray turn and see Zavier. The two had been married more than a year now, and though they weren’t particularly outgoing with their affection, every time Ray met Zavier’s gaze, there was this little catch of breath, a little hint of happy surprise.
“Yeah?” Ray said. His gaze lingered on Zavier, shifted to Dom, then swung back. Mish cocked her head.
“Do you think we could warm up with ‘Dark Dreams’ or ‘Lightning’ or one of the older songs before working on the new ones?” Zavier said.
Oh. A little jolt ran through Dom. Yeah, that might work. He knew those, knew how to be Domino when playing those. Hell, even thinking about the rhythms and the notes and how the stage felt on tour, how he’d held his guitar in his hands, that had him shifting and straightening his back. Muscle memory, and more. The knowledge of who he was when he played those songs. Domino was part of that music—and DomwasDomino.
Ray eyed Dom again. “Would that help?”
“Yeah.” He drank down the rest of the coffee, then tossed the cup in the nearest trash can. “Yeah, it would. You mind?”
“Whatever you need, hon,” Mish said.
