Syncopation

by Anna Zabo

  Zavier raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, you’re the kid, kid.”

  “Two years younger than you isn’t that much,” Dom said.

  “Not anymore, no,”

  “Get off my lawn,” Mish muttered, and they all laughed, even Zavier.

  With the tension broken, the bus picking up speed, and the coffee brewing, Ray made good on his words. He crawled into a berth and closed his eyes. He hadn’t planned on sleeping, but his thoughts twisted and jumbled around Zavier’s smile, and then slid into nothingness.

  * * *

  Traveling this way wasn’t bad. Zavier propped his feet up on the leather couch and watched the world go by. They were heading to Detroit for their next show and would arrive sometime tomorrow. He wasn’t sure how the whole driver thing worked. Shifts, he guessed. Like driving across country with friends. There certainly was more than one driver for the two buses—this one and the crew bus.

  The coffeemaker had brewed a perfect pot. Even Dom had been pleased, and so had Ray when he’d emerged from behind the berth curtain, blinking and bleary-eyed, some two hours later.

  Looked like someone had actually napped and not just slipped away to get off.

  Ray clutched his mug and drank, and Zavier watched him in the reflection of the window. While Ray had been out, Dom had claimed the bunk above Mish, which left the one under Ray for Zavier, and didn’t that do wicked things to his lust.

  He closed his eyes and swallowed the snort. He had more control than this, but Ray was so delightful in so many ways. Even when Ray was at his most stressed and grumpy, there were these buttons Zavier could push, and did. Mostly to direct Ray away from the anger eating at him, but Zavier wasn’t entirely altruistic—he got too much of a rush from playing with Ray’s obvious submissive side—but at least he could use his own lust to help.

  He studied the scenery and then Ray’s reflection—and caught Ray watching him. Wasn’t unpleasant, that inspection. A little wonder, a little calculation. Ray shook himself, and finished his coffee. When he rose, Zavier readjusted himself on the couch so he could peer across the aisle at him when he settled back with a notebook.

  Mish wandered up from the back and scooped Zavier’s legs off the couch. “You’re like a freaking cat, taking up all the space.”

  Accurate. He just smiled and sat back, feet firmly on the bus floor.

  Dom put away his book, and that was what keyed Zavier in that something was up. “Is this a meeting?”

  “Yes,” Ray said.

  “More like a ritual.” That from Dom.

  Mish rolled her eyes. “Ray’s gonna figure out the playlist for tomorrow night. He likes our input.”

  The journal Ray held was worn and scuffed, meaning it probably held all of Twisted Wishes’s song lists. Maybe more besides. A little wash of sparks ran up Zavier’s back. He was part of this band. Playing the festival had been one thing. Rehearsals another. But this...was Ray sharing himself.

  Ray slipped the cord off the notebook and flipped through the pages. From what Zavier spied, some had sparse writing on them, others were packed with text. The page Ray stopped at already had writing on it. “I was thinking about a similar list to the festival, though we’ll need to add songs, since we’ll have about thirty more minutes to play.”

  They also had several more tracks from the third album down well enough to perform. And wouldn’t you know, Dom suggested adding two of them to the middle of the show. “We’ll be warmed up, and they’ll be expecting newer stuff about then.”

  Ray nodded.

  “Encores?” Mish asked.

  “I really liked the way ‘Dark Dreams’ and ‘White Hot Midnight’ worked. I say we leave them at the end,” Ray said. Both Dom and Mish nodded and he leveled those whiskey eyes at Zavier. “What about you?”

  “I wouldn’t mess with perfection.”

  Ray’s whole face darkened, his anger sharpening his words. “I’m being serious here.”

  “So am I.” Zavier leaned forward. “They were perfect, Ray.”

  As quickly as Ray’s storm came, it lifted and his shoulders relaxed. “You mean that.”

  Zavier lifted his head. “Yes.” He spoke it like a command, and it had the same effect on Ray as it would’ve had on any of the subs he’d played with. A flush and a melting, that little hint of subspace.

  Ah, hell. He shouldn’t have done that, because now he wanted more.

