by Cari Quinn
Then he was gone.
“So.” Nick flexed his fingers. Like the other guitarist she knew, he seemed unable to keep his hands still. “Where did Gray really go?”
“I don’t know.”
“C’mon, you have to know that I won’t make trouble—”
“How do I know that? Based on your history of, oh, I don’t know, making trouble at every opportunity? Especially when it comes to me and Gray.”
“You’re a unit.” When she only stared at him, he knotted his fingers together. “You and Gray. Can’t have one without the other.”
She didn’t say anything. It didn’t feel very much like that at the moment, but that didn’t change the reality that her allegiance to Gray couldn’t be broken. The past year of mostly suck couldn’t erase all the millions of good memories they shared.
Besides that, she didn’t want to hurt Nick. If even a shred of his feelings toward her remained from their…whatever the hell it had been, she didn’t want to twist the knife. She’d cared about him too, enough to have sex with him. Still cared despite what he’d done—tried to do—to the band with Simon.
“You know our history,” she said, rubbing her gritty eyes. All she wanted right now was to check out from the world for a few hours. Morning and the class field trip would come all too soon.
“I do. I also saw your future tonight.”
“What future?”
“The one where he runs off and leaves you holding the bag, and you’ll make any excuse in the world for him while he violates everything you think he stands for.”
Her head snapped up. “You don’t know him like I do.”
“No. I don’t. I don’t know you all that well either. But I know people. He’s…not in a good place,” he said finally, directing his attention out the window.
“You don’t know him like I do,” she repeated, ignoring how the words echoed in her chest. So they were having a rough patch. That didn’t change who they were together. Gray was the best friend she’d ever have. She trusted him with her life. Her body. Her heart.
He might not have much use for the second two things in that list, but she wasn’t going to demolish their relationship just because he didn’t want her like she wanted him. Too bad, so sad. She’d lived through worse in her life. So much worse.
Besides, his shutting her out stung more than anything else. Even the sex. She might not have watermelons for breasts, but she’d been Gray’s confidant for years. His lying about needing to leave wounded her in a way nothing else could. And now she was sitting alone with Nick.
Déjà vu was a freaking bitch.
“You want to practice that song? ‘Captured’, was it? We can go back to the apartment, run through it together. You can use Simon’s guitar.”
“Is that all you’re willing to let me use? I mean, let’s be clear about what’s going on here. You’re not just being a helpful bandmate. You have an agenda, right?”
He cracked his knuckles and sprawled back in his chair, sending her a disarming smile that would’ve fooled most people. She’d gotten to know him better than most, not because he wanted to share himself with her, but because she’d made a study of him in the quiet moments when he didn’t know he was being observed. Partly to distract herself from Gray, partly to see if she’d been wrong that Nick had some good inside him in spite of how frigging hard he tried to prove that he didn’t.
“That depends on you.”
“Why?” she asked softly, trying to understand. “Why would you want to get involved in my mess again?”
Something shifted in his golden eyes. “You look like you could use a friend tonight.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that.”
Oh, if only that were true. “What about you? Can you use a friend?”
His mouth crooked into a semblance of a smile. “Damn sure better than having an enemy.”
She smiled and rose. “Let’s get out of here.”
“So I’m guessing that’s a maybe?” He crossed the room to open the door and ushered her out ahead of him.
“That’s an ‘I’m sorry, but it’s not fair to you’.” She sighed. “Said with plenty of regret.”
“Do you see me worrying about what’s fair?”
“One of us has to. I didn’t before and you got caught in the middle.”
His mouth lifted again. “Sometimes the middle’s a pretty hot place to be.”
“Hell’s hot too. That doesn’t mean you want to hang out there for eternity.”
“Nah. But for an hour or two, why not?” He shot a grin over his shoulder and led the way into the VIP room.
Her smile faded as they stepped into chaos. The loud countdown by the guests indicated it was almost midnight, as did the number of faces turned toward the flat screen TVs tuned to the ball dropping in Times Square.
