Page 24 of Sycopation
Once more, Zavier was staring into Ray’s eyes. Need there and fear, all the things that made Zavier’s mouth water. “Ray,if you could pick any song, which one would you pick to open with?”
“‘Lightning.’” No hesitation. The title bolted out of Ray like a cry of pain. Or pleasure. Beautiful. Both Ray and that song.
Dark and slow at first, ‘Lightning,’ like its namesake, built and rumbled ominously until it crashed up into a frenzy that left them all playing their loudest and fastest. It wasn’t the kind of song anyone used to open a concert.
Then again, why not? So that was exactly what Zavier said. “Why not?”
Ray took a breath and straightened. Mish shrugged, but her smile was splendid. “Yeah, why not?”
Dom seemed taken aback, and not at all his Domino persona. “‘Lightning’? First?”
“Yeah.” Strength radiated from Ray. “Think about it. No one will expect it. We lowballed with ‘Diamond Fever’—it’s an easy song. Let’s do something different and wake ’em up.”
Not that “Diamond Fever” put them to sleep—far from it. But the die-hard fans would go nuts. Hell, Zavier felt a surge of energy thinking about it.
Maybe Dom did too, because he chewed on his thumbnail before a glimpse of Domino slipped out. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do it.”
Ray beamed and wrote in his book. When he was finished, he closed it reverently, then pulled the attached elastic band around it again. “Thanks, guys.”
The bus lumbered on for another hour or so before reaching at a truck stop. They all got out to stretch and mingle with the crew. Ray shared the playlist and that seemed to go over well.
Zavier wandered to the shop, not really needing anything but space. He almost wished he smoked, because that would have given him the excuse he needed to step away and stare at the highway for a while.
He couldn’t get Ray’s hunger out of his head. Or body. Or cock. Heneededto, though. Ray was off limits—except that wasn’t true. He pushed and played and watched Ray. What did that say about him?
Zavier swallowed a sigh and scanned the shelves. Everything in the store was either something he didn’t want or they already had on the bus. There was a selection of alcohol, but it seemed cruel to drink when Ray couldn’t.
“There’s beer and wine on the bus.”
Zavier nearly startled. The surge of adrenaline was there, and he caught his breath, but he’d had plenty of practice controlling his reactions. Still. He glanced at Ray. “Really?”
“Yeah. Dom likes this microbrew stuff, so there’s like two cases. Mish drinks what she calls cheap box white wine, but it’s not that cheap, and it’s damn good.” His smile slipped. “I wasn’t about to be an asshole to them because Carl’s being one to me. Touring is hard enough as it is. I’m not taking away their simple pleasures.”
Nadia still hadn’t contacted Zavier about dirt on Carl. He studied the case. “I don’t drink that much.”
“Whatdoyou do for your simple pleasures?”
People. All kinds of people, in all kinds of ways. He shook his head to rid himself of the image of Ray on his knees. “I guess you’ll find out.”
Ray got this incredulous look, and Zavier couldn’t help patting his cheek. Probably shouldn’t have, since it did nothing to quell the heat in his own body and hell did it give Ray a blush you could see from space.
“See you back on the bus.” He left without buying a damn thing and took the long way back—enough time to get his cock settled down.
He had to sleep underneath Ray tonight. That would be hell, but one of Zavier’s own making.
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The first personRay saw upon stepping off the bus at the venue outside Detroit was Carl, who led with an insincere greeting. “How you doing, Ray?”
Ray buried as much of his irritation as he could and managed a noncommittal grunt. Great. Just what he needed.
Carl’s smile was fake. “That good, huh? Well, I hope your attitude improves before tonight.”
Ray ignored the jibe and followed the crew into the arena. There’d be some kind of green room and dressing rooms. The crew would unpack the equipment and get it sorted and staged. They’d run through a rehearsal, then there’d be the show. Five Asylum had a whole VIP package thing going for their fans. Meet-and-greets, photo ops. Someday, maybe Twisted Wishes would do something similar, but for now they stuck with signing autographs for whoever hung out after the show.
He made it as far as the green room before Carl’s voice sounded in his ear, way too close and far too loud. “Have you been drinking?”
