Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  For a second, that same stupid hope surged. That perhaps this was it. The moment he’d been waiting for since he’d realized he had fallen for the one woman he would never allow himself to have.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. They hurt both of us. Deacon too.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes, her exhaustion evident in even that simple gesture. “I don’t think Simon and Nick understand how much they fractured the band when they accepted that agreement. To them it was just about percentages. They don’t get that they hurt us by not trusting us enough to make us full partners.”

  Of course. She hadn’t been talking about them. She was referring to Oblivion.

  Where he wanted to be himself, as fast as humanly possible.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll catch up with you guys at Sharkey’s soon.”

  Before she could say anything more, he headed out to find Cricket. She and her blow were guaranteed to improve his mood.

  Better yet, maybe he’d finally feel nothing at all.

  Three

  Then

  Gray shielded his eyes with the side of his hand to block the sun’s glare as he searched the pretty tree-lined campus of Shadyside High. Where the hell was she? This was only Jazz’s third day of classes at her new school. How could she have figured out where to hide out so soon? Unless she was a stoner. Their hangout at the back of the parking lot by the gym was pretty obvious. He frowned. He didn’t think so. She didn’t strike him as the druggie type. She was too smart for that.

  He swiveled around, gripping the neck of his guitar loosely in one hand and juggling books and a lunch sack in the other. He’d gotten the guitar from his car, hoping he and Jazz could play during lunch. It was a gorgeous California spring day and he’d packed something that morning for them to eat. Nothing fancy, just bologna and cheese sandwiches and green grapes, but Jazz always acted like he’d given her jewels when he gave her anything. It made him want to give her stuff all the time.

  So where was she?

  Doing another scan, he spun in a circle, his gaze drifting over the scattered groups of students. Several friends called to him, two of them girls he’d dated at one time or another, but he waved them off with a smile and a promise to catch them later. He finally spotted his quarry under a big leafy tree, her guitar in her lap, her dark hair obscuring her face.

  He jogged over to Jazz and dropped down at her side. “What are you doing sitting way over here by yourself?”

  “Gray!” she exclaimed, as if it had been years since they’d seen each other rather than the four hours since he’d dropped her off before first period. She hugged him tightly, pressing her face to his neck for one painfully long moment. Painfully long because she smelled like wildflowers and watermelon and felt like the softest, sweetest heaven in his arms.

  Even more painful because she pulled back.

  Get it together, man. “Hey,” he said huskily before clearing his throat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Oh. I’m just…here.”

  “Great explanation,” he teased, tossing aside his books.

  “It’s a nice day. I like this tree. It’s huge.” She tipped her head back and studied the leafy canopy above her head, so dense that it barely let any sunlight through. “How old do you figure it is?”

  “At least a million years.”

  “Jerk.” She laughed and looked at him again, setting those amazing eyes back on his with a seriousness that pulled at his heart. “Why are you here?”

  “I have to eat lunch, you know. Speaking of that…” He dumped out the contents of the lunch sack on the grass. “Look at this fine feast I put together for us. Deli meat and slightly brown grapes. Check it.”

  She plucked a grape out of the baggie and popped it her mouth. “I’ve never had finer.”

  “Uh-huh. Sweet talk will get you nowhere.”

  “So what would get me somewhere?”

  He cut a glance her way but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She’d set her guitar aside and was now digging through her battered backpack. “I have drinks.” She pulled out two cans of grape soda, tossed him one and opened her own can before taking a long swallow. “I raided the machine this morning.”

  “And you gave me one. I’m honored.”

  “Who else would I give it to?” She grabbed another grape.

  “Oh, I don’t know. All the new friends you must be making. I expected you to be holding court like any good Queen Jazz should do.” He grinned and unwrapped his sandwich.

  She looped an arm around her up-drawn leg and picked up her sandwich. “Don’t think that’ll be happening anytime soon.”

