by Anna Zabo
Oh yeah, Ray was gonna put two and two together and figure out what Dom had already figured out about him and Zav—there was more going on than just sex. There was submission and domination and giving yourself over to someone you needed to care for you.
And for Dom, at least, there was bone-deep love, too.
Zavier was right, though. “Yeah, I know he would. And yeah, I know I need to tell him. It’s just—” Dom waved his hand. “Old fears.”
That he wasn’t good enough. That he’d never be good enough. He could hide that from the others by being Domino, but he could never hide from himself.
Zavier held his gaze. “Tell him, Dom. Trust is an important thing.”
Ray’s cheeks reddened. “Oh shit. You—” He caught himself. “We probably should get to practicing.”
Mish sighed. “You boys and the secrets you think you’re keeping.”
Zavier laughed and helped Ray up.
Dom didn’t bother with changing into Domino’s clothes. Didn’t need to, actually. He picked up his guitar and within fifteen minutes was lost in the throes of one of their new songs. Here, with the band, in the studio, he could be that blend of Domino and Dominic he longed to be everywhere.
But the terror still haunted in his mind, even if he knew much of it was unfounded.
During their next break, he texted Adrian. Dinner Friday?
Of course! Would you mind a night out on the town?
Chance to see you in a suit and for you to embarrass me? Never.
He could almost hear the laughter in Adrian’s reply. Babe, I live for those moments.
So did he. This Friday, then. He’d tell Adrian this Friday, because Ray and Zavier were right. He needed to tell Adrian. Needed to trust. Then they could go have dinner and share dessert and maybe the future, too. Looking forward to it.
After practice, he slipped into Domino, makeup and all, and strode out of the studio. Tonight they had a radio interview, then a dinner in the city. Time to see and be seen.
* * *
On Thursday at the gym, Jackson made a quip about the bruise on Adrian’s shoulder. It was pretty damn obvious. A result of a rather passionate but quick encounter with Dominic the previous evening.
“You’ve got yourself a biter.”
Yes, he did. Not always, but Dominic had practically climbed his body as soon as he’d walked into Adrian’s house.
He turned his back and showed Jackson the scratches there, then threw a grin over his shoulder.
His friend laughed. “Oh man, Adi, I haven’t seen you looking like that in ages.”
Not since he and Jackson had last fucked—and that had been quite a while. “He’s quite something,” Adrian said.
That got him a nod. “Don’t let it go to your head, but this relationship shit looks good on you.”
Adrian snorted and pulled on a tank top, covering up his back.
“I’m serious, man. This is the happiest I’ve seen you.” No quips, no sly grin. No, this was Jackson being honest.
Heat raced to Adrian’s cheeks. “Thanks. I—yeah, it’s been real good.”
Heartbreakingly good. Sensual, loving, hot, too. Last night, Dominic had shown up unexpectedly on his porch, freshly showered but so full of energy and need he’d practically burst through the door and into Adrian’s arms. They hadn’t even made it up to the bedroom—clothes had come off in the hallway, been scattered everywhere, and they’d bitten and scrabbled at each other until he’d lifted and carried the moaning, begging Dominic into the living room and fucked him hard and fast on the rug in front of the couch. Dominic had clawed and scratched and urged him on.
It had been fast, messy, and perfect.
“Is he the one?” There was something in Jackson’s voice that Adrian, in all the years they’d been friends, hadn’t heard before. It was both warm and sad.
He hip-checked Jackson, wanting the sadness to vanish and not wanting to answer his question. “Come on, Jack. Do your worst with me this morning.”
Jackson chuckled. “Fine, Irish boy. Let’s go run.”
And they did, at a pace that was just a tad too fast to be comfortable for Adrian, as if Jackson was punishing him for not replying. When they finished, he was winded, and even Jackson looked a little tired.
Miracle of miracles. Adrian piled his hands on top of his head as they walked some cool-down laps. “I don’t believe that there’s one singular person who is an utter match or soul mate or whatever.”
Jackson glanced at him. “That’s cold.”
Adrian lowered his arms, his breathing ticking down closer to normal. “Is it? I mean, under that theory, if you miss your chance, then you’re shit out of luck.”
This time, the gaze was more thoughtful. “Okay, there is that.”
Silence for another lap.
“Dominic pushes pretty much all of my buttons, and hard. Intellectual. Sexual.” Adrian shrugged. “If you’re asking if this is serious... I think it could be.”
“The man has a name!” They headed down to the weight room. “But ‘could be’? Sounds like it is.”
“For me.” Adrian didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that his heart was sitting on the line now. “But I’m not so sure for him.”
“Why not?”
Because afterward, when he and Dominic had lain on the floor and caught their breath, Adrian had asked, “What brought that on?”
Dominic had huffed a laugh and bent one of his legs, eyes still closed. “Fucking awesome practice. When we play that good—”
And it had been like a switch had been thrown. Dominic opened his eyes wide and sucked in a breath, and then there’d been an awkward silence.
After a moment, Dominic had crawled to his feet and collected his clothing.
