Twisted

by Cari Quinn

  “Here’s a hint.” He kicked back again and waved his cigarette, probably tipping ashes onto the hardwood floor. “Cokehead musician, dead at eleven. Not happening in my Behind The Music episode, pal.”

  Gray gripped the neck of his guitar. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I know way too well what I’m talking about. My family’s made up of potheads and powder pushers, so don’t try to blow smoke up my ass. And that’s not even mentioning the baggie you dropped in front of me in the studio last spring.”

  When Gray only bowed his head, Nick chuckled softly. “Yeah. Thought so. You remember that day. You know, right after we had that threesome with the girl who wasn’t your girl who isn’t your girl who won’t ever be your girl if you don’t drag your head out of your ass.”

  “That threesome was a mistake.”

  “You were the party crasher, not me.”

  Gray braced a fist on his tensed thigh. “You don’t have history with her. No one will ever care about her the way l do.”

  “Convincing me or yourself?”

  Gray kicked out at the coffee table, sending it sliding across the gleaming hardwood floor. It crashed hard into Nick’s legs but he barely flinched. “I saw the pictures the other night. I know you still want her. Why don’t you just admit it?”

  Nick blew smoke rings at the ceiling. “Don’t think I ever denied it. That doesn’t mean anything else is going to happen with us, or even that it should. When the timing’s fucked, it’s all fucked. And with her and me, it’s been shit since day one for one reason and one reason only.” He leveled his eyes on Gray. “I’m looking at him.”

  Gray linked his fingers behind his neck. The truth of what had happened between him and Jazz the night before lingered on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was say the words and it would extinguish the last bit of hope he saw flickering in Nick’s eyes. But he couldn’t do it. Not just because Nick might run to Lila, but because he understood all too well what it was like to love Jasmine Edwards and not think there was a chance in hell of her ever loving him back.

  He didn’t know if Nick loved her. He seriously doubted Nick had the capacity to love anyone. But he had feelings for her, and the idea of stomping on them wasn’t nearly as much fun as Gray had always assumed it would be. Maybe his good mood was making him feel magnanimous.

  Or maybe loving someone who loved you back had the power to change everything.

  “She’s the most important person in my life,” Gray said quietly. “I know she told you some of our past. The situation with my family, I mean. She’s my family now. Without her, I have nothing.” Am nothing, he added silently.

  Nick cracked his knuckles and steadfastly avoided Gray’s gaze. “I told her on New Year’s Eve to go after you.”

  “What?” Shock wound through him. “Why would you do that?”

  “Because she’s miserable without you. She can’t make a move forward. Even beyond everything else, she’s my friend, and I don’t like my friends being unhappy.”

  Gray swallowed hard and ran a fingertip over the spine of his notebook. Was that what had sent her to his doorstep last night? Nick? Was his biggest rival—not only for Jazz, but within the band itself—part of the reason he might have a chance with the woman he adored? “Thank you,” he said finally. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for her.”

  “I understand that.”

  “But don’t think that I’m giving you my wholesale approval. I’ve got my eye on you. Not just because of her, but because of my fucking band.”

  “Our band,” Gray muttered. “Last I checked, all of our names were on the contract despite the BS you tried to pull with Simon about getting the bigger cut.”

  “I’ve spent my life scrapping for everything I have. I don’t expect you to get that, but you don’t turn off a lifetime of having to protect your own interests overnight.”

  Gray didn’t respond.

  Nick swore under his breath. “Fine, yeah, it’s our band, until you fuck up and the others find out. I’ve kept your secret this long because of Jazz. She doesn’t deserve to find out that you’re a cokehead from me. Besides, she’d never believe it.” He tapped his foot on the floor in time to the ashes he drummed into a leftover mug on the side table next to his chair. “But Simon would believe me, and so would Deacon. Once he finds out, you’ll be on a bus to rehab so fast that your guitar will spin.”

