Chapter 20 #2
Ray nodded. “Yeah. I mean, that’s fantastic.” He was beaming.
Here was proof that Carl’s actions hadn’t entirely fucked Ray over, so he wouldn’t have to murder the bastard after all.
For now. Something still needed to be done about the man, but there wasn’t any time to pull the exec aside to talk about him, mostly because Carl never left his side.
Typical. Still, Zavier had one question to ask.
“What’s going on with the photos of me and Ray? ”
The VP’s smile evaporated. “There’s no conclusive proof that they are of Mr. Van Zeller, as blurry as they are.” He paused. “But I suppose you’ve just confirmed that to us.”
“I supposed I have,” Zavier said. “Carl was sure they were of Ray, though.”
The exec glanced at Carl, whose face was rapidly turning red.
“There was also some rather litigious insinuations in the article I read.” Zavier shrugged. “Seems like something you’d be on top of, you know?”
“Zav.” Ray’s voice was soft. “If they can’t prove it’s us...”
“They can’t.” The exec shifted uncomfortably, focus sliding between the two of them. “However, I’ll double-check that the legal department is working on it.”
A touch on Zavier’s arm. “Let’s celebrate our successes and let them handle it?” Ray’s look was a pleading one, and the band was being called for sound checks anyway.
When they stepped out to run through a few of the songs, Zavier shuddered. The sheer amount of energy in the air—the historic view from the Bowl. It was too much to put into words.
Gregor from Five Asylum gave them a wave from the side of the stage while they played, and called Ray over when they finished, probably about the platinum record thing. Ray shook Gregor’s hand and slipped what looked like a business card into his pocket.
Connections. Good. Ray needed support outside the label, too.
After they retreated to the dressing rooms, Ray collapsed into Zavier’s arms. “We’re going to shatter this place tonight.”
He held Ray—vibrating, ecstatic, lovely Ray—and kissed his forehead. “Yeah. You earned that right. You deserve to be here.”
Ray pulled back. “So do you.”
He couldn’t help grinning—Ray’s joy was always infectious. “Should I wear the leather pants?”
“You better.” Ray’s eyes were as glowing as his smile.
Zavier did just that, and as predicted, they completely shredded the audience with their performance. Even before they got back to the hotel, the reviews online were calling it a show of a lifetime. The photos? Those were gone, as was the article. All-around good news.
They didn’t bother with any elaborate play that night, though Ray begged for the cuffs and to be fucked hard.
That was a different type of music to Zavier’s ears, as were Ray’s grunts, moans, curses, and ultimately, Zavier’s name on his sweet lips. As he held Ray afterward, everything was perfect, except for the unsettled knot that had taken up in his soul.
His own words came back to haunt him, ones he’d said to Ray. Carl’s gonna come at you again. Bastards like that can’t help it. A bastard like Carl had something else up his sleeve. He’d not lose Ray to that. Or lose the band. This was his life now, and he’d do anything to protect it.
Despite the presence of press and Carl, the Twisted Wishes platinum-record party turned out to be a pretty sweet shindig, especially since Ray got to see Zavier strutting around in a tux.
Granted, he’d seen Zav’s outfit up close and personal in the hotel room before they’d all piled into the limo to the ostentatious restaurant the label had booked.
He’d even been on his knees at the time, naked with his hands cuffed behind his back.
They’d spent a lot of time naked over the past two days.
Sleeping. Fucking. Playing. They’d also spent time with the band, horsing around at the pool, going out to eat.
Had been so good to connect with all of them, but being with Zavier was like nothing else.
His touches, his glances. They could inflame or be friendly or drop Ray straight to his knees.
He loved every single minute of his time with Zavier. The benefits were outstanding.
The paparazzi did have quite the time photographing them, including shots of some very intense looks Zavier had given Ray—his I’m going to fuck you so hard later gaze.
But there weren’t any photos—yet—that anyone could point to and identify them as a couple.
They didn’t hold hands, and, as Dom had pointed out, didn’t stare into each other’s eyes, or any other couple-like activity.
Had to confuse the hell out of the press.
Didn’t bother Ray, though. Zavier was Zavier.
Ray loved him for who he was, even if that meant the reciprocal wasn’t quite the same.
Zav cared for him—Ray knew that in his bones.
