by Anna Zabo
“So what happened with the orchestra?”
Zavier shifted, brushing his leg against Ray’s in the process. “Personality differences with the conductor.”
“And you walked before he could fire you?”
An affirmative grunt. “Yes. Though, in reality, he couldn’t have fired me. He’s as much a member of the orchestra as anyone else, even if he’s more famous and better paid.”
Silence settled between them as the obvious question nagged at Ray’s mind—but he’d already told Zavier to get out of the gutter, so he shouldn’t be asking about Zavier’s sex life. “Why not another orchestra?”
A soft chuckle, one he felt through the shaking of the couch rather than heard. “I was wondering when you’d ask that,” Zavier murmured. “Dimitri has better connections than I do, and there are only so many timpanist positions available at any given time.”
Dimitri. Ray’s turn to shift uncomfortably on the couch. First-name basis. “So you’re slumming it with us.”
Mish rolled her eyes. “Ray.”
Zavier tapped his foot against Ray’s. “This is hardly slumming it. So far it’s been a pleasure and a challenge. Frankly, I can’t wait to get on stage tonight.” So much passion in his voice, enough that Ray caught the edge of excitement himself.
He took in Zavier, meeting his gaze and smile. “You have the best seat in the house, you know.”
“Oh, believe me, I know that.” There was a flicker of motion, and Ray got the distinct impression that Zavier was checking him out, and that only fueled his blood.
Ray closed his eyes. “Soon you’ll be in it.”
“And Carl will learn you were absolutely right.”
God, he hoped so.
* * *
Unusual to still have such nerves. Zavier pushed back on the flutter in his cheek and tingling in his arms. Technically, the festival had been his first show with the band, so he shouldn’t have been off-kilter. Yet he was, because this concert was personal now. He didn’t have to prove himself this time, but with the way Carl had treated Ray, the band had a score to settle.
Zavier wanted to ram success, along with his fist, down Carl’s throat. He didn’t understand why Ray put up with that shit.
When he’d had a free second away from the rest of the band, he’d sent a quick email to Nadia to see if she’d anything to tell him about the manager. Something didn’t add up. At all.
And god, that reporter. Gabriel. Pretty enough of a man, but he’d hit a little too close to the mark with his questions. Undoubtedly, something would come out about his time at Silverton and his relationship with its maestro. What the hell would Ray think of that? Did Zavier care?
Yes, of course he did. He’d felt a twinge of embarrassment he hadn’t felt in so long when he’d realized Ray was jealous of his sexually charged banter with both Gabriel and Carl. He didn’t need to cause Ray issues. Dude was on edge enough.
Now, though, Ray was in his best form: on stage and in control. They worked through a sound check and a small practice. The songs they played snippets from were ones that everyone expected them to play, off the latest album. Nothing unexpected, and certainly not “Lightning.” They kept that under wraps.
Carl frowned at them from the edge of the stage. What did that guy expect? They’d blown away the festival. This would be no different. The smattering of VIP folks for Five Asylum seemed pretty happy, even clapping a few times when they worked flawlessly through a song. Another glance over at the edge of the stage, and Carl was gone.
Just as well.
Afterward, the band conferred, and the nervousness Zavier had suppressed was alive in Ray. “It’s good. I think it’s good.” He rocked back and forth on his feet, like someone who’d had too many energy drinks.
The hesitation was alive in Dom, too. “Yeah. I think we sounded fine.”
Mish tossed her head. “We’re gonna nail it, Ray.” Fire there, and determination.
Zavier fed off that rather than his own worries. “They won’t know what hit them.”
Ray took a breath and settled. “Okay.” Another breath and he was nodding. “We’ll do this.”
They passed through the green room and headed to their dressing rooms when Zavier spotted Carl, lying in wait. Of course. No idea why Carl undermined Ray, but damned if Zavier was going to let that happen.
He grabbed Ray’s elbow. “Hey.”