  Ray shook himself. “Okay, so we’ll leave those for the encore.” He wrote something down. “And slot those two songs Dom suggested in the middle.”

  They hashed out bits and pieces of the set, moving songs around and mixing their best known with edgier but fun pieces until they had a good list.

  Except Ray had a little frown. Mish must have noticed it too, because she tilted her head. “Honey, what’s up?”

  “Just—I’m not sure I like ‘Diamond Fever’ as the opening song.”

  “Fans loved it,” Dom said.

  They had. But that didn’t change Ray’s expression, even though he nodded. “I know. But I think we could do better.”

  Both Mish and Dom threw out a few other songs they hadn’t already listed as openers, but Ray just frowned into his journal. “They’re all good options, but...”

  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. He needed to, 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 ca
lls 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.”

  “What do you 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 person Ray 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?”

  Ray whirled around. “What the fuck do you think?” Only then did he notice the guy with the camera and the press pass standing in the room off to the side. Shit, shit. He took a breath and stepped back. “No, man. Just coffee, and not enough of that.” God, he needed to pay more attention to his surroundings. Fucking thing was, that was one of the first pieces of advice Carl had given him.

  The fucker chuckled. “I’m sure.” He sounded like he didn’t believe a word Ray said, which was pretty normal. “You know the deal.”

  He damn well did. “Do you need a blood test?” He held out his arm. “’Cause all you’re gonna find is caffeine and a shitty truck stop meatball hoagie.”

  The press guy raised both his eyebrows and Carl looked taken aback. “No, no. Of course not.”

  Zavier breezed in. “I’d be afraid to know what’s in those meatballs.”

  “Says the man who ate the chili cheese dogs.” Domino was in most of his getup, since reporters like the one furiously typing into his phone could be found everywhere behind the scenes at a place like this.

  “Eh, cast-iron stomach.” Zavier flashed one of his perfect grins at Dom. “Product of my misspent youth.”

  Mish grabbed a bottle of water. “Next time I’m buying stock in antacids.”

  The best part of the whole tangent was the look on Carl’s face. Ray relaxed. Anything about his “drinking problem” would be buried under the crappy eating habits of rock stars.

  The journalist or whatever he was cleared his throat and nodded to Zavier. “You’re the new drummer, right?”

  Zavier straightened, his movements careful. Calculated. “Yes, I am. And you are...?”

  “Gabriel McGinness, from MusicNight Online.”

  A nod. “I do like knowing who’s writing about me,” Zavier murmured, and fuck, was it sexy. How the hell did he do that? It also raised quite a blush on the reporter—and that caused a bitter taste in Ray’s mouth.

  The reporter recovered pretty fast, though the blush lingered. “How does a principal timpanist of a renowned symphony orchestra end up as a rock drummer?”

  Less sex in Zavier’s voice now. “I answered a call for an audition.”

  “After you were fired from Silverton?”

  Zavier’s posture shifted in an instant. He didn’t tense up, per se. Ray couldn’t say what changed other than his grin dropping, but the temperature in the room fell about twenty degrees, or so it seemed. “I wasn’t fired. I resigned.”

  Oh, there was a story there. Zavier’s voice was mild, but concrete—practically daring the reporter to refute him. For his part, Mr. Presspass McGinness or whatever stood his ground. “Dimitri Ferbran said—”

  “Maestro Ferbran knows damn well I walked into HR and tenured my resignation before he had his little screaming fit at me.” Zavier’s smile was back, but unpleasant as hell. “I can give you the number of the Human Resources director, if you wish to corroborate my story.” He paused. “And I’m not the only musician to walk out on Ferbran.”

  Presspass got a curious look. “Really?”

  “Mmmhmm. Look it up sometime.” Zavier shrugged. “Now if you’ll excuse us...”

  Carl ushered the press guy out the door. After that, he pulled a can from the fridge, then cracked it open. Of course it was a beer. Ray resisted the urge to look at his watch. He suspected the only reason Carl was drinking was to rub it in that Ray couldn’t. Or maybe Zavier’s little previous workplace history had been a surprise. Who knew? Interesting that Ray wasn’t the only one with a cloud hanging over him.