  “I bet you’ve been fighting the adoring hordes off all day.” Fighting the guys off especially. Not that he was thinking about that. She was his foster sister. Completely off-limits, even if she tilted her head and licked grape soda off her lips in such a naturally sensual way that he couldn’t help shifting where he sat.

  “Nope. No fighting off.”

  “So you let them have their way with you?” he asked with a grin, hoping she would grin back. Jazz not smiling seemed like a crime against humanity. The sun dimmed even more on their little patch of grass until he had to do something—anything—to make the sunshine come back. He reached out to tip up her chin, expecting to see her usual smile. Instead he found tears.

  “Hey. Hey,” he murmured, thumbing one of them away. “What’s the matter?”

  She launched herself into his arms, nearly pitching them back onto the grass. “I hate this place.”

  He patted her back awkwardly, his hand still full of bologna. “Huh? Why?”

  She shifted back on her knees and rubbed at her blotchy cheeks. “This school is horrible. I don’t fit in.”

  “Says who?” he asked, setting aside the sandwich in case his arms were needed again.

  “The whole world.”

  “That can’t be true. You’re just imagining things.” Hearing his father’s thread of lawyerly doubt in his own voice, Gray sucked in a breath and tried again. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” She gestured at herself. “Just look at me.”

  He already did far too much. “Yeah, and?”

  “I shouldn’t be here with all these California perfect blondes with tanned skin and mile-long legs. My skin’s so pale you can see my bones. My hair’s almost black. My legs—”

  “Are perfect,” he interrupted quietly, trying to stop his gaze from drifting past the hems of her cutoff jean shorts as she plopped her butt on the grass. But when he glimpsed the smiley-faced daisy she’d drawn on her calf, something twisted inside him that wasn’t desire. For once. “Tell me who upset you. I’ll talk to them.” He’d do more than that if necessary. Gladly. Hell, he’d take on the whole football team if he had to.

  “It’s not just one person.” She swiped at her chin. “It’s everyone. I don’t belong.”

  “Stop it. You belong just where you are. On the grass, with the sun behind you. With a flower drawn in marker on your leg and crushed grapes under your foot.”

  “Oh no.” She winced and pried the baggie out from under her heel. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “I like them better like this.” Taking the baggie, he scooped his fingers through the green mush and sampled. Then he offered her some. “See? Perfect.”

  Hesitantly, she slid her lips over the tips of his fingers and eased back. Smiled. “Yeah. Perfect.”

  Four

  Now

  Jazz stepped inside the VIP room at Sharkey’s and smiled at the plastic palm tree covered with Christmas lights beside the entrance. Nope, it no longer looked like a dive. It also didn’t look like the typical Ripper Records shindig put together by their scarily efficient manager, Lila. In fact, after taking in the attire of the waitresses with their low-cut tops and skimpy red velvet skirts, Jazz did a double take to make sure she hadn’t wandered into a more upscale version of the strip club down the block.

  Curved
leather couches wrapped around low tables bearing flickering candles and lovely displays of poinsettias and greenery that were largely wasted on this bunch. Jazz wondered if Deacon’s new wife Harper, Oblivion’s in-residence chef, had helped out with the menu, because the offerings on the buffet table defied description. God, so much food. Colorful bottles lined the wall behind the glossy bar to her left. It nearly sagged under the festive Christmas lights that seemed to drip from every surface. Long ribbons of lights even hung from the ceiling.

  And people were making out, approximately everywhere.

  A pair of redheads had wrapped themselves around Simon. She’d seen one of them on their bus before. Monica, maybe? Deacon and his wife were kissing much less lewdly than Simon’s reenactment of a porno, but they were tangled up too. Even a couple of the roadies had cozied up with their conquests for the night.

  Love and lust were everywhere. Except anywhere near her. Figured.

  She needed a drink, fast.

  Bellying up to the bar, Jazz plastered on a smile. “I’d like a Zombie, please.”

  The bartender leered. “You like a strong drink, little lady?”

  Oh Christ. One of those. She tried to keep her smile in place. “Sure. I’m really thirsty.”

