by Cari Quinn
Not that it mattered. He already had groupies, both male and female. Guys wanted to be his friend. Girls wanted to do him. When any of her classmates bothered to talk to her, they always asked the same things.
“What’s it like living with that hottie?”
“What does he wear to bed?”
“Have you ever seen him naked?”
Her mental answers were always the same. Amazing, when it’s not hell. Nothing. Absolutely not.
She’d die if she saw Gray naked. She’d seen him shirtless and that was bad enough. The dude was ripped. Not that she’d seen tons of male bodies to compare him to, but his torso alone could cause serious drooling. Since he’d told her he slept totally nude—who did that?—she made sure to avoid his bedroom on weekends until early afternoon. Just in case. Not because she didn’t want to see, but because she did. Really fucking bad.
“Well?” she demanded when she couldn’t take another second.
He held up a finger and continued to read.
“Oh God. Forget it. I’m going to watch TV.” She started to stand up.
“Sit.” Gray grabbed her thigh and yanked her back down. He continued to read. “By the way, Mom told me you have math homework to do. TV’s for later.”
Yeah, she’d known the parental nets would drop down on her after her first midterm report had revealed her D in math. And biology. Her C in Government wasn’t much better. “Jeepers, are you my guardian or what?”
“Or what. Shh.”
There was one sure way to break his concentration. “So is Shelly your girlfriend?”
His lips twitched. “No.”
She smoothed her palm over her other notebook. The one he would never see unless she dropped dead. If he didn’t tell her what he thought of her music soon, that could be anytime now. “So you just have sex with her to pass the time?”
He tilted his head to look up at her from under the curve of dark hair that fell over one moody gray eye. “You been spying on me, squirt?”
Squirt. The most hated of all nicknames he could give her. “No. Of course not.” She tried not to blush. “She just moaned a lot.”
A satisfied smile drifted across his lips before he looked back down at her notebook. “Doesn’t mean we had sex.”
Curiosity ate at her while she gnawed on her nail. Yeah, she definitely wasn’t going to show him her other notebook. She’d taken some guesses at what the “not sex” stuff was and her songs weren’t exactly fit for church. They made her squirm a bit but she’d had to get the words down. “So she’s not your girlfriend?”
“I just said she wasn’t.” He closed her notebook and returned it to her, along with the Stratocaster. “Do you have a melody for ‘Captured’ yet?”
“No.”
“Let’s figure one out.”
“Does that mean you liked the lyrics?”
He fingered his own guitar, plucking the strings with a deftness she both envied and admired. “I liked them,” he said simply. He lifted his head and caught her gaze with his. “Let’s get to work.”
CHAPTER SIX
Now
Finally.
Gray pushed his hands into her crazy braids. Her soft mouth tasted of rum. Of everything he’d ever wanted and told himself he shouldn’t take.
Before now.
He tried not to rush, to let the moment spin out naturally. But when she moaned and parted her lips, inviting his tongue inside, he couldn’t resist. He wrapped her hair around his wrist, dragging her up off the stool until she was half standing against him, her full breasts pressed to his chest. Her nipples imprinted his flesh even through their clothes. She wanted this. Wanted him, even if it was because she was a little tipsy and more than a little pissed. Her nails clawed down his side as she sucked on his tongue with an urgency that matched his own.
Come with me. Be with me. The words clamored loudly in his head. He was so tired of fighting his feelings for her. If it was wrong, if he’d go to hell for this, at least he’d take them on a long, hot ride through heaven first.
He eased back a fraction and dragged in a breath, already diving back down when the singe in his nostrils registered. The moments before he’d walked into the bar flashed through his mind in stark Technicolor.
Face close to a mirror, eyes shut. Too many memories crowding his head until he inhaled, slow and deep, and they all faded away. The high rushing through his veins, filling the vast, empty spaces that had gone to rot inside him.
No. God, no. He couldn’t let that filth touch her.
