Page 119 of Sycopation
Oh, in the end, Ray would. He was sure of that. But right now? He was nervous as hell, which didn’t make sense. Except it was Zavier, so that tingle in his blood and quickness in his pulse did make sense in a way. A good kind of nervous? Maybe.
He headed back into the adjoining room. Another shower would help. As he peeled off his clothes and glanced aroundthe room, a plan formed in his head. Something Zavier would understand, an action that had meaning. A way for Ray to show Zavier that he understood.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Droppingthe car off was as easy as picking it up had been. The person behind the counter, an older gentleman this time, didn’t blink at his name. He processed the paperwork, took payment, and off Zavier went.
Getting back into the hotel, however, was another thing entirely.
While it had been easy enough to sneak out via a fire exit and an alley behind the hotel, getting back in required him entering through the lobby. Zavier tried to play it cool, tried to breeze into the hotel and to the elevators, but the press and paparazzi were there and they were on him in a heartbeat.
He was glad he’d added ten minutes to the estimate he’d given Ray, because the phones and recorders shoved into his face seemed as dangerous as knives. He backed away, hands held up defensively. “I don’t have anything to say.”
The questions that came were pretty much what he expected: What happened? How was Ray? What was he doing? Did he have any comment about Carl? Was he still part of Twisted Wishes?
He fought his way to the elevators, head and heart pounding. That last question? Hit home a little. Technically, he wasn’t partof Twisted Wishes at all. Ray said he was, but legally? Nope. On the outside, looking in.
Very much like he’d been the night of the release party.
He pushed through the reporters as they photographed him, shouted questions, and tried to get him to say anything that would make a good sound bite.
“No fucking comment,” he muttered.
Thankfully an elevator was just opening as he got to the bank. He stepped in, and turned around just on the other side of the door. “Don’t try it,” he said to the guy who looked like he might push past Zavier and into the car, too. “Leave it alone, guys. I’m sure there will be an official statement soon enough.”
With that, the doors slid closed. He pressed the button for their floor and stepped back until his ass hit the car wall. Shit. Off balance and angry wasnothow he wanted to reenter Ray’s life, and the elevator ride was not nearly enough time to shake off the crowd of rabid reporters. But here he was, with the doors opening on their floor. He stepped out of the car and took a breath. A moment later, a security guy he hadn’t noticed stood up from a nearby chair.
“Can I help you?” Dude crossed his arms, and his muscles bulged.
Wow. Okay. Made sense. This wasn’t the normal band security, though. “I’m Zavier Demos. The drummer.”
Guy didn’t move. “Got ID?”
God, did he really have to do this? He knew it was a precaution. Likely the security company didn’t know who the fuck they were by sight. But he so didn’t need this right now. He pulled out his driver’s license and handed it over.
In his mind, he turned over that shouted question.Are you still part of Twisted Wishes?
Security dude looked over his license, then made a call on his phone. “Got a guy here who says he’s with the band.” He rattled off Zavier’s name.
With the band.With. The word cut into him, even as he chided himself at his reaction. He was reading too much into everything. Too many hours in his head, not enough of them asleep.
After a moment, the guy straightened. “Right.” He hung up and gave the license back. “Sorry about that, Mr. Demos. Go right ahead.”
See?
He tucked his license away and headed down the hall to their room. He keyed himself into the closer of the two doors—and when he entered, there was no Ray. The bedspread was rumbled to hell, and there were playing cards scattered on top.
So, his room had become the hangout. Which meant the other room hopefully held Ray.
When he got to the threshold between the rooms, the adjoining door was open slightly. He pushed it open, gripped the frame, and his breath caught in his lungs.
The light was soft in the room, and Ray was naked and kneeling on his heels, eyes closed, in front of an empty chair. His blond hair was wet and dark, and drops of water beaded on his shoulders. His breathing was slow and his smile beatific, and every toy from Zavier’s duffle had been artfully arranged on the bed.
It was like a kinky rendition of some artistic masterpiece. A sculpture of an angel on his knees beneath a still-life banquet of erotic choices. His willing, submissive partner.
Ray flicked his eyes open and turned his head to meet Zavier’s gaze. No words.
