Counterpoint Read online

  Maybe it wasn’t entirely Adrian that was throwing Dom off. A lot had happened, and he’d had to be more Dominic than Domino lately in every other part of his life, too.

  They settled on “Lightning” and fuck, that was what Dom needed. He slid into the song like Domino always had, and by the end of it, his head was clear. The edge was back, along with that feeling of wild energy and sheer freedom, like he could take on the world and win. Because that was Domino. “Fuck yeah, that’s better. Let’s try ‘Finding Light’ again.”

  They didn’t nail it perfectly, of course, but it sounded a damn sight better than before. Dom managed the tricky bits just fine, and each repeat sounded better as they found their groove, their synergy with one another. Domino was back, and he could work, fix the notes and timing with the rest of the band. Be there, be part of Twisted Wishes with them.

  Strange thing was, the thoughts of Adrian didn’t exactly leave Dom. In between songs or when Mish was working with Ray on a particular sequence on the upright, he found himself wondering what Adrian would make of this. Yeah, he’d said he’d been in a band. But Twisted Wishes wasn’t just any band—not anymore. Not after their tumultuous rise to the top. Not with the scandal of their former band manager trying to roofie Ray and nearly killing him in the process.

  They were well-known. In the news. A hot ticket with even hotter members.

  Dom grunted at himself, tasting the bitterness of that, too. He doubted Domino Grinder was the kind of man Adrian Doran would pick up in a bar. Or ask out on a date. And if Dom explained who he was to Adrian, the jig would be up. He couldn’t be both—not at the same time. Not with anyone but the three people in this room.

  Even on tour, he stayed mostly in persona, though he was a little amazed no one in the crew had ratted him out. Then again, he hadn’t let any of them get particularly close, either.

  When Ray called for them all to practice again, Dom pushed those thoughts aside. It was just a date, just a fuck. Chances were the whole thing wouldn’t go further than a couple of rounds of sex. No need to worry about a future that wouldn’t happen.

  He slung his guitar over his shoulder again, and slipped into Domino.

  Chapter Three

  Monday morning Adrian found that getting back to the gym was almost as good as feeding a panini to a blushing man. Hopefully, it would also put Dominic out of Adrian’s mind for a while.

  He threw his bag into a locker, and headed out to stretch and warm up. As always, Adrian’s coworker Jackson was already there, raring to go in blue shorts and a white tank that stood out against his deep brown skin. They’d become fast friends. Jackson was fucking brilliant. Smarter and more talented at coding than Adrian—and he was no slouch—plus Jackson looked like a god in a suit and tie and moved like the devil on the dance floor.

  “’Bout time, Adi,” Jackson said.

  Adrian hated nicknames from everyone else, but not from Jackson and not that one, because they had a deal that had been negotiated over time. “Jack,” he said, drawing out the vowel.

  Jackson’s lips twisted in amusement. “I was wondering if you’d skip today. Didn’t know when you got in over the weekend.”

  “Got home just before dinner on Saturday.” And had promptly gone out to eat, and that took Adrian straight back to Dominic. He shook his head. “And I fucking need the workout today.” He stopped short of asking Jackson to push them both hard. Jackson wasn’t exactly his trainer, even if that was the role he’d stepped into the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Adrian at the gym, mostly to keep Adrian from hurting himself, he’d said.

  Dark eyes met his, and Jackson grunted, his gaze shrewd. They’d known each other for years, meeting first at the office, then running into each other here—then very unexceptionally while they were both out hunting for men at the same dance club.

  They were so alike and so different, but their tastes in quickies ran similarly, so that night at the club, they’d fucked a lovely, built man into oblivion together in the bathroom. The next day, they’d worked out harder than ever, then finished an obnoxious project at work in record time.

  Meeting Jackson when Adrian had moved back from California had washed the West Coast off him and grounded Adrian firmly back in New York after a month of floundering to find his feet in his own hometown.

  Thank god.

  This city’s in your blood, man. Same as mine, Jackson had said the second time they’d had lunch. But that fast, hard friendship had opened him up more than usual, and Jackson could read him like a fucking street sign.

