Page 21 of Sycopation
Zavier had touched him—not just a friendly pat on the back, but an intimate clasp that nearly put him on his knees in frontof who knew how many fans. Betthatphoto was already making the rounds.
He kinda wanted to see it. Did Zavier look like Ray remembered—like he might kiss Ray, like he wanted Ray?
Instead, Zavier had spoken, his breath a caress against Ray’s ear.You did exactly what I told you to do. I’m very pleased.Very pleased. He’d never heard those words spoken with the same tone assuck my cockbefore.
Ray rolled over and ignored the hardness of his dick. He wouldn’t jack off to Zavier. Except he already had once tonight. And had on previous nights. Fucking asshole was stunning and sexy and...not actually an asshole.
Well, maybe a little, but they all had their edges.
Part of him wished he could take the risk and get buzzed on liquor; the other part knew drinking wouldn’t help at all. He was too wired from the concert and should have crashed hours ago—everyone else had. Dom was sawing wood in the next room, loud enough Ray was tempted to go in and roll him onto his side to shut him up.
God, the concert. They’d never sounded so good. He’d never felt that alive with the music behind him. Once they’d started playing, Ray hadn’t needed to worry. Hadn’t had to figure out how to cover for mistakes, bad playing, or anything. The band would nail it, so he’d been free to let go andsing.
Trust. He trusted the band again. He’d always known Dom and Mish would play their hearts out, but he’d never known if Kevin would survive the night.
Zavier not only survived, he’d ruled every beat, from the first to the last.
RaytrustedZavier.
Zavierbelievedin Ray.
Ray grunted, and that sharp, painful sound faded in the room. He had no idea why Zavier believed in him. He wasn’tanything like Zav. Not as talented, not as skilled. Yes, he worked hard—but he fucked up so often it wasn’t funny. Sure, Mish and Dom were on his side, but that was because they’d been together for years and they’d accepted him, warts, foolishness, and all.
But Zavier? He had no reason at all to believe in Ray and every reason not to.
Yet he did. Deferred to Ray. Treated him like an equal. And Ray fucking wanted him, wanted his kiss, his words in his ear and breath on his neck.
Fuck it. He rolled onto his back, stroked himself, and gave into another round of fantasies. Zavier’s lips on Ray’s, their bodies entangled, Zavier inside him. The orgasm gripped Ray fast and hard, shaking the last bit of tension from his bones. When he could move, he stumbled to the bathroom and cleaned himself up.
This time, when he hit the bed, sleep reached up and dragged him down into nothingness.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
How they madeit through the next two weeks before the tour officially started, Ray wasn’t sure. He did know, when he climbed onto the bus with Dom, Mish, and Zavier, that he was grateful for the hours they’d be on the road. No Carl, no practices, just the bus and the tour. He could crawl into his berth, close the curtain, and ignore the world.
Practicing with Carl breathing down their necks had been hell. At first, he’d been complimentary after the festival performance, even noting that Ray’s song choices had been decent. The label was certainly impressed—Carl had imparted that, too. But after a few days, the jabs returned. Whenever Ray had the rest of the band work on getting the blend just so, Carl called him lazy. If Ray rested his voice, he was weak.
He wasn’t...at least he didn’t think he was. Maybe he didn’t have the blisters and sore muscles the others had, but he still had been focused the entire time.
Nothing meant more to him than Twisted Wishes—he wished he could make Carl see that and get the man off his back. At least Carl wouldn’t be here on the bus with them. Ray eyed the space they’d inhabit for the next couple of months. Thank god.
Touring would be a break from all of Carl’s noise. At least Ray hoped.
Dom threw his backpack down on one of the couches and flopped next to it. “Home sweet home, or something.”
Mish headed down to the berths and dropped her bag into a lower bunk. “Dibs.”
Zavier stopped in the middle of the aisle, eyes a bit too wide. “Wow.” He sounded surprised. Amazing—something that stopped Zavier Demos in his tracks.
Ray settled onto the couch across from where Dom sat. “I thought you toured in Europe with the symphony?”
Zavier didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat down next to Ray and placed his bag between his feet. “We did tour in Europe, but not like this.” He glanced around the bus too openly and too honestly. “We took buses between cities, but they were regular coaches. This is—” He shook his head. “I knew musicians lived out of their tour buses on the road, but I had no idea.”
Yeah, did take some getting used to. A little kitchen and table. The berths for sleeping. A lounge in the back. A bathroom with a shower. All the comforts of home, packed into a vehicle. The first time Ray’d ever walked onto one of these buses, he’d stared at everything too. It was luxurious in its own way, until it became your home for weeks on end.
Mish returned and took the seat by the table. “So what was it like in Europe?”
