Shiraz Read online

  Shiraz Gisell DeJesus

  Shiraz

  By Gisell DeJesus

  Copyright © 2012 Gisell DeJesus

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:

  978-1514649503

  ISBN-10:

  1514649500

  Copyright 2015 Gisell De Jesus

  The right of Gisell De Jesus to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents Act 1988

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. “No part of this book, publication, may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles and reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher Gisell De Jesus.” Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  Prologue

  Ryan

  Six cities in six nights were beginning to invade my dreams. While still comatose, I took a trip across the ocean on foot. I was gliding across the water, picking up speed as I drifted away from the shoreline. I saw the clubs in every city, a blur of flashing signs and beaten-up interiors that invited music like mine to play until the sun began to show itself again. Our melodies and solos followed underwater, gliding through the ocean like a newly freed serpent.

  I looked down at the aquamarine canvas beneath me, past my waist and legs. Apparently I had decided to cross the water naked; this fell in line with how I had gone to sleep. I scanned the surface and noticed something keeping pace with me, a giant fin trailing closely behind. I figured this first to be a massive fish, anxious to ask me why or how the hell I was running on water. The jade-colored fin approached the skin of the water, the scales reflecting the light of the moon.

  This was no fish. The body of the fin curved into a torso, a pale bare back starting at the hips. She moved with the finesse of a dolphin, goading me into moving faster as she picked up speed. How exactly was I controlling my movement? Was she pulling me? Was something in the sky guiding our bodies? I had never seen anything like this . . . was it a mermaid? If so, I had a yearning to go wherever she did.

  Before I had time to enjoy this ride, it was over. I heard the telltale ringing even inside my dreams, and even as I fought my brain’s natural process, I knew I was being pulled from the dream and thrust back into reality.

  The alarm app on my phone was set to slowly pry me out of a hopefully deep sleep. I instinctively grumbled in the direction of the nightstand, rolling over to my left side and pulling most of the bed sheets with me. I reached for the phone, yanking out the charger in the process, and silencing the maddening piece of technology which had become vital to my existence.

  10:00 A.M. Not bad for a rock star.

  I sat up, rubbing the seven hours of sleep from the corners of my eyes, opening them, and waiting for the spots to clear out. Our show last night had been fantastic . . . two hours of solid material and not one technical hitch that I noticed. Being the drummer, I had the least to worry about, except for cracking a stick or two in the middle of a set. The crowd was in love with us, although I knew most of the attention was on our singer. She and the rest of us had not been to the States in years, so our upcoming show had us all on edge. I still got a rush out of live music, but an unsettling void was beginning to creep its way into my skin.

  I threw the sheets aside, exposing the rest of my body to the still air of the hotel suite. That figure from my dream had obviously intrigued my balls, and I stood at about half mast. I gave my cock a generous squeeze but lacked the desire to do anything else. A wank would have felt as empty as the rest of the bed. I had been through plenty of women by now, as it came with the territory and the lifestyle. It was an endless ocean of affairs, never resulting in any true connection after I came. The years were piling up, and as I approached my mid thirties, I began to wonder how long it would be until I gave up on the idea of a partner in crime who I actually connected with. The couple hours of night after a show are hardly enough to divulge your life story to someone who might not even be interested in anything more than your body.

  I fumbled around the blacked-out bedroom and turned on the bathroom light, quickly finding my toothbrush on the sink. We had the first of two shows tonight in a new city, and I had made it to this hotel room alone after four hours of rehearsal. Our equipment was safe in a truck, which meant all of us were only responsible for getting ourselves to and from each venue.

  Something was buzzing back in the bedroom. I spit and rinsed, toweling off my lips before investigating the source of the noise. The alarm was turned off, but I had a message.

  “Moving back our last rehearsal by an hour. Rest up if you like!”

  Our singer had amazing timing. If I had known an extra sixty minutes were coming, I would have stayed in dreamland and followed that mermaid to the end of the ocean, maybe even checking out what was underneath her scales. As it stood, I was more than awake now.

  I located my clean underwear set out for the day and rubbed my stomach, still satisfied with my abs but absolutely starving for breakfast. A room service menu was laid on the table of the living area of my suite, much brighter than the den I created in the bedroom. A three-egg omelet with toast and potatoes . . . someone already had tailored this menu for me.

  I dialed room service, who very politely took my order and assured me I would have it delivered promptly. I placed the phone back in its receiver and sat down on the couch, picking up one of the gritty private eye novels I found at the airport upon first coming to the States. This stuff was a guilty pleasure for me; they all read exactly the same, full of chain-smoking ex-cops who had fucked up a few too many times and decided to go into business for themselves while they kept a wise-cracking lady in the office who may or may not have a thing for them. For me, it was a chance to relax from the grind of constantly shuffling from place to place while on tour.

