by Cari Quinn
Huh. So there was a story in this, somewhere. Nick gestured toward the wrecked room. “You stayed late last night, didn’t you? Looks like someone got fucked up in here.”
“Fucked maybe.” Simon’s mouth crooked into a grin as he reached for his flask. He tipped it back and swallowed greedily. “Why, hello breakfast.”
“In here? Really?” Nick cocked his head. “Who?”
“You gonna bust my balls over that? Least I didn’t put on a show for everyone.” Simon licked his lips. “Though it was performance-worthy, I gotta say. None of those little whimpers like Jazz. We’re talking screams, dude. Screams.”
Nick smirked. “You back doing that high-pitched shit? I thought you had that under control.”
“Asshole.” Simon grinned as he pulled off the Taylor and boosted himself up on the table. “Speaking of control, how’d you handle little Miss Pink Piglet after you royally pissed her off with your mic trick the other day?”
“She’ll rip off your nuts before she eats them if she hears you call her ‘piglet’.”
Simon reached across the desk and picked up the hair clip Nick had found, turning it over between his nimble fingers before tucking it into his jeans pocket. “Gonna tattle? Though I gotta say, her eating my nuts doesn’t sound like a hardship.” Simon waggled his brows in his usual lascivious way, but the lewd comment didn’t hold its typical bite.
Something was up with their resident manwhore. If he didn’t have his own issues, Nick might’ve pushed him to find out what. But he was full up on problems at the moment.
“Nah, your secret’s safe with me.” Nick went back to strumming the song that had slammed into him like a hurricane and wouldn’t let him out of its grip.
He still hadn’t worked out the end. Right now he was stuck on the bridge. He hadn’t made it over the hump yet.
“So, she still pissed at you?” Simon swung his legs and drank his vodka like the oversized man-child he was. His occasional winces let Nick know he was still feeling the aftereffects of their brawl a couple of weeks back. At least it wasn’t just him. “I haven’t seen you guys near each other lately. Guess that YouTube from the encore at the Rhino show makes up for it. I’ve seen her tongue in your mouth so much that I practically know what she tastes like.”
No, you don’t. Not even close.
“Jesus, are people still commenting on that? I was hoping it’d die down.”
Simon pried out his phone and swiped a thumb over the screen. “Vid’s up to seven-thousand-plus comments as of this morning. Most of them about wishing you’d take off your shirt and wondering how long you and Jazz have been making sweet, sweet love. In more creative terms than that.” Simon arched his eyebrow and widened his eyes comically. “Way more creative. Dude, where’s my notebook? I need to write some of this down.”
“We did.”
“You did what?” After a second, Simon glanced up. Frowned. “Ah. No good?”
“Incredible.” Nick dug his nail into a well-worn groove on his beloved guitar. “Until she called me Gray.” Simon was so silent for so long that Nick finally dared to glance at him. Simon had his fingers cupped around his flask, but he wasn’t drinking. Or looking at anything in particular. “Just say it. I’m a moron.”
“Not gonna say that.”
“Then?”
“This is going to seem like a really insensitive question, and it probably is, but does he know she’s into him?”
Nick turned his chair so he could sit on it sideways and put his back to the wall. Cradling the guitar in his lap, he let his fingers climb the strings. They pulled out a series of notes that matched his resigned mood. “For all I know, he heard.”
He hadn’t spent much time checking out Gray’s reaction to the proceedings. His attention had been all for Jazz until she’d left him reeling.
“Aww, Christ. A threesome? No wonder Gray looked effed up yesterday.” Simon shook his head. “Why would you go there with them? What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Nick had to laugh as he stared at the pinprick lights in the ceiling with eyes blurred from lack of sleep. “For once, it wasn’t my idea.”
“Jazz’s?”
“Actually, I think it was Gray’s.”
He and Simon didn’t say anything more. When the silence got to be too much, they did what they always did. Whether Simon’s ribs ached from his Dad’s latest beating and Nick felt like an outcast in his own family, or one of them had a girl problem and the other was just commiserating, they always had that shared outlet.
