Twisted

by Cari Quinn

  He’d spent enough time torturing himself over Jazz Edwards.

  Before she could question him further, he finished off the water himself and turned away, crushing the bottle in his fist. “Be back later,” he muttered, knowing she’d never hear him over the chaos backstage. Knowing it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing he ever said or did was.

  “Gray.” Her abrupt cry cut through the noise and he stopped, expecting her small hand to close over his forearm. She had a crazy intense grip from playing the drums and a thrill of anticipation always buzzed down his spine when her strong fingers pressed into his flesh. Every time he imagined her touching him somewhere else, like she had that one time—

  The one time he wouldn’t let himself think about, because it hadn’t been right. In all his fantasies about his first time with Jazz Edwards, there was never another guy there too.

  But he hadn’t walked away. Even a saint couldn’t have turned away from those needy blue eyes, and God knows he wouldn’t be fitted for a halo anytime soon. The burn in his nose and muscles jangling under his skin proved that more than anything else.

  He pivoted to face her and discovered she hadn’t moved from her spot. Her pale bare feet gleamed against the floor covered in spilled liquor and sweat and who knows what else, those pink-tipped toes speaking of the innocence she still possessed. She was the drummer for a band on their way to superstardom and she had a freaking clit piercing, for God’s sake, but the woman before him would never lose that inner core of sweetness and purity. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “Where are you going?” She stepped closer, silently imploring him to stay. “The guys are heading out to Sharkey’s for an after-party in the VIP room.”

  Gray snorted. “What VIP room? That place is a dive.”

  “They remodeled it, I guess. We’ve been away for a while.”

  Talk about an understatement. Their whirlwind tour had ended up getting extended when they switched management and record companies and their new team had wanted them to be seen in a few more key venues before they packed it in for a few months. Not that they’d be on vacation. They had a new album to cut, which meant studio time as well as serious hours spent writing new material. They didn’t have nearly enough to go into the studio with yet. That also meant they’d need to put away the shit between the band members long enough to actually sit still and work on some words and melodies together.

  Long meet shot.

  “Simon’s got a disguise too,” Jazz went on, clearly oblivious to Gray’s disinterest. He hadn’t been all that fond of hanging out with most of his fellow band members before the big contract mess that Nick and Simon had instigated. Now he definitely couldn’t be bothered.

  Especially when there was all that pretty blow, just waiting for him. Maybe. All depended if Cricket really would come through without him having to do her. Some females just had a thing for rock stars, even sweaty, hyper ones who were more interested in powder than pussy.

  Still, he had to try to pay attention to this conversation and possibly even show up at the after-party. For Jazz if no one else. “A disguise? What the hell?”

  “You know, so he won’t be recognized.” She rolled her eyes. “I think he stole your hat too. I swear he was carrying that around with this freaking curly red wig that makes him look like Carrot Top.”

  Gray frowned. “I was wondering where it went.”

  She smiled faintly. “I was amazed you could go on without it. In the old days, you would’ve refused to play.”

  In the old days, I would’ve refused a lot of things.

  He rubbed his hand over the back of his damp neck. “Babe, I need a shower.”

  “So? I do too. That doesn’t mean you can’t come to Sharkey’s.”

  Rather than stand there and envision things he had no business envisioning—namely his best friend naked and soapy under a stream of hot water—he stepped back. “Why don’t you go ahead? We can connect later.”

  She gave him a pleading look that never missed its target. “It’s New Year’s Eve. A fresh start. Please, Gray.”

  And those words right there? His undoing.

  He sighed. “I’ll meet you there, all right?”

  “No. Not all right.” Eyes narrowed, she closed the distance between them again. Apparently she had no intention of giving up easily. “Who is that woman? I don’t like the looks of her.”

  “You don’t like the looks of anyone.” He couldn’t resist tapping the side of her head, right above one of her bedraggled rainbow ponytails. “Very suspicious mind you have in there, young lady.”

  “Someone has to watch out for you.”

