Page 10 of Sycopation
By the time Zavier was done, Dom had his lips pressed thin and he was nodding. “Yeah. I get it.”
“Might take a bit to undo,” Mish said.
“Wanna try?” Ray knew the answer.
“Hell yes!” A big grin from her. Determination from Dom.
So they did. Ray didn’t sing the next time through, but he did after that. By the fifth time, they had it. When they played the song once more, Zavier added some flourishes that wereintense.
“Fuck, that’s good,” Dom said. “I can’t wait to get on stage.”
Neither could Ray. “One down?—”
Lots more to go. He scanned the room. Carl was typing on his phone and Zavier?—
For once, Zavier wasn’t watching Ray. He brushed a lock of his jet-black hair from his forehead and had this shit-eating grin as he took in the drum kit and the room, like he was excited to be here, excited to play. When his gaze finally focused on Ray again, the subtle up-and-down was back and that smile settled into something deeper and so damn sensual it melted Ray’s bones.
Fucking hell. The last thing he needed was Zavier having the hots for him, especially after all these years. He turned away. “Okay, let’s try ‘Dreams Unto You’ next.”
As the next song started, Ray chewed his tongue. Thing was, in high school he’d have dropped to his knees if Zavier had asked him to. Wasn’t so sure he’d say no now, either.
If he were reading those looks right, they’d probably find out eventually.
Zavier rana towel over his face, neck, and hands. They’d been practicing all morning and his back, as conditioned as he kept it, was getting annoyed with him. Being principal timpanist and playing concerts had been tiring of course, but that paled to the intensity ofthis. When Ray had laid down his mic and called for a lunch break, Zavier was more than ready. He slipped the sticks into a holder on the kit, popped his ear protection out, stood, and stretched.
At some point, he’d need to talk to Ray or Carl—or whoever did the stage layout—about his setup for concerts. He needed to stand once in a while or his back would bitch and moan.
But now he was grateful for bottles of water and a take-out menu from a local sub shop. He opted for semi-healthy grilled chicken covered in cheese, rather than mounds of pork or beef covered in cheese. He downed one water, cracked open another, and wandered over to the window. Dom was already there and had done what Zavier had intended—opened the damn thing for some air.
Was a bit hard reconciling the image of Domino Grinder with Dominic Bradley. The same tattoos peeked from under the short sleeves of Dom’s button-down, but Dom had a far more subduednature now that he was out of his Domino persona. Shy and thoughtful, except when he played.
God, they were all gorgeous then, the three of them. Mish danced like she loved every note and every inch of the floor had been made to obey her. Dom got lost in riffs and moved like fire. Ray—the things Zavier wanted to do to that man. The fantasies.
He sipped his water and rolled his shoulders.No.
“Sore?” Dom shifted to give Zavier room to catch a breeze.
“A little.” Not a hard admission—he preferred the truth all around. Soon he’d be living with these three for months and months, in very close quarters. They needed to trust each other. “It’s been a while since I’ve played behind a rock kit. Symphony work is different. More standing. More pauses.”
A nod. “I bet. I watched you once when you were playing with Silverton, during that tribute to Prokofiev.”
Interesting. “You know, if someone had told me Domino Grinder went to the symphony, I might have laughed...but now that I’ve met you...again... I get it.” Zavier shrugged. “Given your guitar skills, it makes sense.”
Dom gave him a shrewd look. “How are we supposed to learn how to shred if we don’t listen toallthe classics?”
Yeah, this band knew music, no doubt about that. “How else, indeed.”
“You haven’t lost your touch.” Dom gestured at the rock kit, then he lowered his voice. “Thanks for putting Carl in his place. He gets...irritating.”
“So I’m learning. What’s his problem anyway?”
Dom’s shoulders dropped as low as his voice. “Who the hell knows?”
Huh. “I thought bands chose their managers?” His voice was as quiet as Dom’s—not that Carl would’ve heard anyway, given he was arguing with Ray.
“He came with the record contract,” Dom said. “And the label made it pretty clear everything goes through Carl.”
Weird. Zavier glanced at Ray, and the tension in that back vibrated across the room. Zavier slugged back the rest of his water and wandered closer.