They played.
Eventually the soft snick of the door opening drew them out of the music’s spell. Gray lingered in the doorway, his eyes hollow. His already spiky hair looked like he’d trimmed it with a weed trimmer, and the thin white T-shirt he wore under a pinstripe vest hung off his shoulders.
If that was what love did to a guy, Nick wanted no part of it. He’d go back to indiscriminate screwing and die happy.
“Hey Gray,” Simon said, glancing from Gray to Nick and back again, clearly gauging if he’d have to referee a fight.
Nick drew back his spine. Nope. Not from him. Gray and Jazz could hammer out their problems or not, but he was officially stepping back. And officially rejoining Simon in the pussy of the week club.
“Hey,” Nick chimed in, earning a raised brow from his best friend. Yeah, well, Simon would just have to get used to it. His priorities were back in line.
He cared about one thing and one thing only—Oblivion. All the rest was just noise.
“Hey.” Gray gave Simon a half smile and ignored Nick entirely. “Early call for you too?”
“Just him,” Nick said. He could feel Simon’s and Gray’s stares burning into his forehead as he picked up his guitar and did the only thing he knew how to anymore.
For a couple of minutes, he played alone. That was okay. He was used to being on his own. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gray and Simon dragging over chairs to form a loose semi-circle.
Snapping snakes of fear coiled in his gut, eager to grab what they could. Today he wasn’t giving them a damn thing.
Nick focused on the song, on the music that sanded his rough edges smooth. Losing himself in the beat, in the emotion behind the notes. He couldn’t say the words to her aloud, probably didn’t even know how to articulate them if he could. In the song he had no reservations. No ego to protect. It always came down to his freaking pride.
Either it would save him or be the death of him.
Together, they created their own rhythm. Simon strummed the lower chords and added his own humming harmony. He always had to use his voice in one way or another. Gray brought his usual flair, not overpowering the melody, just extending certain notes and layering them together until they became something different. Better.
Without discussing it, they hit the bridge and kept going, the three of them easing through the part that had given Nick the most trouble. The chorus of a song was what made something a hit or caused it to be forgotten. Somehow, between them, they managed to fumble their way into exactly what he’d been trying to do on his own. And failing.
It wasn’t perfect. The three of them were still getting to know each other. If anticipating the finger progressions of guys you’d played with for years could be a challenge, doing the same with near-strangers was damn near to climbing a mountain blindfolded. He and Simon had a rock-solid foundation, but Gray was new—and wicked talented. His presence made him and Simon work for it. But God, the struggle felt good. Right.
Every time the snakes coiled tighter in his stomach, Nick ignored them. His fingers flew faster. His breath came quicker, making him lightheaded. And hungry. The magic crackled through his fingertips, sore already without his lucky pick. He’d forgotten to bring it today, but nothing could touch him when he got in the zone. The adrenaline rush carried him, smothering the nerves. Fanning the need to just play.
When they hit the end of the song, they simply started over again, refining what they’d
done and filling in the gaps with the quirks that would make it theirs. Would make it Oblivion’s.
Not just his anymore.
Not just him, and Simon, and Deacon.
After jamming for a while, Simon sighed and scraped back his chair. “Almost five-thirty. Gotta warm up the pipes.” He set his guitar between his knees and glanced between Gray and Nick. “Good session, guys.” With an extra look at Nick—filled with a warning he didn’t need—he got up and ambled out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Leaving a whole lot of silence and words unsaid in his wake.
Nick tipped back his head until his skull hit the wall. “She’s yours, dude.”
Gray turned red-rimmed irises toward Nick and said nothing. Nothing at all.
“I’m backing out of it. You knew her way before I did, and it’s obvious you two have—”
“What do we have?” It was a shock to hear Gray’s voice. He was so used to Gray barely speaking, at least to him. “As far as I saw, she was with you and I pushed my way in. The second I closed my eyes, she was on your lap.” He coughed out a laugh that sounded like glass breaking. “Doesn’t seem like we have much.”
