Chapter 5 #2
“Don’t fight me on it. You’ll lose. All you boys are honey.” She had a smile like Nadia’s, though years younger. So he gave in.
“Fine—but only you.”
“Somehow I don’t think either Dom or Ray would call you that, even if you let them.”
“Which I wouldn’t.” He washed his hands in the utility sink by the laundry and dried them on his shorts. “I’m guessing we’re not practicing anymore today.”
After a couple of weeks, they’d finally made it to the third album and had been polishing off a fast-paced track that had some heady rhythmic and seductive beats.
Ray had sung nearly every repeat, eyes closed to listen, unconsciously moving and thrusting to the song.
Zavier would’ve played that line all day long to watch Ray swing his hips so.
Then Carl had walked in and informed them they had to pack up their gear after tomorrow, because they were heading east a half week early to play a gig they’d known nothing about at some music festival.
They weren’t ready—nearly there, but not quite. Not enough to pack up tomorrow and drive across the country.
Ray had held it together well enough until Carl had left...but then the cursing started.
And here Mish and he were, cleaning up. Dom had followed Ray out of the garage, hopefully to try to calm him down.
“We need to at least get through ‘Dark Dreams,’” she said.
That’d been the band’s breakout song. Moody, angry, and fast. It had a sound that younger fans loved—but also hooked into something nostalgic in people a generation older. Twisted Wishes had tapped into the past and dragged it into the present.
“That would be the smart thing.” Zavier studied the door both Ray and then Dom had rushed through. “I guess we ought to see what the damage is.” He wasn’t talking about glassware.
They found Dom sitting on the couch in the living room, head in his hands. “He’s being himself again.”
Mish rolled her eyes. “Oh, lord.”
That didn’t sound good. “Where is he?”
Dom gestured up. Upper deck, then. That had been Ray’s sulking spot as of late. Zavier climbed the stairs, and yes, Ray was in his favorite lounge chair, eyes closed, hands curled into fists.
“I’m very sorry to have wasted your time, Zavier.” A detachment to those words. “But I don’t think we’re going to need a drummer much longer.”
“Don’t fucking start with that shit.” Zavier settled into a chair next to Ray. “I’m not in the mood and we have work to do.” He put his feet up on the footstool.
Ray stirred. “For what? We can’t play that festival.”
They really had no choice. Saying no to the label wasn’t an option, even if angry, snarky Ray thought it was. “Tough shit. We’re playing that festival, so we might as well prepare the best that we can.”
Ray practically choked on his laugh. “We don’t even have a playlist! I have no idea what songs or—anything!”
The terror of failure was so clear in his expression, in the play of his muscles. The overwhelming fear that they’d step on stage and blow it.
These practices with Twisted Wishes proved that wouldn’t happen. Zavier knew the band, and he knew Ray. “Bullshit. You have a list. You’ve been crafting it in your head since the day I played ‘White Hot Midnight’ for you.”
Ray let out a sigh and his fists uncurled. “I know what songs sound the best so far, and there’s some I think will bleed well into each other and—” He stopped talking.
Zavier huffed a laugh. “You’re really fucking good at what you do when you put your mind to it.”
“And you’re a complete asshole, Zav.” Anger there. “Fucking shithead.”
“Shithead me or Shithead Carl?” Because there wasn’t anyone else he thought Ray would pin that on.
He was quiet for a while, eyes open now. He met Zavier’s gaze. “Me. I’m the shithead.”
Now there was something Zavier liked: Ray’s self-awareness when he calmed down. “Mish thinks we should work on ‘Dark Dreams.’ We have today and tomorrow.” If they got that song worked up, they’d be free to pick and choose from the other albums.
“I guess I could put together a playlist for the festival.” Ray took a breath. “They’re usually shorter sets, aren’t they?”
“I have no idea.” Conventional wisdom from having attended a few said yes, but fuck if Zavier’d claim something he didn’t know.
Ray rubbed his face. “I’ll have to ask Carl.”
Ah, now maybe he could help there. “Or I could. Parlay my ignorance into usefulness.”
The look Ray gave him seeped into Zavier’s bones. A man with that kind of expression deserved to be turned over a knee.
“I wouldn’t call you ignorant. Full of yourself? A grade-A fuckwad? Sure.” Ray smiled.
Zavier laughed. Couldn’t help it. Ray wasn’t the first to use him to play Pin the Tail on the Jerk.
Wasn’t wrong, either. He rolled over on his lounge chair and dropped into his most seductive voice.
“Why, Ray, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you like me!
” If only he could spank that smirk off his face.
The shudder that ran through Ray was a thing of delight, like a sip of fine liquor, and warmed Zavier the same way.
Ray’s arousal was painfully obvious from his sudden flush, the way he licked his lips, and the impressive bulge in his shorts. “I—should go downstairs.” With that he rose and tried in vain to get up in such a way as not to show Zavier his hard-on. Failed.
A moment later, Ray was thumping down the stairs and Zavier was alone.
He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky.
Ray lusted after him. Probably had for years, but seeing it so close—that was temptation incarnate.
Zavier pressed a palm against his hardening shaft.
Yeah, he’d be indulging in that fantasy tonight, once he was alone and could jack off in private.
But for now? The band had work to do. Physical lust could be satiated. Musicality took time and energy. Zavier hauled himself up from the chair and headed back down to join the band.