  He licked his lips. “Oh, I just bet you are.”

  Though she rarely drank, she made an exception on New Year’s Eve. After he deposited her drink in front of her and disappeared down the bar, she took a hefty swallow. She grimaced. Rum. Ugh. She tried again with a smaller sip. Still toxic, but manageable. Why did people do this to themselves again?

  Oh yeah, to have a good time. Right.

  She sucked off a cherry on her swizzle stick and spun around on her stool to survey the packed bar. Familiar faces mixed with strangers. Still, the usual suspects stood out. Simon and his women had stopped playing tongue twister and were doing some jumping thing that Jazz supposed counted as dancing. Deacon and Harper had snagged a high-top table and were sharing a plate of chicken wings. Harper was gesturing wildly and Deacon was just grinning, looking utterly content. The new husband and father-to-be seemed pretty pleased with himself. Who could blame him? He was in the market for a cute little house for his family and he’d left the bed-hopping scene behind. Simon probably never would.

  Donovan, the head of Ripper Records, had opened a bottle of champagne and was smiling as a perky blonde poured for him and a couple of the other execs. Lila watched the entire scene with a cool gleam in her eyes, waving off the bubbly in favor of bottled water. She gripped her ever-present tablet, but she’d ditched her usual business suit for slim trousers, a silky blouse and what looked like real pearls. Everything about her from her wardrobe to her bone structure gave her a haughty, sophisticated air. Even the purse of her lips looked regal.

  Nick was around too, wandering from group to group, never landing anywhere for long. Since the show he’d been texting Jamie from Brooklyn Dawn, their opening act. He claimed he was scoping out the rest of Brooklyn Dawn’s winter touring schedule because they “brought a different dynamic” to the stage—AKA an excess of boobs—but Jazz hadn’t pursued the subject. She had other things on her mind.

  Like where Gray was.

  He’s probably showering with Busty Blonde Babe.

  Jazz pried off her other cherry and chewed, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach. The sensation had started in her chest, right where her racing heart was doing its best impression of a kick drum.

  He wasn’t coming. Why had she pretended otherwise?

  So what if it was New Year’s? He didn’t know she’d made a resolution to stop dancing around what she wanted and finally go for it. The it being Gray. She’d worn her version of something classy—a little black dress, patterned tights and chunky heels—and she intended to march up to him at midnight, grab that rock-cut jaw and kiss the holy hell out of him. Then she would strut away.

  Lots of marching and strutting. The plan hinged on that. If he followed, well, they’d just see where things went. If he didn’t…

  If he didn’t, she was going to throw up this disgusting drink and sob herself to sleep. Probably right on the bathroom floor.

  She hiccupped and took another sip. Maybe if she kept drinking, she wouldn’t feel so miserable. Even nausea was better than this. All she kept picturing was Gray and that woman. Him smiling at her and her fingers stroking him for that instant before he tugged her away.

  “Give me another one,” she said to the bartender as soon as she’d finished the first. It took everything she possessed not to look at her watch. It was getting closer to midnight. He wasn’t going to show.

  Maybe it was just as well.

  Every time one of her friends stopped by, she made small talk and giggled, fulfilling her role as group cheerleader/clown. But she didn’t try to get her pals to stick around. For once, she didn’t do anything possible to avoid being alone. She put on a good show of being Ms. Happy Go Lucky, and a lot of the time it was even true. But ever since the contract debacle that had almost leveled the band, a lot of her happy had gone missing. Considering Gray’s no-show, her lucky seemed to be on the lam too.

  She swallowed more of her cocktail. All signs were pointing to one inevitable conclusion: she wasn’t going to have someone to kiss at midnight. At least the someone she wanted to kiss. And if she couldn’t kiss Gray, she’d just keep her lips attached to the rim of her glass.

  “Whatcha drinking?”

  She turned her head at the voice near her ear. Nick. More friend than foe, most of the time. “It’s called a Zombie. I looked it up online. They said after three of them you’ll need a stretcher,” she shouted over the music and laughter. “This is number two.”