He also knew it from the bright cotton bracelet Zavier had tied around his wrist under his shirt before they’d left the hotel room. So you remember who you are.
His own person. But also the man Zavier had promised to tie down and fuck later that night.
Mish might have been wearing an elegant black dress, but she still kicked him from her seat across his in the limo. Even in sleek heels, she could pack a wallop. “You’re off in lala land...nervous?”
“Nah. I’m thinking about the last couple of days, that’s all. Gonna be weird to get back on the road.” They still had a concert in Seattle, and they’d added a stop before that in Oregon.
“I’m kinda looking forward to being done,” Dom said.
He was the only one not quite in fancy duds.
Domino wore the tux jacket, but a black pair of jeans, a bright red T-shirt, and his studded collar.
His usual makeup, too. “I want to be myself for a while, and get some sweet, sweet loving, like Ray’s been lucky enough to get. ”
He flipped Dom off, but laughed. Couldn’t fault Dom for playing up the persona or wanting out of it, either. Dominic Bradley in a tux looked very different than Domino Grinder. People expected Domino to be outrageous, but apparently Dom-the-twink got more action in bed.
When they arrived at the restaurant, there were photos and handshakes and fans wanting autographs.
Took them forever to get into the place.
The venue was all glitter and chrome that sparkled and pulsed like a glass full of jewels.
A little glitzier than Twisted Wishes themselves, but it was a nice change of pace, even if Ray did feel like he was playing dress-up.
Out of all of them, Zavier looked the most natural in his clothes—but then, he was used to wearing a tux from his orchestra days.
Plus he moved like sin in any clothing. Hell, he moved like that naked.
Ray worked his way to the bar and ordered a tonic water with a lime wedge speared with a cocktail sword. “I’m not drinking,” he told the bartender.
A moment after he got his drink, he was dragged off by some marketing guy who wasn’t Carl to chat with one of the VPs of the label he’d yet to meet. Well, chat really meant shake hands, listen to praise, and nod and smile while the press took countless pictures.
A few journalists asked him some pretty easy questions about his feelings on the success of the band, what was next, and how Zavier Demos fit into the picture. He set his drink down and answered their questions, including the one he expected.
“Are you and Zavier lovers?”
Ray laughed. “That’s kind of a personal question, isn’t it? I know people are saying there’s photos of us, but—” He let the reporter squirm a bit, then shrugged. “Zav’s become a very good friend. He’s a phenomenal musician, and hell yeah, I look forward to working with him on our next album.”
No one asked about the hazy photo that had been taken through the sheers. No mentions of young fans. The rumor that it was Zavier standing behind Ray had taken hold. The fact that it wasn’t a rumor at all? Not his problem.
Given the paparazzi and what had already happened, at some point photos would come out of him and Zavier that would solidify all the speculation, but for now, he wouldn’t give them anything to go by.
Besides, the label’s lawyers had gotten the blurry shots taken down.
Maybe that would make the gossip sites and the photogs think twice about taking very personal photos.
Still, someone was bound to catch them kissing, even though they weren’t all over each other in public. Zavier might not be romantic, but he obviously still enjoyed physical contact of all sorts.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to find Carl leering at him. Ray didn’t put his fist in his face, but did twist away from his touch. “Yeah?”
“Photo time with the record.” Carl marched away.
Well, okay then. Ray grabbed his drink, took a quick sip, and coughed. Damn. Bitter. Lime must have been strong and bled in a bit more. He set it down again near the staged shoot.
The platinum record and certificate looked stellar, even if their album had never been released on anything resembling the shining large disk above the certificate.
His head swam a little as he held the plaque with Dom, Mish, and some label exec.
Zavier stood off to the side, grinning. After about fifteen minutes of being maneuvered and primped for the best shots and then posing with the execs, too, they eventually got a few shots with Zavier as well.
Even if he wasn’t on the album, he was part of why they were here tonight. It was only fair to include him.
Ray rubbed his eyes—all the flashes from the photographs left after images, and his head felt weird. Probably too much heat and not enough liquid. He extracted himself from the crowd and found his drink again. Still on the bitter side, but wet and cool.
Another reporter cornered him, and he answered more questions and sipped his drink. Wasn’t helping. His brain swam and his eyes felt wrong. Everything was bright, and he couldn’t clear his throat.