  “Shit on my mind that shouldn’t be,” Adrian said.

  “Mmmhmm.” Jackson pointed to the floor. “Get your stretches done, Irish boy. We’re gonna run.”

  Adrian hated running, especially around the tiny indoor track at the gym. Still, he started his routine of stretches.

  “Now,” Jackson said. “Is this work-related shit or personal shit? Because if that trip of yours turned bad...”

  Adrian spent a little longer stretching his legs than usual and tried to be as nonchalant as possible. “The trip was fine. Overall. The project’s still a nightmare, but the site visits and installs went fine.” They’d both been working on this system rollout forever. “I’d have given you a heads-up if that was the issue.”

  “So it’s personal.” Jackson crossed his arms. “You telling me, or am I working it out of you with sweat?”

  Adrian rose and shook his arms out. “There’s nothing to tell, Jack. Not yet.”

  A deep laugh. “Bullshit. But you can tell yourself that if you want.” He grinned. “You ready?”

  “To run? Never.” Adrian gestured at the track, though, and Jackson loped out into the outer lane. Adrian followed, and they looped a few times at a nice, gentle jog before Jackson smirked at him and took off. Adrian groaned and followed, picking up speed to match his friend’s pace.

  They ran and ran and ran some more, beyond when Adrian wanted to stop and faster than he liked. At the end, when Jackson finally had pity on him, Adrian was drenched with sweat, exhausted—and the thoughts of Dominic and the dinner date he’d pried from the man still lingered in his mind.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “Shit.”

  He didn’t get hung up on dates.

  Adrian grabbed his water bottle and drank down half in one gulp.

  “You hook up with someone on the trip that has you rattled?” Jackson toweled his face off and took a swig of water from his own bottle.

  Adrian blew out a breath and shook his head. Jackson wasn’t even winded, which used to bother him, but when he’d started to see the results of all these runs and squats and the weight lifting Jackson put him through, he figured he didn’t get to whine, not even in his head.

  “No.” He wiped his face with the bottom of his T-shirt. “Guy I met last night at Poet and Whiskey.”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow, then nodded toward the weight room. “Time to lift.”

  God, this workout was gonna kill him. But he made his way to the weights and let Jackson put him through a torturous routine until his muscles were just about to protest loudly.

  And still Dominic was there in his head. That blush, the shyness mixed with the snappy comebacks and flirting. Contradictions. Intelligence. He nearly dropped the fifty-pound free weights on the way to putting them back in the rack.

  “Hell, Adi. This guy have a magic cock or something? I’ve never seen you strung out over a piece of ass before.”

  Adrian leaned back on the weight rack to catch his breath. “Haven’t fucked him yet. Just had dinner next to him. Flirted. Made a date for this Wednesday.”

  Oh, he’d shocked Jackson, given the wide eyes and skeptical look. “A date?” His voice pitched higher.

  “Yeah, you know. That thing people do sometimes when they think maybe they want more than a fling?”

  Jackson rolled his
eyes. “How do you feel about burpees?”

  He fucking hated every single moment of them, and the damn word, too. “You know how I feel.”

  Oh, that wicked, wide smile. “Give me three sets of twenty, then tell me about this date.”

  Adrian bit back the groan and did as told, his body burning in that way he actually enjoyed but would never, ever tell Jackson. Working out was horrible and wonderful, and he was stronger and more toned at thirty-six than he’d been at twenty-five.

  Dominic was twenty-seven. Fuck. He pushed through the rest of the damn reps until he finished then collapsed onto the mat. “I hate you.”

  Above him, Jackson smiled down, a dark-eyed angel of pain. “That’s not what you said the last time I was buried in you.”

  No, those hadn’t been the words. Hell, he probably hadn’t been able to form words at that moment. They’d fucked on and off through their entire friendship, but ultimately they were decidedly not a match. Jackson wanted to find a husband and have kids. Adrian had never wanted kids, and was a bit too kinky for Jackson’s tastes in the long run. Jackson didn’t do bondage or submission, and that wasn’t something Adrian could simply throw away.

