by Cari Quinn
Nick lifted his hands, palms out. “Hey, I managed to collaborate with the guy today. He’s got some chops.”
Her surprise dried the leftover dampness in her eyes. Damn, that was some really good pot if it had her reading this situation all wrong. Perhaps he was actually being a dick and she was still buzzing enough not to notice. “Swear you’re not messing with me?”
“I swear. We came up with some good stuff. We were at it for hours.” At her flush, he laughed. “Sorry, bad choice of words considering. But we’re dealing with each other.”
“Good.”
He shrugged. “Not saying we’ll ever be pals, but maybe we can keep it about the music and leave the rest behind.”
“We all want the same thing. For Oblivion to rock.”
“True enough. Hey, I’m inviting a friend over tonight. Serious hot tub time.” He flashed her a crooked grin. “You should stop by earlier and we can all party together. Sound good?”
* § *
“You should stop by earlier and we can all party together. Sound good?”
From just outside the doorway, Gray heard only those two sentences, but they were more than enough. He stepped inside the kitchen and tried to keep his face impassive in spite of the cozy scene he found. Jazz wearing just a robe, her hair tumbled around her sleepy eyes and her mouth still swollen from his kisses.
And Nick was fucking naked from the waist up—and the waist down, something that became apparent when the other man stood to meet Gray’s silent challenge.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Gray asked, blinking away the haze from his mind. He’d crashed hard and slept better than he had in weeks—maybe ever—but now the light made his eyes hurt. “You’re sitting around wearing fucking dishtowels while you’re talking to my girl?” And making plans with her tonight right under my nose.
“Gray,” Jazz began, pushing aside the little snack the two of them had been sharing. “Don’t do this. Nick’s cool.”
Gray slouched against the doorway, fighting every instinct that demanded he cross the room and tug Jazz into his arms like a kid with his favorite toy. But he wouldn’t do that, because if he and Jazz were going to have a real chance, he had to trust that what was between them could withstand anything.
Even Nick freaking Crandall.
“Is he now?” Amazing that he managed to sound so calm when everything inside him was raging out of control. Just seeing Jazz with her cheeks and neck softly pink from his own stubble burn made all kinds of crazy intense protective instincts surge to the forefront.
“Yes. We were just talking. He knows about us now,” she added, somewhat unnecessarily considering her very presence in their cabin at this time of day. “It’s all good.”
Somehow he doubted that. Gray swiveled his head to give Nick a steady look. “That so?”
“Sure. It’s not like I hadn’t figured it out the first night we were here, what with all the screaming.” Smiling blandly, Nick leaned against the wraparound counter and cocked his hip, probably to show off his barely covered attributes.
“Screaming’s a bit of an overstatement,” Jazz mumbled, making a sandwich out of her cheese before popping it into her mouth.
If he had his way, she’d scream twice as loud next time to wipe the smile off that smug bastard’s face.
Gray pushed his fists into the pockets of his robe. “So what’s this about a party tonight?”
“I invited a friend over. No orgy yet, though I also invited Jazz.” Nick licked his lips. “And you, of course.”
“Sorry to get in your way, man.”
“It’s kind of a habit of yours, isn’t it?”
“Nick,” Jazz said, not looking at either of them.
Gray plastered on his own thin smile. “I think we’ll be busy tonight. Thanks but no thanks.”
“Christ, this is way too much drama before breakfast. I’m outta here,” Nick said, pushing his way past Gray into the hall.
Gray waited until Nick’s bedroom door slammed shut before he inhaled, long and slow. The residual burn in his nose made him shut his eyes.
Every step forward with Nick always resulted in two back. Not kicking the guy’s ass for openly coveting Jazz was bad enough. But knowing that he was silently—and not so silently—judging him, and waiting for him to fail so that he could swoop in and be the savior dumped even more gasoline on the fire.
Worse, he couldn’t help wondering if the reason Nick’s condemnation sliced so deep was because it echoed everything replaying on a constant loop in his head.
When he was sure he had a hold on his ragged emotions, he pulled out a chair and sat down beside Jazz. Rather than speak, he gestured for her to get on his lap. He half expected her to decline, but she sighed and folded herself against his chest, curling her small fist in the vee of his robe. Right over his heart.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, stroking her tangled hair.
“For what?”
For so much more than I can ever say. “That this is so unpleasant for you.”
Her quiet laughter took him by surprise. “It’s a clusterfuck for all of us, not just me.” She straightened her fingers, brushing the smattering of hair on his chest. “This is all my fault.”
“No.”
“Yes. I knew better than to bring him into the middle of us.” She kissed the dent in his chin. “I know you don’t believe it, but it’s most unfair to him. We’re happy. He’s not. Not because of me, I don’t think, just in general.”
He stared out the window above the sink at the towering firs tipped in morning silver. “I can’t think about his happiness when you’re in my arms. Honor no longer exists.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair. “All I care about is making you mine.”
Her lips tipped up on one side. “You did that years ago. All the years in between were us just getting it right.”
It wasn’t that simple. Couldn’t be that simple no matter how much he wished he could rewrite history. Yesterday had provided yet another example why not.