Almost a new year and she didn’t have anyone to kiss. Yet again.
Nick glanced at her, his expression miles more sympathetic than she would’ve given him credit for. “Your call, Jasmine,” he said quietly enough that only she could hear.
Not a lot had felt like her call lately. She was tired of being tugged along in the wake from Gray’s ship. That didn’t mean she would make another colossal mistake just to avoid her loneliness for a little while longer.
She leaned in just as the countdown hit one. “Happy New Year, Nick,” she murmured, kissing his cheek.
He gripped her shoulders and offered her a cheek kiss as well, then eased back and shook his head. “I hope he realizes one of these days how lucky he is.”
“Not sure about that.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced toward where Deak and Harper were wrapped up in each other, smiling and kissing while he protectively cupped her growing belly. She wasn’t jealous. Nope, not even a little.
Liar. She was so green Oscar the Grouch would think she was a long lost relative.
“Hey. Look at me.” Nick tapped her chin until she did what he asked. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You need to tell Gray once and for all how you feel and force him to make a move.”
She tugged him toward the corner of the room and leaned up on her tiptoes to speak near his ear so he could hear her over the noise. “Are you honestly giving me dating advice?”
“Please. You two are so far past dating it’s insane. Just fuck already or get out of the bedroom.”
It took a minute for his words to sink in. When they did, she let out a startled laugh and gripped his shirt, moving in close to speak once more. “You ready to split this party and head home to practice?”
The grin he flashed her was pure sin. “Can’t imagine a hotter New Year’s Eve.”
“Me either.” She grinned. “I’m totally lying.”
“Me too.” He smacked her ass and dragged her toward the exit. “Now get a move on, Edwards. We have magic to create.”
Things weren’t that bad. She had friends. She was part of a successful band. She could do anything she put her mind to. Which meant Nick was right. She needed to stop pretending she was going to make a move on Gray and actually do it, big-boobed-blondes aside. Whether he said yes or no, at least she wouldn’t be wondering anymore.
Time to let the sticks fall where they may.
* § *
He was having a nightmare. That could be the only explanation for the litany of shit currently infiltrating Gray’s brain via a tinny voice on TV.
“In entertainment news, we have the scoop on up-and-coming hard rock band Oblivion. Word on the street is that a red-hot love triangle is about to split the band apart. The band’s drummer, Jazz, looks like she has all she can handle of Oblivion’s guitarists in this undated pic. Last night’s show at Frenzy provided another opportunity for this scorching triangle to generate some heat, though from these pictures snapped at Sharkey’s Bar, it looks like Oblivion’s two guitarists aren’t as fond of each other as they are of the pint-sized drummer.”
“Pint-sized?” Gray groaned. “Jesus.”
He wasn’t even going there with the rest of that crap.
“Well, now, that must be mighty difficult, facing both of your love interests day after day. Wonder how long it will be before Oblivion implodes like so many great bands before them. What do you think, Pete?”
“I think it’s too bad. But she is pretty cute. Guess I can see why those boys are pulling each other’s hair out over her.”
Gray cocked open an eye and ascertained that yes, the voice was coming from the TV. And no, seeing himself punching Nick on a 60-inch widescreen wasn’t any improvement over listening to that ridiculous morning monologue spewed by two geriatric types sipping coffee and beaming greasy smiles.
“Had enough?” Cricket purred next to his ear. “Because I have more.” She dropped a newspaper in his lap, considerately turned to a black-and-white photo of Nick hugging Jazz at Sharkey’s. She was gripping his shirt front and leaning up to talk to him—or kiss him. If that wasn’t bad enough, the smaller inset photo showed Nick’s hand on her ass.
On her fucking ass, right there in the middle of the club.
Gray shoved the paper away and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “What the fuck is this, Cricket?”
