Chapter 5
FIVE
Danielle was so suitably embarrassed over the cherry blurt-out that she left Trey alone until it was time for him to head to the club for work.
He liked being a bar back, because it gave him a chance to listen to music and flirt, while doing mindless things like collecting empties and slicing lime garnishes.
Sasha was already behind the bar, doing her thing, when he clocked in at six.
“Need anything?” he asked.
“Ice.”
Trey went off to fetch ice from the big machine in the back.
He had four hours to kill until XYZ went onstage and he finally got to see his enemies.
The time passed faster than he expected, work speeding up as the crowd grew larger.
Their eight o’clock act had a decent local following, so they packed in quite a few people.
Van came on then to help Sasha behind the bar.
Van was one of the few people at Off Beat that Trey simply didn’t like.
He couldn’t figure what it was about the guy.
Van flirted with customers but was distant with his coworkers.
He spiked his black hair and had a silver hoop in his lower lip, which seemed at odds with his at-work personality.
Mostly it was a feeling, like Van was one wrong word away from snapping.
But he never had, as far as Trey knew, and Beatrice only hired people she liked, so whatever.
Trey kept his head down and the maraschino cherry bin full.
Beatrice stopped by a few times to make sure the bar was running smoothly. At her nine o’clock drive-by, Trey stopped her. “Hey, is XYZ here yet?”
She pinned him with an intent stare. “Is this going to be a problem for you tonight?”
“No. I’m pissed at Tyson, sure, but it’s not like I’m going to start throwing old fruit at him.”
“Good.” She clucked her tongue. “They’re hiding in the back until it’s time. I think Tyson is reasonably nervous about being seen with another band.”
“He should be nervous, the jerkwad.”
“I’m giving their drink orders to Sasha. Please don’t spit in any of them.”
“What about cyanide?”
She ruffled his hair. “Go do work.”
“I always work.” With that parting salvo, he picked three empty glasses off the bar. “See?”
Bobby and Danielle showed up at nine thirty, right as the current act ended and the stage started being reset with equipment. Sasha plunked their usual drinks in front of them without asking. “On me tonight,” she said. “Sucks ass about Tyson.”
“Thanks,” Bobby said.
Trey watched Danny moving around onstage, fixing the house drums. A dirty-blond number with sharp cheekbones and round eyes carried a keyboard case onstage and began setting it up. Not an Off Beat employee. “Heads up,” Trey said.
Bobby and Danielle turned on their stools. “That’s one of them,” Bobby said with a snarl. “Their bassist, Lincoln West.”
Trey nearly knocked over a half-full beer bottle. How common a name was Lincoln for a guy? Had to be more common than he thought for there to be two of them in town tonight. Hell, there were probably at least five or six. Didn’t matter that Trey had never heard that name before today.
He wiped down a sticky section of the bar, unsettled by the name of Tyson’s new bandmate. He hated coincidences, but even if by some awful turn of events this Lincoln was Dominic’s Lincoln, it didn’t mean Dominic knew anything about Tyson. Dominic hadn’t said a word about being in a band himself.
Of course, Trey hadn’t asked him, either. Not directly.
No.
Coincidence.
At nine fifty, Bobby said, “There’s another one.”
Trey dared a peek at the stage. Dressed similarly to Lincoln, in black jeans and a rainbow heart T-shirt. Messy dark hair, average height, also cute, but not Dominic.
“Benji Moore, classical guitar.”
Bobby had definitely done his homework. Trey resisted the urge to ask for the other names. He wanted to trust fate here. Fate had dropped a gorgeous, talented man in his lap last night, and they’d clicked instantly. Fate wouldn’t spit it all back in his face.
Right?
Danielle tapped his wrist. “Coop, you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? You look like you want to hurl.”
At nine fifty-six his phone buzzed with a text.
Dominic: I’m so fucking sorry.
Trey’s throat closed.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Beatrice said into the onstage mike. The crowd quieted to a dull roar. “We have a special treat tonight. A new group all the way from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”
Trey grabbed the edge of the bar, everything graying out a little.
“Please give an Off Beat welcome to XYZ!”
The crowd applauded, and a few people whistled as four familiar faces marched onstage, two armed with guitars, one with drumsticks. Lincoln, Benji, and Tyson were faces Trey expected to see up there.
The last person on the face of the fucking planet that Trey wanted to see settling in behind the keyboard was Dominic Bounds.
He could feel Danielle’s questioning stare but he couldn’t handle her right now.
