Page 74 of Reverb
Adrian slumped back in his chair. “I hate when they ask Dominic about masks.”
“Hits close to the bone?” The unveiling of Domino Grinder had been in all the entertainment magazines before they’d moved on to other scandals and news, and Adrian had been tangled up in all of that—as Domino Grinder’s secret boyfriend. Dom’s romantic rescue of Adrian from in front of their practice studio had spun across the internet—and changed Adrian’s life. For the better, it seemed to David.
“No—well, yes.” Adrian shoved a hand through his hair. “We all wear masks. I wore suits to work every day. They put me in a different headspace, but I wasn’t another person.” He waved at the studio. “Dominic is still Dominic.”
David grunted. “They’re all themselves. We get to see more of that behind the scenes. And you see even more with Dom.”
Adrian’s lips quirked. “Could say the same about you and Mish.”
Marcella clicked her tongue. “Let’s keep that under our hats, shall we?” There was no one else in the room, but that was a damn good reminder that though the photo of Mish tossing him into the pool was out there, they hadn’t discussed how they were going to handle the press. Was David going to be known as more than the band’s guard? Would they play those photos off as general band horseplay?
Both he and Adrian settled down into silence as the Twisted Wishes song wound down and they went to commercials.
“This is the tricky part,” Marcella murmured. “Let’s hope we get a good batch of callers.”
“Don’t they screen them?” David glanced at the studio, then to Marcella.
“Of course. But once the caller is live—all bets are off.”
Well, shit. Guess that made sense from the little time he’d spent listening to morning radio shows. They sat and waited until the commercials were over and the show started again. The hosts led in and they got ready to take their first caller.
Every member of the band was tense now, more focused—which meant that these calls had been issues before.
“What happened in the past?” He didn’t look away from Mish or how high her shoulders were and how taut her mouth.
But Marcella was right there with him in thought. “Personal stuff. Asking about sex. Or Ray and Zavier’s marriage—prying questions.”
Right. That would bug the shit out of everyone.
The first question, though, was a gushing fan who wanted to know how they decided what songs to play on tour.
David had seen that—it was a group decision. Led by Ray, yes, but with a ton of input and ideas tossed around until they were all happy with the results. They had a base list of songs and swapped ones in and out, mixing up the sets. Kinda drove the techs working the concert up a tree, but they were used to it by now.
The next caller asked about Ray’s process for writing songs and how that worked with the rest of the band. That took a while to discuss—and it was fascinating.
“I don’t talk about this much, ’cause people don’t always understand, but I have synesthesia,” Ray said. Then he went into how he saw songs. Sometimes the music came first, sometimes the words. Once he had a sketch, he’d play it for the rest of the band and they’d go from there, each adding their own unique takes.
“We only have time for one more call,” Amy said. “Hi there, you’re on the air with Twisted Wishes!”
There was a pause, then a masculine voice spoke out from the speakers. “Yes, my question is for Mish.”
The tone of that voice, the way Mish’s name had been spoken, had David on his feet. Every nerve alight. Fuckinghell.
“David.” A whisper from Adrian.
Mish glanced at him before speaking into the mic. “Go ahead.”
“You were wearing those slutty tights again, at the last concert, and I want to know why. I told you—” The line cut off abruptly.
Both Ray and Zavier were standing. Marcella had somehow materialized on the other side of the hall by the studio door in mere seconds, probably because she had more training in management than either he or Adrian did.
David was rooted to the ground, mouth dry, heart pounding, every instinct to lash out at the threat that wasn’t there. Not physically, at least. His hand flew to his chest, but his tags weren’t there. They were on Marly and he was safely tucked into Mish’s belongings, ready for their next leg on the bus.
In the studio, Mish sat still, pale but for red high on her cheeks. She wet her lips and leaned into the mic. “I wore them because I wanted to. Because they make me feel good. Because no one dictates what I wear.” Her voice was low and smooth, but carried the force of her passion. “Clothes are a personal choice. Wear what you want.” She leaned back.
Both Amy and Clark had the same wide-eyed and shocked expression, but Amy spoke in that upbeat voice of hers that only belied a little of the chaos in her expression. “I think we can all agree to that! Why don’t we treat you to another song off Twisted Wishes’s latest album? This is ‘Born in Fire.’”
Music started to play, and both hosts slumped over. Marcella was in the studio in a flash, talking quickly, but nothing came out the speaker except the song.