Ray nearly jumped out of his skin at the touch, but didn’t pull away. Rather, he settled closer to Zavier, like a magnet.
Oh hell. Yes. But no as well. They could not go on like this. Ray’s desire pulled too much against his own.
“Yeah?” Ray’s voice was breathless, sweet, and so very tempting.
“I know I was an asshole about the drumming thing in high school. Ray, I love being in your band.” Truth. He stepped in closer, their arms skin to skin. “And you’re an astounding musician. Don’t let anyone—anyone—tell you differently.” Zavier whispered the words against Ray’s neck.
A shiver and a gasp, and then those golden eyes looked into his own. “You mean that?”
“With every fiber of my being.” He released Ray’s elbow slowly and stepped back, giving them both the space they needed before their asshole manager arrived.
“Ray,” Carl snapped.
For a moment Ray didn’t respond to the call. He nodded at Zavier, then turned. “Yes?”
“I want to talk to you about the opening song.”
Zavier gritted his teeth—but Ray didn’t, and that was something.
“No,” Ray said, his voice calm. A thrill zipped through Zavier. Yes.
“What?” Carl took a step back.
“I’m not changing my mind.” Ray put his hands into his pocket. “We’re opening with ‘Lightning’ tonight. If it flops, then we can talk about it, and I’ll even give you a shaker of salt to rub into the wound.”
So very delightful to see Carl staring back, his ears red and words failing to form on his lips. “Fine.” He stepped back. “I’ll be watching.”
Ray’s nod was pretty much a dismissal before he turned back to Zavier. “We should go get changed.”
“Yeah.” They made their way to the dressing room. For Zavier, it wasn’t so much changing as putting on layers he could strip off as the night progressed. By the end, he expected to be bare-chested and drenched in sweat, like every rock drummer on tour.
Dom was already in the room, working on perfecting his messy hair and makeup. Mish sat in her tights and red dress, watching. “I swear, honey, you use more makeup than me.”
“I do,” Dom said. “And you know it. But here.” He tossed her something. “I found this lipstick the other day.”
She caught it, and inspected the tube. “Not my color.” She studied Ray, then Zavier in turn, and tossed it to Zavier. “It’ll go with your eyes and all that black you wear—or don’t wear.”
The shade was a bright purple. Not maroon or burgundy or one of the purplish reds, but a true purple. He stared at it for a moment.
“Ever worn makeup?” Ray’s lilt was a touch on the snotty side, as if he expected the answer to be no.
Without replying, Zavier set the lipstick down in front of his dressing station, and slowly stripped off his shirt.
Ray’s eyes widened and his gaze flicked all over Zavier’s body. The ink, of course. Ray hadn’t exactly been subtle in his admiration before, and he wasn’t now, not licking his lips like that.
Mish turned away, but her grin was huge. “Should I leave so you can drop trou, too?”
He shrugged and stretched his arms. “I do need to change pants.” He had a variety he could wear, from loose and flowing to skintight and leather. “But I haven’t decided which yet.” He met Ray’s lustful look. “Leather?”
The hitched breath was the best. Ray shook himself. “Up to
you, dude.” With that, he turned to his own wardrobe.
Dom rubbed his chin. “It’s probably as cool tonight as it’s gonna get on this tour. So if you’re serious about the leather, wear them. I think our fans would...appreciate the look.”
“What Dom means is that you have a stunning ass and great legs,” Mish said.
“Which they’re not going to see for most of the show.” That from Ray.
He would know what Zavier was wearing. “There’s the three-song acoustical set.” They’d set the stage up so he’d be out front for those, standing and playing with the others—like being back in the orchestra, but so much more charged, and close to the audience.
A grunt from Ray, and a sideways look as he pulled his clothes out. “Gonna wear the lipstick?”
“Yes. And the leather pants.”
Ray looked like he was trying not to smile.
“Yes, I have worn makeup before. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Contouring. Goth nights were the best.”
There was Ray’s actual smile. “Okay. Let’s get dressed and do this.”