From the way Gray was grinding his palms against his eyes, Nick wagered the guy hadn’t heard Jazz say the single word that echoed constantly in Nick’s brain. Gray. Over and over again, set to the sound of her moans.
Even if he wanted to be the bigger guy, the noble one who played matchmaker and swaggered off to find his own bliss between some other babe’s thighs, he couldn’t do it. He’d already said he was turning his back. He didn’t have it in him to do anything more.
“If that’s not enough, every time I go online to check out the Oblivion page Jazz set up, the Instagram’s blowing up with pictures of her tongue-fucking you. Everyone thinks you’re together. You want to be with her, I can practically smell it on you.” Gray kicked out his mile-long legs and snarled in his direction. “Why don’t you take her and be done with it?”
Since Gray wasn’t prone to diarrhea of the mouth like Simon, the diatribe felt like a verbal pounding. Instead of pissing Nick off, it just made him more tired. “She’s not mine to take. Why can’t you see that?” When Gray didn’t reply, Nick pried out another piece of gum. He’d swallowed the last sometime during the jam session. “I’ve been mad at you since the day we met, man. I’m over it. I thought you took my band, you thought I took your girl. Neither of them were really ours to start with if they were that easy to lose.”
Gray dropped his hands from his face. “So what now? We hug it out? You fucked her right in front of me. Goddamn it, I heard her moan over the speakers. Because of you.”
Nick unwrapped his gum. Balled up the paper. Over now. It was all over now. He would just keep chanting that phrase in his head until it became real.
“I’m not losing Oblivion. You’re part of it, so we’re gonna have to learn to deal with each other.” Nick folded the gum in his mouth and chewed until the ache in his jaw eased. It wasn’t a cig, but it would have to do. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this happen, Gray.”
He’d never used the other guy’s name before, and it must’ve worked because Gray’s gaze snapped to his. “I’m supposed to believe you?”
“Yes. I’m serious about Jazz. Her and I, we’re—” Nick looked up and saw her striding toward the isolation booth, a big knapsack slung over her back with her drumsticks jauntily popping out the top, and his breath faltered. “Done.” He shoved to his feet and grabbed his guitar. He needed to get out of there before it stopped mattering that she’d chosen Gray. “You gotta get ready too. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Nick, wait.”
Halfway to the door, he turned back as Gray bent to grab his guitar. And a little white packet fluttered to the floor.
Nick’s jaw dropped. Literally freaking dropped. Christ, not again. “What the fuck is that?” he demanded.
Gray stared at him, then dropped his gaze in slow-motion to the baggie. He scooped it up and slipped it into the pocket of his cargo pants. “Holding it for a friend,” he said easily, rising with that spooky fluidity that matched the effortless way he played.
Maybe there were reasons for how good Gray was. For his energy, for the crazy way he rode the strings like a demon clung to his back.
Just not the demon they’d thought.
Nick cut his gaze to Jazz, already secure behind her kit in the isolation booth. Pounding away, crazy braids flying. She’d gone all purple today, eradicating every hint of pink.
Purple princess. Little, cute, perky. And fierce as hell.
The thought made him smile until he glanced back at Gray, who now held his guitar like he didn’t recognize it. “You better hope that friend knows what he’s doing.” He walked out before he said more.
Better hope you don’t fuck up the thing we just found. The other thing, the one that’s still mine.
Better not hurt her when I just handed her over like a damn prize you don’t deserve.
Nick kept on walking right down the hall and out the side door of the building. The sun was just climbing in the sky. In a few hours, it would be glinting off the blacktop. Heating it up and making it sizzle. One hell of a long, hot summer lay ahead.
He climbed up on a concrete planter, grateful he didn’t have to worry about turning into a lobster yet. He wasn’t like Simon or Deak, who stayed surfer golden all year-round. His was the typical blond coloring. Light skin that turned pink at even the suggestion of sun until about May, then burnt its way into a decent tan.
