Syncopation Page 6

  Of course he’d said yes. Now he surged out those rhythms and Domino replied. Mish fell in, complementing perfectly. Glorious. Achingly wonderful. The song was missing one thing.

  Ray.

  Then he was there, leaping out onto the stage, mic in hand, and his voice soared over them all. Every word, every note like a firework of sound that went on and on and on over the crowd. The air changed, the vibe shifted. Zavier couldn’t see much beyond the edge of the stage, but energy charged the air and when they finished, the eruption of noise ripped through him like a standing ovation at the end of a concert. Only they’d just started.

  Fuck, if he’d known this was how it felt, he’d have said yes to Ray all those years ago. The thrill in his body as the music poured through him, the sheer joy of watching Ray sing.

  “Hey, Syracuse! How you doing tonight?” Ray’s voice boomed out across the amphitheater, and the crowd responded. “Well, we’re glad to be here, too. Wanna hear something else?”

  More yelling. Holy shit, this was wild. Zavier’d been on the other side, but being the focus? His heart slammed against his chest. He grabbed a sip of water from a bottle he’d stashed near his stool. Gotta stay in control.

  “I can’t hear you!”

  They screamed louder.

  “All right. Here’s a song from our first album...” Ray turned and nodded, a cue to start.

  Zavier counted out the beats, this time tapping his sticks so Mish and Domino could hear—and they were off again. The songs seemed to go on and on, some bleeding into one another, some ending on a fucking high that had Zavier panting.

  He’d ripped off his shirt after the third song, as had Ray and Domino. Mish was down to a sports bra. Even though the evening was cool, the lights blazed down like fire, and the energy of the crowd... He’d never felt anything like it. Not in the symphony. Not even at the kink parties or clubs. Not when he was wielding a flogger.

  Nothing felt better than playing with Twisted Wishes. His back burned and his heart cracked apart from joy. Domino was insane. Mish, an avenging goddess.

  Ray was perfection. Hips that moved like sin, a voice that never quit, and that body.

  They were nearing the end of their list. They’d saved two songs for encores: “Dark Dreams” and “White Hot Midnight.” So they ended on another fan favorite, “River of Pain.” By the time the notes died down and they exited the stage, night had descended fully, and the crowd was stomping and cheering and screaming.

  Off to the side of the stage stood Gregor Daye, the lead guitarist and front man for Five Asylum. “You guys are killing it out there. Going to be a hard act to follow.”

  Ray took a long drag of water and smiled like he was high—which he likely was. They all were. Adrenaline. Joy. Fatigue. “They’re here to see you, not us.”

  Gregor laughed. “Maybe before. But right now?” He paused, and the stomping and cheering vibrated across the stage. “They want you guys.” He nodded. “Go give ’em what they want.”

  When they headed back on stage, the screaming was physically palpable, shearing through the air. Zavier climbed back behind the kit. Ray spoke while Mish and Domino claimed their instruments. “Thank you guys so much. You know we haven’t played in a while, and you’ve been amazing tonight.” Whoops and clapping. Over it, Mish started playing out a deep and throbbing line. “On bass, we have the ever-amazing Mish Sullivan. And on guitar, Domino Grinder.” Dom played out a riff that was somehow both over the top and utterly him. Cheers and shouts followed. “I’m Ray Van Zeller.” Screams this time, going on and on. Ray laughed and held up his hands. “Wait, I’m not done. I want to introduce our drummer!”

  Zavier tapped out a simple beat, his heart in his throat. They hadn’t talked at all about intros, but he knew that was pretty normal for bands to do.

  “You like him?” More shouts and applause. “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking awesome. Zavier Demos!” Ray pointed, the pavilion thundered with cheers, and Zavier hit the skins. He had no idea what he was going to play, hadn’t planned on a drum solo, but it came as effortlessly as breathing or sex or—drumming. Took the kit, made each piece his, and threw it out into the audience—and to Ray, who danced and shouted and worked the crowd until they were all on their feet.