He was too stunned to move or even think.
Dominic had sympathized over the loss of Fading Daze’s drummer, and the whole time he was the one who’d stolen Tyson away.
“Trey?” Van nudged him with an elbow. “I know they’re hot, but you’re being paid to keep up with us.”
Dark anger settled over Trey, and he nearly snapped at Van. Except Van was right. He had to keep working or he’d explode from the power of the betrayal bomb Dominic had dropped on him tonight.
“Thank you,” said someone who was either Benji or Lincoln. Trey was too furious to risk looking. “We’re so excited to be here tonight, our last night in this fabulous seaside community, and we hope you like what you hear.”
Someone shouted Tyson’s name.
There were two Judases on that stage tonight.
“Trey, I need Seagram’s gin,” Sasha said. “And a bottle of Fireball.”
“On it.” Trey didn’t mind the trip to the storage room. He needed a few minutes alone to collect himself.
The opening chords of Journey followed him into the back, past the kitchen, to the big black door at the end of the hall.
He shut it behind him, even though they weren’t supposed to do that for safety reasons, and sank to the floor.
So many different things were surging through him that Trey didn’t know what to think, feel, or do.
Beautiful, magical, too-perfect Dominic had lied to his face, fucked him hard, and then probably laughed all the way back to his hotel.
But that wasn’t his Dominic. That wasn’t the sweet guy so concerned about it being Trey’s first time. That wasn’t the guy who’d been so totally alive while playing along to Trey’s keys.
Maybe Dominic had no idea who Trey was at the start, but the instant he’d mentioned Fading Daze—wait. Dominic had gotten distant. Trey had been sure they were going to have sex, but Dominic had suggested pizza. He’d gotten shy. Trey had had to initiate sex.
Amazing, fantastic, mind-blowing sex that Trey still wanted to happen again, despite everything.
“I’m a special kind of idiot,” he said to the boxes of liquor bottles.
He reread Dominic’s text. Pixels on a screen. Not a real apology.
Fuck you and your lies, he texted back.
Dominic wouldn’t see it until their first set break, but it had felt good to type.
The door creaked open. Danielle entered, her face more sad than angry. “I knew he looked familiar when I saw him today,” she said.
“We were really good together, Dani.”
She sat with him, and he told her about their day. The pizza, the sex, the music, all of it. With each word, Trey’s anger shrank, replaced by grief. He’d lost something big today, something irreplaceable.
“I’m so sorry.” Dani hugged him, her strong embrace exactly what he needed. “Want me to punch him in the nuts for you?”
“No, but thanks.” Trey liked the guy’s nuts too much to see them damaged, because Danielle would hit Dom if he asked her to. She was that kind of best friend. “I guess I should man up and go back out there.”
“I won’t tell Bobby, I swear.”
“Thanks.” Trey could only imagine what Dominic had probably told his friends about him. About how he’d fucked Trey in the ass, then fucked him and his band over.
Asswipe.
He got the liquor he needed, and Danielle followed him back to the floor. The band was in the middle of a decent cover of “Losing My Religion.” Their lead vocal, Benji, had a pretty great voice, and he knew how to play to a crowd.
Trey got back to work, ignoring the stage and anything to do with the band on it. After their first set, Lincoln announced a ten-minute break and they’d be back. Bobby got off his stool. Danielle tugged him back.
Any kind of confrontation was better left until the performance was done.
His phone buzzed with a text.
I didn’t lie. When I figured it out I wanted to tell you but I’m so damn attracted to you. Wanted more time w/ you. I’m sorry.
Trey’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. He wanted to say it was okay, that they could still be friends, but how could they? He was attracted to Dominic like crazy, and he was addicted to playing duets with him. But they were doomed from the start.
He typed back: Leave me alone.
And instantly regretted the text. He didn’t want Dominic to leave him alone, but XYZ was the enemy.
Dominic was the enemy.
An enemy who played Trey’s body as expertly as he played his violin.
A few folks came over to chat with Bobby and Danielle, probably asking about Tyson’s defection. Trey ignored it and washed drink glasses and shakers. He filled the ice again. Time passed, and then XYZ was back onstage. Trey hated to admit it, but they were good. Really good. Competitively good.
He glanced at the stage during a rousing rendition of “Grenade.” His gaze homed in on Dominic, whose golden skin glistened from the heat of the stage lights.
He played without looking at the keys, but he didn’t seem to be looking out at the audience.
His focus was on his bandmates. And he wasn’t smiling.