  “Oh really?” He cocked a brow, still a little sore from the ring he’d had put in yesterday. Pain was his new thing. At the rate he was going, he’d have tattoos and piercings all over his body. “I think that’s my job.”

  “No, it’s mine.” She wet her lips and grabbed the lapels of the leather vest he’d worn over skin onstage. That skin was currently soaked to the bone from their crazy-ass set under the lights, but she didn’t seem to mind. Why would she? Her bangs stuck to her forehead in a thick clump. Even her lashes had tangled in the heat.

  And that wet look only brought him right back to thoughts of her in the shower, her body pressed tightly to his from the tips of her full breasts to her shapely thighs and everywhere in between.

  His dick veered against his zipper. Christ. He needed to get his head straight or else he’d make some serious mistakes while he was waiting for his fix.

  Like indulging in an even darker, more dangerous one.

  “I’ve been watching out for you since I was fourteen, Grayson Duffy.” Her fingers tightened on his vest, as if she suspected he was on the verge of pulling away. “Nothing and no one will make me stop now. So get your ass into that shower, get cleaned up and presentable, and come with us to Sharkey’s.”

  The devil on his shoulder—or in his pants—made him lean close to speak against her ear. No less than six miniature hoops cupped the curve of her lobe. “What, you don’t think I look presentable now? I think there are some ladies here who might disagree with you.”

  She sucked in an audible breath before releasing him and taking an obvious step back. “Like that chick who was groping your dick in front of everyone?” Her eyes flashed. “I bet you didn’t think I saw that.”

  “No. I didn’t.” Wished she hadn’t.

  He didn’t have any reason to tread gently around Jazz, other than how much of a worrywart she was. They weren’t a couple nor had they ever been. Deep down, he still had a niggle of hope that things could change. That one day she’d stop looking at him as her best friend and see him as more.

  Or at least he had hoped that, before. Now he didn’t want her anywhere near him. He loved her enough to know she deserved better.

  His gaze darted to Nick, his arm slung around some random redhead wearing shorts that almost exposed her crotch. Jazz deserved way better than that jerk too. He knew all about the backstage blowjobs she used to give Nick before shows. Hell, he’d practically walked in on one once. What they had done after them was more than he wanted to think about.

  It was bad enough that he’d never be able to scour the image of her riding Nick from his brain. Lord knows he tried every time he lined up coke on a mirror and shut his eyes. But nothing made the picture disappear.

  “I see more than you think.” Jazz reached up to let down her hair. Tumbled, wavy rainbow strands fell down around her shoulders, making her look even younger than usual. “I’m heading back to the bus to get ready. If you’re not at Sharkey’s by eleven, I’m hunting your ass down. And you can tell that skank that I’m not afraid to use my drumsticks.”

  He couldn’t help grinning. “I’ll be along soon. I promise.”

  “You better.” She bounced from foot to foot, seeming to hesitate, then arched up on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. The contact seared him straight to the bone as it always did. “It’s hard for me too,” she whispered.

>   For a second, that same stupid hope surged. That perhaps this was it. The moment he’d been waiting for since he’d realized he had fallen for the one woman he would never allow himself to have.

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. They hurt both of us. Deacon too.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes, her exhaustion evident in even that simple gesture. “I don’t think Simon and Nick understand how much they fractured the band when they accepted that agreement. To them it was just about percentages. They don’t get that they hurt us by not trusting us enough to make us full partners.”

  Of course. She hadn’t been talking about them. She was referring to Oblivion.

  Where he wanted to be himself, as fast as humanly possible.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll catch up with you guys at Sharkey’s soon.”

  Before she could say anything more, he headed out to find Cricket. She and her blow were guaranteed to improve his mood.

  Better yet, maybe he’d finally feel nothing at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Then

  Gray shielded his eyes with the side of his hand to block the sun’s glare as he searched the pretty tree-lined campus of Shadyside High. Where the hell was she? This was only Jazz’s third day of classes at her new school. How could she have figured out where to hide out so soon? Unless she was a stoner. Their hangout at the back of the parking lot by the gym was pretty obvious. He frowned. He didn’t think so. She didn’t strike him as the druggie type. She was too smart for that.