  I managed about ten pages before a polite knock at the door interrupted my train of thought. I was hungry enough to completely ignore the fact that I had yet to put on any real clothes. Oblivious to my lack of pants and shirt, I opened the door. A room service waitress, dressed for work in black slacks and a white buttoned blouse, greeted me with a smile while pushing the cart into the living area, placing my food directly on the dining room table. As I walked back to the bedroom to grab cash for a tip, I caught her blatantly staring at my body out of the corner of my right eye.

  “We also included coffee and water for you, sir,” the server mentioned when I returned from the bedroom. She had arranged my plates as if she were my personal mistress, partnering silverware with a mug of coffee, the steam still seeping out of the top. I preferred tea, but I would have sounded like an absolute shit. She must have been no more than 20, the face of a student who was doing this for some extra spending cash while she advanced toward a degree that would be with her in five years before she realized she was still bringing people food to their rooms.

  “Thank you . . . Erin,” I answered, feeling bad that she was forced to wear a name tag at all times, constantly on call to dance and smile for people. I signed for the food and handed her a twenty while she did her best to not show how blown away she was by the generosity of a big tip.

  “Oh, wow . . . thank you as well, sir!” She slipped the bill into her apron. “Is there . . . anything else you would like?”

&
nbsp; Our eyes met for about half a second. In that moment, and with the way she worded that question, I have no doubt I could have explained who I was, who I played for, and in mere minutes, thrown her into the bed and made her forget all about working here and joining me on tour. I’ve seen it in a woman’s eyes before, and even been blatantly propositioned by them with such an offer.

  “That will be all. Cheers.”

  She smiled again, a slight hint of disappointment in the corners of her mouth. My stomach growled again as she shut the door behind her. The remote to the TV was also conveniently on the dining room table, so I flipped on CNN to catch up on the rest of the world while I indulged in breakfast.

  I would never have been prepared for the next 24 hours.

  Chapter 1

  Melinda

  Having worked in a hospital for several years, I have discreetly overheard many people say, “They should give those nurses some rollerblades for how fast they go!”

  Well, I’m still waiting on my pair.

  This was my eighth hour on a shift I was not scheduled to work, so my feet are screaming with anger as they are not very happy with me. The rest of my body ooh’d and ahh’d in cosign to my aches. After five years of rotating between everything from pediatrics, to emergency, to surgery, back to pediatrics, it all became one big blur. Trying to balance the many unanswered pages from arrogant doctors and the struggle to keep every patient happy as well as informed, I have came to the realization that instead, I should have went to school for my doctorate. Finally registering how much more they make over the span of a few months than I will in a year, at this point I wouldn’t mind going back to school just to come out with a degree that says I can sit on my ass all day. “I love my job,” I say to anyone who asks, but we all know the truth here. Yes, my job generously pays every bill I have, keeps a roof over my head, my refrigerator stocked well, but what good is that when I spend more time buying coffee at our portable Starbucks than making a pot at home?

  Speaking of coffee, I need another one.

  “You’re all set, Mr. Lazenby. The doctor will stop in to check on you in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, sure he will,” the diabetic grumbled just after giving no response to the injection I has just given him. As for irritable patients go, he was tolerable. Hospitals are at the very bottom of ideal vacation spots, somewhere between the DMV, and a mall on December twenty fourth. At St. Patrick’s Hospital, Greg Lazenby was a frequent flyer due to a bad combination of genetics and putting a little too much sugar in his coffee for so many years. He was a petulant man, but I’ll take that over getting my ass pinched by a dozen of other old, dirty creeps.

  My ass is nowhere to be found underneath these baggy articles of cloth we call scrubs, but I guess that doesn’t stop a horny grandpa from trying.

  What was I just about to do? Oh, right . . . coffee time.

  I told the unit clerk I would be right back, without being bothered to wait around for her response, I hurriedly skipped through the double doors. The elevators were only half the journey as I made my way downstairs. The tiled floor needed a helpful yellow brick road for anyone in distress when finding their way through the maze of units, especially if you are craving for another shot of caffeine like me.

  I stepped into the elevator, pushed “1” and stood with my back to the opposite corner, pushing my chest out as I leaned back with my head up against the glass mirror. I pulled out my phone from my right side pants pocket, and opened the Starbucks app ready to pull up my coupon. I needed two more drinks to get a free one, and at the rate I was going, I would be cashing that out as soon as tomorrow’s shift started.

  I wasn’t the only one in need of coffee as the line stood five people deep when I turned the corner, just past the information desk centered in the lobby. I didn’t smoke, so this caffeine ritual was the equivalent of a cigarette break, and appeared to be just as unhealthy.

  As I waited for the line to shorten I jumped out of the app checking a backlog of unanswered messages. Antonio texted me about seeing a band tomorrow night, which could be fun. My mom said I work too much, and we all know she’s right. Brandon had texted me about three hours ago. I felt bad as I ignored it earlier, but I just didn’t feel like replying. After what I overheard him saying to James earlier I’m not sure I want to respond at all.