Adrian finished three reps of arm curls before answering Jackson. “Because he doesn’t trust me with the thing that’s most important in his life. I’ve...been trying to be patient.”
Jackson had him on swats next. Fucking squats. Fucking Bosu ball.
“Time to press the issue then. I would.” Jackson shook his head. “Then again, what the fuck do I know about love?” He got that odd look again.
“Wait—Jack, are you seeing someone?”
Jackson’s skin darkened, but his lips quirked up. “Maybe.”
“Do tell!”
A shake of his head. “Not yet. If it turns to something more, I’ll unload on you, but for now, it’s time for your least favorite exercise.”
Adrian closed his eyes and tried not to throttle his friend. If he hated the Bosu, he loathed burpees.
The rest of the talk swung toward work, and by the time they made it into the office, Jackson had updated him on his job search—he’d gone for a second interview at the company he’d been vying for. The whole thing, he said, looked promising.
That twisted Adrian’s stomach, which turned even more when they’d compared notes on the glitches in the programming they’d both run into. “William,” Adrian muttered.
Jackson grunted and smacked his badge against the pad to get into the office.
Adrian followed Jackson through the door. “Maybe I should talk to Russ about him.” Their boss.
“Good luck with that,” Jackson said, entering his cube. “You know how that’ll turn out.”
Yeah, he did. But what else could he do? Something had to give—they were losing time and energy to William’s bad programming.
When he got to his own cube, he woke his computer up, logged in, and went to grab a cup of coffee.
When he got back, the screen on his phone had darkened, and he scrambled to check it. A text. From Dominic.
Hey. Wanted to thank you again for last night. I know I was moody, but I really needed you.
Moody was one way of putting it. After sex and letting slip a tidbit about
his mysterious band, Dominic had been on edge until Adrian had pulled him into his arms and just held him. It had taken a good ten minutes before either of them had spoken, and it had been Adrian. “Would you like something to eat?”
Dominic had pressed his forehead against Adrian’s chest. “I’m sorry.” It was a whisper, and it made Adrian’s heart ache.
He ran his fingers through Dominic’s hair—it had grown in the time they’d known each other, and there was an untamable aspect to it now. “That’s not really an answer to the question of dinner.”
A huff, and Dominic drew back. “I probably should eat. But I don’t want to be a bother.” Fear and sadness there. That internal conflict Adrian saw, but could never touch. Whatever the issue, it had Dominic in its iron grip.
So he’d drawn Dominic into a sweet kiss, then whispered against those lips, “You’re never a bother.”
And that was true. Dominic was tangled and entwined into Adrian’s life now, and it hurt that he wouldn’t share with Adrian the passion that mattered. But he was never a bother.
He texted back, I’m glad I can be here for you, Dominic. He wanted to add more, wanted to say “Please trust me” or “I love you.” But those seemed too pushy, too much for a text. So he set the phone down and started working through his inbox.
Dominic had said the words, an answer to his own whisper. Adrian had thought Dominic hadn’t heard. But where he knew his own feelings, Dominic’s had been voiced after being tied up for the first time, an emotional and overloading situation. The last thing Adrian wanted to do was take advantage of something Dominic might not have meant. He needed to hear those words when Dominic was clear-headed.
There weren’t any more texts after that one, and Adrian pushed aside the worry about that. They’d had a pleasant dinner last night, and reaffirmed their date for Friday.
Besides, he really needed to focus on why he’d been copied on this chain of emails. The problem they were discussing wasn’t in any of the features he was responsible for. He let out a frustrated sigh, scrolled to the bottom of the email chain, and started reading up. About halfway through it, he sat up straight, his blood boiling.
William had inserted code for one of the modules Adrian had developed for an entirely different project smack into the middle of this one with barely any changes.
Oh hell no. He was not being blamed for this fuckup. And he certainly wasn’t going to clean up William’s mess this time. He was all for reusing code, but this was ridiculous. You didn’t just drop one function into another project without so much as testing the damn thing.
A glance told him Russ had been copied on the mail. Good. He rose and strode to his boss’s office—and found William sitting on one end of it, in conversation with Russ.
Well, fuck. Adrian schooled his features and knocked gently on the frame. “Hey, Russ, when you get a moment, can I speak with you?”
Russ’s smile was one of those managerial ones. Pleasant, but without honest emotion and warmth behind it. “Sure. I’ll stop by.”
“Nah.” William stood. “I should get back to things.” He pushed something that looked suspiciously like tickets to a Yankees game closer to Russ, then turned. “He’s all yours, Adrian.”
In contrast, William’s grin was infused with feeling, but all the wrong ones. Spite. Malice. He slipped past Adrian without touching him.
Yeah, this was not going to go how he’d planned. Not with a buttered-up boss. Shit.
Russ gestured at his guest chair, and Adrian took it. “So, what’s up?” Russ folded his hands in front of him.
Adrian chose straightforward. “Did you get a chance to read this morning’s email from the Brada team yet?”
Russ nodded. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you.”
“But it’s not my code and I haven’t been working on that system. I’m...not sure how I’m supposed to fix this for them.” He paused. “Not when I’m also cleaning up code issues in our own products.”
