by Kay Maree
She stuck her chin out slightly, and her jaw hardened, along with my dick.
Why the fuck did her stubbornness make me want to show her my own version of raw, gritty, real, and messy, in the bedroom—or the cloakroom?
Game on Que Violin. Game. On.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
KING
I watched Quincy’s facial expression change from skepticism to wonder, as she took in her surroundings. It might not look like much from the outside, nestled as it was between two shop fronts, but once you were inside it was a different story altogether. The domed ceiling and elaborately tiled floor were impressive, even to those of us who’d been there hundreds of times before.
“What is this place?”
“Doubting Thomas.”
“I’m not. I’m just wondering where I am, is all.” She looked irritated—a look I was getting used to seeing on her, and perversely, kind of liked.
Rome laughed in the background.
“That is where you are. It’s the name of the place. Doubting Thomas,” he explained.
“It’s a private club. As in members’ club, not nightclub,” I continued.
“Right. Well thanks for explaining. I’m clearly some kind of hillbilly yokel, as I’ve never heard of the place.”
“Not at all. It’s one of this city’s best kept, and most fiercely guarded secrets. You’re now part of a small and specially selected circle of people who have access. Come on, let’s go inside.” I walked her into the bar area, and felt a strange rush of pride as I noted that Quincy seemed impressed by what she saw.
She didn’t strike me as the type to be easily awed, despite what she’d said about feeling like a yokel, so I felt like I’d won something eliciting admiration from her. It was dumb—like some high school kid trying to wow the most popular girl in school with his brand new car, or phone.
I spotted an available clutch of seats in the furthest corner of the room. It was perfect—secluded, but comfortable and intimate, with a long couch and several easy chairs. I tried to keep my pace to a disaffected saunter, but I was ready to break into an Olympic-gold-winning sprint if it looked like Rome was going to reach the sofa before me. As it was, he seemed genuinely unhurried, lagging behind slightly, while Quincy trailed me more closely.
When we reached the seats, I threw myself onto the soft leather couch and patted the space next to me, motioning to Quincy.
“Come sit. Make yourself at home. Mi casa, and all that.”
A look of uncertainty flashed across her face, her gaze quickly flitting from me to Rome.
He shrugged, his facial expression saying, “do what the fuck you want,” as he dropped casually into one of the nearby easy chairs, flopping his leg over one arm, and reclining extravagantly.
“Except this isn’t your house.” Why was she looking at me as though I was offering her a poison apple?
“Yeah, but it’s his club membership, so same thing. Sit down, he’s not going to bite you.” Rome was typically irritable, making me wonder why he’d even suggested the chemistry session in the first place. He didn’t seem to be trying too hard to put Quincy at ease.
Her look of uncertainty was replaced by one of irritation, but she sat down anyway.
“Great, now let’s drink.” Rome looked pointedly at me, and I looked around for a member of staff to come take our order.
As a server approached, Rome stood up again.
“I need to piss.”
“Thanks for sharing that gem, but once your age is in double digits, there’s really no need to keep people updated on your bladder and bowel movements. A simple ‘excuse me’ would more than suffice.”
I stifled my laughter.
Rome shot Quincy a look of pure fire, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to get burned. She may have already screwed him, but it was clear that she didn’t know what she was dealing with in Roman Ivanenko. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“You’re wasting your breath with him, I promise you. He’s literally unteachable. In all the years I’ve known him, despite my best efforts, he’s rejected all attempts at house training. Seriously, save yourself the high blood pressure and resign yourself to it now. It took me too long to learn that lesson, and I’ll never get those years of my life back.”
“Ha! Never too late to teach an old dog new tricks, especially if that dog wants to spend time with me.”
“Excuse me, but this old dog can hear you talking about him. And in point of fact, I don’t want to spend time with you, I have to, remember? This whole thing is like court-ordered community service. I have no fucking choice. I’ll be going for that pee now.” He gave her his most panty-melting smirk and slinked away across the bar to the bathroom.
“I apologize on his behalf. Honestly, it might seem otherwise, but I swear he can’t help half the shit he does. It’s like pissing people off is some kind of compulsion.
“That’s bullshit. He’s a grown man. How hard is it to obey the most basic of social conventions? There’s clearly nothing wrong with his brain.”
“You’re right about that. I hate to say it, but he’s a borderline genius. Musically speaking, I mean. But as for social conventions, it’s just not the way he’s built.”
“So why do you work with him? I mean, it would drive me crazy.”
“Believe me, it does. The number of times I contemplate doing him bodily harm each day is probably some kind of fucking record, but when we make it into the studio, it will become clear.”
“If we make it,” she corrected.
“He’ll come around. Trust me.” I smiled, my tone soft.
“I don’t. Or him. Not yet, at least.”
“Fair enough. That’s probably a good call.” She was a wise woman. She smiled back, and it went right up to her eyes. I felt like she’d given me the keys to the kingdom. “But despite outward appearances, he’s a good guy. I mean a good friend to me. I’d trust him with my life, and in fact, have done on several occasions, and here I am, alive and kicking to tell the tale. He always has my back. Always will.”
