Twisted(41)

Jazz slumped behind the hot tub and tapped her head lightly against the side. If she kept doing it, maybe the pain would distract her from the knot of nerves in her throat. “Direct hit.”

“Sorry, but it had to be said, sweetie. Dispensing tough love means I love you.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Jazz blinked away the sudden film in her eyes. “Me too. And I know you’re right. I’ve come this far, I might as well—”

“Actually come?” Harper offered helpfully.

Just like that, Jazz’s grin returned. God, she’d missed having a girlfriend, and Harper was one of the best she’d ever had. “From your mouth to God’s ears. Okay. I’m heading in. I’ll have the truck back by seven a.m. as agreed. Or, you know, in fifteen minutes when he tells me I look like a skank and kicks my ass out.”

Harper snorted. “Right. You’re so getting nailed tonight.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.” Jazz smiled and flexed her damp fingers around her phone. “Later, chick.”

“You better call me tomorrow. I want deets. Lewd ones.”

“Pregnancy hormones kicking in already?”

“You know it. They’re fierce. And where’s my husband? Getting beautified, which is basically an oxymoron. He’s already perfect.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Luck, sweetie.”

“’Bye.” Jazz clicked off and shoved her phone in her boot.

She was about to stand when the scrape of Gray’s window being raised hit her ears. She ducked even further into the shadows, but she finally gave up and peeked over the Jacuzzi.

Gray had his arm out the window, and he held a glowing cigarette. Or…maybe not. He blew out a breath then she caught an unmistakable whiff of what he was smoking. That was no cigarette. Since when had Gray started smoking pot?

She thought back over the last few months. The awkward silences between them, the unexplained absences, the unfocused expression in his eyes. She’d tried to play all of that stuff off as his being uncomfortable with the band, though she’d suspected deep down that there was more to it than that. She’d been afraid of how much that stupid threesome had influenced his behavior. Something had seemed to crack in him after that. But no, maybe she’d pegged him all wrong. Plenty of musicians got high on a lot worse things than pot.

Not Gray. Never Gray.

It had never occurred to her that he could be on something because he’d always been militantly anti-drugs. Back in high school he’d flipped out when she’d gone through her experimental phase. It hadn’t lasted long. She’d tried a few different substances at parties. She’d also gotten fall-down-drunk more than once. She’d soon realized that she didn’t want to lose control of her faculties—ever. His rants every time she touched the illegal stuff had certainly pushed along the process.

Now this. It was better than the alternative, though. All of the alternatives.

She nearly let out a peal of hysterical laughter. Damn, she actually felt relieved that he might have a pot problem. A few tokes she could handle. She’d been in bands since she was a teenager. It was almost a standard part of life on the road.

That didn’t mean she approved of Gray developing a habit. She’d definitely try to get him to cut back or quit. She was just happy it wasn’t something worse.

Like the heroin that Snake, Oblivion’s first drummer, had gotten hooked on. She shuddered. Once that shit had its claws in you, it was almost impossible to tear yourself free without leaving some vital parts of your flesh behind.

She sucked in a breath and winced at the aroma that came with it. They’d discuss the pot situation, after. She hoped it didn’t affect performance. Assuming he would be doing something that counted as performing because dear Lord, if he didn’t, she might start toking up herself.

The time had come to find out.

She lurched to her feet. Luckily she had a firm grip on the side of the Jacuzzi because she wobbled on her super-high boots and nearly did a header onto the deck. Awesome. Naturally Gray picked that moment to glance her way—and to drop his joint. Whether he did it intentionally in the hopes of hiding it or due to her appearance, she couldn’t say.

Swagger firmly in place, she marched over and picked it up, waving it back and forth. “So this is what you’ve been up to.”

Her gaze dropped to his bare chest and the swirls of black ink that banded his upper right arm. Her focus slid farther down, stopping at the unbuttoned top button of his jeans. Swirls and shadows lurked behind his zipper. A tattoo? Just a really dense happy trail? Hard to say, but at that point, she forgot how to speak.