“Aww, you didn’t read the article.” She made a tsk tsk noise. “One of the ‘special friends of the couple’ said they were giggling and groping each other as they left, and Nick mentioned something about ‘making magic together’. Sounds like those two are a real item, doesn’t it?”
“Stop it.” He pushed his hands through his hair and locked them behind his neck. His head was pulsing like a freaking strobe light. “Leave me alone.”
“No can do, handsome. See, you crashed here last night without giving me…well, anything. I thought maybe this visual would get you to finally pull your head out of your ass long enough to acknowledge the facts.” Her candy-sweet breath fluttered over his cheek and he shrank away as if it was the foulest stench he’d ever encountered. She only laughed. “Your little drummer girl isn’t yours anymore, loverboy. She belongs to someone else now.” Her fingers danced over his bare torso—why the hell was he half naked?—on their way to toying with his belt buckle. At least he still had his pants on, thank God. “And you belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone.” But he didn’t push her away, because he’d noticed something even more disturbing than her meandering hand.
The lower part of his stomach burned, as if it had been branded. A quick investigation told him why. Apparently he had a new tattoo, and it was a classy one. A small black arrow started right below his navel and pointed downward, captioned with a charming slogan—this way to Oblivion. The O in Oblivion had been adorned with a skull and crossbones, in keeping with each of the band members’ decision to get an Oblivion tattoo.
Nice to know that even when he was clearly out of his mind, he still followed the acceptable band tat format.
“Christ almighty. What did you do to me?” He traced the words while he flipped through his memory banks of the night before. All he remembered was Jazz. Kissing her. Holding her close for a brief snatch of time. That irritating band meeting before walking away from her to get more blow. Snorting it the moment he’d arrived at Cricket’s, because he’d been desperate to forget finding Jazz with Nick. Again.
After that, nothing.
“I didn’t do anything to you. Nor did you do anything to me. Unfortunately.” With a heavy sigh, Cricket rested her arm on the back of the sofa and toyed with the ends of his hair.
He elbowed aside the pillow wedged against his hip. Apparently Cricket’s living room couch had been his bed last night. So much better than waking up in her actual bed.
“So, ah, just to clarify, we didn’t have sex.” He glanced at her. “Right?”
“No. You worked your way through my stash, demanded Jeremiah do a new tat for you on the spot and passed out halfway through. How many days had you been up straight?”
“I don’t know. A lot.” Probably three or four, minus a couple of short naps. He’d forgotten what it was like to just go to bed at a regular time and sleep. When he did manage to doze off, nightmares usually woke him up in a few minutes. Sometimes they were of crazy horror-movie type shit. Other times he dreamed of the day he’d burst into Brent’s room at the sound of Jazz’s screams, only to find her pinned beneath his brother.
That memory never left him, no matter how much he snorted.
“I could tell. As hot as you looked with your eyes rolling back in your head, I went up to my own room alone.”
He let out a grateful breath. “Good.”
“Not so good. You still owe me. Actually, you owe me even more than you did before.” She tapped her bright red nails against her mouth. “Any ideas on how you’re going to start repaying me? And when?”
Jesus. Not this again, first thing in the morning. He rubbed his hand against the throb in his temple and swallowed the dust in his throat. He’d need to brush his teeth with a Brillo pad to get that toxic taste out of his mouth.
“You managed to cough up the cash for this,” she said lightly, tracing a nail over the arrow that led south. As humiliating as the tat was, he couldn’t deny the flare of interest beneath his waist the farther down her nail crept. And that shamed him more than being in her debt.
He didn’t want Cricket. He didn’t want to want her or what she stood for. That probably made him a hypocrite. Or just a delusional junkie.
Fuck, he wasn’t a junkie yet. He still had control. Maybe it didn’t seem like it, but he could walk away from the coke anytime he chose to. He just hadn’t chosen yet.
“See, I saw your wallet last night. That tattoo just about tapped you out. But the offer I made you still stands. For now.” She leaned back and parted her legs, revealing the tiny scrap of panties she wore under her miniskirt.
