Page 76 of Sycopation
“Good.” Ray licked his lips and tasted traces of salt and Zavier. “If we’re gonna do this, I want you as invested.”
Zavier sat back and chuckled. “I am. Believe me.” He rose and pulled Ray up. “Come on, let’s go look bored and tired for Carl. I think we’re nearly there.”
Yeah, the bus was moving a lot slower now. Ray grabbed his shower gear while Zavier opened the curtain and headed up front. After Ray shoved his shit into his bunk, he joined the others. “We didn’t figure out the set list.”
Mish pursed her lips. “Let’s talk it out over catered donuts and a shit-ton more coffee.”
Zavier lounged like he hadn’t a care in the world. “We should shake it up a bit.”
Yeah. And judging from Dom’s and Mish’s nods, they were all for that plan, too. He’d have to grab his notebook before they got off the bus. But right now, there were too many stops and turns. He closed his eyes.
Mish and Dom were fine with him screwing Zavier—or rather Zavier screwinghim. The fans wanted it. They worked well on stage and provided speculation for the press. He grunted. “Carl’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Good.” Zavier’s voice, but it was echoed by Mish and Dom, and that warmed Ray’s heart. If nothing else, he had the band. His band. Hisfriends.
And one with some really amazing benefits.
There wasnothing better than the anticipation of waiting. Or, Zavier mused, watching others wait. He enjoyed both thoroughly. Pleasure was always more intense when denied before. That explained why he was still reeling from his night with Ray—they had been dancing around each other for so long. And no, one night wasn’t enough for either of them. Not nearly.
Ray had knelt without hesitation. God, that alone played along Zavier’s nerves and sweetened what was to come. But there were pleasures he could indulge in sooner, too. Like a little touch of sadism, not from caring but from the exact opposite. This time, his target was Carl, the lying, scheming, utterly contemptible band manager.
All of the members of Twisted Wishes were dressed—Domino had made his reappearance—and mostly caffeinated by the time the bus pulled into their next venue, another outdoor amphitheater.
Unsurprisingly, Carl was waiting once the bus parked. He climbed into the bus and snarled, “What thefuckis this?” He was holding a tablet with that photo of Zavier and Ray from the previous night.
Enemies or lovers? Kill or fuck? Zavier knew the answer to that one. In his blood and written on the skin of Ray’s ass. He cocked his head at Carl. “Why, it’s a picture of me and Ray.” He turned to Ray. “Doesn’t that look like a picture of me and you?”
Ray leaned forward for a better look. “It does, yeah. Isn’t that when we were talking last night?”
“Think so. Damn, they’ve got a good lens.” Zavier shook his head. “Gotta give ’em credit for that.”
Carl stared at them. Mish was trying not to laugh, and Dom had his nose in a book.
“This isn’t a joke.” Carl tucked the tablet under his arm. “What the hell were you two doing?”
“Talking.” Zavier crossed his arms. “Funny thing. We’d just finished a killer concert as a headlining act, one that had fans on their feet the whole night and which was critically acclaimed by the press—” he held up his own tablet to an article by a well-respected music critic “—and yet, someone read Ray the riot act for not being good enough. Weird, huh?”
Carl stared at him. “Demos, you better remember that you’re not part of this band.”
A cold chill wormed through Zavier’s chest. “It’s true. I’m an outsider who knows music at an echelon most people don’t even know exists. And I rather agree with her.” He tapped the case of his tablet, still open to the music critic. “Even if I was also in the middle of that amazing moment.”
“Carl.” Ray’s voice was soft. “Can we please cut the crap? What do you want from us, from me? I checked the charts, and we’re on them. Spotify’s featuring us. We’re charting on iTunes.” He shook his head. “If you just want to see me bleed, there’s a knife in a drawer over there. You’re welcome to go at me with it.”
Well, that wasn’t Ray’s style at all. Zavier rocked on the balls of his feet. It was fucking fantastic, and about time, but he worried about the sudden shift.
“Or me,” Dom said. “I’m quiet and all, but I bleed just the same.”
Mish snorted. “Me? I’ll tear your arm off.”
Zavier clicked his tongue. “Mish, violence is not the answer.”
Carl’s face turned red, then white. Oh, there was rage—but also fear peeking out from behind. Uncertainty. He didn’t know how to handle this united, outspoken front. “Yeah, well. I don’t want to see anymore headlines about fighting.” He paused, and a little curl of distaste took up residence in his voice. “Or being lovers.”
“But the fans love that part!” Mish stood and looked down at Carl. “Two beautiful men eying each other? Gets the blood moving.”
Carl shook his head. “There’s DJs from the local radio station here. You’re scheduled for a live interview in an hour. Hope you’re better behaved with them.” Carl spun and fled the bus.
Silence descended for a minute or two, then Mish blew out a breath. “Fuckin’ A, that felt good.”
