Wicked Serenade: a Lost in Oblivion Collection

by Quinn, Cari

  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 wa
s 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.

  At least the hits wouldn’t be from his side of the table anymore.

  “Close enough. A lot closer than you’d been before.” He screwed his eyes shut and finished it out. Whether it was altruism or masochism motivating him now, he didn’t know. “You took the first step. Now you take the next and keep going.”

  “Like it’s that easy?”

  “Easy?” Laughter exploded out of him. “No. Fuck no. Do you want easy or do you want it to be worth it?”

  She shifted to look at him, her eyes glassy. He couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light or unshed tears making them shine. “I didn’t have sex with him. I had it with you.”

  “Yes. You had sex with me.” He swallowed the lump in his throat that tried to force the rest of the words down. “With him, it was more.”

  Jazz stared across the parking lot. Even this early, it was starting to fill up. People entered the main doors in a steady stream. Soon some of them would be sneaking out the same exit he and Jazz had. As if it was that simple to escape.

  “He still won’t talk about it with me. I tried. He just blew me off and said he had to go to work.” She toyed with the drumsticks she’d produced from her back pocket. “I hate that he drives around all these rich lowlifes and druggies all night long. And he won’t quit, no matter what I say. He claims the money is too good.”

  Bingo.

  “My job’s hiring,” she continued, her voice faraway. “It’s just the stupid wafflehouse, and my tips suck, but at least he could work during the day like I usually do.”

  Nick scratched his jaw and tried to ignore the ice creeping down his spine. Before he started confessing secrets that weren’t his to tell, he needed to finish this conversation. “Look, I’m going to just lay it out there so we don’t have any misunderstandings.”

  Her earnest expression stole his breath. “Okay.”

  Sure. Now she had to be understanding.

  He pivoted away, paced to the curb. Swiveled on his heels, paced back. He tugged off his thin button-down shirt, stripping down to the sleeveless T-shirt he wore beneath. Jazz’s eyes widened and he couldn’t help preening a little. His body didn’t seem like much when stacked against the pure muscle mass of Deak’s, but considering he didn’t have the patience for much beyond a run a few days a week and some time on the weight bench, he was pretty cut.

  Lifting his chin, he met her gaze. God, her beauty blinded him, even out there where she was competing with the sun. Wavy purple hair tumbled over small, defiant shoulders, red glossed lips quirked up in anticipation of whatever he would say. Big eyes, back to blue and as calm as a lake, stared into his. The sheen of stillness barely hid the riot of emotions Nick knew lurked beneath.

  “I told Gray he could have you.”

  For a moment, there was only silence. That moment ended quickly.

  “Gray can have me? Like I’m a damn pork loin?” She tapped her drumsticks against her thigh. “Maybe I should try to find my sister, see if I could get him a two-for-one?”

  He wanted to laugh. Almost did too. The fury that flashed over her face like a wildfire warned him it wasn’t a good idea.

  As for her sister, she’d mentioned she had one before, but she’d said it in such a strange way he hadn’t even been certain she was serious. Apparently she was.

  He moved closer and bent his knees until he spoke against the soft swirls of her hair. She smelled like hairspray and grape bubblegum, with that light overlay of brown sugar and vanilla that reminded him of pie. And darker, dirtier things he would never forget.

  “You said his name in my ear.” He couldn’t stop himself from licking hers around the tiny hoop that pierced her lobe. “While my dick was inside you, making you come. Kind of hard to ignore a message like that, sweetness.”

  She shoved him back, and he’d have to thank her later. Because it was so easy for him to slide into the heat of her and stay right there while everything that mattered to him broke apart.

  “I know, I’m sorry. It was just an accident. I didn’t mean to. With both of you there—”

  “Are you really going to stand here and lie to me, Jasmine?” he interrupted softly. “If so, one of us definitely qualifies as an asshole. And this time it’s not me.”

  Her chin trembled as she turned her face away.

  “You can’t run forever. Whether it’s me in the middle or some other guy, you’re never going to be happy until you handle this. Someday you’re both going to have to face what you feel for each other and figure out what you want to do about it.”

  “There’s nothing to do.”