Cricket had met up with him a couple of hours before Jazz arrived, and she’d doled out more blow than expected. It had helped that he’d given her a down payment on what he owed—also known as two-thirds of his savings—but she’d also been surprisingly understanding about the Nick situation. And when she’d hit on him again and he’d mumbled out an explanation about Jazz, she’d backed off.
She probably thought he was an idiot. As long as she kept supplying him, he really didn’t give a shit.
Regardless, he needed to start trying to cut back. After last night, he’d proven he couldn’t be trusted when he’d done a line. Not only had he encouraged Jazz to smoke with him, he’d been high enough to think that trying Jere’s coke-on-pussy trick was a good idea. Thank God she hadn’t taken him up on the idea of trying something more adventurous.
Next time, maybe she wouldn’t turn him down. He knew all too well that he could manipulate her. She trusted him. Which meant he had to be responsible enough not to put her in another situation where she could be harmed when he was too amped to know better.
He loved her, and dammit, he needed to keep her safe. Even from himself.
Especially from himself.
Closing his eyes, he rubbed his hand between her shoulder blades. The way she cuddled against him made him feel like a hero. Too bad he wasn’t anything close. “I like the way you think.”
“I am pretty smart.”
“No arguments there.” He paused. “Do you think he’ll tell Lila?”
She sat up straighter and yet again he had cause to regret his hasty words. “I didn’t even think of her. I was more worried about—”
“Him,” Gray said softly. “Because that’s who you are. You hate hurting anyone.” When she didn’t say more, he let out another breath. “I know you cared about him. Care,” he corrected. “It’s okay. I don’t expect you to deny your feelings.”
“I’m not, at least when it comes to him. I care about him, yes, but I never loved h
im. We weren’t about that.” She sighed and toyed with the ends of his hair. “But you and me… God. We screwed up so badly. If we’d just been honest with each other at the beginning and pushed aside all the unimportant stuff, we could’ve been a real family by now.”
Her eyes implored him, encouraging him to open up. It was so fucking tempting. If he just told her what he was dealing with—
No. Fuck no. She’d shut down on him. She wouldn’t understand. Worse, she might try to make it into more of an issue than it really was. Maybe even bring up rehab or something crazy. He couldn’t miss time with the band.
He had it under control. Sure, it didn’t always seem that way, but he hadn’t truly tried to stop yet. He still could. It was all his choice.
“Is that what you want?” he asked.
“I’m supposed to say no, right? To pretend all I care about is the band and my music and living wild while I can.”
“You’re supposed to be honest.” Like you are? He squelched the voice in his head, letting his galloping heartbeat drown it out.
“Being in the band makes me so happy. I feel like I finally have a place that’s mine. Where I belong. But I’d give it up in a hot second for you.” She cupped his cheek. “For us.”
His fingers tightened in her hair and he closed his eyes. His suppressed confession tasted bitter on the back of his tongue, like a pill he couldn’t force down no matter how many times he tried. “We can have it all. I promise.”
“Tell Lila that.”
“I think it’ll be pretty obvious to her what’s going once we go on stage in a few days.” Brushing a kiss over her ear, he murmured, “I’m going to sing your song to you.”
“The pussy one? No way.” Her shock made him laugh so hard that his stomach ached.
“What better way to tell the whole world that we’re together?” He nudged her upright on his lap and shifted the chair closer to the table so she could brace her back against it. He unknotted her robe and spread it open, giving her a slow smile as he traced his fingertip from her guitar pick necklace to the silky skin between her breasts. “Other than the screams you’re going to give me when you come.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Then
“Okay, from the top. And don’t come in so quick after the bridge. Build up to it.” Gray rubbed his arm over his sweaty forehead. “Follow my lead.”
From behind her kit, Jazz huffed her damp hair out of her eyes. They’d practiced the same song ten times already, and Gray was never satisfied. She’d been all excited to not only get a chance to write a song with him but to show off her burgeoning skills on the skins—hopefully for him first then his bandmates in Krystal Sword—but her interest had plummeted fast.
She got being a perfectionist. She was too. She’d been practicing the drums a couple of hours a day for months. But for fuck’s sake, his band wasn’t big time. They’d only played like five real shows at clubs. So what if she proved her chops to Gray and he got her an audition? It wasn’t as if this would ever actually be her career or anything.
The reality was that she’d probably end up at the waffle house she’d applied to last month, though she knew the chances of getting a part-time position there before she turned fifteen were slim. But she needed to start saving up cash. It wouldn’t be long before Gray would be going away to college at Berkeley to major in their music program, which meant he wouldn’t be around to keep slipping her money in spite of her protests.
Dammit, she couldn’t think about Gray leaving. Couldn’t even let the idea float through her mind. If she did, she’d screw up the practice even worse.
So she’d think about getting a job at the waffle house. She’d start there part-time and most likely end up full-time at some point. Eventually she’d start cursing life and “the man” like her mom. School sure wouldn’t pan out for her. Gray was the brainiac, not her. She hated the monotony of her classes. If she had to do one more algebra problem—
“Jesus, Jazz, you in there?” Gray snapped his fingers and she jolted hard enough that she almost fell off her stool. “We need to get this song right.”