“I’m glad for you both.”
“Are you fucking with me?” It was hard to tell. Sarcasm seemed to be her default setting.
“No, not at all. You can’t put a price on true friendship, but in our fast and fake social-media-ready society, so many people don’t have that. I won’t pretend to understand the dynamic between the two if you, because I don’t get it at all, but if you two do, who am I to doubt it? It’s clear that whatever it is, it works for you, especially musically. I’ve listened to a lot of your stuff now, and some of it is pure genius, like you say.”
“Yeah. You’ll see when we get into the studio. He’s out of this world.”
“It’s not just him though. I can hear your influence in those recordings, so don’t discount your role in the partnership.”
“Trust me, this is not false modesty—his talent is genuinely a once-in-a-generation thing. I’m just glad I get to bask in the halo of his genius every day.”
“That’s as may be, but sometimes genius needs to be directed, or harnessed. I think that’s what you bring to the party, which makes what you guys do something that can be enjoyed by everyone, not just hardcore music fans. Seriously, you’re lucky, the two of you. That kind of friendship and partnership is rare
“True. Some days he can be my worst enemy, but as much as he pisses me off, I love the stupid son of a bitch, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ROME
“Aww… did I miss some kind of D&M? Is this the part where I say I love you too, bro, then we hug it out and ugly cry together?” I knew it was a dick move, but I also knew that I didn’t like the way the two of them had cozied up to each other while I’d been in the bathroom.
“Shut up Rome. Can you try not to be a douche for just one second?”
“Why would I want to do that?” It was a genuine question.
>
“Because the cold, hard, and heartless routine gets a little old.”
“Did you just quote a Heartless Few album title at me?”
“Well, since Arlo Jones is more or less your brother-in-law, why not?”
“Wait, what? You’re related to Arlo Jones?” Quincy looked as though King had said I hung the moon.
“No.”
“Yes.” King and I spoke at the same time.
“Okay, so which is it?” She looked back and forth between us as though watching a tennis match.
“No, I’m not related to him. My brother’s best friend is with him, so there’s a connection, but I hardly even know him—I’ve met him like half a time. He pretty much hates my brother’s guts too, so that’s not likely to change any time soon, either. Not that I give a fuck. Waspy Boy over here would drink a cup of his own cum for a chance to meet him, though.”
“Jesus Christ! I’m not asking you to be nice, but can you at least tone down the gross a little, for the love of God? She’s not going to want to work with us if you carry on like this.”
“She can speak for herself, and if you’d bothered to ask her, she would have reminded you that she’s not some kind of vestal virgin. You don’t have to watch your tongues around me.”
I tried not to laugh. King was trying so hard to impress her with his good-guy routine, and she still looked like she wanted to junk punch him. He couldn’t catch a break.
“See. Relax, dude, and stop acting like you’re some kid bringing home his first girlfriend. Remind me how old you were when you did that. You were a late bloomer, right?” I was having way too much fun playing with him.
“Fuck off.” I was starting to get to him, for sure.
Just then, our waitress arrived with the drinks order, much to King’s obvious relief.
She started placing the drinks on the table—a Bloody Mary for him, vodka for me—but Quincy frowned when her drink was set down.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I think there has been some kind of mistake.” She smiled sweetly at the waitress. “This isn’t what I ordered.”
The server looked confused. “A Jamaican coffee, right?”
“No, I ordered a regular coffee. A latte, to be exact.”
“Right, but after that, the gentleman,” she looked my way, “said the order had been changed.”
Quincy looked across at me, clearly pissed.
“Well I’m sorry to have wasted your time and resources, but that’s not true. Can I please have what I ordered.”
“Hey, come on, don’t be like that. Can you just try this one? You won’t regret it, I promise,” I coaxed.
“Famous last words.”
“I’m serious. It will ruin “normal” coffee for you forever.” She hesitated, which was all I needed. I turned back to the waitress who looked thoroughly confused about what she was supposed to be doing.
“It’s okay, you can just leave that one here, and bring us a regular coffee, also. Thanks.”
She nodded and smiled, then scuttled away, looking relieved to be out of the middle of the odd situation.
When she had gone I turned back to Quincy. “Seriously, give it a try. It’s simple, but delicious.”
She eyed the drink cautiously, clearly not ready to trust me with anything at all.
“C’mon. Worst case scenario you take a sip, and don’t like it. Your other coffee’s on the way anyway. No harm done. Best case, you get introduced to a whole new taste sensation.”
“Okay. If it will shut you up.”
“That’s the way.” I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face.
“Just add the cream, and stir.” I watched her as she did as I said, then raised the cup cautiously to her mouth.