  Gray knew very well why they’d kicked their former drummer, Snake, out of the band. That opening in the lineup was what had led to him and Jazz being invited in. Well, invited, sort of. Deacon had wanted them, Simon hadn’t cared and Nick had been vehemently opposed.

  Sounded just about right.

  “Jazz is a smart girl,” Nick said, dangling his cigarette between his knees. “If you don’t quit that shit you’re into soon, she’s going to find out. And if you kill what’s between the two of you, I’m not going to step back twice. Fair warning.”

  “I hear you.”

  Nick hauled in a breath of smoke then puffed it out before crushing the cigarette against the side of the mug. “I hope you do, for her sake if not your own. She thinks you hung the fucking moon, man. Don’t prove her wrong.”

  Gray nodded and thought of the text he’d received from Cricket an hour ago between texts from Jazz. He’d fought not to even look at it, for it not to matter. But that crawling-ants sensation under his skin that crept back when he went too long without a hit made him weak.

  He’d cut back. He’d get the money together and start slowing down. It’d take some time, but he’d wean himself off it. Hell, if he had to smoke more pot in the meantime, even that was better. But he couldn’t have Jazz and the coke.

  He shouldn’t.

  “I’ve got it under control,” he said softly, struggling to block out the text he’d sent to Cricket.

  I’ve got some of your money. I just need more blow to tide me over. Then once I’m back home, I’ll get you the rest of your cash. Promise.

  Nick stared at him for a moment before crooking his fingers. “Let me see what you’re working on.”

  “It’s not ready for—”

  Nick kicked the coffee table back into place, then grabbed the notebook and slumped back into his chair. He read the page of lyrics silently, lifting his brow at the end. “Well. That’s not what I expected.”

  “I’m still working on it.” Gray couldn’t stem the defensiveness in his tone. “I haven’t written much in a while.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “I don’t have a name for it yet.”

  Nick dug a pencil stub out of his jeans pocket and crossed out something. His brows knitted together as he wrote and scratched out more. He drummed his fingers on the notebook spine and scribbled again.

  “What the hell are you doing to my lyrics?”

  “Ever heard of collaborating? That’s what I’m doing.”

  “That song wasn’t meant for collaboration. Especially not with you.” Jointly writing a sex song for Jazz veered into weird-as-fuck territory.

  For the first time since he’d arrived, Nick smiled. It was more of a smirk, but for Nick, it might as well have been a beaming grin. “If you didn’t want to offer it up, you shouldn’t have been fiddling with it when we’re supposed to be coming up with material for the album. Besides, this has single potential.”

  Gray swallowed his protests. “You think so?”

  “Hell yeah. Simon will be all over this. I’ll prove it to you.” He pulled out his cell and started typing, probably inputting some of the lyrics from Gray’s song.

  It didn’t take long for Nick’s phone to light up with text after text. Nick read them silently, his smirk deepening. “Yep. Simon’s on board,” he said, tucking his phone away.

  Gray gripped his knees and leaned forward. “Really? What did he say?”

  “He wondered why it took us so long to write an ode to eating pussy.” Nic
k tossed the notebook back at Gray. “By the way, ‘Sugar Kiss.’”

  Gray was too busy scanning the changes Nick had made to the song to hear him at first. They weren’t bad. Actually, he’d refined some of what Gray had come up with on his own, tightening it up and making it pop. He’d also reorganized a couple of lines, but it was still Gray’s song. Just better.

  Then he blinked as Nick’s last words sunk in. “’Sugar Kiss?’ Christ, that’s perfect.”

  Nick grinned. “Helps when you have some familiarity with the subject matter.”

  Gray was about to grin back when he realized Nick definitely did—particularly with Jazz. His throat went tight but he shook it off, focusing on the words in front of him.

  That didn’t matter anymore. Nick and Jazz were ancient history. She was his now.

  “Thanks, man. This is great.”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s your song. It was all there. Awesome stuff.”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t pull it all together. I’m rusty.”