  But after the last time they’d fucked, Adrian had run his hands through the short curls of Jackson’s hair and murmured, “You know, you’re my best friend.”

  Jackson had pushed him away, but there’d been affection in his retort. “Don’t get sappy on me, Irish boy.”

  Adrian sighed but didn’t move from the puddle he’d formed on the mat. “He’s a local, Jack. Cute. Wears glasses and a bowtie. Plays guitar. Reads nineteenth century gay erotica while eating dinner.”

  Laughter poured out of Jackson, and he offered Adrian a hand up. “You sure someone’s not setting you up? ’Cause if there ever were a person who would make your head snap around, it would be a bowtie-wearing artist with a penchant for gay lit. Like someone read out a line from the ‘Adrian Doran Dream Fucks’ catalog.”

  He grunted as Jackson pulled him to standing. “I really do hate you.” His cheeks were red, but that description? Yeah. On the fucking nose. “He’s also twenty-seven.”

  That got him a roll of the eyes. “So? That’s never been an issue for you. Older. Younger. Whatever gender. You like what you like.”

  Yeah, he did. And no, age hadn’t been an issue before. “What’s next?”

  Besides the twinkling of Jackson’s eyes, next turned out to be balance work on the Bosu and then planks. All kinds of goddamned planks. Then a cool-down jog.

  When they hit the locker room, Jackson leaned against the lockers and leveled a look Adrian couldn’t turn from. “So what’s really bothering you about this guy, Adrian? Because it’s not his age, it’s certainly not his taste in books or food, but you are bothered, my friend.”

  Adrian extracted his shower kit and a towel, then stripped off his soaked T-shirt and tossed it into the locker. “He’s...fuck if I know.” Layered. More than a pretty smile. He shook his head slowly, piecing together his thoughts. “He’s wicked smart, I think. And there’s a shyness there, but also such audacity.”

  “Lord, a man who’s Adrian’s catnip.” Jackson got his kit and a towel, and they both headed to the showers.

  Maybe. All right, yes. Adrian faced Jackson. “He let me feed him half a piece of pie, and the way he looked when I did—Jack. I can’t even describe it.”

  A smile formed on Jackson’s lips. “You don’t have to. Written all over you. And if you had him literally eating out of your hand, he probably likes the other things you have to offer.” The smile slid to something more serious. “Adi, boy, there’s nothing wrong with wanting something longer. For all that we both play the field, you know my thoughts on that matter.”

  Yeah, he did, especially lately. Jackson had bemoaned the hookup scene as a source for something longer-term than a couple hours. I want a man who can move, sure, and scream, but also one who wants to remember my name. Stick around. Get breakfast.

  And there was truth to what Jackson had said. “There’s a lot more I could enjoy if it’s more than one night.” Adrian said the words almost to himself, then laughed. “I’m getting tired of hookups, too.”

  Jackson clapped him on the back, then shoved him toward a stall. “You never really liked the music at the clubs anyway.”

  “I never went to the clubs for the music, Jack.” Because when he went clubbing, it was exactly for a couple hours of fun and no names.

  Jackson waved that away, and vanished into a shower stall of his own.

  Adrian hadn’t been at a club the other night. Dominic was more than a pickup—and that was okay. Maybe it was voicing his thoughts about Dominic or maybe the endorphins from the workout, but he was feeling a hell of a lot better by the time they both cleared the showers and dressed in their suits and ties and headed to the office. Thoughts of Dominic were still there, but they weren’t throwing him like they had been.

  Dinner was a start. They’d see where that went.

  “Thanks for kicking my ass this morning.” He grinned at Jackson as they carded themselves past security.

  “You won’t be thanking me later, but you’re welcome.” Jackson hit the elevator button. “And I’m glad it wasn’t the trip that had you all freaked, ’cause shit’s already too fucked in the department.”

  “Oh god, what did I miss?”