  He swiveled around, gripping the neck of his guitar loosely in one hand and juggling books and a lunch sack in the other. He’d gotten the guitar from his car, hoping he and Jazz could play during lunch. It was a gorgeous California spring day and he’d packed something that morning for them to eat. Nothing fancy, just bologna and cheese sandwiches and green grapes, but Jazz always acted like he’d given her jewels when he gave her anything. It made him want to give her stuff all the time.

  So where was she?

  Doing another scan, he spun in a circle, his gaze drifting over the scattered groups of students. Several friends called to him, two of them girls he’d dated at one time or another, but he waved them off with a smile and a promise to catch them later. He finally spotted his quarry under a big leafy tree, her guitar in her lap, her dark hair obscuring her face.

  He jogged over to Jazz and dropped down at her side. “What are you doing sitting way over here by yourself?”

  “Gray!” she exclaimed, as if it had been years since they’d seen each other rather than the four hours since he’d dropped her off before first period. She hugged him tightly, pressing her face to his neck for one painfully long moment. Painfully long because she smelled like wildflowers and watermelon and felt like the softest, sweetest heaven in his arms.

  Even more painful because she pulled back.

  Get it together, man. “Hey,” he said huskily before clearing his throat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Oh. I’m just…here.”

  “Great explanation,” he teased, tossing aside his books.

  “It’s a nice day. I like this tree. It’s huge.” She tipped her head back and studied the leafy canopy above her head, so dense that it barely let any sunlight through. “How old do you figure it is?”

  “At least a million years.”

  “Jerk.” She laughed and looked at him again, setting those amazing eyes back on his with a seriousness that pulled at his heart. “Why are you here?”

  “I have to eat lunch, you know. Speaking of that…” He dumped out the contents of the lunch sack on the grass. “Look at this fine feast I put together for us. Deli meat and slightly brown grapes. Check it.”

  She plucked a grape out of the baggie and popped it her mouth. “I’ve never had finer.”

  “Uh-huh. Sweet talk will get you nowhere.”

  “So what would get me somewhere?”

  He cut a glance her way but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She’d set her guitar aside and was now digging through her battered backpack. “I have drinks.” She pulled out two cans of grape soda, tossed him one and opened her own can before taking a long swallow. “I raided the machine this morning.”

  “And you gave me one. I’m honored.”

  “Who else would I give it to?” She grabbed another grape.

  “Oh, I don’t know. All the new friends you must be making. I expected you to be holding court like any good Queen Jazz should do.” He grinned and unwrapped his sandwich.

  She looped an arm around her up-drawn leg and picked up her sandwich. “Don’t think that’ll be happening anytime soon.”

  “I bet you’ve been fighting the adoring hordes off all day.” Fighting the guys off especially. Not that he was thinking about that. She was his foster sister. Completely off-limits, even if she tilted her head and licked grape soda off her lips in such a naturally sensual way that he couldn’t help shifting where he sat.

  “Nope. No fighting off.”

  “So you let them have their way with you?” he asked with a grin, hoping she would grin back. Jazz not smiling seemed like a crime against humanity. The sun dimmed even more on their little patch of grass until he had to do something—anything—to make the sunshine come back. He reached out to tip up her chin, expecting to see her usual smile. Instead he found tears.

  “Hey. Hey,” he murmured, thumbing one of them away. “What’s the matter?”

  She launched herself into his arms, nearly pitching them back onto the grass. “I hate this place.”

  He patted her back awkwardly, his hand still full of bologna. “Huh? Why?”

  She shifted back on her knees and rubbed at her blotchy cheeks. “This school is horrible. I don’t fit in.”

  “Says who?” he asked, setting aside the sandwich in case his arms were needed again.

  “The whole world.”