You’re the filth.
He shut his eyes and dug his fist into his forehead. Already the rush was receding, the edges of his consciousness blurring as reality encroached. The warmth that had exploded inside him from her kiss wouldn’t last long.
She’d been about to kiss Nick when he showed up. Fucking Nick. That was the truth. More proof of what he’d never been able to accept.
Jazz would never be his. And now he’d made it so he didn’t even deserve her.
Her sleepy blue eyes opened and she blinked, clearly confused why he’d stopped. Her lips were swollen and wet. So wet. “Gray?”
His hand was still embedded in her hair, fisting it at the root. He pulled it away, unsurprised when a tangle of rainbow-streaked dark strands snarled in his fingers. He must’ve hurt her. Again.
God, not again.
His gaze shot to hers and he swallowed hard at the hazy desire reflected back at him. He’d never been good enough for her, and he sure as hell wasn’t now.
“That’s enough. Party’s over.” The sharp female voice cut through the crash of noise in his head. He hadn’t even realized that the people around them had quieted. It was still so loud in his brain. He pressed his fists against his ears and stumbled away.
Right into a coolly furious Lila.
“Easy.” She gripped his forearm to hold him still when he would’ve kept going and stared into his eyes for a beat too long. Her lips pursed. “Band meeting in five.”
Gray tried to process what she’d said. The words hung in the air between them, pulsing with a meaning he didn’t get. What meeting? His vision wavered. Since when did she have three mouths? Jesus, she looked like a Venus flytrap with bright white teeth, ready to bite.
Someone bumped his shoulder, hard. “Oh Jesus. Right fucking now?” Nick. Naturally. “It’s New Year’s fucking Eve—”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Crandall.” Lila’s focus whipped to Nick for a fraction of a second, though she didn’t release Gray. Good thing, because he wasn’t entirely sure he could’ve remained standing if she had.
What had been in Cricket’s shit tonight? He’d taken an extra hit, yeah, but he’d done this much before. He’d just wanted a little extra buzz to get him through the party.
At this rate, he’d be laid out before their meeting was over.
“We’re not punching a freaking clock.”
“We’ll discuss it in private,” Lila snapped at Nick. “Now.”
She called something out to a passing waiter before leading Gray and the others—he assumed the others were behind him, but he didn’t dare turn his head—from the packed VIP room into a narrow hallway. Halfway down it, she opened the door to an office crammed with a conference table and a few file cabinets, then grabbed the nearest chair and pushed him into it.
He didn’t protest. All the fight had gone out of him the moment he’d dropped back into his body and realized he was ripping the hair out of Jazz’s head like an animal.
Remind you of someone else who mistreats women?
“Gray.”
He didn’t lift his head. It took more energy than he had left. His thoughts played on a constant loop, taunting him.
You hurt Jazz. Just like he did. You’re no better than Brent.
“Dammit, Duffy, get it together.” Lila got right in his face. “You think I can’t see it on you? Smell it on you? Get yourself straight. I’m not tolerating this.”
He op
ened his mouth to reply then snapped it shut as the other guys shuffled in with Jazz in tow. Deacon had his arm around her shoulders and she gripped his waist as if she needed the assistance to walk.
Gray’s heart lurched into his throat. He half rose out of his chair. “Jazz.”
“Sit your ass down,” Lila said flatly.
“But—”
“I said sit down and now I’m adding ‘shut up’ to that.” She stalked to the door and slammed it closed. When she turned back, her lips curved. “Fun little party, hmm?”
Nick slumped into a chair at the head of the table. “Bipolar much?”
“I can assure you I’m not. What I am, however, is angry. Do you think being on our label is a right? That you can use and abuse our good faith—” her gaze landed on Gray before darting to each of them in turn “—and we’ll just stand back and smile?” She stopped behind Nick’s chair and aimed a death ray at the back of his head. “If so, some of you have grossly miscalculated.”
