Twisted(3)

And when Simon’s voice sliced through the screams of the fans, the tension inside Gray snapped, forcing him to his knees while he played for his fucking life.

Two hours later they dragged themselves into the back, higher than they’d been in months. Laughing, joking with each other. Deacon grabbed Jazz and swung her up on his shoulders, making her squeal. Gray grinned and tweaked her bare foot, pulling on a candy pink-tipped toe, and she kicked out at him, thrusting her hand in his hair while she struggled closer. He leaned up to meet her mouth, knowing the kiss wouldn’t be anything but a glancing blow. Just friends being friendly. His blessing and his curse. Then his gaze flickered to the woman off to the side, smiling at him with determined promise.

He stumbled back, mumbling an apology to Jazz. He didn’t see her face because he was focused on the woman dressed in the blue tube dress, her blonde corkscrew curls fountaining from the top of her head.

About goddamned time.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked once he was at her side, gripping her arm to pull her close. “I called you five times last night, Cricket.”

“Oooh, such an appetite you have.” She leaned up and spoke against his ear. “Got a new supplier, handsome. You’ll be ready to go tonight.” She reached down and grabbed his cock through his jeans. He gritted his teeth, hating for once in his life that playing always made him hard. “You’re ready to go right now.”

He grabbed her wrist. “Stop it. We’re not about that.”

“But we could be.” She licked her vamp red lips. “You have no idea what I could do to you.”

“Not interested.” He wished he could walk away. But she had something he needed more than he needed his pride. “All I want is what I pay you for.”

“You haven’t paid me for anything in quite a while. Your tab’s getting pretty long.” Her gaze drifted below his waist. “Let me help you settle your debt.”

Christ. It would be so easy to say yes, to just spread her legs and drill himself inside her until she stopped begging. But he was on the verge of begging himself, and not for the well-used landing strip between her thighs. “You’ll get your money. Now it’s your turn to deliver.”

“Fifteen minutes. Outside.” Cricket looked pointedly over his shoulder. “Just you, handsome.” Turning on her razor-sharp heels, she left him standing there.

He turned, knowing who would be waiting. Goddammit. He needed a hit before he faced those liquid blue eyes, so full of accusation. “Who is she?” Jazz asked, crossing her arms.

“A friend.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.

“What kind of friend? A groupie?”

“Does it really matter?” He stabbed his fingers into his eyes. “I need a drink.”

A moment later, a damp bottle bumped his arm. “Here.”

He opened his eyes and accepted Jazz’s offering. Water. He couldn’t help smiling. Simon was guzzling whiskey right out of the bottle, but Jazz was drinking water. So that meant he was too.

He popped the cap with his thumb and tipped it back, sloshing the water into his mouth while he pulled her against his side with his other arm. He pushed the bottle at her next, holding it up for her as she swallowed. A few drops splashed her bare chest over her sharply V-necked top, but he wouldn’t give in to the urge to study the pattern of droplets on the tops of her breasts.

He’d spent enough time torturing himself over Jazz Edwards.

Before she could question him further, he finished off the water himself and turned away, crushing the bottle in his fist. “Be back later,” he muttered, knowing she’d never hear him over the chaos backstage. Knowing it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing he ever said or did was.

“Gray.” Her abrupt cry cut through the noise and he stopped, expecting her small hand to close over his forearm. She had a crazy intense grip from playing the drums and a thrill of anticipation always buzzed down his spine when her strong fingers pressed into his flesh. Every time he imagined her touching him somewhere else, like she had that one time—

The one time he wouldn’t let himself think about, because it hadn’t been right. In all his fantasies about his first time with Jazz Edwards, there was never another guy there too.

But he hadn’t walked away. Even a saint couldn’t have turned away from those needy blue eyes, and God knows he wouldn’t be fitted for a halo anytime soon. The burn in his nose and muscles jangling under his skin proved that more than anything else.

He pivoted to face her and discovered she hadn’t moved from her spot. Her pale bare feet gleamed against the floor covered in spilled liquor and sweat and who knows what else, those pink-tipped toes speaking of the innocence she still possessed. She was the drummer for a band on their way to superstardom and she had a freaking clit piercing, for God’s sake, but the woman before him would never lose that inner core of sweetness and purity. He wouldn’t allow it.