Chapter 17 #2
Zavier lounged like he hadn’t a care in the world. “We should shake it up a bit.”
Yeah. And judging from Dom’s and Mish’s nods, they were all for that plan, too. He’d have to grab his notebook before they got off the bus. But right now, there were too many stops and turns. He closed his eyes.
Mish and Dom were fine with him screwing Zavier—or rather Zavier screwing him. The fans wanted it. They worked well on stage and provided speculation for the press. He grunted. “Carl’s gonna be so pissed.”
“Good.” Zavier’s voice, but it was echoed by Mish and Dom, and that warmed Ray’s heart. If nothing else, he had the band. His band. His friends.
And one with some really amazing benefits.
There was nothing better than the anticipation of waiting.
Or, Zavier mused, watching others wait. He enjoyed both thoroughly.
Pleasure was always more intense when denied before.
That explained why he was still reeling from his night with Ray—they had been dancing around each other for so long.
And no, one night wasn’t enough for either of them. Not nearly.
Ray had knelt without hesitation. God, that alone played along Zavier’s nerves and sweetened what was to come.
But there were pleasures he could indulge in sooner, too.
Like a little touch of sadism, not from caring but from the exact opposite.
This time, his target was Carl, the lying, scheming, utterly contemptible band manager.
All of the members of Twisted Wishes were dressed—Domino had made his reappearance—and mostly caffeinated by the time the bus pulled into their next venue, another outdoor amphitheater.
Unsurprisingly, Carl was waiting once the bus parked. He climbed into the bus and snarled, “What the fuck is this?” He was holding a tablet with that photo of Zavier and Ray from the previous night.
Enemies or lovers? Kill or fuck? Zavier knew the answer to that one. In his blood and written on the skin of Ray’s ass. He cocked his head at Carl. “Why, it’s a picture of me and Ray.” He turned to Ray. “Doesn’t that look like a picture of me and you?”
Ray leaned forward for a better look. “It does, yeah. Isn’t that when we were talking last night?”
“Think so. Damn, they’ve got a good lens.” Zavier shook his head. “Gotta give ’em credit for that.”
Carl stared at them. Mish was trying not to laugh, and Dom had his nose in a book.
“This isn’t a joke.” Carl tucked the tablet under his arm. “What the hell were you two doing?”
“Talking.” Zavier crossed his arms. “Funny thing. We’d just finished a killer concert as a headlining act, one that had fans on their feet the whole night and which was critically acclaimed by the press—” he held up his own tablet to an article by a well-respected music critic “—and yet, someone read Ray the riot act for not being good enough. Weird, huh?”
Carl stared at him. “Demos, you better remember that you’re not part of this band.”
A cold chill wormed through Zavier’s chest. “It’s true. I’m an outsider who knows music at an echelon most people don’t even know exists. And I rather agree with her.” He tapped the case of his tablet, still open to the music critic. “Even if I was also in the middle of that amazing moment.”
“Carl.” Ray’s voice was soft. “Can we please cut the crap? What do you want from us, from me? I checked the charts, and we’re on them.
Spotify’s featuring us. We’re charting on iTunes.
” He shook his head. “If you just want to see me bleed, there’s a knife in a drawer over there. You’re welcome to go at me with it.”
Well, that wasn’t Ray’s style at all. Zavier rocked on the balls of his feet. It was fucking fantastic, and about time, but he worried about the sudden shift.
“Or me,” Dom said. “I’m quiet and all, but I bleed just the same.”
Mish snorted. “Me? I’ll tear your arm off.”
Zavier clicked his tongue. “Mish, violence is not the answer.”
Carl’s face turned red, then white. Oh, there was rage—but also fear peeking out from behind.
Uncertainty. He didn’t know how to handle this united, outspoken front.
“Yeah, well. I don’t want to see anymore headlines about fighting.
” He paused, and a little curl of distaste took up residence in his voice. “Or being lovers.”
“But the fans love that part!” Mish stood and looked down at Carl. “Two beautiful men eying each other? Gets the blood moving.”
Carl shook his head. “There’s DJs from the local radio station here. You’re scheduled for a live interview in an hour. Hope you’re better behaved with them.” Carl spun and fled the bus.
Silence descended for a minute or two, then Mish blew out a breath. “Fuckin’ A, that felt good.”
It had. Zavier eyed Ray. Small smile and a bright look. “Yeah. But I’m sure he’ll make us pay. It’s just a matter of when.”
“But now maybe he’ll fuck with all of us, and not you.” Dom tossed his book aside. “Did he really slam you down after the concert yesterday?” The smile fell away, and Ray nodded. “That man’s an asshole.”