  Once Carl had downed a few gulps, he smacked his lips, which meant the beer was about Ray and not Zavier. At least he was consistent. “So, Ray. Got a set list yet?”

  Carl had never been interested in what they planned to play on tour before. “Of course I have. We worked it out last night.” He gestured to the band.

  A nod. “Well, I saw a version of it from the crew, but given the opening song, I figured that couldn’t be right.”

  Fuck. Carl was going to give him grief about that? “If the opener is ‘Lightning’, then yes, it’s the correct list.”

  “Are you mental?”

  “Hey!” Mish slammed down her water. “Don’t be a fucking ableist—”

  “Yeah, Carl, I am. I’m a foolish, ignorant piece of shit.” Ray snapped the words out. Carl’s attention swung away from Mish and back to him, where it belonged.

  Carl stepped forward. “You don’t start a concert with—”

  The whole room erupted into an argument, Mish and Dom trying to be heard over Carl as Ray agreed with every shit-talking thing that poured from that asshole’s mouth.

  “Stop.” Zavier’s voice thundered over them all. And fuck, there was anger in it. Ray’s heart ticked up several notches, but Zav wasn’t focused on him. No, he was staring daggers at Carl. The room fell silent. “Ray knows music. You even said that.”

  Carl stammered out something unintelligible.

  Zavier shook his head once. “The band agreed on the set. We talked it over. Yes, it’s unconventional, but that’s what gets people noticed. Ray’s idea is a good one.”

  “You wanna bet on that?” Carl folded his arms.

  Zavier laughed. “Yes. But you wouldn’t like my price.” There was that smoldering, sexy glare again, one that turned the whole conversation into something entirely inappropriate.

  Carl paled. “I’m not gay. I’m not touching your dick.”

  Wow, way for Carl to jump to a conclusion and be the panicked hetero guy. Though even thinking about Carl on his knees in front of Zavier turned Ray’s stomach, enough that he looked away. He ended up meeting Dom’s wide-eyed gaze.

  “You don’t need to be gay.” Zavier’s voice was velvet smooth. “Just heteroflexible enough.”

  Too much for Carl, apparently. When Ray looked back, he was glowering
at Zavier, fists clenched. “Fine. Start with that song, but when it blows up in your face, don’t come crying to me.” He stormed out.

  “Would you really fuck that asshole?” Mish took another swig of water. “I mean—”

  Zavier snorted. “No. I have standards.”

  “Since when?” Ray didn’t even know why he said it. Maybe the memory of Zavier face-fucking that quarterback.

  “Ray.” There was a softness to Zavier’s voice. Ray stared back at him. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  For a moment, it seemed like they were the only two people in the room, and the years fell away, leaving Ray young and vulnerable. “Yeah, well.” He didn’t know what was going through the mind behind those blue eyes, but he hated the thought of Zavier fucking Carl or Presspass or anyone, because it drove home how little Zavier wanted him. “Try to keep your dick in your pants and your mind out of the gutter.”

  Lo and behold, that earned him a blush, and Zavier actually looked hurt. Would wonders never cease?

  “Hey, guys. Let’s not snipe at each other.” Mish settled down on a couch. “Gotta stick together.” Dom nodded and plopped down next to her.

  Ray pushed his hands through his hair. Last thing he needed was to alienate Zavier and lose another drummer. Heat rose to his face. “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to get on your case.”

  Zavier waved his words away. “Part of that was my fault.” He focused on the direction Carl and Presspass had gone. “I shouldn’t cause you guys trouble with my mouth.”

  Ray wanted Zavier’s mouth...and that was trouble too. “Do you think we should change the set list?”

  “No.” All three of them answered almost in harmony. That teased happiness from Ray. They might get on each other’s nerves, but at least they were on the same page.

  Ray sprawled down on another couch, content to relax—until Zavier sat down next to him.

  He’d been in the berth above Zavier for hours. In the middle of the night, when Ray had inevitably woken because he could not sleep soundly on the road, he’d strained to hear Zavier over the sounds of the road. His breathing, a movement, anything to feel the closeness he’d been denied all those years ago. Now here he was, inches away.