  He’d let too many things go the last few months. Songwriting had always been one of his favorite things yet he hadn’t done it seriously since last summer. He’d lost the last few months in a blur of self-loathing and white powder.

  No longer. He had plenty of reasons to get his head in the present and stop dwelling on the past. Jazz. The band.

  Jazz.

  Nick grabbed the guitar he’d leaned against the side of his chair. “That didn’t read rusty to me. Now let’s see what you’ve got on the rhythm side.”

  Gray dragged his guitar into his lap and started to strum his way through the chord progression he’d come up with between texts from his source of inspiration. “Here’s what I’ve got so far.”

  Nick listened for a couple of minutes, joining in with him and adding an extra layer to the melody. He started to sing the lyrics, growled, and dug out his pencil again and the newspaper off the side table. “I can’t work without paper. I can’t just spin off notes in my head. That’s what Simon does.”

  “I used to be able to do that,” Gray said, rubbing his thumb over a scuff mark on his Epiphone.

  Before the coke. Before the last few years. Just…before.

  “Useful skill to have,” Nick said at length. “Okay. Let’s run through it again. From the top.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Then

  Jazz covered her mouth to contain her laughter. “I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

  “Shh. Gotta be quiet. We have an hour before they’re due up yet.” Gray stopped in front of the rarely used fireplace—they weren’t often necessary in Southern California—and shoved his arm inside. He fumbled around. “Damn. Nothing. Last year this was a sure bet.”

  It had been a couple of weeks since the party at the Feldmans’ house, and she and Gray hadn’t mentioned it since. She hadn’t brought up partying again. It would be too weird to go with him to a get-together when they weren’t a couple. So she contented herself with playing her music—and lusting after a sweet, sexy boy she would never, ever have.

  “You search for your presents every year? Why not just wait?”

  Gray dusted off his blackened hands and shook his head. “Must I explain everything to you? There’s a certain way we do things in the Duffy household. Since Brent and I were kids, we always snuck around and found our presents early. Now you’re my partner in crime.”

  She shrugged in spite of the belly tingles his words caused. You’re my partner in crime. “Seems like a lot of work when you’re going to get them soon enough.”

  “Didn’t you ever look for yours?”

  Jazz scratched her bare toes over the back of her calf. It was hard not to squirm when Gray looked at her like that, his intense gray gaze probing into her head to ferret out all of her secrets. “I didn’t really get that many,” she hedged. “Especially after Molly came around.”

  “Yeah. I saw her picture in your room. She’s cute.”

  Jazz nodded, smiling at the memory of the tiny blonde girl with huge brown eyes like their mother. “Everyone thinks that. Mama wanted to get her into modeling.”

  “Huh. I can see why. But she’s not half as pretty as you,” he said, turning away to poke at the leather ottoman.

  His careless compliments always made her blush and now was no different. While his back was turned, she flapped her hands at her cheeks to try to dispel the heat coming off her face. “You need to get your eyes checked.”

  “I see just fine. Now come over here and help me feel around under this chair.”

  She scrambled to help. “Under the chair?”

  “Sure. These recliners have a spot near the back where there’s just space. Dad hid my new video game console in here last year.” He tossed her a grin and went back to his task.

  She knelt on the opposite side of the chair and began fumbling around underneath like he was, feeling more than a little dumb. “I’m not finding—” Her fingers bumped his and he gripped them, curling them into his warm, dry palm. She swallowed, expecting him to let go right away.

  He didn’t.

  “Hey there,” she said, voice shaky. She couldn’t believe how good even this kind of abbreviated hand-holding with Gray felt. “Don’t think my hand counts as one of your presents.”

  “Hmm. Don’t know about that.” He finally let her go and emerged from the other side of the chair. “Gimme your hand back. I think you need a palm reading.”

  “A what?” She laughed and tucked her fist into her side, strangely afraid to give it back. Her heart was beating so fast she knew he must be able to hear it.

