6. Chapter 6
FOUR YEARS AGO
ONYX
I don’t have the first clue what time it is, aside from fucking late .
Or maybe it’s early at this point. All I really know is that it’s half past two orgasms each and hours still until the sun will be up.
My cock is spent and flaccid, sticky against my thigh as I lean against the headboard and play my guitar for Hero just like I promised.
My fingers move over the strings with a mind of their own, my body still humming with the melody of Hero’s hands all over me, his cock filling me, our combined moans as we fell apart together.
The feeling of his fingers casually brushing back and forth across my thigh now is a steady, hypnotic beat of its own that makes me wish I could conjure up drums to let him hear what this touch sounds like too.
He lies next to me, just as naked as I am, the moonlight dancing over his tattooed chest, his eyes fixed on me like I’m the most interesting person alive. The crazy part is, it’s the same way he looked at me before he knew who I was.
“Is it weird?” Hero asks.
“What? Picking up a gorgeous tattoo artist and begging him to fuck my brains out?” I chuckle and strum a little faster, remembering the music of my thundering heart when we kissed in the elevator.
“No, the mixed-up senses thing. Hearing touch.”
“Is it weird not hearing touch?” I counter, arching an eyebrow at him and switching up the song I’m playing to a different one entirely. Instead of passionate and frantic, this one is filled with the anxious tremor of my nerves before the tattoo earlier.
I look over at my shoulder, amazed the bandage stayed in place through all that, and I grin.
“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.” He laughs.
“There you go.” I nod. “How can it be weird when it’s the only thing I’ve ever known?”
Hero grunts in understanding. “Is that why you got into music?”
I shrug, managing to keep the music going through the motion.
“Probably? It’s hard to untangle what came first, you know?
Before music, was touch just unintelligible noise to me that learning to understand music made sense of?
Or did I fall in love with music because it already spoke to those crossed wires in my brain?
Or are they two separate things? Maybe I would have been a musician even if my brain was built the usual way. ”
I’ve thought about these things on my own for countless hours throughout my life, and I still don’t have any answers. I’m not sure it matters anyway—which came first, why I am the way I am. It’s all just the beautiful chaos of existence.
“What about you?” I ask. “How’d you get into tattooing?”
A grin stretches slowly across his face, and my stomach flutters with happy butterflies. What is it about Hero that’s captivating the hell out of me? Maybe the answer to that doesn’t matter so much either.
“My Harley came first, actually,” he says, a faraway look in his eyes like he’s remembering a different lifetime.
“I was eighteen and I had no fucking clue what I wanted to do with my life. What I did know was that I wanted a bike, so I saved up until I could afford a heap of junk that barely ran. I took her to a local guy who fixed motorcycles and asked if he could help me get her in shape enough to ride. He was happy to help me out and he even wanted to show me how so I could work on the bike myself too, but it turned out he wasn’t the best guy overall.
Long story short, I fell in with a bad crowd for a while.
Drinking, drugs, partying too much.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and gives me a wry, apologetic smile like he has something to feel ashamed of for having a party phase twenty years ago.
“Anyway.” He clears his throat. “One of the guys in Blazer’s club had a tattoo machine he’d picked up at a pawn shop.
After a few shots one night, he asked if I wanted to try giving him a tattoo.
And I guess it just clicked. As soon as I had that needle in my hand, I felt like I knew exactly who I was supposed to be.
Getting a sense of direction made the partying shit feel kind of empty, so I drifted apart from that whole crew, found a tattoo apprenticeship, and a few years later I met Arrow and the rest of the guys. ”
“And you guys opened Ink Slingers together?”
“Opened Ink Slingers, started our own motorcycle club that’s nothing like the hard partying crew I ran with before, and generally stayed way too involved in each other’s lives.”
I shake the loose strands of hair out of my eyes and rasp out a laugh.
“Sounds pretty fucking nice actually.”
“Yeah, it’s not so bad.” The fondness is so clear in his voice that it vibrates through my fingers and into another, sweeter song. “What about you?”
“Less exciting than that. Moved to Seattle, answered an ad for a band looking for a guitarist, and six years later, here we are.” I stop strumming and set my guitar back in the open case next to the bed.
I lie down and shimmy closer to Hero, running my fingers through the soft, tangled hair of his beard.
