Sunday morning, and Dom was in hell. Well, he was actually just south of Hell’s Kitchen, in Chelsea, in a practice and recording studio trying desperately to get into the groove of playing. The weight of his guitar felt foreign against his shoulder, the strings too rough against his fingers, and his head still rotated around and around images of Adrian Doran.
He’d been so hot and horny and still fucking hard when he’d gotten home on Saturday night. Spent a good part of that night jacking off to memories of Adrian’s voice and smile. And that should have been enough, should have burnt the man out of his system.
But it hadn’t. Not with his number in Dom’s phone. Not with plans for Wednesday.
He was most definitely not Domino Grinder today, and that was a huge problem.
It was no wonder he flubbed the chords in “Finding Light” each time they tried to run through the song. It was a tricky transition, but one he was normally up for. After all, he’d played harder songs. Hell, he could play freaking guitar concertos on the instrument in his hands. But not at the moment. Might as well be a newbie plucking at the strings for the first time.
The song skidded to a halt mid-chorus, and silence descended on the studio.
“Dom, what the hell?” Ray slapped his hand against his thigh, his frustration so evident. “What’s going on with you?”
Shit, yeah, he’d really fucked that up. His head wasn’t in the right place. Too much Dominic and not enough Domino, all because Adrian’s voice still echoed in his ear. “Sorry—I—Sorry.” He turned away and plucked a chord, ostensibly tuning, though he’d done that several times already.
He heard rather than saw Ray’s sigh and curse.
Mish caught Dom’s eye, her arms cradling her upright bass. “Hon, it’s okay. We all have off days.”
This wasn’t an off day, this was—he didn’t even know what this was. He didn’t feel like himself. Well, he did, just the wrong version. Dominic Bradley wasn’t a rock star, but he couldn’t get out of that skin and into Domino, the persona who was.
Zav thumped a little roll on the high tom. “Why don’t we take a little break?”
“Yeah, maybe that’s for the best,” Ray said. When Dom turned back, Ray was watching him. “We need you here, Dom. I need you here.”
His oldest friend. His best friend. And he was letting the whole band down. “I know. Let me get some coffee in me and get my head back on.” He unshouldered his guitar and set it in its stand. Fresh air—he needed that, too. So he poured a cup of coffee from the carafe that had been delivered with the snacks and headed to the open window.
He wasn’t even surprised when Zavier joined him. Pretty common, really, during breaks. They both liked air and contemplation.
But that wasn’t in the queue for today, it seemed.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Zavier leaned against the wall, his black tank top still pristine. Not even a drop of sweat. They hadn’t been playing long enough to warrant a break.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just—” Dom waved his arm. “I’m fine.”
A wry chuckle. “Dom...”
Damn Zavier, because he knew. Somehow, the man knew something was up. Zav had this way of reading people and was so damn fucking sensible most of the time. Then again, he had married Ray, who wore his heart on his sleeve and buried his problems behind fear, so one of those two had to be the grounded one.
Zavier was so grounded, it was a wonder he didn’t grow roots with each step.
Dom glanced back at their leader. Ray was a hell of a lot better emotionally and temper-wise, which was good, since Dom had never been this shitty of a guitarist before. A year and a half ago, a flub like that from Dom would have caused chaos in the band. They’d been under such pressure, between a band manager out to get them, a horrible label, and a grueling tour as the opening act for one of the best bands in the country. They’d all learned how to rely on one another during those months, and Zavier, their new drummer, had become family and Ray’s greatest ally.
Now he was Ray’s husband.
Dom took a drink of coffee and pondered how much to say. Finally, he let it slip. “I met someone yesterday.”
Zavier’s eyebrows lifted, but his expression didn’t change. “A professor in tweed?”
Dom grunted. Yeah, that was his normal candy. Maybe that’s why Adrian threw him so much. “No, a computer engineer who’d taken off a tie and a suit jacket.”
“Oh.” Amusement crept into Zavier’s voice. “Did you have fun?”
Yes, but he’d had more than that. He’d been excited and turned on and...curious. Who was Adrian? What had he thought of the book Dom’d been reading? Which museums did he like? Dom wanted more of Adrian, and that was rare. Maybe it was because they hadn’t fucked.
You know it’s not.
Zavier was quiet and watchful, and his smile had fallen into seriousness.
More coffee didn’t do a damn thing for Dom’s nerves. Likely made things worse. “He fed me lemon meringue pie, felt me up, kissed me, then asked me to dinner this Wednesday.”
“A date?” Zavier’s brow crinkled. “That’s unusual.”
Yeah, it was for Dom. He pretty much only did one-night stands. He rolled his shoulders, and found his cheeks heating. “Domino Grinder doesn’t go on dates.”