  The elevator dinged, and Jackson gave a dark, bitter chuckle before stepping inside the car.

  Adrian followed. Well, guess he’d find out soon enough.

  * * *

  By lunchtime, a dull ache had spread over Adrian’s body from the workout Jackson had put him through, and a much sharper throbbing ran through his brain. Though his business trip had gone reasonably well and he’d completed all of his tasks, there was still a huge pile of work waiting for him when he got to his desk.

  His boss, Russ, had swung by. “There were quite a few bugs in the code you’re responsible for, Adrian. Your areas are usually rock-solid. What happened?”

  He didn’t know, because he hadn’t touched that area of the software in two weeks. And no one else should’ve—it wasn’t part of any of the features being worked on currently. “I’ll take a look. Nothing should have changed at all.”

  He had his suspicions, of course, and a quick look at the change log bore those out. He IM’d Jackson.

  What the hell has William been doing in my code?

  Same thing he’s been doing in everyone’s code: “improving” it.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. He’d be the first to admit he wasn’t the tightest coder, but he wasn’t sloppy and he was fairly economical. He ran the unit tests and Jackson regularly looked over his lines before he pushed them to production.

  I’ve only been gone two weeks. How could he have screwed up so damn much? Doesn’t he have his own stuff to do?

  He claims he needs to fix stuff in our lines to make things work. I’ve been fighting with him and management all last week, but for some reason, they’d rather listen to William than me.

  Adrian flinched. He knew the reason, as did Jackson. Despite the degrees and Jackson’s brilliance as a computer scientist and engineer, William’s white skin and Midwest accent always impressed the bosses. Guy could get away with murder—not to mention really shitty coding—and still get promoted.

  Jackson had to fight—carefully—for every inch he got. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, and it killed Adrian a little inside that he couldn’t fix that. He’d gotten the side-eye, too, the first time he’d mentioned an ex-boyfriend, but it was nothing like the stonewalling Jackson got.

  He spent the day cleaning up William’s mistakes and debriefing his bosses on his trip. By quitting time, his mailbox was still a dumpster fire and his head a pounding mess. An hour later, Jackson leaned against the frame of his cube wall. “You staying here all night, or you wanna get a beer
and bitch?”

  He really should go home. He hadn’t had a chance to catch up on his personal email yet. Thank god he’d gotten all the freelance website work for clients done before he’d gone on that business trip. Given the workload in front of him at the day job, he wasn’t going to be picking up any freelance work for some time.

  Adrian blew out a breath and scanned the horror that was the three displays of work he still had to do, then glanced at the clock. “Fuck.”

  “Come on, Adi. Let’s get out of here. That’ll be right where you left it bright and early tomorrow.”

  Jackson had a point. And he did need a beer. “I’m gonna need another run tomorrow to chill me out before I tackle all that, I think.” Adrian locked his screen and grabbed his phone and his gym bag.

  “Hell. Is it that bad?”

  “You know exactly how bad it is.” When they got into the empty elevator car and the doors slid shut, Adrian murmured, “I don’t know how you put up with it.”

  Jackson grunted. “How do you put up with them making those sly comments about you being gay?”

  Adrian gritted his teeth and kept his mouth shut. “You know what really annoys me about those?”

  Jackson’s lips twitched upward. “Yeah, I do.”

  He’d ranted about it often enough to Jackson. He wasn’t gay. He was pansexual, even if his preferences did lean masculine. But explaining the nuances of orientation to rigidly straight men was a lost cause, so Adrian had given up.

  The elevator door opened, and they headed out into the lobby and then into the city they both loved. In the back of his mind, he heard that question Dominic had asked on Saturday. Did he like his job?

  Today, the answer wasn’t yes, or even well enough. Shit. “This gig pays really well.”

  It was as if Jackson wasn’t at all surprised by his shift in conversation—or maybe it was because there wasn’t really one. “Other gigs pay well, too.”

  The way he said that... Adrian’s heart flipped and his steps faltered. “Jack...” Because he didn’t want to be left alone at the bank. Because he needed a friend at work.