  “How’s your day?”

  I unwillingly replied, “Long. Getting coffee. How are you doing?”

  I shifted forward, vaguely aware of my spot in line as I thought about Brandon. He was a property inspector, so he didn’t exactly have a regular schedule either. Living together was the only guarantee that we would see each other on a daily basis, and even that's debatable.

  My phone vibrated.

  “Miss you…I have something long for you when you get back”

  Uninterested, I let out a half grin. He had the day off, and I was hoping that the stars would align and we could spend the day in bed . . .or on the floor, the kitchen table, or against the refrigerator. It had been so long since we fucked, I was tempted to find an unconscious patient’s room, lock the door, and let Brandon in through the window. In the bedroom is where all of our problems went away, so hopefully we can get a run in tonight.

  I started typing while moving up to another spot in line.

  “Are you still going to be up? Are you going to save that for me?”

  I hit “send” and put my phone back into my right pants pocket. My mind was veering away from the hospital and back into bed with him, wishing his fingertips would squeeze my nipples as I nibbled on his neck.

  My phone buzzed again. He had sent a photo. It was our bed, the dark blue satin sheets struggling to show up with the low lighting. I couldn’t see anything else, certainly not Brandon, or any part of him . . . oh, there it was.

  “Sorry babe I couldn't wait lol,” he said.

  I sighed. I didn’t notice the pearly wet stain near the foot of the bed until now, showing

  me that Brandon definitely was not saving anything for me. That picture was pretty much a summary of our situation right now; another missed opportunity not cuddling in the sheets.

  I punched in a response, “You are going make it up to me later, right?”

  I closed my messenger and clicked open my Starbucks app again, ready to ask for a shot of vodka in accompany with the caffeine. I ordered my Venti Red Eye, still disappointed over Brandon’s ill-timed money shot. I would have loved to yank my scrubs down and spread my lips for him to see, but what was the point now? I would be lucky if he was even awake when I got home. Hopefully he’d be ready to go down on me after I showered.

  My phone buzzed one more time.

  “Anything for you babe, I’m always ready.”

  I took my supercharged coffee with me, thanking the red-headed cashier with a forced a smile. “Brandon always meant well”, I repeated to myself as I hit the elevator call button, ready to head back upstairs to whatever catheters and bedpans were waiting for me.

  Pulling out my badge to re-enter my unit, I recognized the shriek of laughter coming from my favorite coworker in the entire hospital, which also happens to be my best friend. Turning around, I nearly tipped my coffee all over the scrubs of Antonio, our resident nurse who was as much caring, as he was animated. Antonio had a complexion I would have murdered someone for; his face always glistened even with the horrid lighting of the unit no matter what time of day it was, or how long his shift had lasted. He was physically incapable of not touching you for emphasis during conversation, which made it all the more funny. Every workplace needed an Antonio, and if you didn’t enjoy explicit descriptions of his latest conquests in the bedroom, run!

  “Hey Mindaaaaaaaay!” he squealed in my ear as he greeted me. I never liked anyone shortening Melinda, and I don’t know how the hell he ever turned it into “Minday,” but this guy got away with it. While hugging me, “How’s it going today?”

  Clutching his arm with one hand and gripping my coffee in the other I return
ed his hug as much as I could, “Eh, I’m here when I wasn’t supposed to be. Another one of those days.”

  I growled as I put on a flustered face.

  “I was just telling the girls about the concert tomorrow night, didn’t you get my text?”

  His heavy spanish accent made it difficult to understand as you had to really focus on what he was saying. Whenever he had a y-word it was usually pronounced like a j-word. I chuckled at it every time.

  Oops, “Sorry, I must have missed that one . . . who is playing?”

  “My one good friend I met at the gay bar, but she’s not gay. They used to play there all the time, they grew such a fan base they got the chance to travel the world. They’re called Broken Griffin! Had you have listened to the songs I posted on your page we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, missy!”

  Another oops. “Sorry, Antonio, you know how easily distracted I get . . . and what kind of name is Broken Griffin?”

  Antonio’s brown eyes went wide. I held in a laugh that tried to fight its way out. Why is Antonio such a character?

  “You still haven’t heard of them? They are one of the most popular soft rock bands to come out of France. They sell out stadiums the moment their tour tickets goes on sale. They are playing at The Avalon this week, god Minday you’re killing me!” He gave me a gentle shove. Leave it to me to work with a gay Spaniard who loves rock. How often does that ever happen, right?

  Antonio lets a mischievous expression infiltrate his face. “Honey, long-haired cuties that the heaven gods themselves crafted singing about destruction of emotion with a full orchestra backing them up? I’m filling up my scrubs just thinking about it! And don’t get me started on the boys that come see these shows,” He moans as he licks his lips just to make sure I was getting the picture.