“Domino doesn’t whip out his dick at all,” Zavier said. “That’s not the image you take out when you go hunting while on tour. Domino isn’t a thirst-trap for toppy intellectuals.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “But you are. And you like this man. Enough to see him again.”
Fucking perceptive Zavier Demos. “I hardly know the guy. I just—” Couldn’t stop thinking about Adrian. That voice, the touch. His approval. What it would feel like when those hands were finally on his naked skin. “I have to focus on this.” He gestured at their instruments. “Ray’s right. I need to be here.” Not daydreaming about Adrian bending him over or his book recommendations.
A nod. “Yeah, I get it. How can we help?”
See, now that was exactly why Zavier had been the right drummer for Twisted Wishes and the right man for volatile Ray Van Zeller. He cared. Tried to find solutions. Didn’t get riled up easily.
Dom snorted. “You have a way to get my head into Domino? ’Cause that’s where I need to be.” Not stuck in an endless loop of twink Dominic. He needed that edge, that chaos.
Zavier got that damn grin of his, the fucking bastard. “I might.” He pushed off the wall. “Hey, Ray? Mish?”
It was always a little amazing to watch Ray turn and see Zavier. The two had been married more than a year now, and though they weren’t particularly outgoing with their affection, every time Ray met Zavier’s gaze, there was this little catch of breath, a little hint of happy surprise.
“Yeah?” Ray said. His gaze lingered on Zavier, shifted to Dom, then swung back. Mish cocked her head.
“Do you think we could warm up with ‘Dark Dreams’ or ‘Lightning’ or one of the older songs before working on the new ones?” Zavier said.
Oh. A little jolt ran through Dom. Yeah, that might work. He knew those, knew how to be Domino when playing those. Hell, even thinking about the rhythms and the notes and how the stage felt on tour, how he’d held his guitar in his hands, that had him shifting and straightening his back. Muscle memory, and more. The knowledge of who he was when he played those songs. Domino was part of that music—and Dom was Domino.
Ray eyed Dom again. “Would that help?”
“Yeah.” He drank down the rest of the coffee, then tossed the cup in the nearest trash can. “Yeah, it would. You mind?”
“Whatever you need, hon,” Mish said.
“Shit, dude. What Mish said.” Ray ran a hand through his hair. “I guess it has been a while.”
A couple weeks since they’d last played together, partly because Dom had finally found a place to buy. He’d had to get all his shit out of storage and move it up to New York, sort through it, chuck half of the stuff, and buy all new crap that actually matched the place.
Then there’d been all the meetings with their new label and all the legal wrangling to settle on a contract that wouldn’t screw them over. They’d ended up hiring a band manager with a legal background, and after that, Ray had wanted to get started on the new album, so here they were. They’d just started on the new songs during their tiny makeup tour to cover the cities they’d missed when the end of their original tour had been canceled.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely Adrian that was throwing Dom off. A lot had happened, and he’d had to be more Dominic than Domino lately in every other part of his life, too.
They settled on “Lightning” and fuck, that was what Dom needed. He slid into the song like Domino always had, and by the end of it, his head was clear. The edge was back, along with that feeling of wild energy and sheer freedom, like he could take on the world and win. Because that was Domino. “Fuck yeah, that’s better. Let’s try ‘Finding Light’ again.”
They didn’t nail it perfectly, of course, but it sounded a damn sight better than before. Dom managed the tricky bits just fine, and each repeat sounded better as they found their groove, their synergy with one another. Domino was back, and he could work, fix the notes and timing with the rest of the band. Be there, be part of Twisted Wishes with them.
Strange thing was, the thoughts of Adrian didn’t exactly leave Dom. In between songs or when Mish was working with Ray on a particular sequence on the upright, he found himself wondering what Adrian would make of this. Yeah, he’d said he’d been in a band. But Twisted Wishes wasn’t just any band—not anymore. Not after their tumultuous rise to the top. Not with the scandal of their former band manager trying to roofie Ray and nearly killing him in the process.
They were well-known. In the news. A hot ticket with even hotter members.
Dom grunted at himself, tasting the bitterness of that, too. He doubted Domino Grinder was the kind of man Adrian Doran would pick up in a bar. Or ask out on a date. And if Dom explained who he was to Adrian, the jig would be up. He couldn’t be both—not at the same time. Not with anyone but the three people in this room.
Even on tour, he stayed mostly in persona, though he was a little amazed no one in the crew had ratted him out. Then again, he hadn’t let any of them get particularly close, either.
When Ray called for them all to practice again, Dom pushed those thoughts aside. It was just a date, just a fuck. Chances were the whole thing wouldn’t go further than a couple of rounds of sex. No need to worry about a future that wouldn’t happen.
He slung his guitar over his shoulder again, and slipped into Domino.