She took a small, birdlike sip, surely not enough to even taste anything. I was clearly wrong about that though, as she closed her eyes, and tipped her head back, moaning slightly. The sight and sound together was enough to have my dick straining against my pants, and if the way Rome was looking at her was anything to go by, he was in the same predicament. Not. Cool.
“Wow. Okay. I was not expecting that. What’s in it?”
I smiled. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“I’m not just going to drink something I don’t know the ingredients of.”
The set of her lips both told me she meant business, and had me imagining them wrapped around my dick. Jesus.
“Rum and Kahlua. And cream.”
“Well, the cream part I knew. The combination is so sinfully good.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Thank you.”
When her standard coffee arrived, she sent the waitress away with it, smiling apologetically again. I smiled not-at-all apologetically, and raised my glass, throwing back my shot. “Budmo!”
Quincy looked confused. “It’s Ukrainian for cheers.” King raised his glass and she hurriedly did the same. They looked at each other and then at me, “Budmo!” they said in unison, before taking a sip of their drinks. I wondered when watching the expression of ecstasy on her face as she drank was going to get old.
I was seeing no sign of that yet. Everything she did fascinated me, but the way she reacted to the drink was something I felt like I could watch over and over—and would definitely be replaying in my mind on repeat while I jerked off.
Better still, I was thinking of a thousand ways I could put that look on her face myself, which sounded like an infinitely better option than fantasizing about her, like an oversexed teenager. Well, the oversexed part was true—probably would be until I croaked—Rome had been right about that—but I wasn’t some kind loser who needed to get his rocks off imagining all the things he wanted to do to a chick instead of just doing them.
I was, and pretty much always had been, a guy who set his mind on something or someone, then went to achieve it, or have them. I saw no reason why Quincy would be any different. It had happened before, and it was just a matter of time before the inevitable happened again.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QUINCY
Several drinks later, and I was getting a little bored with talking in circles with the guys.
“So cut the crap. Tell me about yourselves.”
“Really? We’ve been hanging out for how long now, and sunk a whole bunch of drinks, not to mention all that research you did online, and you still don’t have us figured out?” King’s voice was smooth, low, and totally alluring.
“You know all there is to know already,” Rome’s equally smooth voice cut in. “Everything you read in the press is pretty much true. Me: angry, edgy, rudely talented, street-smart, ex-performing-street urchin, broken Slavic bad boy. Him: all-American boy, book-smart, straight A student, over-privileged, emotionally repressed wasp. Us: yin and yang, a musical match made in hell, creating music sent from heaven, and the stuff of girly wet dreams.”
I had the strong urge to swipe the smirk from his smug face. “And…?”
“And what?”
“And that is what I read, but I’m smart enough to, a... never believe everything I read in the press, and b... know that even if the stories are based on some modicum of truth, the bullshit peddled by the PR machine is never the full picture. When a magician shows you their left hand, look at their right, and all that.”
“So?” King looked faintly pissed off. A sure sign I was getting somewhere. Interesting.
“So, for instance, what’s the real deal between the two of you?”
“How do you mean?” The look of suspicion on Rome’s face was almost comical.
“I mean that it’s obvious that the ‘love to hate him’ act that you peddle to the world is exactly that—an act. You wouldn’t have lasted as long as you have if you really couldn’t stand the sight of each other. So, what’s the real deal?”
Roman leaned back in his chair and cracked his knuckles one by one, before answering. “The opposites thing is real. We are fun
damentally different in just about every way. And that does mean that we want to junk punch each other about a hundred times a day.”
“But?” I urged.
“But, somehow, even though we’re like night and day, our shit just works. Always has. Since the day I walked into my first class at the stupid Conservatorium, angry and determined to hate the place and everyone in it, and he called me on my shit straight out the gate, we’ve been as tight as brothers.”
“Tighter, if the brothers in question are you and Marko,” King chimed in.
“Fuck off. We’re tight. You don’t go through what we’ve been through together and not be tight.”
“Yeah, maybe on some level, but on an everyday basis, we all know you can’t bear to be in the same room as each other, because you both hate sharing the spotlight. Besides, there’s usually only room for one wild-haired, wild-eyed, tattooed loose cannon, and both of you want it to be you.”
“That’s just logic. I can hardly put up with my own shit, let alone deal with his as well.”
“Nah, it’s not that. The two of you have always been each other’s biggest support and greatest rival. I don’t think that will ever change.”
“You’re right. I hate that bastard as much as I love him.”
“Okay, so back to the two of you.”
They turned sharply toward me, fixing me with intense stares as though they’d forgotten I was there.
“What about us?” No mistaking it, King’s patience was definitely waning. I felt uncomfortable under their heated stares, but refused to look away. I held my ground.
“What’s the deal between you? I mean, like have you ever…?”
“You mean have we ever fucked?” Trust Roman to cut through the small talk and get to the point.
“Yeah. That.”
“Why would you ask?” I was pretty sure I’d offended King.
“Because, the chemistry between you is… off the charts and…” I hesitated, finally looking away from them. “…hot as all hell.”