  Slowly, Zavier reined the solo in, Domino and Mish picked up the beat, and they slid into the opening of “Dark Dreams,” to the utter delight of the crowd.

  Despite all that happened, the reception they’d gotten, Zavier was entirely unprepared for the explosion of screams when they segued into “White Hot Midnight.”

  He nearly lost it when Ray started singing. That audition, those practices had been nothing compared to now. The words wrapped themselves around Zavier, each verse a reminder of their past, each somehow imbued with a new layer of desire and passion. On the musical bridge, Ray jumped up on the edge of the drum platform and danced and twirled and leveled a stare at Zavier that set off every nerve.

  Tease. Fucking sultry little... God, he wanted to kiss that grin off Ray’s face and turn those lovely notes into moans. Zavier kept playing, embellishing where he could, adding twists and turns under Domino and Mish’s playing until Ray’s voice took over again.

  When the song ended, Zavier threw back his head and drank in the pounding cheers and screams. He grabbed the sticks he’d used and headed down to join the band. Ray clapped him on the back. “A little payback for your song choice at the audition.”

  Oh, so that’s what it had been about? Heat shot through Zavier—he didn’t think it was possible given how much his body burned already. Rather than grab Ray and kiss him to wipe that smirk off, Zavier stepped forward and tossed a drumstick to a girl screaming at him in the front row. Another went a few rows back. The last two he flung as far out as he could manage.

  None of that helped quell his desire. When he turned around, Ray still had that devilish grin, so Zavier gave in to half his need and cupped the back of Ray’s neck, drawing him close enough to speak into his ear. His thumb pressed gently against Ray’s throat, enough to feel him swallow. “You did exactly what I told you to do. I’m very pleased.” He pulled away and gave Ray his own evil smile.

  Ray’s expression was glorious and Zavier’s every wet dream. Lust and joy and elation. Ray licked his lips, waved to the crowd, and brought the mic back up. “We’re Twisted Wishes. Thank you, Syracuse, and good night!”

  They strutted off stage into a pile of high fives from the crew, a ton of water, and the event staff hurrying them out of the way as the lights went up. A moment later, crews streamed onto the stage to tear down their equipment and set up for Five Asylum.

  Back in the green room, Zavier finished his water and shoved a hand through his hair. “Is it always like that?”

  “Honey,” Mish said. “It’s never been like that!”

  He didn’t know whether he should be glad or terrified. Maybe a mix of both. He found Ray watching him, wary now. Probably wise, given everything. Zavier winked at him. “So, I did all right for my first time out?”

  “Fucking hell,” Ray said. “You really are an asshole, you know?” There wasn’t any heat behind the words, only that cocky twist to his lips. “Yeah, you did fine. Just fine.”

  Domino looked more like Dominic. “Holy shit, did that actually happen?”

  “Looks like the new drummer made all the difference.” Carl’s voice cut through their joy like nails scraping across sheet metal. Domino’s amazement fell and Ray flinched like an abused man.

  Ice descended where heat had been. Zavier straightened. “No.”

  The room hushed and Zavier rounded on Carl. He and the label executive stood in the doorway. “What made a difference was all those hours of practice, a shit-ton of hard work, and Ray knowing his songs inside and out. He led us to the sound we needed.”

  He might as well have slapped Carl from that expression. Good. Didn’t know w
hat Nadia would dig up, but that man was an absolute fuck.

  Ray’s chuckle was mild. “You had a huge part in that, Zav.” His face was more flushed than before.

  He wasn’t going to let either man pin the success of the evening on him. “I know who I am. I know what I brought to the table.” He shrugged. “But no drummer, no matter how good, will lift a performance like that.” He gestured back at the stage. “Takes hard work from everyone. Together.”

  Mish nodded. “He’s good. And smart.” She looked at Ray. “I think we should keep him.”

  The suit coughed and something like humor flickered around his lips and eyes. “We’d be very happy if you’d continue to work with Mr. Demos.”

  There was nothing Zavier wanted more than to play another show with Twisted Wishes. His gaze strayed to Ray. Well, that wasn’t quite true, but tangling with that bundle of nerves and anxiety was asking for trouble, even if Ray was tempting beyond rational thought.

