by Quinn, Cari
“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 l
ong.
“Come on, handsome. We can make each other 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.”
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.
“Of course, honey.” Mrs. Duffy smiled. “This is your home too.”
“That’s just it.” Jazz set down her fork to avoid attacking the succulent meat like a wild animal.
She’d gone through enough lean times in her life to have to struggle not to leap on food when it was presented to her. At the Duffys’, it was presented often. Breakfasts were luxe affairs with mounds of scrambled eggs, stacks of sausage, piles of crispy bacon and jugs of fresh-squeezed orange juice. Dinners were the same.
And Thanksgiving dinner blew both out of the water. Food seemed to weigh down the table. She’d poured a moat of gravy around her turkey and Mrs. Duffy had only laughed.
“What is it, honey?”
“You’ve made me feel like I really belong here. I’ve been shuffled so many places I didn’t think that was possible anymore. I just wanted to say thank you. For me, it really is Thanksgiving.”
“Aww, how sweet,” Brent said under his breath. When she shot a look his way, he smiled and forked up more potatoes.
Gray squeezed her hand. “You do belong, J. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
J. He so rarely called her anything but Jazz, though when he did she always got a warm burst inside her belly. “Apparently a lot, G,” she teased, lowering her head.
“Aw, y’all are so adorable together,” Brent put in just before Mrs. Duffy spoke.
“Jasmine, sweetie, we love you. You know that. Mr. Duffy and I always wanted a daughter.”
Jazz only smiled, so moved she couldn’t speak.
Brent waited until Mr. and Mrs. Duffy headed into the kitchen to get pie and coffee—and probably to sneak a kiss, since those two were so lovey-dovey it made Jazz blush—to drop his next zinger.
“Gray, would you say you feel brotherly toward our cute little Jazzy?” He tipped his head to the side. “Because I’m not so sure. I think I’d call it something else.”
“Shut up,” Gray said, voice low.
Jazz frowned and reached for her water glass. What was Brent getting at? He couldn’t mean what it sounded like. Gray didn’t have feelings for her. That was perfectly obvious to her every time he brought home some new chick.
Brent smirked. “Jazzy, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interrupt a nice meal with such talk. Guess I’m just choking on all the hormones in the air.”
Gray shot to his feet. “You want to take this outside?”
Brent giggled like a teenage girl despite the fact he was over six-feet tall and built like a linebacker. “Oh man. This is hilarious. You’re really torqued.”
“Gray, sit down,” Jazz said, still not getting what was going on. Brent was just being a jerk as usual but why was Gray getting so pissed off? “Your parents will be back in a minute.”
Gray didn’t seem to be listening to her anymore. “Her name is Jazz, not Jazzy,” he said to his brother, opening and closing his fists at his sides.
“Is that so?” Brent glanced at Jazz. “You have any problem with me calling you Jazzy?”
She bit her lip, her gaze drifting to Gray again. She didn’t want them to fight today of all days. This was a day for family, and she didn’t ever want to get between the two brothers after the Duffys had been so wonderful to her. “N-no, I guess not.”
“You heard her.” Brent dragged his chair closer and threw his arm over her shoulders. His breath smelled disgustingly of beer and chewing tobacco. “She likes whatever I give her, don’t you, Jazzy?”
Caught in the trap of his arm, she tried to smile for Gray’s benefit. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s not argue, okay?”
It took Mr. and Mrs. Duffy’s reappearance for Gray to drop back into his chair. His gray gaze defiant, he snatched her hand, pulling her closer to him and away from Brent.
Brent only chuckled and let her go.
That time, he let her go.
Twelve
Now
The hour of reckoning was at hand. Oblivion was about to be broken up and sent to opposite camps—and one member of their ranks was nowhere in sight. As expected.
“Where the hell is Gray?” Lila demanded.
Everyone turned toward Jazz. She pursed her lips and dragged out the speech she’d rehearsed when numerous texts to Gray had gone unanswered.
“He’s very sorry, but—” she began.
“Don’t bother.” Lila set her tablet down on the long table in conference room C at Ripper Records. Framed gold albums lined the walls around them, shooting off sparks that would blind Jazz if she dared look away from Lila’s furious blue gaze. “Evidently Gray thinks you’re his happy little parrot, but perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough last night. This meeting is not optional. Either he gets his ass here now or he’s suspended from Oblivion.”
“Hold it,” Deacon said, pressing one big palm to the tabletop. “Aren’t you being a little hasty? He had a…serious issue come up.” He raised his brows at Jazz as if it was her fault he was forced to cover for her best friend. “He’ll be here as soon as possible. Won’t he, Pix?”
Jazz darted another glance at her phone. She didn’t know what to do. She’d texted Gray twenty times, the messages becoming increasingly frantic the closer it became to eight a.m. He hadn’t replied.
The fact that he wasn’t there because he was probably getting laid had ceased to be important in light of his being kicked out of the band. She couldn’t do this without him. He was the one who’d pushed her to make something of her music when she’d been content to play just for the sake of playing.
Then, like a miracle, her cell vibrated with an incoming text.
“It’s him.” She blinked at the words on the screen until they made sense.
I’m outside. Pay my cab? I’ll pay you back.
She scrambled up from her seat, waving the phone. “He’s outside. I’ve got to go get him. I’ll be right back.”
“Jasmine, you’re under the same warning he is,” Lila said. “This is serious business and I need everyone here in the next ten or we’re going to have a problem.”
The not-so-subtle threat landed a barb in Jazz’s chest but she shook it off and moved to the door. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”
Outside, she found Gray leaning against a yellow cab. He wore the same clothes as last night, though they were more wrinkled, and his hair stood straight up. The bags under his eyes were so puffy they looked painful. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t not think about why he looked so exhausted.
Worst of all, the nearer she got, the more she smelled the perfume that clung to him. Not the cheap kind either. Nope, this was high-class scent.
Even after last night, she’d tried to pretend that he hadn’t gone off to fuck that blonde. Perhaps there was another explanation. He wouldn’t leave her high and dry for a simple booty call. Maybe that was where her logic had broken down. What was between him and that woman wasn’t simple. It couldn’t be. He wouldn’t have left her in the lurch for someone insignificant.
So that meant she didn’t need to make a move at all. He was taken. She’d had her chance and she’d wasted it. Period.
Ignoring the fist that wrapped around her throat, she pulled out some bills and thrust them through the open window of the cab. Then before Gray could speak, she turned and headed back toward the building.