  The resignation in her voice, in her posture, made him want to give her a good shake. That wasn’t the Jasmine Edwards he knew. They hadn’t known each other long, but still. She wasn’t some defeated animal who hunched up and hid to avoid being struck.

  Or was she?

  Was that paralysis just part of wanting something too much? The shows at the Rhino and the first practice sessions with Gray and Jazz—and the bone-crunching panic that came with them—flashed through his mind. Guess so. At least sometimes, for some people.

  That didn’t mean he needed to feed into her fears. Or his own.

  Nick shook his head and whistled. “Damn, whatever you two are on, slip me some, would you? Must be some trippy stuff to make you both so freaking clueless.”

  She slapped him before he could catch her hand. Not that he would have. The crack of her flesh against his woke him up.

  All the way. No going back.

  He resisted cupping his face after she stepped back, but it wasn’t easy. The girl packed a wallop. “I’m not doing this any longer.” He circled his fingers between them. “I said that at the beginning, but you kept pushing.”

  “Oh, right, it’s all my fault.” She turned over her palm and stared at the reddened imprint from his cheek. “I took advantage of you.” Her exaggerated eyeroll didn’t match the tight pucker of her lips, as if she couldn’t decide whether to scowl or frown.

  Or, even worse, cry.

  “Never said that. But it’s done now. We’re in a band together. You’re the fucking best drummer we’ve ever—” He fell silent as the truth dawned through his weary brain.

  He hadn’t betrayed Snake by nudging him out of the band. He’d betrayed him by thinking that. By knowing it was true.

  She drew in a ragged breath. “You’ve never said that before.”

  “Yeah, well, now I did.” He scrubbed a hand over his head. “If I can only have you one way, in my band or in my bed, you know what I’d pick.”

  “No, I really don’t. And I don’t think you know either.” She strode to the door, then called back over her shoulder without looking at him. Treating him the same way Gray did. “They need you inside in five for a take of ‘Her’.”

  His grunted “I’ll be there” was accompanied by the slam of the door.

  Even after she’d gone, he stared at the spot where she’d been. He’d taken her already. And he’d lost.

  Now he was going to fucking play with his band. Without Snake. Without her at his side to distract him if he got overwhelmed and his panic shut down the music.

  It was time for him—and Oblivion—to become what they’d been meant to be all along.

  Fourteen

  Simon: Too Still

  Restless and aching,

  I miss her taste, her breath, her skin

  Simon tucked his flask into his back pocket. His hands shook so he jammed them under his arms. The vocals booth was no big deal. Simple. Easy. Just like last night.

  A flash of tumbled hair and molten dark chocolate-colored eyes kickstarted his dick, pushing his fear into the background. Margo staring down at him as h
er rich flavor stole over his taste buds was a far better memory than the endless failures stacked in his brain.

  You know this song.

  Damn fucking skippy he knew it. He’d breathed it for hours last night. Okay, so part of that breathing included the classy perfume mixed with the heavy honeysuckle afterburn of Margo on his tongue. And the clasping perfection of her body taking him deep.

  He groaned around the pulse of his hard-on and opened the door to the vocals booth. The high backed leather chair was still there. In the center of the room—cell, whatever—with the mic hanging over it like sweet, low hanging fruit. He sat down and phantom wisps of her scent curled around him.

  “Ready, Simon?”

  He jumped at Blitz’s voice. “As I’ll ever be,” he muttered.

  “What was that?”

  Simon picked up the headphones, fitting the tight cans over his ears. “I’m good, Blitz.”

  The song dragged him under. Her silky thighs around his ears, her purrs for more, her fingers fisting in his hair. His voice strengthened and rang through the room with a vengeance. When he got to the end, he held his hand up for another run.

  Blitz obliged and Simon opened his lungs, dragged in a healthy gulp of Margo-scented memory and pulled the best performance of his life out of the sex-soaked space. Having her in the singing booth with him last night had changed the space from a sterile, creativity-sucking space into four walls now brimming with life and vitality. He let the song in and melded with it on a cellular level.

  “Where the hell has that been for the last four days?”

  Simon felt the smile spread across his face. Nailed it. He jumped up and jerked back down as he ran out of cord on the headphones. Flipping them off, he opened the door and flew into the control room. “That was it, I know it.”