  * * *

  The clock in Ray’s room read 3:57. He closed his eyes against the red glow. Fucking hell. He should be dead asleep. He’d burned so much energy, his body ached from dancing, jumping, and singing. He’d been higher than a kite after the show.

  Zavier had touched him—not just a friendly pat on the back, but an intimate clasp that nearly put him on his knees in front of who knew how many fans. Bet that photo was already making the rounds.

  He kinda wanted to see it. Did Zavier look like Ray remembered—like he might kiss Ray, like he wanted Ray?

  Instead, Zavier had spoken, his breath a caress against Ray’s ear. You did exactly what I told you to do. I’m very pleased. Very pleased. He’d never heard those words spoken with the same tone as suck my cock before.

  Ray rolled over and ignored the hardness of his dick. He wouldn’t jack off to Zavier. Except he already had once tonight. And had on previous nights. Fucking asshole was stunning and sexy and...not actually an asshole.

  Well, maybe a little, but they all had their edges.

  Part of him wished he could take the risk and get buzzed on liquor; the other part knew drinking wouldn’t help at all. He was too wired from the concert and should have crashed hours ago—everyone else had. Dom was sawing wood in the next room, loud enough Ray was tempted to go in and roll him onto his side to shut him up.

  God, the concert. They’d never sounded so good. He’d never felt that alive with the music behind him. Once they’d started playing, Ray hadn’t needed to worry. Hadn’t had to figure out how to cover for mistakes, bad playing, or anything. The band would nail it, so he’d been free to let go and sing.

  Trust. He trusted the band again. He’d always known Dom and Mish would play their hearts out, but he’d never known if Kevin would survive the night.

  Zavier not only survived, he’d ruled every beat, from the first to the last.

  Ray trusted Zavier.

  Zavier believed in Ray.

  Ray grunted, and that sharp, painful sound faded in the room. He had no idea why Zavier believed in him. He wasn’t anything like Zav. Not as talented, not as skilled. Yes, he worked hard—but he fucked up so often it wasn’t funny. Sure, Mish and Dom were on his side, but that was because they’d been together for years and they’d accepted him, warts, foolishness, and all.

  But Zavier? He had no reason at all to believe in Ray and every reason not to.

  Yet he did. Deferred to Ray. Treated him like an equal. And Ray fucking wanted him, wanted his kiss, his words in his ear and breath on his neck.

  Fuck it. He rolled onto his back, stroked himself, and gave into another round of fantasies. Zavier’s lips on Ray’s, their bodies entangled, Zavier inside him. The orgasm gripped Ray fast and hard, shaking the last bit of tension from his bones. When he could move, he stumbled to the bathroom and cleaned himself up.

  This time, when he hit the bed, sleep reached up and dragged him down into nothingness.

  Chapter Seven

  How they made it through the next two weeks before the tour officially started, Ray wasn’t sure. He did know, when he climbed onto the bus with Dom, Mish, and Zavier, that he was grateful for the hours they’d be on the road. No Carl, no practices, just the bus and the tour. He could crawl into his berth, close the curtain, and ignore the world.

  Practicing with Carl breathing down their necks had been hell. At first, he’d been complimentary after the festival performance, even noting that Ray’s song choices had been decent. The label was certainly impressed—Carl had imparted that, too. But after a few days, the jabs returned. Whenever Ray had the rest of the band work on getting the blend just so, Carl called him lazy. If Ray rested his voice, he was weak.

  He wasn’t...at least he didn’t think he was. Maybe he didn’t have the blisters and sore muscles the others had, but he still had been focused the entire time.

  Nothing meant more to him than Twisted Wishes—he wished he could make Carl see that and get the man off his back. At least Carl wouldn’t be here on the bus with them. Ray eyed the space they’d inhabit for the next couple of months. Thank god.

  Touring would be a break from all of Carl’s noise. At least Ray hoped.

  Dom threw his backpack down on one of the couches and flopped next to it. “Home sweet home, or something.”

