Six months later
“Where the hell is my black lipstick?” Dom dug around in his makeup kit, but fuck if the damn tube showed up. All the other colors were there, including the bright orange he’d been missing since San Francisco. Huh. One vanished, the other appeared.
None of his bandmates replied, too intent on putting their own selves together.
“Try looking with your eyeshadow.” Adrian leaned against the wall near Dom’s makeup station in the band’s dressing room, tapping away on his phone. Hadn’t even looked up, as far as Dom could tell, intent on doing the social media rounds before the show.
A thrill to see him here, with the band. A dream. Some nights after concerts, when they’d piled into the bus, Dom wrapped his arms around Adrian and didn’t let go. In return, he’d get loving murmurs and gentle, soothing touches.
It was better than beer. Maybe better than sex, but he wasn’t quite sure of that. He’d need much more of both with Adrian before he made up his mind.
He checked the section of his kit with the eyeshadow and the missing tube was there, just as predicted. “How did you know?”
Adrian did look up then, his grin perfect. “You tossed it there last show, after Ray argued with you about your high school science teacher’s favorite color.”
“How the fuck do you remember shit like that? On the road, I can barely remember what I ate for breakfast two days ago.”
Adrian’s eyes danced. “You didn’t eat breakfast. You never do when we’re on the bus. You just drink your coffee.”
“And annoy the fuck out of me,” Ray said, though there was laughter there.
Yeah, he did like prodding Ray, sometimes. “You still didn’t tell me how you remembered where this was.” He waved the tube around, then took off the cap, and applied it.
Was a little different to see Adrian in ripped jeans and a Twisted Wishes crew shirt. He’d taken to wearing one of Domino’s leather cuffs, too, and didn’t that pour heat through Dom when his eyes landed on Adrian’s wrist.
Adrian pocketed his phone. “Good spatial memory. Weird brain thing, I guess.” He gave a little shrug. “Plus, it’s kind of my job to remember what you guys do.”
“Pretty sure you’re not going to put ‘Domino lost his lipstick, what color will he choose?’ onto Twitter,” Zavier said.
Oh, the gleam in Adrian’s eyes. “That would make a great poll.”
Mish laughed. “Don’t give him any more ideas. Instagramming our dangerous midnight highway eating was bad enough.”
“Everyone loves those, though,” Ray said.
“Except my stomach.” Dom patted his midsection.
The slice-of-famous-life shit Adrian had been posting had been a huge hit with fans. It made them feel like they were a part of the tour, too. And, in some odd way, preserved the band’s privacy. Why hunt down tabloid shit when you could hit the Twisted Wishes media accounts and see photos of the band on the bus?
Of course, Adrian cleared everything with them before posting. But fuck, did he have an eye for what fans might like. He’d also rebuilt the website from the ground up and instituted a fan club with its own forums and exclusive perks. Shit was humming along now. Hiring Adrian had been a smart move. Even Marcella agreed.
And Adrian seemed happy. Said he was. Laughed and joked. He wasn’t afraid to be by Dom’s side, even inviting his former co-worker and workout partner, Jackson, to their New York City show. Nice guy. Cute boyfriend. Big fans, both of them, especially of Domino Grinder. It was good meeting one of Adrian’s friends, especially now.
Dom stared at his reflection—at Domino—in the mirror. He was with Adrian, both as Domino and Dominic, and that was pure magic. He swiveled in his chair. “How do I look?”
“Awesome as always,” Mish said. “I envy your eyeshadow.”
That was pink tonight, and there was glitter in his hair. Black leather pants and a red tank that wouldn’t last the first two songs completed the outfit, along with his cuffs and collar.
Zavier nodded his approval, as did Ray.
“You look stunning, babe.” Adrian’s comment was soft. “Always do, no matter what you wear.”
Sometimes all he wore was Adrian’s ropes, in all the new and interesting ways they’d learned from Janelle. Not as much on the road, but at every hotel stop, Dom asked to be tied up, and Adrian happily obliged. That was Dom’s true privacy. Those moments when it was only them and their skin and rope and kisses and moans. Dominic and Adrian.
In public on tour, the line between Dom and Domino had blended somewhat. He always dressed up to the teeth onstage, but he’d let more of his twink self come through otherwise. Less makeup sometimes. Wearing his glasses rather than his contacts from time to time, or short-sleeved shirts and tanks to showed off his ink.
Therapy had given him new ways to handle the fear and anxiety that still lingered, that horrible imposter syndrome voice that lurked in his mind. But nothing bad had come from fans or even critics since his legal name had been spilled out all over the media. Plus, Adrian was here, and while he wasn’t a therapist, he did create the calm Dom so needed for his whirling mind sometimes.
His gaze slid to the cuff on Adrian’s wrist. Rumor among fans was that it signified how Domino had claimed Adrian, except in so many ways, it was the other way around. Adrian had sat down next to him, all those months ago. Had made his wishes known and respected Dom’s, too, and had never given up on Dom, even when Dom had just about given up on himself.
Marcella marched into the dressing rooms. “Are we ready?”
Beyond the open door, the sound of the audience pulsed.
Ray got that look, the one that meant they would fucking eat this show alive. “Yeah, we’re ready.”
Yeah. They would take over that stage and make it theirs. Give the audience exactly what they came here for: the best concert of their lives.
“Let’s go fucking do it,” Dom said.
Adrian caught his arm before he marched out after the rest of the band, and that sexy grin flipped Dom’s insides out. He kissed Dom’s cheek. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Go rock them dead.”
Every night. Each night. Same words. “I love you.”
Adrian’s smile widened. “You know, it’s fucking awesome being Domino Grinder’s lover.”
“And being yours.” He grabbed Adrian’s hand, gave it a squeeze, then followed his bandmates out to the stage.
With a crowd in front of him, the band around him, a guitar in his hands, and Adrian waiting in the wings, there wasn’t anywhere else Dominic Bradley wanted to be.
Twisted Wishes was his life, Adrian was his heart, and he was himself, at long last.
* * * * *
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