“Lila, it was just a small scuffle. They probably had a little too much to drink.” Deacon aimed a hard stare at Nick.
“Oh fuck that. I didn’t start a damn thing. I was talking to Jazz, that’s all.”
Gray swore. “You weren’t just talking to her, you frigging pri—”
“Grayson,” Lila warned. “Now would be a really good time to learn to listen.”
Gray scraped a hand over the back of his head and glanced at Jazz, who sat between Simon and Deacon. Between those two, she looked tiny. Deak still had his arm around the back of her chair and even Simon kept nudging her with his leg, clearly trying to annoy her into smiling.
It was good she had them. She needed someone else to rely on besides him. God knows he’d tried to be everything to her, but he’d failed. Over and over again.
“I’m listening.” Gray shut his eyes.
Maybe then he wouldn’t have to see the expression of disappointment Deak wore or the pinch in Jazz’s smile. Simon wouldn’t look too deeply into what had happened, if he’d even untangled himself long enough from his hookups du jour to notice. And Nick wasn’t his friend anyway.
But Deak mattered. Jazz mattered. He hated letting them down.
Lila…well, yeah, she mattered too. She was his boss. Sort of. But he couldn’t drum up much concern about PR nightmares and whatever icicle their manager had up her panties while he could still smell Jazz’s watermelon-and-wildflowers scent clinging to his clothes.
Lately he hadn’t been able to smell much. Even walking into the bar, where the scents of smoke and spilled beer and sweat were commonplace, he hadn’t picked up anything until he reached Jazz. Somehow she’d gotten through.
“That goes for the rest of you too. Gray and Nick were the instigators of tonight’s fiasco, but in case any of the rest of you decide to get cute, consider yourselves preemptively on notice. You’re on Ripper Records because you’re stars on the rise. But make no mistake. If any of you become a liability to this label and my reputation, you’ll be out the door faster than you can say ‘at-will termination clause’. Got it?”
Nick pushed back his chair. “We signed contracts. You have no right to threaten us.”
“Read the fine print. Then go look up a band in the annals of pop culture called Menudo. They had a revolving door of talent. Oblivion could become the same.”
Simon dusted his nails on his black sleeveless shirt. Gray was pretty sure it had sleeves before they arrived at the bar. One of his lady friends had probably torn them off. “Can’t have Oblivion without the lead singer,” Simon said airily.
Lila leaned forward to plant her hands on the table. “Keep telling yourself that.” Her blue eyes were on fire. And in Gray’s current state of mind, he half expected them to pop out of her head and hurtle like mini-missiles right at his face. “You’re expendable, every one of you. You think your talent will save you? Look around Los Angeles. See how many of you there are and then come talk to me about how your ability makes you exempt.”
“What the hell’s the point of having a contract if you’re holding it over our heads constantly? We walked away from fucking Trident’s morality clause and it sure as hell sounds like—” Nick ground the heel of his hand into his eye. “Forget it. Different dancers, same tune. Guess you didn’t save us from much, huh, Boy Scout?” He directed the last bit at Deacon.
Rather than shoot back a retort, Deacon steepled his fingers over his stomach. Placid to the last, except for the stone stare he leveled on Nick.
“You could try saving yourself,” Lila suggested, propping a hip on the table next to Nick while she consulted her ever-present iPad. “You know, just for a change of pace.”
For once, Nick didn’t say anything. He cracked the knuckles on his left hand, his jaw working as if he were fighting to remain silent.
Gray understood the feeling.
“Wow. I’m impressed. This may be an Oblivion record for no sniping. And since we’re all getting along so well, I’ve decided to spring something on you all that I’d planned to save until after the holiday. But why put off what you can do today?”
“My Magnum says we can put it off,” Simon said in a low voice.
Jazz elbowed him. “Magnum or Magnums plural?”
Simon flashed her a grin and yanked on one of her disordered braids. She grimaced more than she normally would have and guilt arrowed straight into Gray’s gut. He’d been too rough with her. Hell, he didn’t know how not to be rough after wanting her for so fucking long.
