by Quinn, Cari
Nick snorted. “Lick yourself.”
“I’m not quite that flexible. Those Pilates classes can only do so much.”
Lila sighed. “It’s a song about giving oral sex to a female. Not sure if powdering you would have the same effect, Kagan.” She tapped her nails on her cheek, her eyes brightening. “Actually, maybe that’s a good idea. Jasmine can get up a ladder and dump the sugary substance on Simon. It’ll be a trend-setting role reversal. I like it. Good thinking.”
Before anyone could blink, she popped to her feet. “I’m going to run this by Donovan and get a vid shoot set up. Kagan, don’t cut your hair. Women like it long.”
Nick touched the ends of his own short cut. “I don’t seem to have any trouble.”
“Discriminating women,” she corrected, skirting the table and heading for the door. “Keep up the good work, Oblivion. Time’s running down and I want enough material to take into the studio next week, so don’t start slacking now.” The door clicked shut behind her.
Gray unfolded his long frame from the chair and had taken two strides toward the door when Jazz called him back. “Gray, wait.”
“Guess this is our cue to leave.” Nick grabbed a handful of the back of Simon’s shirt and shoved him toward the door.
Deak shot her a sympathetic glance and followed them, shutting the door with a decisive snap.
She drew up her legs and hugged her knees to her chest. One of the benefits to being small was that she could imitate a pretzel when she wanted to hide from the world.
Except she never wanted to hide from him.
“I’m not going to apologize, because I don’t know what I did,” she said quietly. “If you expect me not to be sexualized, then you shouldn’t have ever invited me into this band. That’s part of the rock and roll image. As you well fucking know. Girls scream after you all the time, and I’ve never put a bag over your head.”
His silence felt as brutal as a slap. No, actually, it hurt worse. She’d been slapped before. Mrs. Beetle, her second foster mother, hadn’t had a problem with meting out her form of justice with an open palm.
This sting lasted longer.
After a moment, he heaved out a breath and dropped into the seat he’d vacated. He locked his hands behind his head, staring off somewhere she couldn’t see.
“Nothing to say, huh?” She swallowed hard and picked up the cinched purse she’d set down beside her chair. “Okay. Guess that’s that.”
He let her get to the door before he spoke. “It feels like I’ve shared you my entire life. Is it so wrong of me to want you to myself for a little while?”
“No.” She closed her eyes and gripped her purse tighter. “But it’s wrong to expect more from me than I expect from you. If this situation had been reversed and Lila had asked you to do something crazy for a video, I would’ve bitten my tongue.”
His laughter scraped down her spine, as cold as an icicle. “Yeah, well, guess what? You’re better than I am, in so many ways.”
“Not in my eyes.”
“Your eyes aren’t getting an accurate picture, sweetheart.” Instead of sounding sarcastic, he sounded tired. So very exhausted.
So was she.
“No, perhaps I’m only seeing what I want to. Just like every time I think we can put what happened with Nick behind us, it comes back again to kick us in the ass.”
“We’re in the same band. It’s not like I can forget when he’s staring me in the face.”
“Or when you’re collaborating with him on songs about doing me? Ouch. Awkward. For me anyway. The two of you seemed cool with it.”
“Jazz—”
“Forget it.” Too annoyed to hold back her frustration, she yanked open the door. “I’m going back to the spa to see if they’ll fit me with a shroud so no one notices I have tits.”
* * *
For two days, Jazz didn’t respond to his calls. Oh, she didn’t ignore him. She’d never be that cruel. She spoke to him civilly, even laughing as she regaled him with Simon’s latest adventures involving a glycolic peel and a pedicurist. She’d gotten a full-body detoxifying seaweed wrap and purchased another dress. This one was champagne-colored, like her hair.
God, he missed her hair and all the rest of her.
She explained not visiting by saying that she and the guys were in a good rhythm with their songwriting and she didn’t want to alter their streak. The underlying message, however, was obvious. She hadn’t forgiven him for his highhanded tactics and she wasn’t going to bend until he proved he would bend too.
It was probably smarter that they faced this issue now. They were so new, and it was bound to be a problem going forward. One way or another, he’d figure out how to kill his jealousy. They were both part of the band. And if Lila had suggested the sugar thing to him, he would’ve laughed but he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Because he was a guy, and that made it okay.
It was oh so fucking different when it was his Jazz. Finally she was his.
Right now it didn’t feel that way. He hated not being able to touch her and hold her close late at night when, after a long night writing and playing with Nick, the shakes came back. They pushed him out of bed to the baggie he hid in his shaving kit. The first night without her, he resisted.
The second, he gave in.
The next morning they had rehearsals for their show that night at Rave, another medium-sized club outside of LA. Somehow even the tension between him and Jazz didn’t affect the band’s vibe. It helped that the material the spa crew had brought to the table was really good, especially “Nailed.” Jamming together buffed away some of the rough spots. By the end of the session, he and Jazz were even laughing.
He headed back to the cabin to grab his stuff before heading out to Rave in a much better mood than when he’d left that morning. Until his cell rang while he was tugging on that night’s outfit of extremely tight jeans, a leather vest and the new hat Jazz had found for him. He smiled, clutching the hat in one hand while he reached for his phone with the other.
