Chapter 4 #2
Zavier got this distant look, and it was a hell of a thing to watch—his intensity and scrutiny turned inward. Calculating, thinking, and studying every angle of some invisible chart.
When those blue eyes focused back on Ray, a different heat tumbled inside him, because he swore Zavier gave him an up-and-down look before replying, “Yes.”
Ray shoved aside anything beyond Zavier’s ability to drum because that was all that mattered now, not how much he wanted to see the rest of Zavier’s ink. “Dom, Mish—listen.”
Zavier played, never missing a beat, and they all listened, maybe even Carl, too. No squeaks from his chair.
By the time Zavier was done, Dom had his lips pressed thin and he was nodding. “Yeah. I get it.”
“Might take a bit to undo,” Mish said.
“Wanna try?” Ray knew the answer.
“Hell yes!” A big grin from her. Determination from Dom.
So they did. Ray didn’t sing the next time through, but he did after that. By the fifth time, they had it. When they played the song once more, Zavier added some flourishes that were intense.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Dom said. “I can’t wait to get on stage.”
Neither could Ray. “One down—”
Lots more to go. He scanned the room. Carl was typing on his phone and Zavier—
For once, Zavier wasn’t watching Ray. He brushed a lock of his jet-black hair from his forehead and had this shit-eating grin as he took in the drum kit and the room, like he was excited to be here, excited to play.
When his gaze finally focused on Ray again, the subtle up-and-down was back and that smile settled into something deeper and so damn sensual it melted Ray’s bones.
Fucking hell. The last thing he needed was Zavier having the hots for him, especially after all these years. He turned away. “Okay, let’s try ‘Dreams Unto You’ next.”
As the next song started, Ray chewed his tongue. Thing was, in high school he’d have dropped to his knees if Zavier had asked him to. Wasn’t so sure he’d say no now, either.
If he were reading those looks right, they’d probably find out eventually.
Zavier ran a towel over his face, neck, and hands.
They’d been practicing all morning and his back, as conditioned as he kept it, was getting annoyed with him.
Being principal timpanist and playing concerts had been tiring of course, but that paled to the intensity of this.
When Ray had laid down his mic and called for a lunch break, Zavier was more than ready.
He slipped the sticks into a holder on the kit, popped his ear protection out, stood, and stretched.
At some point, he’d need to talk to Ray or Carl—or whoever did the stage layout—about his setup for concerts. He needed to stand once in a while or his back would bitch and moan.
But now he was grateful for bottles of water and a take-out menu from a local sub shop.
He opted for semi-healthy grilled chicken covered in cheese, rather than mounds of pork or beef covered in cheese.
He downed one water, cracked open another, and wandered over to the window.
Dom was already there and had done what Zavier had intended—opened the damn thing for some air.
Was a bit hard reconciling the image of Domino Grinder with Dominic Bradley. The same tattoos peeked from under the short sleeves of Dom’s button-down, but Dom had a far more subdued nature now that he was out of his Domino persona. Shy and thoughtful, except when he played.
God, they were all gorgeous then, the three of them. Mish danced like she loved every note and every inch of the floor had been made to obey her. Dom got lost in riffs and moved like fire. Ray—the things Zavier wanted to do to that man. The fantasies.
He sipped his water and rolled his shoulders. No.
“Sore?” Dom shifted to give Zavier room to catch a breeze.
“A little.” Not a hard admission—he preferred the truth all around. Soon he’d be living with these three for months and months, in very close quarters. They needed to trust each other. “It’s been a while since I’ve played behind a rock kit. Symphony work is different. More standing. More pauses.”
A nod. “I bet. I watched you once when you were playing with Silverton, during that tribute to Prokofiev.”
Interesting. “You know, if someone had told me Domino Grinder went to the symphony, I might have laughed...but now that I’ve met you...again... I get it.” Zavier shrugged. “Given your guitar skills, it makes sense.”
Dom gave him a shrewd look. “How are we supposed to learn how to shred if we don’t listen to all the classics?”
Yeah, this band knew music, no doubt about that. “How else, indeed.”
“You haven’t lost your touch.” Dom gestured at the rock kit, then he lowered his voice. “Thanks for putting Carl in his place. He gets...irritating.”
“So I’m learning. What’s his problem anyway?”
Dom’s shoulders dropped as low as his voice. “Who the hell knows?”