Zavier’s nerves vanished as certainty slipped over him. Ray would win tonight, and Carl would eat his fucking words.
Chapter Nine
Five words into the first verse of “Lightning,” Ray knew he’d been right about opening with this song. The thrum of Mish’s bass and the growl of Dom’s guitar were a counterpoint to the growing threat of Zavier’s drums. The crowd—oh, the crowd. He knew most of them were here to see Five Asylum, but there were Twisted Wishes fans out there, too. A whole hell of a lot of them, because they screamed when they realized which song was being played and sang along. Those in the front strained their arms out to touch Ray’s fingers
This was what he’d hoped for, what the band needed. What that fuckass Carl didn’t understand. It wasn’t about the publicity or the gossip rags or schooling or any of that—it was about the fans. The music. The energy. Give your soul over in words and notes and beats, and the fans gave you their souls right back in tears and screams and outstretched hands yearning for a single touch.
Fucking glorious, every second. Mish moving like sin and Dom grinding across the stage like he owned it. Behind the large kit, Zavier pounded out the rhythm like he was their heart. Might well have been. Where Kevin had been superb while sober, Zavier was magnificent, embellishing on the fly, adding little syncopated beats that made Ray’s heart stutter and swell.
He sang all the harder, hitting notes, throwing himself out into the crowd, and running and dancing up the aisles. The fans erupted, but no one was too disrespectful, thank goodness. Getting back up on stage was a trick, but the next few songs were the acoustical ones, so he hoisted himself up and sat on the stage edge until he caught his breath and everyone else in the band switched instruments.
Security handed him water, and he drank before rotating and standing up on the stage. Mish had her upright bass, and Dom looked slightly ridiculous in his spiked collar with his delicate wooden guitar, but so much himself that for a moment Ray glimpsed Dominic behind the Domino persona.
Zavier had come out from behind the kit sans shirt, his tattoos shining from sweat. He was encased in those sinful leather pants, and Ray’s breath caught. It caught a second time when Zavier grinned at him. The purple lipstick, those fucking blue eyes, and the way those pants hugged every inch of him.
Unfair.
Ray spun back around to the audience. “How ’bout something more classic?” The fans cheered, and with Zavier tapping out the beat with his sticks, they were off again.
The night seemed to last forever and no time at all. They finished the set, moved back to their normal instruments and soon, too soon, they were bowing after their encore, the crowd, at least under the venue pavilion, on their feet and cheering.
Mish and Dom threw picks and Zavier tossed his drumsticks. Someone in the front row yelled, “What about the pants?”
Zavier laughed and called back, “Want to keep playing, dude! They’d kick me out for that.”
Sure, the venue, maybe the label, but right now? Ray really wanted to see what was under those pants, too.
But they were being ushered off and the house lights were flickering on for the intermission before Five Asylum took the stage.
The moments after they stepped off the stage blurred into a kaleidoscope. Slaps on the back. Zavier’s sweat-soaked body so close to Ray’s, and his grin. Dom’s makeup was a mess, as was Mish’s. Zavier’s purple lipstick was somehow still perfect, and Ray wanted those lips on his. Someone shoved a bottle of water into his hands, and he cracked the cap off and downed half in one gulp.
Gregor from Five Asylum was there, clean and fresh and ready to take the stage. His gaze was shrewd. “Once again, a tough act to follow. You’re turning heads, Van Zeller.”
“Hope you don’t mind.” His voice was rough, and he gulped more water. Five Asylum was renowned and Gregor Daye almost a legend—a bona fide rock star. Ray was tickled at the thought of upstaging him.
A chuckle from the star. “God, no. It’s good to see someone stepping up.” Someone behind Gregor tapped him on the shoulder, and he grunted. “Gotta go.” With that, Gregor vanished into a sea of techs and maybe a bodyguard or two.
More water, a protein bar, a change of clothes, some cleaning up, and they were heading out toward the parking lot, where the buses were waiting. One of the security people from the venue strode next to him, ear protection dangling around her neck. “There’s a lot of fans waiting for you guys. We set up some lines. I’m not sure how you want to handle it.”