  Mish headed down to the berths and dropped her bag into a lower bunk. “Dibs.”

  Zavier stopped in the middle of the aisle, eyes a bit too wide. “Wow.” He sounded surprised. Amazing—something that stopped Zavier Demos in his tracks.

  Ray settled onto the couch across from where Dom sat. “I thought you toured in Europe with the symphony?”

  Zavier didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down next to Ray and placed his bag between his feet. “We did tour in Europe, but not like this.” He glanced around the bus too openly and too honestly. “We took buses between cities, but they were regular coaches. This is—” He shook his head. “I knew musicians lived out of their tour buses on the road, but I had no idea.”

  Yeah, did take some getting used to. A little kitchen and table. The berths for sleeping. A lounge in the back. A bathroom with a shower. All the comforts of home, packed into a vehicle. The first time Ray’d ever walked onto one of these buses, he’d stared at everything too. It was luxurious in its own way, until it became your home for weeks on end.

  Mish returned and took the seat by the table. “So what was it like in Europe?”

  Great. More Zavier stories. Ray pushed himself off the couch and took the upper bunk across from the one Mish had claimed. Not that Zavier told many stories, but Ray was on Zav overload. That voice, those arms, the way his shoulders and back rippled without a shirt.

  This tour was going to be hell.

  Zavier’s chuckle burned into Ray’s soul, and despite wanting to remain annoyed, he leaned against the berths and listened.

  “You have to understand that a symphony is about a hundred musicians, plus instruments, plus a crew, plus support staff, plus press. It’s nothing like what we’re doing.”

  Ray couldn’t help himself. “Shit, how do you even move that many people around?”

  The bus rumbled beneath them. Oh. They’d be heading out soon. He reclaimed the spot by Dom, because stumbling when the bus lurched forward would be fucking embarrassing, and that was far worse than being turned on by sitting too close to Zavier.

  Zavier leaned back against the leather cushions. “Mostly the support staff did the heavy lifting, along with the host cities. We also spent days in one place, and traveled by bus between close locations, and by plane if the city was farther away.”

  “So, more like a vacation than living on the road.” Dom adjusted his glasses and looked longingly at the coffeepot. “How much you want to bet that thing’s on the fritz?”

  “It was a lot like a vacation.” Zavier rose and headed toward the coffeemaker. Just then, the bus
lurched, but goddamn him, he didn’t even break his stride, let alone stumble.

  Ray hated that man. He also wanted him.

  He closed his eyes as the bus pulled out of the lot onto the road. Truth was, he didn’t hate Zav. He was growing to like the bastard, and he certainly respected his talent and work ethic. No complaints, no issues, just focus and deference as they perfected their songs.

  “This isn’t bad coffee.” Zavier’s voice was soft over the ever-present whine of the engine. He held open a bag of some fancy-label grind and sniffed it.

  “Coffee’s never bad,” Mish said. “Maker is usually a piece of shit, though.”

  “Let’s see.” Zavier set about making a pot. He found a case of water and used the bottled stuff, and soon the pot was gurgling away. “So far, so good.”

  Dom rooted in his backpack. “It’s only day one.” He pulled out a book and started reading.

  Zavier chuckled. “I have a way with machines.”

  “You have a way with everything,” Ray muttered.

  No reply, just a knowing twist of the lips, and Zavier reclaimed his seat next to Ray. Mish played with her phone.

  Once again, Ray wished Zavier’s eyes weren’t that blue, because he ended up staring into them too long.

  “What will you do?” Zavier’s voice curled into Ray’s belly and ignited lust and heat.

  If he could, he’d do Zav. Any way he wanted. Such a bad idea. “Probably take a nap.”

  Maybe he could jack off quietly. He’d done that before on tour. Pretty sure they’d all masturbated on the bus, even Mish. Something about the energy of touring and the throbbing rumble beneath them.

  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dom peered at him over the edge of his glasses. Made him look like the somewhat stuffy bookworm he really was.

  Ray’s cheeks heated. Yeah, maybe he was obvious, but he didn’t need his best friend pointing that out.