Which was exactly why he needed to steer far away. Reason one of a million.
Simon flipped her braid between his fingers. “Both, pink passion fruit.”
“Your Magnum is empty. Consider your New Year’s Eve party over, Kagan.”
“Aww, Brianna and Monica will be so disappointed.” Simon’s frown pulled down his cheeks, giving him a hangdog expression.
“I doubt it. Monica was already crawling all over one of the roadies when we passed her.” Nick shook his head. “Some staying power you have, man.”
“Hey, his fist never complains.”
Everyone glanced at Gray. Christ, had he spoken aloud? He always thought stuff like that, but he never actually opened his mouth. Not anymore.
Jazz shot him a smile, her lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes before she shifted her attention back to Lila.
Simon grinned and thumped the flat of his hand on the table in front of Gray. “I got two fists. And I use ‘em both.”
Lila cleared her throat. “As charming as this detour into your personal recreational activities is, Simon, I’d rather we get back to business. Shall we?” Without waiting for his response, Lila tapped her tablet and directed a sunny smile at the group. “Ripper Records prides itself on being a different kind of record company. We take an active interest in growing our artists for reasons other than money, but let’s face it, green always talks. Oblivion is booked for studio time beginning in late January for an as yet unnamed album. I’m sure you’ve come up with a few choices. Let’s hear them.”
Silence reigned.
“We just got off tour, for fuck’s sake,” Nick muttered.
“I didn’t realize you’d nominated yourself as the spokesperson of the band.” Lila waved her hand at the table. “But I’m all for group politics. All in agreement say ‘aye’.”
“Aye.” Simon raised his fist.
“Shut the hell up. If you were closer to sober, you wouldn’t want him to speak for shit.”
Nick lifted a brow. “Oh, and who should be our spokesperson, Saint Deacon? You? In between knitting booties and shining your wedding band?”
“Not going there with you.” Deacon directed his attention at the glittery landscape outside the window. “Miserable pricks suck as company.”
Nick kicked back in his chair. “I’m not even sure you have a prick, never mind a miserable one.”
“He must. I’ve seen his missus’s baby bump,” Simon affirmed.
Jazz poked Simon’s sho
ulder. “Shut up. You’re all looking like a bunch of jackasses.”
“How dare you taint Papa Smurf’s reputation, Jasmine?” Nick slid a crushed cigarette pack out of his jeans pocket. “And here I was just about to light up in his honor.”
Lila plucked the remaining cigarette from the pack and tossed it to the floor. The crunching noise that followed proved she’d disposed of it with one of her wicked heels. “Consider that me doing you a favor,” she said to Nick, who hadn’t yet wiped the shock off his face. “First and last time.”
Nick’s lips twisted and he bit off whatever he’d been about to say. “I think it’s you who needs a favor,” he said softly. “Too bad I forgot my extra-long ice pick.”
Simon snorted. “You forgot your extra-long everything, dude.”
“I’ve had enough. Maybe you guys don’t care about this band enough to stop cracking jokes, but I do.” Jazz bounced to her feet, heat and energy vibrating off her in almost visible waves. “We don’t have a name for our album, Lila. We haven’t even made a list. As far as songs go, all we’ve managed to do is gripe at each other. We have some lyrics and chord progressions, but nothing much useable. Our material blows and no one seems interested in changing that fact.”
“Are you interested in changing it?” Lila asked.
Jazz hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you have some songs you’d like considered?”
Jazz’s gaze darted around the table before she crossed her arms and nodded again. “I have some stuff that could work.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?” Nick leaned forward with an insolent smile. But Gray saw the gleam of curiosity in his eyes. He’d never admit to wanting to know what musical notes Jazz had up her sleeve.
“Like ‘Captured’,” Gray said quietly. “That’s a great song. We could both play that in our sleep.”