“Which is more or less what Zav said.” Ray rose and grabbed his notebook. “Let’s go find donuts and hammer out the set list before we have to go answer embarrassing questions from radio personalities.”
They found the donuts in a well-appointed lounge. Their crew was already unloading equipment and shit, and the catering coffee for both the band and the crew was top-notch.
Once they got their sugar fix, Ray cleaned his fingers of cinnamon sugar and locked eyes with Zavier. “You suggested shaking things up.”
“I did.” His pulse beat a little faster. What did Ray have up his sleeve? Hell, Mish and Dom leaned in, too.
“What if we open with ‘White Hot Midnight’?” Ray’s grin was toothy and excited and stunning. Somehow, Zavier would get a piece of that tonight. He wasn’t sure how, given the close quarters they shared, but he’d figure it out.
“And close with?” Mish asked. “Gotta be something damn good.”
“Let’s figure it out,” Ray said.
They tossed song ideas around until they came up with a lineup that was different but still as exciting. “Lightning” became an encore and “Bleeding Roses,” a slower, ballad-like song got thrown into their little acoustic set.
“We should do some covers.” Dom rubbed his chin. “Like that punk version of ‘Born in the USA’ we played around with a couple years ago.”
“Hmm. A homage to the Boss and home.” Zavier peered at Mish. “Well, maybe for three of us at least?” He had no idea where Mish had grown up, but he, Dom, and Ray were all from New Jersey.
“Oh, I’m a heathen from the other side of the river in Pennsylvania, from around Windgap.” She leaned back. “We kinda love Springsteen, too, you know.”
Zavier laughed. Of course. “Bet you even went to the Shore, huh?”
“Don’t make me hit you with a donut, Zavier, honey.” Her words were as sweet as her smile.
He held up his hands in surrender. Because Mish?
She had good aim. He’d seen her nail Dom with a sock, and bop Ray in the back with an empty water bottle.
He had no desire to get powdered sugar all over him.
..unless it was so he could order Ray to lick it off.
He added that to his mental checklist, then shoved all those thoughts away.
It was interview time.
Despite Ray’s crack about the types of questions, the band interview went well, even if a little odd.
It was live on the radio and being fucking played over the outside speakers.
Couldn’t exactly hear their own words, but the cadence was there, on a few-second delay, filtering into the room from an open door down a hallway.
Of course, the DJs started in on the questions about Kevin, but Ray handled it gracefully.
“Look, I know everyone wants to know all the details. But man, I don’t want to keep dragging him out with this. The press has been hounding on him, too, and that’s not fair.” He paused. “Kevin’s a good guy. Can we cut him a break?”
After that, they did. Then came the question Zavier had been wondering about himself.
“So, what’s next for you guys?” The DJ looked honestly curious.
“Well...” Ray scratched the back of his head, which was a nervous tic.
If Zavier had been closer, he’d have pressed his calf against Ray’s. There’s no wrong answer here.
“I’ve got some new songs stirring in my brain, and I know the band’s ready to start working on another album once the tour is finished.”
Both Mish and Dom agreed, their voices blending together.
“Yes.”
“Hell yeah.”
“Does that include Zavier?”
Ray’s whiskey eyes met Zavier’s, and there was a little hope and a little fear there. “I’d—we’d like it to, but that’s up to Zav.”
Zavier couldn’t look away from Ray. “Are you asking me to join your band, Ray Van Zeller?” Maybe his voice was a little too playful, but fuck it. This he’d tease Ray about until they were old and gray.
Ray got his lovely blush. “Seems like I’m always asking you that question, rock star. What’ll it be?”
He huffed a laugh. “Best times I’ve had in my musical career have been touring with you guys. Yes, I’ll join your band.”
There must have been enough fans in the venue—or maybe that was the crew—but a cheer went up outside a few seconds after the echo of them talking. Zavier straightened out in his chair. “That’s not for us, is it?”
The noise got a little louder.
“Yeah, I think it’s for us,” Dom said.
Which meant the press would have fun with that. But hey, it was good news, not more Has Van Zeller Lost It? shit.
The DJs finished the interview and the band got ready for sound check.
Somehow they managed to pull together a version of the Boss’s anthem that was also very Twisted Wishes.
It was challenging to do and they read each other so well as a band.
The VIP guests loved it. Ray was shining in his element and the day was bright.
In the back of his mind, Zavier knew Carl was lurking, but until the asshole struck, they’d revel in their sound and the crowd and everything.