Page 12 of Sycopation
“It may take me a bit. Managers are so less interesting than musicians.”
He kept his chuckle inside. Unlike Nadia, he’d bedded more than musicians. Allsortsof people were fascinating. “Whenever you can. I don’t want to impose.”
“Of course you want to impose, darling. It’s why you called.” She practically purred the words.
He purred right back. “But you adore it when I call.” He’d owe her. Not sure what he’d have to give up—that always changed—but it would be worth the trouble.
“True.” She paused. “Do take care, darling. The music industry can eat you alive.”
It was already chowing down hard on Ray. “After my last misstep, I’m certainly more cautious.”
“Good. You were my best student, Zavier. I’d hate to see you fodder for tabloids.”
He didn’t quite swallow his laugh this time. She’d love to see juicy tidbits about his life spread out for all. They made their goodbyes, and as he hung up, the band’s lunch arrived in a beat-up white four-door sedan. He helped the driver carry their order upstairs. Surprisingly, Carl had pre-paid and even given a decent tip.
So being an utter asshole only extended to the band—or maybe to just Ray. Hopefully whatever Nadia dug up would make sense of that.
Once the driver had left and they set about eating, Ray asked the question Zavier had been waiting for. “You talk to Carl?”
“He blew out of here so fast, I didn’t even make it to the parking lot before he was gone.” He took a bite of his sandwich—and closed his eyes against the flavors. “Shit, this is actually good.”
Murmurs of agreement, and for a few minutes, they were content. Food did that—eased pain and frustration.
But as they finished eating, the tension inched back into the air. “What are we going to do about the studio space?” Domcrumpled his wrapper and stuffed it into a bag. “We can’t tour on three days of practices.”
Ray screwed up his face. “I know. I don’t—” He stopped and his expression smoothed out and became distant. Calculating. Beautiful.
Oh, Ray, what do you have up your sleeve?
A sly little smile, then Ray glanced around—and focused on Zavier. “I’m finally going to get you into my garage band.”
Delight slithered all the way down to Zavier’s core. “How many years have you been waiting to say that?”
Oh, and there was the lovely blush, right on schedule. “Too many.” He didn’t look away. “The house we’re staying in has a big-ass garage. Not ideal, but it’sspace.”
Zavier gave Ray his most charming smile. “You finally have me, Ray.”
Mish looked like she was about to choke on her cheesesteak. “You two are going to end up screaming at each other. I know it.”
“I don’t scream.” Not even when Dimitri had thrown a vase at him for not buying roses after their first month together. Raise his voice? Sure. Ordered a man to his knees? Yes. Scream? Nothing souncontrolled.
“I don’t, either. It strips my vocal cords.” Ray shrugged. “Also, I don’t have to like someone to work with them.” He stared at Zavier.
Ray didn’t like him? Zavier gazed back until Ray turned away, all reddening neck and catching breath. Not true, that. There were, after all, many differentkindsof like.
Mish was trying not to laugh, and poor Dom looked decidedly uncomfortable when he spoke. “Um. Maybe we should get back to work?”
Ray gave a grunt. “Let’s see what we can do until Carl kicks us out tonight.”
Despite Ray’s mood, once they all got back to their instruments—and Ray to the mic—practice went well. Felt good to play like this again—continuously, passionately, and controlled. Twisted Wishes sometimes spun close to chaos during their songs, with layers upon layers of timing and chords, but Ray had written songs that worked, and his voice carved out sense from the chaos and brought the mess together into a beautiful whole.
Music like this was Zavier’s true passion. He didn’t understand the hearts of humans, but this he knew and felt. He modified Kevin’s lines on the fly, bringing them closer to what he knew as true when he listened to that lovely voice singing.
They managed three more songs before Carl returned and their bodies gave out. Both Dom and Mish were stretching their hands and Ray spoke with gravel between sips of water.
Zavier’s back felt like fire. Last time his muscles had complained this much was after he’d spent a night in a club flogging three subs. At least there he’d been able to find an outlet for the buzzing in his blood and the fire in his veins. Tonight he’d have a cold shower and his hand, and Ray Van Zeller’s voice in his head.
Fuckinghell.
