Chapter 8 #2
Zavier tapped his foot against Ray’s. “This is hardly slumming it. So far it’s been a pleasure and a challenge. Frankly, I can’t wait to get on stage tonight.” So much passion in his voice, enough that Ray caught the edge of excitement himself.
He took in Zavier, meeting his gaze and smile. “You have the best seat in the house, you know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know that.” There was a flicker of motion, and Ray got the distinct impression that Zavier was checking him out, and that only fueled his blood.
Ray closed his eyes. “Soon you’ll be in it.”
“And Carl will learn you were absolutely right.”
God, he hoped so.
Unusual to still have such nerves. Zavier pushed back on the flutter in his cheek and tingling in his arms. Technically, the festival had been his first show with the band, so he shouldn’t have been off-kilter.
Yet he was, because this concert was personal now.
He didn’t have to prove himself this time, but with the way Carl had treated Ray, the band had a score to settle.
Zavier wanted to ram success, along with his fist, down Carl’s throat. He didn’t understand why Ray put up with that shit.
When he’d had a free second away from the rest of the band, he’d sent a quick email to Nadia to see if she’d anything to tell him about the manager. Something didn’t add up. At all.
And god, that reporter. Gabriel. Pretty enough of a man, but he’d hit a little too close to the mark with his questions. Undoubtedly, something would come out about his time at Silverton and his relationship with its maestro. What the hell would Ray think of that? Did Zavier care?
Yes, of course he did. He’d felt a twinge of embarrassment he hadn’t felt in so long when he’d realized Ray was jealous of his sexually charged banter with both Gabriel and Carl. He didn’t need to cause Ray issues. Dude was on edge enough.
Now, though, Ray was in his best form: on stage and in control.
They worked through a sound check and a small practice.
The songs they played snippets from were ones that everyone expected them to play, off the latest album.
Nothing unexpected, and certainly not “Lightning.” They kept that under wraps.
Carl frowned at them from the edge of the stage.
What did that guy expect? They’d blown away the festival.
This would be no different. The smattering of VIP folks for Five Asylum seemed pretty happy, even clapping a few times when they worked flawlessly through a song.
Another glance over at the edge of the stage, and Carl was gone.
Just as well.
Afterward, the band conferred, and the nervousness Zavier had suppressed was alive in Ray. “It’s good. I think it’s good.” He rocked back and forth on his feet, like someone who’d had too many energy drinks.
The hesitation was alive in Dom, too. “Yeah. I think we sounded fine.”
Mish tossed her head. “We’re gonna nail it, Ray.” Fire there, and determination.
Zavier fed off that rather than his own worries. “They won’t know what hit them.”
Ray took a breath and settled. “Okay.” Another breath and he was nodding. “We’ll do this.”
They passed through the green room and headed to their dressing rooms when Zavier spotted Carl, lying in wait. Of course. No idea why Carl undermined Ray, but damned if Zavier was going to let that happen.
He grabbed Ray’s elbow. “Hey.”
Ray nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Rather, he settled closer to Zavier, like a magnet.
Oh hell. Yes. But no as well. They could not go on like this. Ray’s desire pulled too much against his own.
“Yeah?” Ray’s voice was breathless, sweet, and so very tempting.
“I know I was an asshole about the drumming thing in high school. Ray, I love being in your band.” Truth. He stepped in closer, their arms skin to skin. “And you’re an astounding musician. Don’t let anyone—anyone—tell you differently.” Zavier whispered the words against Ray’s neck.
A shiver and a gasp, and then those golden eyes looked into his own. “You mean that?”
“With every fiber of my being.” He released Ray’s elbow slowly and stepped back, giving them both the space they needed before their asshole manager arrived.
“Ray,” Carl snapped.
For a moment Ray didn’t respond to the call. He nodded at Zavier, then turned. “Yes?”
“I want to talk to you about the opening song.”
Zavier gritted his teeth—but Ray didn’t, and that was something.
“No,” Ray said, his voice calm. A thrill zipped through Zavier. Yes.
“What?” Carl took a step back.
“I’m not changing my mind.” Ray put his hands into his pocket. “We’re opening with ‘Lightning’ tonight. If it flops, then we can talk about it, and I’ll even give you a shaker of salt to rub into the wound.”
So very delightful to see Carl staring back, his ears red and words failing to form on his lips. “Fine.” He stepped back. “I’ll be watching.”
Ray’s nod was pretty much a dismissal before he turned back to Zavier. “We should go get changed.”
“Yeah.” They made their way to the dressing room. For Zavier, it wasn’t so much changing as putting on layers he could strip off as the night progressed. By the end, he expected to be bare-chested and drenched in sweat, like every rock drummer on tour.
Dom was already in the room, working on perfecting his messy hair and makeup. Mish sat in her tights and red dress, watching. “I swear, honey, you use more makeup than me.”
“I do,” Dom said. “And you know it. But here.” He tossed her something. “I found this lipstick the other day.”
She caught it, and inspected the tube. “Not my color.” She studied Ray, then Zavier in turn, and tossed it to Zavier. “It’ll go with your eyes and all that black you wear—or don’t wear.”
The shade was a bright purple. Not maroon or burgundy or one of the purplish reds, but a true purple. He stared at it for a moment.
“Ever worn makeup?” Ray’s lilt was a touch on the snotty side, as if he expected the answer to be no.
Without replying, Zavier set the lipstick down in front of his dressing station, and slowly stripped off his shirt.
Ray’s eyes widened and his gaze flicked all over Zavier’s body. The ink, of course. Ray hadn’t exactly been subtle in his admiration before, and he wasn’t now, not licking his lips like that.
Mish turned away, but her grin was huge. “Should I leave so you can drop trou, too?”
He shrugged and stretched his arms. “I do need to change pants.” He had a variety he could wear, from loose and flowing to skintight and leather. “But I haven’t decided which yet.” He met Ray’s lustful look. “Leather?”
The hitched breath was the best. Ray shook himself. “Up to you, dude.” With that, he turned to his own wardrobe.
Dom rubbed his chin. “It’s probably as cool tonight as it’s gonna get on this tour. So if you’re serious about the leather, wear them. I think our fans would...appreciate the look.”
“What Dom means is that you have a stunning ass and great legs,” Mish said.
“Which they’re not going to see for most of the show.” That from Ray.
He would know what Zavier was wearing. “There’s the three-song acoustical set.” They’d set the stage up so he’d be out front for those, standing and playing with the others—like being back in the orchestra, but so much more charged, and close to the audience.
A grunt from Ray, and a sideways look as he pulled his clothes out. “Gonna wear the lipstick?”
“Yes. And the leather pants.”
Ray looked like he was trying not to smile.
“Yes, I have worn makeup before. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Contouring. Goth nights were the best.”
There was Ray’s actual smile. “Okay. Let’s get dressed and do this.”
Zavier’s nerves vanished as certainty slipped over him. Ray would win tonight, and Carl would eat his fucking words.