  “That can’t be true. You’re just imagining things.” Hearing his father’s thread of lawyerly doubt in his own voice, Gray sucked in a breath and tried again. “What happened?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what happened’?” She gestured at herself. “Just look at me.”

  He already did far too much. “Yeah, and?”

  “I shouldn’t be here with all these California perfect blondes with tanned skin and mile-long legs. My skin’s so pale you can see my bones. My hair’s almost black. My legs—”

  “Are perfect,” he interrupted quietly, trying to stop his gaze from drifting past the hems of her cutoff jean shorts as she plopped her butt on the grass. But when he glimpsed the smiley-faced daisy she’d drawn on her calf, something twisted inside him that wasn’t desire. For once. “Tell me who upset you. I’ll talk to them.” He’d do more than that if necessary. Gladly. Hell, he’d take on the whole football team if he had to.

  “It’s not just one person.” She swiped at her chin. “It’s everyone. I don’t belong.”

  “Stop it. You belong just where you are. On the grass, with the sun behind you. With a flower drawn in marker on your leg and crushed grapes under your foot.”

  “Oh no.” She winced and pried the baggie out from under her heel. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “I like them better like this.” Taking the baggie, he scooped his fingers through the green mush and sampled. Then he offered her some. “See? Perfect.”

  Hesitantly, she slid her lips over the tips of his fingers and eased back. Smiled. “Yeah. Perfect.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Now

  Jazz stepped inside the VIP room at Sharkey’s and smiled at the plastic palm tree covered with Christmas lights beside the entrance. Nope, it no longer looked like a dive. It also didn’t look like the typical Ripper Records shindig put together by their scarily efficient manager, Lila. In fact, after taking in the attire of the waitresses with their low-cut tops and skimpy red velvet skirts, Jazz did a double take to make sure she hadn’t wandered into a more upscale version of the strip club down the block.

  C
urved leather couches wrapped around low tables bearing flickering candles and lovely displays of poinsettias and greenery that were largely wasted on this bunch. Jazz wondered if Deacon’s new wife Harper, Oblivion’s in-residence chef, had helped out with the menu, because the offerings on the buffet table defied description. God, so much food. Colorful bottles lined the wall behind the glossy bar to her left. It nearly sagged under the festive Christmas lights that seemed to drip from every surface. Long ribbons of lights even hung from the ceiling.

  And people were making out, approximately everywhere.

  A pair of redheads had wrapped themselves around Simon. She’d seen one of them on their bus before. Monica, maybe? Deacon and his wife were kissing much less lewdly than Simon’s reenactment of a porno, but they were tangled up too. Even a couple of the roadies had cozied up with their conquests for the night.

  Love and lust were everywhere. Except anywhere near her. Figured.

  She needed a drink, fast.

  Bellying up to the bar, Jazz plastered on a smile. “I’d like a Zombie, please.”

  The bartender leered. “You like a strong drink, little lady?”

  Oh Christ. One of those. She tried to keep her smile in place. “Sure. I’m really thirsty.”

  He licked his lips. “Oh, I just bet you are.”

  Though she rarely drank, she made an exception on New Year’s Eve. After he deposited her drink in front of her and disappeared down the bar, she took a hefty swallow. She grimaced. Rum. Ugh. She tried again with a smaller sip. Still toxic, but manageable. Why did people do this to themselves again?

  Oh yeah, to have a good time. Right.

  She sucked off a cherry on her swizzle stick and spun around on her stool to survey the packed bar. Familiar faces mixed with strangers. Still, the usual suspects stood out. Simon and his women had stopped playing tongue twister and were doing some jumping thing that Jazz supposed counted as dancing. Deacon and Harper had snagged a high-top table and were sharing a plate of chicken wings. Harper was gesturing wildly and Deacon was just grinning, looking utterly content. The new husband and father-to-be seemed pretty pleased with himself. Who could blame him? He was in the market for a cute little house for his family and he’d left the bed-hopping scene behind. Simon probably never would.