Pink lace. Christ. “Why would you be willing to let me off that easily?”
“Who said anything about letting you off? You’ll be getting me off.” She laughed and tugged on his hair. “You have a reputation for fast fingers. Let’s see how fast and we’ll talk about how much you still owe me when you’re finished.”
When he didn’t respond, she leaned closer and licked the side of his throat. He shuddered before he could check the urge. Hell, his dick should be soft right now, not hard enough to hold up her prissy glass coffee table. Cocaine dick could be a problem for some, though luckily—or unluckily, considering his lack of a sex life—his usual side effect was inhuman staying power.
A fuzzy memory from the night before flashed through his mind. Jeremiah, the tattoo dude, had slipped him a baggie of male enhancement drugs along with a stash of supposedly primo weed. Those had been bonus gifts to go along with the reduced rate tattoo. Signs of true friendship right there. Gray hadn’t taken the pills or the weed last night but he’d held on to them. Never know. He might fuck again someday and need the pills to combat the coke effects. Or he might finally run out of Cricket’s good graces and be forced to become a stoner.
“You want me. I know you do.” She reached down to stroke his cock through his jeans and he couldn’t hold back the groan. Damn, it had been so long since he’d had hands on him that weren’t his own. It had even been a while since he’d touched himself. “And I definitely want you. You should’ve seen yourself last night. So hard and pulsing just from doing the line that I could see it in your jeans. Jere turned on that porno and started the tat gun and I swear, you were ready to go right there.”
God, it was all coming back to him now. Moans from the TV, Jere laughing as he told stories about rubbing coke on his girlfriend’s pussy to get them both off faster. Gray laughing too, because when he was high everything was so fucking funny.
Now it wasn’t. Nothing was funny about what she was doing to his dick through the denim, squeezing the head of his shaft, tracing the edge of the tip with one of her wicked nails. His balls felt like knots. He had to come. It had been too long.
“Come on, handsome. We can make each o
ther feel so good.” She nipped the tendon in his throat and his length jerked in her hold. “Besides, you know your little drummer girl’s getting some of her own right now. You don’t need that stupid bitch.”
He shoved her back and stumbled to his feet. In a minute he’d have to adjust himself but right now touching his cock wouldn’t be smart. “I gotta go.”
“Go how?” She rested her arms on the back of the sofa and spread her legs wider, offering him a glimpse of the wet spot on her panties. Jesus. “You came here with me, and I’m not taking you anywhere.”
“Fine. I’ll call a cab.” One way or another, he was getting out of there. She wasn’t allowed to talk about Jazz that way. No one was.
She let out a tinkling laugh as he lurched toward the door. “Do you even know where you are?”
“I have my phone.” He patted his pockets and glanced around wildly. “Where the fuck is my phone, Cricket?”
She waved it between two fingers before dropping it between her parted thighs. “Come and get it, handsome.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Then
“Everyone, let’s hold hands and give thanks for this wonderful night we can spend here together.”
Jazz snuck a glance at Gray under her lashes as she tentatively gripped the hand he held out. He grinned at her and laced their fingers together while the family said grace.
On her other side sat Brent, Gray’s older brother. He gripped her other hand without any of the playfulness, his lips quirked in an expression closer to a sneer than a smile.
She had no reason to dislike the guy. She even kind of owed him for being nice enough to give up his room for her to use. But something about the way he stared at her for a little too long skeeved her out. Especially when Gray was around. He seemed to enjoy antagonizing his brother by teasing her with his lewd jokes. He didn’t mean anything by it, she was sure. Gray just tended to get a tad overprotective.
A few moments later, they moved on to the Thanksgiving meal itself. As soon as she cut into the thick slab of turkey Mrs. Duffy had given her—technically, Conchita, the housekeeper, had given it to her—she decided she couldn’t hold back her gratitude any longer. “May I say something?” Jazz asked.