A light breeze stirred the palms around the lot and he leaned back on the planter, digging his fingers into the warm, moist dirt. Someday he’d probably have a garden. He liked messing around with plants. Of course, that meant he’d need an actual house to live in first. Big dreams there. He was picking up extra shifts at The Fit Fiddle, but they weren’t going to get the job done. Now that he was Mr. Big Rockstar, maybe things would change.
He snorted. Or maybe not.
And he was totally stalling.
When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he thumbed out his phone and dialed Snake’s mom. It was early, but he knew she’d be up for work. He relayed his message in short, clipped sentences that felt a lot like jabbing a knife in Snake’s ribs.
He was pushing a longtime friend out of his band. Kicking him when he was down. That it hadn’t been his decision to start with didn’t change that it was his decision now.
After what he’d just seen, he hoped like hell they weren’t trading one drug addict for another.
“Tell Snake to call me when he gets out,” Nick said before he hung up, feeling like the biggest asshole who’d ever walked the planet.
He turned to go back inside and nearly walked into Jazz. Then he felt not only like an asshole, but like one who’d held something impossibly rare and beautiful in his hands and tossed it away. He wasn’t even sure why.
God, where was this sappy crap coming from? He needed a cig. Maybe a quart of Simon’s vodka or whatever was in Gray’s little baggie. Coke, most likely. Gray was such a ray of sunshine, who wouldn’t want to get on that stuff?
Nick rubbed his jaw, rasping his palm over the stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave, and slid his cell in his back pocket. Yet again, he swallowed his gum, but at least this time it was intentional. “Lost, little girl?”
Jazz tilted her head and shielded her eyes with the side of her hand. “I found you.”
The smirk slid across his face as he pushed aside the thoughts that had come before. He wasn’t some soft romantic fuck who composed songs for chicks he barely knew. He was a hard ass who took what he wanted just because it tasted good.
She’d tasted delicious.
Moving forward, he hooked his fingers in the belt loop of her jeans and yanked her forward, tipping her head backward with the force of his mouth. His lips pressed into hers, his tongue slashing inside. Just one last forbidden jolt of her to tide him over for—
Ever.
Then he stepped back and wiped his wrist over his mouth. Erasing her or sealing her in, he wasn’t sure.
She didn’t fight to hold onto him, just cast her eyes toward the asphalt. “Gray sent me out here to talk to you.”
The harsh laugh that escaped him rattled his chest. Oh, that was just perfect. “I can’t guess why.”
“He played your song for Blitz. I guess you, Simon and Gray were playing it this morning before I got here? Blitz said you’d played the beginning for him yesterday.”
It wasn’t his song anymore. “Yeah, it wasn’t finished then. But it is now. We figured it out this morning.”
“Well, Blitz loves the final product. He wants to see about recording it—all of us being in on it—for the ending credits of the movie. It doesn’t have any words?”
“No. Not yet.” Not ever.
“Yeah, that’s what Blitz liked. He needs an instrumental. Yours is exactly what he was looking for. Might even bring in the orchestra for it, though he said he liked the more simplistic, haunting feel. What’s it called?”
The corner of Nick’s mouth lifted. “‘Her’.”
She swayed backward as if he’d taken a swing in her direction. “‘Her’?” she repeated.
“Don’t read too much into it.”
“I’m not. It’s just—”
“You said Gray sent you out here. Does that mean you’re finally talking?”
Does it make it easier to communicate now that he’s had his fingers inside you? Where mine were last?
All at once, her face closed up. She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head like she couldn’t speak without crying. Her other arm banded around her waist.
“He had sex with you and he still can’t tell you what he wants? Sure you want to sign up for that?” The second question spilled out without thought. A last ditch effort by the part of him that was tired of letting go of things he really fucking wanted to hold on to.
But that part was an idiot.
“We didn’t have sex,” she whispered, her fingers curling into her side with enough pressure to bruise. The movement pulled her shirt tight, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about her pretty tits. He was thinking about how hurt she’d already been, and how much more might be coming her way.