  “A palm reading. I’m about to predict your future. Now give me your hand.”

  She held it out and tried not to shudder when he cupped it with one of his. He used the index finger of his other hand to draw a line down the middle of her palm and nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Just as I suspected.”

  “You can actually see something?” She bent her head toward his, peering at her palm. “I just see—”

  “Jazz.”

  The urgency in his voice made her glance upward. Her pulse jackhammered in her head as he leaned forward, his mouth a whisper away. His eyes even closer. All that hot, misty gray. She’d happily drown there.

  “There you are,” his mother said from the doorway, causing them to break apart as guiltily as if they’d been caught half-naked. “Your father had to go into the office early today to wrap up some—” All at once she seemed to pick up on the strange vibe in the air, along with the fact that they were both half hidden by the hulking recliner. “What’re you two up to?” Mistrust had crept into her voice and lined the fine-boned face so much like her son’s. Gray’s features were more rugged, but there was no doubt they were related.

  There was also no doubting the disapproval that fell around her like a coat she’d worn too many times before. Not with Jazz. Never with Jazz.

  Until now.

  “Nothing.” Gray squeezed Jazz’s hand and set it back in her lap, as casually as could be. “Just showing Jazz how you and Dad try to outwit Brent and me every year with your creative hiding places. Luckily we can’t be schooled.”

  Jazz remained where she was as Gray walked around the chair to talk to his mom. She shut her eyes and drew in a deep breath. Now she knew Mrs. Duffy didn’t want her anywhere near her son, at least not like that. Jazz couldn’t blame her. Mrs. Duffy had been an amazing foster mother so far, a million times better than any other she’d ever had, but expecting her to be okay with her precious son taking up with someone like Jazz—if he’d even been about to kiss her, which might’ve been just her overactive imagination—was asking for way too much.

  She was lucky Mrs. Duffy had taken her in at all. And it was time for her to stop asking for more when she already had so much.

  After sucking in another breath, she emerged from beyond the chair and smiled her brightest smile. If it killed her, no one would ever know when her heart was breaking. She’d promised herself that years ago o
n the first night her mama hadn’t come home, leaving her all alone while Mama spent the night at her boyfriend’s with Molly. No one would see her cry anything but happy tears.

  “Do I smell blueberry pancakes?” she asked, walking forward to give Mrs. Duffy a quick hug as she always did in the morning.

  “You do. Never can hide anything from you.” Mrs. Duffy flicked her nose and smiled, her momentary displeasure from earlier all but gone. Her eyes were still wary, as if she didn’t know what to think of her anymore.

  She’d overstepped her bounds. Again.

  You’re nothing but a fucking slut, Jazz. I can’t even trust you around Jacob. That’s why I don’t bring you with Molly to his place. You try to tease him with those tits of yours.

  Though Jazz’s smile wavered, she managed not to shrink back behind Gray. She’d just have to try harder, that was all. She’d do more chores and do better in school. If she didn’t give up, perhaps one day Mrs. Duffy would love her where her own mother hadn’t.

  Most importantly, she would stay far away from Gray.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Now

  Jazz knocked on Gray’s closed window, her heart throbbing with anticipation. The bubbling of the hot tub behind her didn’t help calm her pulse rate. Had he or Nick been using the Jacuzzi earlier? Was that why the colorful spotlights and the jets were still on? Or was it for them?

  Warm hands slipped over to cover her eyes. “You’re late.”

  She shuddered at the thrill of having his hard body pressed to her back. “We were in the zone.”

  “Oh yeah? Tell me about it later.”

  “Why?” she teased. “Got something else in mind?”

  “Maybe.” He brushed his erection against her ass and slid his hands down to her breasts. “Maybe I’m in a hurry to get back in your zone.”

  “By all means.” She turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, attacking his mouth with fifteen hours of pent-up need. She sucked his tongue between her lips and pushed her breasts into his chest, making sure he didn’t doubt for a second how much she’d missed him.