“William said you were struggling.”
Adrian’s head felt like it might explode, the rage so sudden, it momentarily stole his breath. He wrestled it back under control. “I’m not struggling. Not with my own code. Not with my developer responsibilities.” He took another breath. “In fact, quite a lot of my work lately has been cleaning up William’s coding changes. He broke bits and pieces of critical infrastructure.”
Russ waved his hand. “He was improving speed and tightening the code. It was bound to expose weaknesses...”
There hadn’t been any weaknesses. And no need for a rewrite. Adrian swallowed.
Russ leaned forward. “Look, Adrian, I know the customers love you. And your work on your trip was invaluable. But since you’ve been back, your quality’s slipping. I don’t think William should be picking up your slack.”
“...picking up...” Adrian straightened. “How are the issues with Brada my slack? I’m not on that team.”
Russ shrugged. “You are now. Run with it.”
Fucking hell. Adrian stared at Russ.
“Anything else?”
“No,” Adrian snapped, and rose. “Thanks for having my back, Russ.”
Another fake smile, and Adrian was out the door. Shit fucking hell. He contemplated marching to William’s cube and strangling the asshole—but murder would only complicate his life.
When he got back to his cube, he fired off an IM to Jackson. Guess who’s putting out fires on Brada now?
Ah hell, man. That joker do you, too?
Didn’t have to ask who Jackson meant. Affirmative.
Beers? 6 PM?
Yes, please. Would ruin the workout, but so did stress. Adrian ran a hand over his face and checked his phone. Another text from Dominic.
I really appreciate it. You’re the best, Adrian.
He stared at the text, then set his phone aside, the tangle in his stomach pulling tighter and burning deeper.
Because he didn’t quite believe what Dominic had said. Felt more like placation than actual affection. Or his fucking job, his well enough job, was getting to him. Either or. Probably the job. God, he should take on some freelance job to have an outlet, but he had no time right now.
Beer tonight with Jackson sounded fantastic, though. He really needed to get his head screwed on better.
Chapter Fifteen
After a Friday morning of putting out metaphorical fires for very real customers, Adrian itched to get the hell out of the office for lunch. Seemed everyone had the same idea, because most of the cubes he passed were empty, their occupants already having fled into a summer day that wasn’t hellishly hot for a change.
The weekend was nearly here, thank god. His work with the Brada team had been grueling and infuriating. The code was a disaster, and he’d worked late the previous night, even coming back to the office after snagging a beer with Jackson to get on top of it.
Today? He was gonna slack a little today.
He grabbed some kebabs from a nearby cart and ate while wandering up into Tribeca. While he preferred meandering through independent bookstores, he ended up in one of the big corporate types, along with a mix of tourists, students, and people who worked in the area. The new releases didn’t hold too much interest, but the magazines caught his eye. Sometimes they had good literature journals. And maybe there was some kind of history magazine he could buy for Dominic.
Worth a look.
Of course, they lumped all the arts together on the bottom shelves, so he ended up on his knees, sorting through some popular movie and music magazines to find what he was wanted. He picked out a few poetry journals and found a magazine on archeology. Perfect.
Right before he rose, a swirl of color half-hidden behind some drumming magazine caught his attention. It was a tattooed arm, so like Dominic’s he nearly dropped the magazines in his hand. But it couldn’t be.
It was Dominic’s arm, down to the knot-work on that shoulder. Had to be. Adrian knew every line and curve. Had traced them all with finger and tongue. He fished the magazine—one on rock music—out, and a band stared back at him.
Twisted Wishes. A group photo of the four members of the band, all of them in various poses.
And there were Dominic’s tattoos on a guy who didn’t look like the sweet, bookish man he talked about poetry with and took to museums and art galleries. Nor the man he’d fed cake and pie and ice cream. This man was shirtless and in leather pants. His dark eyes were surrounded by makeup, and that smirk was crimson red. But the designs on his skin—those were inked into the man Adrian fucked and loved and bound. The man who kept secrets and had fear in those same dark eyes when Adrian dug a little too deep.
Adrian’s heart tumbled over and over and over. This was the answer, what he’d been waiting for Dominic to tell him, except now he knew.
He’d been dating a fucking rock star all this time and hadn’t known it. Been ignorant and foolish.
Something like anger zinged through him, and then embarrassment. He didn’t keep up with the music scene, hadn’t in years, and Dominic had walked in and taken every advantage of that.
Adrian gathered the magazines he’d collected, plus the one with Dominic on the cover, and took them to the counter to pay. On the walk back to his office, numbness set in. Why hadn’t Dominic told him? That tumbled around in his head, along with an image of Dominic from that rare moment the Sunday after their trip to the Met. Dom with his acoustic guitar, playing it inches from Adrian, after having tangled in the sheets. The gentle, beautiful sound, and that poised edge he’d had, eyes hooded, fingers moving like magic over the strings. The calm, centered look he’d had, the one that had melted into both joy and sadness when he’d smiled at Adrian.
There was more to this than deception. There had to be.
On the way back to his cube, he passed Jackson’s, then backed up. “Hey, Jack?”