Usually they signed everything they could. “How many is—” The words died in his throat.
Apparently, many was a whole fucking lot. The line snaked around the walkway to keep the fans from milling in the lot or around the buses, looping back twice. Way more people than normal. This was only their second concert of the tour. “Holy shit.”
She gave him a glance. “You want us to clear them out?”
“No, no.” He turned to the rest of the band. “You up for this?” Both Mish and Dom had ear-to-ear grins.
Zavier hung back. “I’m not really part of the band.”
Mish grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “Shut up, Demos. You’re coming with us.”
Joy bubbled up in Ray. Yeah, he was, and it was perfect.
Turned out, the fans took to Zavier as much, or maybe more, than they had to Kevin. Understandable. Talented, stunning—what more could you want, other than a tumble headlong into bed? Not that Ray could have Zavier, but like the fans undoubtedly had, it was a pleasant daydream. Hell, they had more of a shot.
A young woman with short dark hair and that nervous, happy, dazed look fans got was next for an autograph as he worked his way down the line. Ray had already had so many selfies taken, so he was grateful that she only clutched a CD case. It was scratched to hell and back, and who had CDs these days anyway?
Her eyes were wide and dark, even under the bright venue lights. “Mr. Van Zeller?”
“Ray,” he said, and held out his hand for the CD case. “What’s your name?”
“Mel. Melissa, but everyone calls me Mel.”
“What do you want me to call you?” Names were important and personal. He’d learned that from Mish, and a few others.
Her face lightened out of the nerves. “Mel. I like Mel.”
“And you have our CD...?”
Mel seemed reluctant to give it up. “Yeah, it’s... My mom didn’t want me to buy this.” Wetness at the corner of her eyes. She offered the case to Ray.
Their very first album, before they signed with the label. They’d sold a bunch at concerts, a few online, and had put the MP3s out there, too. He took it gingerly, because this was a precious item to her. “She doesn’t like rock?”
The young woman shook her head. “She likes rock. Her stuff, you k
now? Her bands. She didn’t want me listening to—to—” She hiccupped a laugh. “Gay people.”
Yeah, there were people who said they wouldn’t listen to Twisted Wishes when the band hadn’t kept quiet about their sexualities. But damned if they were going to hide who they were. There were so many people in the industry who were queer. You’d think the critics and the population would be used to it by now. Chances were, her mom listened to queer people without even knowing it. “I’m sorry she’s like that.”
Another nod. “I had it shipped to a friend’s house. My mom was so mad.” Her eyes were brimming. “But you understood how I felt. The lyrics. The music. Saved my life.”
Oh. A cool wash of gratitude mixed with a touch of wonder flowed over Ray. “I’m so very glad.” He paused. “Should I sign the CD? Or the booklet or...?” Sometimes people had very specific ways they wanted items signed.
“The CD,” she whispered.
“To you?”
The nod was almost imperceptible, but there.
He signed, leaving space for Mish and Dom, too. “To Mel,” he said, and handed it back.
She blinked a few times at the disk, as if not believing it was really there, then she looked up, right at him. “My mom took it from me when she found out. She listened to it...and gave it back.” A smile broke out. “Changed her, too.”
Then Mel was gone, off to talk to Mish...and Ray was left breathless.
That moment and so many others—that was why he did this. Not for the fame, but for Mel and Bryan and Sami and all the others he’d met so far. He turned and greeted the next fan.
He’d no idea how long it had been by the time the lines finally dwindled down to nothing—only that Five Asylum was playing and his hand hurt, but the post-concert buzz still poured through his body.
Mish gripped him on the shoulder, her expression as exuberant-looking as he was. “That was something!”
Even Zavier looked dazed, and that purple lipstick wasn’t so perfect now. Ray still wanted to kiss it off of him. Unfair. “Let’s get back to the bus.”