Huh. “I thought bands chose their managers?” His voice was as quiet as Dom’s—not that Carl would’ve heard anyway, given he was arguing with Ray.
“He came with the record contract,” Dom said. “And the label made it pretty clear everything goes through Carl.”
Weird. Zavier glanced at Ray, and the tension in that back vibrated across the room. Zavier slugged back the rest of his water and wandered closer.
“...only have three more days of studio time.” Carl shrugged. “You figure out how to make it work. It’s not my problem.” He glanced at his phone. “I have somewhere to be,” he said, then marched away.
Ray said nothing, but once the studio door banged shut, he put his palms on the table. “Fuck.”
Zavier schooled his expression. “Did he just tell you we only have this space for three more days?”
Ray’s anger was palpable, and entirely appropriate.
“That’s about the size of it,” he ground out.
“We can’t—” He straightened and turned. Fear.
Panic and doubt. So many emotions flickered across that face.
“I mean, you’re damn good. But we can’t get it all done in that time. There’s too many songs and—”
They needed to run through every one of them. Hard enough in two months. Impossible in three days. “Maybe I can change his mind.”
A glance at the door. “I don’t think any of us can. Just—don’t get yourself fired?”
Zavier chuckled. “Oh, I won’t. I have a really good contract lawyer.” The record company would be in some pain if they let him go without due cause—and pissing off a self-important shitty manager wasn’t due cause.
He headed out the door and down the stairs. By the time he got to the parking lot, Carl’s car was pulling out onto the street.
“Fuck.” There went that plan.
He needed more information. Probably should have gotten it before he stepped into this gig—but it was Ray’s band; Zavier couldn’t stop himself from auditioning and saying yes.
Grown-up Ray was something else, like his music and band.
All three plowed through Zavier in a unique way, but none of that helped the Carl situation.
Zavier pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and hit Call before he had second thoughts.
Three rings, then a familiar lilting voice answered. “My darling Zavier, what can I do for you?”
Always darling Zavier. Anyone else, he’d have been mad, but she was older, wiser, and one of the very few to have ever put him in his place without reservation and rightly so. “Hello, Nadia. I’ve called to ask a favor.”
She clicked her tongue. “Your little stint at rock-and-roll not working out?”
Of course she’d known about that. Ties everywhere in the music industry. “Yet to be determined, though the band is quite good.”
“Rumor says the lead singer has a drinking problem.”
That’d been all over the internet. “Pretty certain that rumor is false.”
A chuckle. “Darling, of course it is.” He could almost envision her waving her hand. “A different rumor says it was the old drummer who drank too much.”
Which would account for Kevin’s downhill playing. “More plausible.”
“Mmm. I can’t wait until they see you. Those rumors should be delicious. Dark, handsome classically-trained drummer with tattoos that make you weak in the knees...if you’re lucky.”
He couldn’t help the laugh. “I’m benign.” Though he wouldn’t mind seeing Ray kneeling.
“Says the man who can’t get a position in any orchestra in North America because he was fucking and flogging his conductor, then didn’t have the decency to be a kept boy like a proper young musician.”
Fuck. Fuck. Zavier swallowed a breath, counted to three, then exhaled. “Oh, is that what they’re saying?” He shivered, despite the heat of the day, but didn’t let an ounce of fear or anger slip into his voice. “How droll.”
“He would have showered you with gifts and flowers.”
“You know exactly how much that means to me.” Not a damn thing. He didn’t comprehend that kind of love—or the trappings of it. So much of romance seemed downright silly.
Though, had it just been Dimitri falling for him, that wouldn’t have been as bad. No, Dimitri had wanted Zavier on his knees with declarations of love. Zavier had been so clear about that the first time they’d fucked. Sex without attachments. They hadn’t even been friends.
“Oh yes. You’re every submissive’s dream and every romantic’s nightmare.” Nadia’s laugh was light. “You didn’t call to hear about yourself.”
No. He hated when she told him the gossip about himself.
Ignorance was bliss, and all that. She, of course, told him anyway.
A bur under his skin to remind him that he was young and still had much to master.
“I was wondering what you could tell me about Carl Roberts. He’s Twisted Wishes’s band manager. ”
There was a pause—one that was long enough to mean he’d surprised her. “The band manager? Interesting. Your impressions?”