“Yeah, yeah. Hit it.”
“You sure you’re ready? You keep zoning.”
Her dissatisfaction bubbled over. “Hell yeah I keep zoning. I don’t get the point why this matters so much. Music is supposed to be fun. You’re turning it into drudgery.”
“No, I’m turning it into what your talent deserves. What the hell do you intend to do with your life? You skip class constantly. Your grades are in the toilet. This is your way out.”
His words slapped her in the face and in reaction, she slammed her sticks on the cymbals. “Better,” he said, lips curving. “That’s the kind of emotion I want to see.”
“You wouldn’t know what to do with all of my emotion, Grayson Duffy.” She flexed her bare foot on the pedal and gripped the sticks tighter, rolling her shoulders. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Want to switch songs? We could try ‘Placebo’—”
“No. We’re doing ‘Counterstrike’. Go.”
Rather than seeming pissed, his smile only grew. “You’re adorable when you’re pissed.” At her growl, he laughed and strummed his way into the song. “On three.”
She was already counting, losing herself in the building rhythm. She shut her eyes and gave herself over to the song, letting his fast finger work carry her into the heart of it. Like Hansel from the fairy tale sprinkling a trail of breadcrumbs in the forest, he opened up the melody, taking her right up to the bridge before easing off to let her take over. He maintained the backbeat of the song while she slammed the skins, channeling her frustration into creating that floor-shaking sound.
Hell yeah, the floor was shaking. The walls quaking. Everything around her trembling and dissolving under the focused pressure of her hands.
Her voice lifted with his, their harmony soaring to the rafters. Vibrating at the pinnacle like a heartbeat before that inevitable drop that left her shaking as the last notes from his guitar faded away.
She opened her eyes and he was in front of her, his grin a kilowatt of light capable of illuminating the darkest space. It crowded out the confusion and frustration inside her, leaving behind only joy.
“You did it. You fucking killed it, baby.” He came around the kit and hoisted her up off her stool, giving her no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck. Like a pair of drunken monkeys, they spun around the room until they were so dizzy that they fell back on the sofa, laughing.
Tossing back her sweat-soaked hair, she sank into the cushions and let her exhaustion win. And smiled as his fingers crept across the space between them and forged a link. Such a small, seemingly insignificant gesture.
Nothing had ever meant more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Now
Jazz hopped from foot to foot backstage, grimacing more than a little at the stickiness of the floor. Her own fault for needing to play the drums barefoot. Not that she’d let a bit of grime change her show routine. Musicians were notoriously suspicious, and she wore the badge proudly. Especially since she was pretty sure she might ralph at any time.
She rarely got nervous before shows anymore, but tonight she was. That probably had to do with Gray’s declaration that he was going to sing his song to her onstage, sight unseen. Or unheard. She’d only gotten a few verses out of the jerk, and those were plenty dirty. She couldn’t even imagine what the rest would be like.
But Nick could. And Simon. And Deak. Gray had slipped their bassist and lead singer the change in their usual setlist and he’d banned her from anything but a music-only rehearsal of that song, saying he wanted to get her “natural reaction” to the words during the live performance. Apparently Nick had helped him refine the song even before Deak and Simon had gotten a look at it. Everyone in Oblivion had contributed.
Except her.
And, you know, there wasn’t anything weird at all about her ex-boyfriend and her current boyf
riend collaborating on an ode to having sex with her, or some variation on that theme. She couldn’t be sure since she hadn’t heard the stupid thing yet. The melody was freaking hot though. Lots of buildup on the guitar and a low, throbbing drumbeat that had made her squirm on her stool even without the matching lyrics.
Damn, she wanted to find out what he’d written.
She’d tried to tamp down on her frustration all afternoon. They’d agreed to throw a couple of new songs into the setlist to give the crowd at Tribute, a medium-sized club halfway between Santa Monica and San Francisco, an extra special treat. Lila had been appraised of the setlist change, with the exception of Gray and Nick’s last minute addition, “Sugar Kiss.”
That was their showpiece. Their crème brûlée.
Her Mylanta moment.
Screw it, she couldn’t wait anymore to find out some of the song. If it was for her, she shouldn’t be the last to know. If she had to, she’d put on her best pouty face and maybe flash a little boob Gray’s way. She had her own bag of naughty tricks, and she wasn’t above using them.
She marched toward the men’s dressing room, well aware that only Simon and Gray still remained inside. Nick had vanished with one of the more regular groupies, Tori, and from the look on the brunette’s face, she’d been prepared to take Nick’s mind completely off the impending show. Deak had disappeared with his phone, probably to check on Harper.
Leaving her two victims behind.
After knocking on the dressing room door, she pushed it open, her statement dying on her lips as she heard the conversation taking place within.
“Okay, now you gotta layer the second layer on top of the first. Curl your wrist on the downsweep. That’ll get more of it to cling to the end of your lashes.”
“It’s clumping. Is it supposed to clump like that?”
“Oh Christ, let me do it. Look up.”
Covering her mouth, she stuck her head around the door to get a visual to go with the dialogue. It was even better seeing it than hearing it.