She couldn’t be that pissed if she was still buying him stuff, right?
A quick glance at the Caller ID made his smile fade. He didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”
“Gray Duffy. Nice to speak to Oblivion’s rhythm guitarist in the flesh.”
Gray’s shoulders tensed. “Do I know you?”
“No. Not yet. But I know of you.” The male’s voice held a thread of menace made even more potent by its deceptive pleasantness. “You’re a very talented young man. Capable of achieving many things, assuming you don’t stray from the path you’re on.”
“Who the hell is this?”
“Don’t curse at me, boy. Right now I’m the only thing standing between you and a shattered hand. Both hands. That would be truly unfortunate.”
Cricket. Obviously this had to do with her. Christ, how much did he owe altogether? Not a small amount, but not one so large that the spinecrackers should’ve been circling.
Though, fuck, what did he really know about how this crap worked? He’d spent the bulk of his life in frigging Vista View. He’d never even smoked weed in high school. For God’s sake, back then he’d practically been a Boy Scout, and deep down, he probably still was.
He was way, way out of his depth.
“I know you’re looking for money,” he said, running calculations on what was left in his savings account.
So much for trying to hang onto a portion of his money for rent. Not going to happen. He needed to clear his debts, fast. He’d pick up a couple of shifts at the transport company next week once they were done at the cabin. That would help. And maybe he could take one of his spare guitars down to the pawn shop. He hated to do it, but better to get rid of one of them than to look over his shoulder constantly.
As for what he’d do without the access to blow, well, he’d just have to ration what he had left, that was all. He wanted to cut back. Hell, he had to, if he intended to have Jazz in his life. So he’d just start l
imiting himself now—
The other man chuckled. “Money, yes. But I’m guessing you don’t have a lot of access to that right now. Something you do have is a very pretty girlfriend.”
Gray’s throat closed and he sank to the mattress, crushing the hat Jazz had bought him against his thigh. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” His voice came out shakier than he’d planned so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Don’t know where you’re getting your information, man, but it’s all wrong.”
“Oh, really? So that sweet little drummer girl you were kissing onstage the other night at your concert, she’s just a friend, right? Doesn’t matter at all to you.” He lowered his voice. “So you won’t mind if I—”
“Don’t. Just don’t.” He could barely breathe through the ice coating his lungs. “Look, I’m going to get you your money. Cricket told me I needed to get her a third of what I owe her.”
“Try half, asshole. And the rest better not be far behind, or I won’t be making phone calls to communicate.”
“Okay, okay, half. Just give me time to get it together. I promise you’ll get what you’re owed, but you gotta give me the space to make it happen. Oblivion’s management is intense. They watch us like hawks.”
“They aren’t the only ones watching you. Don’t make me regret giving you more time.” The other man clicked off, leaving Gray staring at the phone.
Christ. This couldn’t be happening.
What the hell had he been thinking, instigating a public display like he had with Jazz the other night? He’d practically put a goddamn target on her back. He hadn’t forgotten that Cricket had indicated there would be consequences if he didn’t make more of a dent in his debt. Sure, he’d paid some of what he’d owed, but he’d also gotten more coke. He was probably more in the hole now than he’d been before he’d practically emptied his saving account.
Even so, he could deal with paying half of it back, fast. Half was doable. He had a bit of money left, and he had his spare guitars, the ones he rarely played anymore. Every one of them counted as one of his prized possessions, but that didn’t matter right now. The important thing was to show them they could trust him, that he was making a good faith effort to get them their money. Then he could catch his breath a little while he took on a few extra shifts at the transport company.
It wasn’t like Deak and the rest of the band would toss him out on his ear if he was temporarily short on rent next month. Hell, he could even ask Jazz for—
No. He hissed out a breath and smoothed out the hat she’d given him. Real fucking drug addicts hit up their girlfriends for cash. That wasn’t him. Would never be him. He’d handle the first part of what he owed and figure out the rest later.
At this moment, he had a show to worry about. The car would be picking up him and Nick anytime now, and he couldn’t let any of this shit affect his performance. Jazz would be watching.
They would be watching, and they would be way too pleased to see they’d rattled him. He’d be damned if he gave them the satisfaction.
He set aside the hat and headed into the bathroom for a quick shave. Deliberately, he pushed aside the baggie of blow, not wanting to even be tempted. But fuck, just the feel of the powder sifting between his fingers and the plastic was enough to make him press his fist to his forehead.
How was he supposed to get through tonight without the help? They’d threatened Jazz. The idea of them—him, whomever the caller was—looking at her, even thinking about her, made Gray want to throw things. Rip the mirror off the freaking wall and pound his knuckles into the glass until they were as bloody and destroyed as the pieces of his mind.
Breathing hard, he braced his hands on the edge of the sink and faced his reflection. His bloodshot eyes looked like they belonged to a druggie.
Because you are one. Everyone knows but you.
And her. Fuck, he couldn’t let her know.
