Page 97 of Counterpoint
Van Zeller: Yeah, at a certain point he stopped wanting to beat my ass.
Demos: I’ve never stopped wanting to beat your ass, Ray.
Yes, Adrian would probably get along with Zavier. He flipped to the photo and stared. If he hadn’t known better, he’d say he met Zavier at one point or another. He shoved the thought out of his mind. Probably just had one of those faces. Movie-star looks.
The bits with Dominic—or rather, Domino—were more interesting for what they contained and what they didn’t. Of course, there was all kinds of speculation about who Domino really was. And the questions asked all fell into the fishing category. Thing was—Dominic neverlied. He’d actually told them exactly who he was, and that blew Adrian’s mind.
Rocktime: So what does Domino Grinder do for fun? What are your downtimes like?
Grinder: Ya really want to know? I sneak out and go to libraries and museums. I get fucking turned on by the thought of reading a good book. Learning something new.
And underneath the makeup, hair gel, and studded leather, the man Adrian had come to love stared back from those photos. Warm brown eyes, though no glasses. That seductive mix of power, hunger, and shyness—even that came through if you knew how to look.
The article had Adrian admiring Twisted Wishes, especially their frontman, who’d been put through hell by their former label. But he and the band had come out of the whole horrible episode stronger and wiser—and with a pile of cash. Which explained how Dominic had been able to buy his place in a swankier part of Brooklyn than Adrian lived in.
And, admittedly, things here were awfully swank now. He hadsuchmixed feelings about that, especially since he was technically part of the problem, even if this was his family’s house. His mom wouldn’t have been able to afford to live here, even if she were still alive. Nor, he bet, would she have felt comfortable. But he did, and a part of him rebelled against that.
Adrian blew out a breath and rose to head downstairs. The next step was to search the web, listen to songs, and watch some videos.
Once back in his living room, he brought up the Twisted Wishes website—and stared at it, cringing. It was a mishmash of bad design and coding. Red text on a black background. Links that didn’t quite work. Too much blinking shit. If the band was popular enough to make it onto the cover of a popular magazine, then man, they needed a better web designer. He flipped through the pages and links and shook his head. They better not have paid that much for this mess. It was like something out of the early 2000s.Holy shit.And there weren’t even any links to videos or to song downloads or...anything, really. The news was woefully out of date. At least they did have Zavier listed as a band member, so someone was updating it.
Their Twitter was okay, but not very active, and there wasn’t really any other social media. No Instagram. No Snapchat. No YouTube channel.
Okay, so put those things on a list he’d have to bring up to Dominic eventually. Theyreallyneeded a better social media person.
However, there were a bunch of fan sites that had damn good design and content. Links to high-quality concert videos, plus the official videos. Also a history of the band that was a little more in-depth than the magazine. It mentioned some of the earlier incarnations of the band and had clippings of reviews from local New Jersey freebie newspapers.
Adrian listened to a few of their songs. They were—well, exactly how Jackson had described. In between a lot of things. Not pop, though. Harder than Adrian liked his music, but the lyrics...yeah Jackson had been right about them, too.
And there was Dominic’s guitar, too, screaming out of the songs at times. Simple to complex. Dizzying strings of notes. Dominic could play, which Adrian knew from the Met, but this was...he couldn’t even describe it. Maybe if you mashed classical with punk or metal or something.
He hunted down some videos from their most recent tour, and by the second one, was slack-jawed. Same songs, but at a higher level, as if someone had turned up the talent of everyone in the band by three or four notches. The energy, the rhythm, and fuckinghell, the way Dominic moved and played onstage.
Hell yes, Adrian could watch that for hours.
In retrospect, it was probably a good thing Dominic had gone home, because there were a lot of videos and he would, in fact, be watching for hours and staring at the man he loved gyrate and dance and play his guitar for screaming fans. He grabbed his remote, turned on the TV, and set it to stream from his laptop.
Domino Grinder was godlike. Walking sex. And Adrian was going to enjoy the hell out ofthatin high-definition. Better than fucking porn, his Dominic full of passion and snarl.
What would that version of Dominic taste like? The lipstick alone had Adrian hard.
Oh yes, this would be fun research, indeed.
* * *
Sunday night, Dom lay on his too-modern couch in his too-perfect living room and stared at the ceiling, phone plastered to his ear and heart beating in his chest.
“Do you want to meet the band?” He’d have rather asked in person, but after Adrian had discovered who Dom really was—even if the results hadn’t been that bad—they’d needed some time apart. Adrian to find out more and Dom to get over the shock and fear and fucking embarrassment.
Adrian had been furious, then utterly apologetic and tender. Then an exquisite Dominant and a voracious machine of a lover.
He was a fucking miracle, that’s what Adrian was. But in the aftermath of fucking amazing sex, Dom had kinda forgotten to ask.
The long silence between them finally ended with an inhale of breath. “I would, yes. But only if you feel comfortable with that.”
Brought fucking tears to his eyes, and he wanted to punch Adrian for being the way he was. Or kiss him. Probably the latter. “Yeah, I do. I mean, they’re an important part of my life and so are you, so...yeah. I really do want you to meet them.”
“Then I’d be honored to.”
