Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  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 him. 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 on when 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.”

  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.

  Instead 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 mother. 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 wa
s 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 spaces. His smile 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.

  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 superstitious, 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 boyfriend 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 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 question 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. Seeing the scene unfolding was even better than hearing it.

  Gray sat on the stool in front of the lighted mirror and Simon perched on the dressing table, one of his hands tilting up Gray’s face and the other deftly applying mascara to Gray’s eyelashes.

  At least she assumed it was deft until she screeched and Simon’s hand slipped across Gray’s cheek, leaving a giant blue-black smear.

  “Jesus, woman, a little forewarning, hey?” Disgusted, Simon grabbed a makeup wipe and attacked Gray’s face. Gray shoved him away but Simon wouldn’t be deterred, ambushing him with a knee damn near to the groin to hold him still while he cleaned up the mascara. “Stop squirming! If I crush a nut, it’ll be your own damn fault.”

  “Hey baby, what are you doin’ in here? Wanna see me get maimed?” The grin Gray flashed her made her last bit of frustration about the song drain away.

  Actually it was a tossup between the panty-dropping grin and the smokin’ eye makeup.

  “Holy fuck, you look hot in guyliner.” She patted her chin. “Just making sure I’m not drooling.”

  “Come here and sit on my lap.”

  “Oh hell no. This space is not sanctioned for ménages and shit.” Simon dropped the mascara wand and backed up, palms raised. “You’re on your own, Ghosty boy.”

  “I think we can take it from here.” She smacked Simon as he passed and giggled at his growl. “Ah, I do so love my guys.”

  It was Gray’s turn to growl playfully. He hauled her onto his lap. “Guys, plural? I think not.” His mouth was on hers before he’d finished the statement.

  “I’m outta here,” Simon said.

  Jazz waved halfheartedly at him over Gray’s head and rubbed her lips over Gray’s, absorbing his low groan. She’d never get tired of kissing him. Or feeling his wicked fingers trailing up her thighs. He wandered past her exposed garters to her flippy short skirt and underneath to where she already burned for him.

  “Mine,” she whispered, sinking her hands into his thick dark hair. It was so long now and she didn’t even care that it was a bit crispy with the product he’d put in it. All she cared was that she had her hands on him, and he had his hands on her.

  All over her.

  “Yours,” he agreed, reaching past her to grab the mascara off the dressing table. “I look a bit cockeyed at the moment, but if you still want to claim me…”

  “Fuck yes. Since when do you do the whole guyliner thing? In high school, you refused.”

  “Gotta change things up now and then. Don’t want to get stale.”

  “No chance there.” She eased back and studied his face, her heart speeding up even more with one glimpse at his smudgy gray eyes. “You are a little lopsided though.” She grinned and took the mascara. “Let me fix you.”

  He palmed her ass under her skirt and settled her right on his stiffening cock. “Oh sweetheart, we don’t have nearly enough time for that. Unfortunately.”

  “Funny guy.” Catching her lip between her teeth, she uncapped the tube and took an experimental stroke with the mascara. It was only when she had to apply the makeup that she realized his body held a faint tremor, almost indistinguishable to the naked eye. But when she needed him to hold still, that slight shaking made a world of difference.

  “Hey, are you nervous?” She laughed, though she didn’t find it amusing at all.

  He’d been performing for over a decade, and she’d never seen him with anything but nerves of steel. Crowds didn’t rattle him. Being in the center of a bunch of screaming fans rattled him even less. Despite what the members of Oblivion probably would’ve guessed based on his disappearing acts and sometimes sullen behavior over the past year, Gray was a showman through-and-through.

  “No. Of course not.” His laught
er sounded fake to her ears. “Why would I be?”

  “I don’t know. So why are you shaking?”

  He went still. “I’m not.”

  You are. But she didn’t say it, because he seemed to be mostly better now. He must be anxious for some reason. Perhaps it had to do with performing her song. Could be he thought she wouldn’t like it.

  No wonder he didn’t want to share it with her ahead of time if he was wigging out that much.

  “That’s better.” She gave him an easy smile. “Tilt your head back.” Once he complied, she swept the mascara over his lashes a couple more times, smudging it a little beneath the lash line. “Why do boys always have such thick lashes? It’s completely unfair.”

  “We need something to lure in you ladies.”

  She inched back on his lap and gave him a dispassionate glance, scanning for flaws. There weren’t any. His bone structure could’ve made angels weep. His eyes were sexy and beguiling. His mouth…oh, his mouth.

  And then there was his cock, hardening more beneath her with every passing moment.

  “Don’t think you have to worry about luring anyone, Duffy.” She glanced down at tonight’s costume. He tended to wear some outlandish things compared to the rest of them. Tonight he had on just a pair of navy suspenders and black lace-up leather pants with heavy black boots. She capped the mascara and snapped one of his suspenders. “You’re not actually going out there like this, are you? Where’s your shirt?”

  “It’s gets hot out there. Why bother? This saves me laundry.” He hooked his hand around the back of her neck. “Now shut up and kiss me.”

  She couldn’t help laughing as she covered his mouth with hers. He kicked his foot off the floor and sent their stool spinning, making her shriek and hold on tighter. When they finally stopped, he grinned up at her, the dancing lights in his eyes reminding her of the impish Gray from so many years ago. The one she rarely saw traces of lately.

  She traced her fingertip down his nose. “I love seeing you like this. I missed you.”