It was bad enough they’d smoked together. That he could brush off as just partying. Just a good time. It had never been the way he’d had a good time, but as long as she didn’t think more of it, he could rationalize. But this…it would kill her to know he had people threatening him because of his drug debts.
Threatening her.
Hands shaking, he took out his shaving cream. He went through the rest of the task by rote, finally returning to the bedroom to grab the hat and his wallet. At the last second, he grabbed the small folding knife he’d bought after Cricket had started her not-so-subtle threats and stuffed it in his pocket. It wasn’t enough. How could he protect Jazz with that? He needed a gun.
He threw back his head and sucked in a long, slow breath. No, he didn’t need a gun. Didn’t need to panic, either. As long as he got them the money he’d promised, he had nothing to worry about. Just in case, he’d keep Jazz close to his side.
“Yo, man, you coming? Ride’s here,” Nick called through Gray’s closed bedroom door.
“Yeah.” Gray opened the door and clamped his fingers around the knob. The words were out before he could stop them. “Look, I need you to do me a favor. And I don’t intend to say more about it than this, so don’t bother asking.”
Nick kicked back against the wall in his best don’t give a shit pose, eyebrow lifted. “Okay.”
“I know you care about Jazz, and her well-being is the most important thing. Just keep more of an eye on her than usual for the next few days, all right?” Gray swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat. How had he gotten to this point? “I’m going to make sure I’m with her as much as possible, but if I’m not, I need to know you’ll have her back.”
He expected Nick to argue. To demand to know how deep he’d gotten. If the positions had been reversed, he probably would have. But from the resigned lock to Nick’s jaw and his hooded eyes, he already knew.
Nick nodded and walked down the hall. Abruptly, he stopped. “You owe it to her—if not yourself—to end this.”
Gray hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t know if Nick was referring to the coke or to his relationship with Jazz, period. “I’ve got it under control.”
Nick glanced back and smiled, the warmth never reaching his eyes. Then he kept going out the front door, letting it thud shut in his wake.
* * *
“How y’all doing tonight, LA?” Simon’s shout to the crowd at Rave made them scream even louder. “Who’s ready to fucking rock?”
From behind the kit, Jazz flexed her foot on the pedal. Something felt off and she couldn’t figure out what. Between Gray’s strange lurking around her and then his last second demand for a setlist change, he definitely wasn’t acting right. He’d insisted “Sugar Kiss” come off the list, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. She’d thought that over their past few days apart, he’d cooled off a bit from his sexist stance but evidently not. The weird thing was that he’d really seemed to be coming around yet tonight he’d backslid big time.
Even more oddly, he’d hovered around her offstage, while onstage he hadn’t looked at her once. Normally they teased each other before a show, exchanging winks and quips to break the pre-performance tension. Tonight he hadn’t even made eye contact. He wasn’t engaging the crowd either while Simon went through his revving up routine. Normally Gray got into it too. His focus tonight remained entirely on his guitar.
“Get up on your feet, LA!”
At Simon’s directive, she forced a smile and started the steady buildup to “Balls To The Wall.” The song was fairly straightforward and didn’t require a lot of thought on her part, just mainly keeping the beat, so she was able to watch Gray. He didn’t respond to Nick’s good-natured—usually—posturing and taunts and barely seemed aware of Simon’s showboating across the stage.
Their lead singer was in rare form tonight, owning the space and sucking up so much of the energy in the club that it began to feel like they were Simon’s back-up band. But that helped disguise Gray’s lack of involvement beyond his manic playing. Rather than take part in the b
and’s antics, he focused on the instrument he cradled like a lover, plucking out notes that shrieked and wailed and raged. All of his passion funneled through his hands and became something inescapably beautiful.
And throughout, she counted off the beat, serving as the backbone to the music that roared around her just loudly enough to quiet the questions in her mind.
They went through their modified setlist without faltering, but their crazy cohesive energy from the other night had vanished. On the surface, everything seemed fine. Nick even bantered a bit with Simon and Deak in between “Lit” and “Ripcord,” which was about as rare as Gray not looking up from the strings.
Stylistically, he was perfect. Didn’t miss a freaking note. His face, though, never changed. He wore a stoic mask, the playful Gray from Tribute driven so far underground that she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.
The end of the show took a lifetime to reach and also came way too fast. She wasn’t ready for him to turn that mask on her. Seeing those eyes she loved so much frosted over like the coldest winter day hammered spikes of ice in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe. She didn’t know how to reach him when he was like that—the way he’d been for much of the past year.
But God, since they’d been together, it had been different. Yes, they’d only had a string of days together so far. She’d hoped it was a beginning.
She refused to believe it wasn’t.
As the stage cleared out, she peeled off her fingerless gloves and flexed her achy hands, waiting for the right moment to pounce on Gray. Turned out she didn’t have to bother. Once Gray handed off his guitar to the crew, he appeared at her side, closer than a shadow.
“You were fantastic tonight.” He stroked her cheek and gave her his beloved Gray smile, the one he saved for her alone. Not the public cordial one, or even the sex-personified rockstar one. The one he’d been flashing at her since the first day in his parents’ living room, when he’d discovered she played the guitar too.