  He leaned in and sniffed. “Sounds promising.”

  “Can’t say I’m a fan.”

  “So why are you drinking it?” He looked around for an empty stool, which was basically a joke. The place was packed from wall to wall. Giving up, he edged an elbow on the bar and awkwardly eased himself between her stool and her neighbor’s. The position put him between her legs—a place he’d been before. On his own, and with Gray.

  Swallowing hard, she peered at her fruity drink. Best not to look at him right then. She was certain her face had to be six shades of red. An experienced woman of the world, she was not. She could fake it with the best of them though. At least when her heart wasn’t breaking.

  “Maybe I want to get drunk,” she said under her breath.

  “Then be more decisive about it.” He ordered two more Zombies, making her smile in spite of herself. He set her spare drink aside and tipped back his own. Grimaced. “Well, that’s interesting. A bit girly for me, but I’ve had worse.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Back in the projects, hell yeah. Simon and I had our drugstore special. Every cheap bottle of shit we could buy, all mixed together. Guaranteed to make you puke.” Because he was grinning, she grinned too. The alcohol was starting to swim through her bloodstream, loosening the muscles in her shoulders and back that were tensed from their set.

  And from picturing Gray in the arms of a sexy blonde with breasts that made up approximately four of hers. Which was saying something, because the boob fairy had made a stop at Jazz’s house too.

  Wanting visual affirmation, Jazz studied the cleavage popping over the top of her dress and sighed. She’d never complained about her cup size before tonight, but perhaps an extra handful or two would snag Gray’s interest. Couldn’t hurt. He’d barely even looked at her chest when they’d had their threesome with Nick.

  “Are you checking yourself out?” Nick sounded amused.

  “Maybe. Are you done checking out the sexy brunette guitarist from Brooklyn Dawn?”

  “Nah. It’s not like that. Brooklyn Dawn might be doing a few shows with us if we can make our schedules mesh.” He fingered her hair. “Though I do have a weakness for brunettes.”

  Yeah, she wasn’t going to acknowledge that comment.

  She brought her gl
ass back to her mouth, sloshing some over the side. She licked the alcohol off the back of her hand and glanced up to see Nick eyeing her too closely.

  “Need some help with that?” His voice matched his gaze. Warm heading toward hot.

  She waited for her belly to flutter. God knows it had fluttered plenty around him last spring. She’d had a crush on Nick that had quickly turned into more and just as quickly flamed out. But now there was nothing. She started to reply, then realized there wasn’t a chance he’d be able to hear her over the din. How had the bar gotten so much noisier and more crowded in the last few minutes? She couldn’t even find Simon and his bright red wig anymore. All she could see was Nick looming a little too close, his golden eyes too intent.

  Someone’s snorting giggle snapped them out of the moment. Thank God. She wouldn’t have kissed him, but she really didn’t want to get stuck in the position of having to turn him down. Her own feelings were entirely too bruised. If she could distract him from whatever madness had sent him pinging back her way, that would be much better.

  “Um, Nick…” Her attention veered right and the words died on her lips. Gray stood at the end of the bar, arms crossed. He didn’t look happy.

  That made two of them.

  “Let me up.” She stumbled off the stool, barreling into Nick in the process.

  “Hey.” Nick laughed as he caught her arms. He smelled of smoke and leather, the scents she most often associated with him. “Guess I shouldn’t have gotten you another one. You’re already locked and loaded.” He spoke close to her ear. “You tired of this yet? We could—”

  Gray yanked hard on his shoulder. “Get the hell away from her, Crandall.”

  Nick turned his head, but he didn’t look pissed as much as amused again. “Duffy. Back to this, are we?”

  Jazz put a hand on each of their chests, ignoring the call of her fingers to curl into Gray’s shirt. He’d swapped his leather vest for a black T-shirt that clung to his pecs. “Guys, tonight’s not the night.”