Page 8 of Counterpoint
“Shit, dude. What Mish said.” Ray ran a hand through his hair. “I guess it has been a while.”
A couple weeks since they’d last played together, partly because Dom had finally found a place to buy. He’d had to get all his shit out of storage and move it up to New York, sort through it, chuck half of the stuff, and buy all new crap that actually matched the place.
Then there’d been all the meetings with their new label and all the legal wrangling to settle on a contract that wouldn’t screw them over. They’d ended up hiring a band manager with a legal background, and after that, Ray had wanted to get started on the new album, so here they were. They’d just started on the new songs during their tiny makeup tour to cover the cities they’d missed when the end of their original tour had been canceled.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely Adrian that was throwing Dom off. A lot had happened, and he’d had to be more Dominic than Domino lately in every other part of his life, too.
They settled on “Lightning” and fuck, that was what Dom needed. He slid into the song like Domino always had, and by the end of it, his head was clear. The edge was back, along with that feeling of wild energy and sheer freedom, like he could take on the world and win. Because that was Domino. “Fuck yeah, that’s better. Let’s try ‘Finding Light’ again.”
They didn’t nail it perfectly, of course, but it sounded a damn sight better than before. Dom managed the tricky bits just fine, and each repeat sounded better as they found their groove, their synergy with one another. Domino was back, and he could work, fix the notes and timing with the rest of the band. Be there, be part of Twisted Wishes with them.
Strange thing was, the thoughts of Adrian didn’t exactlyleaveDom. In between songs or when Mish was working with Ray on a particular sequence on the upright, he found himself wondering what Adrian would make ofthis. Yeah, he’d said he’d been in a band. But Twisted Wishes wasn’t just any band—not anymore. Not after their tumultuous rise to the top. Not with the scandal of their former band manager trying to roofie Ray and nearly killing him in the process.
They were well-known. In the news. A hot ticket with even hotter members.
Dom grunted at himself, tasting the bitterness of that, too. He doubted Domino Grinder was the kind of man Adrian Doran would pick up in a bar. Or ask out on a date. And if Dom explained who he was to Adrian, the jig would be up. He couldn’t be both—not at the same time. Not with anyone but the three people in this room.
Even on tour, he stayed mostly in persona, though he was a little amazed no one in the crew had ratted him out. Then again, he hadn’t let any of them get particularly close, either.
When Ray called for them all to practice again, Dom pushed those thoughts aside. It was just a date, just a fuck. Chances were the whole thing wouldn’t go further than a couple of rounds of sex. No need to worry about a future that wouldn’t happen.
He slung his guitar over his shoulder again, and slipped into Domino.
Chapter Three
Monday morning Adrian found that getting back to the gym wasalmostas good as feeding a panini to a blushing man. Hopefully, it would also put Dominic out of Adrian’s mind for a while.
He threw his bag into a locker, and headed out to stretch and warm up. As always, Adrian’s coworker Jackson was already there, raring to go in blue shorts and a white tank that stood out against his deep brown skin. They’d become fast friends. Jackson was fuckingbrilliant. Smarter and more talented at coding than Adrian—and he was no slouch—plus Jackson looked like a god in a suit and tie and moved like the devil on the dance floor.
“’Bout time, Adi,” Jackson said.
Adrian hated nicknames from everyone else, but not from Jackson and not that one, because they had a deal that had been negotiated over time. “Jack,” he said, drawing out the vowel.
Jackson’s lips twisted in amusement. “I was wondering if you’d skip today. Didn’t know when you got in over the weekend.”
“Got home just before dinner on Saturday.” And had promptly gone out to eat, and that took Adrian straight back to Dominic. He shook his head. “And I fuckingneedthe workout today.” He stopped short of asking Jackson to push them both hard. Jackson wasn’t exactly his trainer, even if that was the role he’d stepped into the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Adrian at the gym, mostly to keep Adrian from hurting himself, he’d said.
Dark eyes met his, and Jackson grunted, his gaze shrewd. They’d known each other for years, meeting first at the office, then running into each other here—then very unexceptionally while they were both out hunting for men at the same dance club.
They were so alike and so different, but their tastes in quickies ran similarly, so that night at the club, they’d fucked a lovely, built man into oblivion together in the bathroom. The next day, they’d worked out harder than ever, then finished an obnoxious project at work in record time.
Meeting Jackson when Adrian had moved back from California had washed the West Coast off him and grounded Adrian firmly back in New York after a month of floundering to find his feet in his own hometown.
Thank god.
This city’s in your blood, man. Same as mine, Jackson had said the second time they’d had lunch. But that fast, hard friendship had opened him up more than usual, and Jackson could read him like a fucking street sign.
“Shit on my mind that shouldn’t be,” Adrian said.
“Mmmhmm.” Jackson pointed to the floor. “Get your stretches done, Irish boy. We’re gonna run.”
Adrian hated running, especially around the tiny indoor track at the gym. Still, he started his routine of stretches.
“Now,” Jackson said. “Is this work-related shit or personal shit? Because if that trip of yours turned bad...”
Adrian spent a little longer stretching his legs than usual and tried to be as nonchalant as possible. “The trip was fine. Overall. The project’s still a nightmare, but the site visits and installs went fine.” They’d both been working on this system rollout forever. “I’d have given you a heads-up if that was the issue.”
“So it’s personal.” Jackson crossed his arms. “You telling me, or am I working it out of you with sweat?”