“I haven’t been back to Fall Crosse since I was eighteen. ”
“You aren’t missing much.” His warm breath ghosts over my face with another bout of laughter. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it there. But I’m a boring old man. There’s not much there to entertain a hot young rockstar.”
“I can think of one or two things,” I flirt, drawing in closer to tease my lips over his in an almost-kiss. “Maybe I’ll swing by Ink Slingers the next time I’m in Wisconsin and see about getting another tattoo.”
“I take walk-ins on Saturdays,” he teases back.
“Would you…” My stomach flutters again nervously and I tug my lip ring between my teeth. “Would you want to see me again?”
There’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before his expression settles into a smile.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Cool,” I murmur, bumping my nose against his.
“Cool.”
HERO
My eyes sting from too little sleep and my muscles ache in the best way. I roll over without opening my eyes and reach for Onyx’s side of the bed. Instead of finding a warm body though, I fist a handful of cool sheets.
I pry my eyes open, hoping he’s just out of bed already.
The hotel room is bathed in cloudy gray light and the muffled sounds of morning traffic.
His suitcase is gone and so is his guitar.
I rub my eyes with the heels of my palms and sigh.
Last night was fun. Honestly, the most fun I’ve had in fucking ages.
There’s no reason to feel let down that he’s gone now.
I didn’t really think he meant it when he said he wanted to see me again anyway.
Maybe he will swing by Ink Slingers one day, maybe he won’t. Either way, I won’t hold my breath.
I start to throw the sheets off of myself, but I notice a piece of paper on his pillow. He left me a note? A smile tugs at my lips and my heart beats a little faster as I reach over to pick it up and unfold it.
Last night was amazing.
Underneath that simple sentence Onyx scribbled his name, and beneath that there’s a series of musical notes.
Since I don’t read music, they could be anything from the song he played for me last night to the chorus of “Thnks fr th Mmrs.” I carefully fold the note back up, and after I get dressed, I slide it into my pocket.
I need coffee and I need to figure out how I’m getting back to Fall Crosse.
Since we were bringing our tattoo equipment, we rented a trailer and all rode to Milwaukee together in a van Jag has been planning to scrap for parts.
The damn thing might as well have been held together with duct tape.
Scariest half-hour drive of my life. After Onyx and I made plans yesterday, I told them to head home without me, and I’d figure it out this morning.
I pull my phone out of my pocket as I leave the room and get on the elevator. Memories of last night play on repeat in my head, from our heated kiss in this elevator to the hours we spent talking while Onyx played his guitar for me, and every minute in between.
I’m waffling between getting a rideshare and texting the group chat to see if anyone is willing to come pick me up if I offer to buy them breakfast when a text comes through.
JAG: Sooooo… are you going to tell us what it’s like to fuck a rockstar??
JAG: Please tell me you aren’t going to pull an “Almost Famous” and go on tour with him.
TEX: I don’t think that’s what that movie was about.
JAG: No clue, haven’t seen it. More importantly… HERO!!! DETAILS PLEASE!
I shake my head and chuckle. I’ve never been a big “details” guy to begin with, but it feels even more wrong right now.
For one thing, I never asked Onyx how he feels about discretion.
He’s famous, so if Jag runs his mouth to the wrong person, our hookup could end up in Rolling Stone or all over social media.
Besides, giving them any details is only going to get them invested in the idea of this being more than it is. It was a one-night fling, nothing more.
HERO: You need to have some chill, man. Onyx is a rockstar, you think he’d want to fuck me? We got some drinks and hung out. He’s a cool guy, no big deal.
ARROW: Uh-huh.
JAG: No, yeah, we all totally buy that.
TEX: You need a ride back home?
HERO: That’s why you’re my favorite, you loveable cowboy. I’ll buy you breakfast for the trouble.
TEX: Hell yeah, I could eat a whole-ass stack of pancakes.
JAG: Hey! I want pancakes!
HERO: Be less of a nosy asshole next time, then.
I switch over to a one-on-one text with Tex to tell him where to meet me, and he says he’ll be there in half an hour.
Before I shove my phone back into my pocket, I pull up the short thread I had with Onyx from yesterday.
The last thing he sent me was the name of the bar to meet him at.
I stare at the message for a minute or two, wondering if I should text him.
No. He has my number; if he wants to get a hold of me, he will. Until then, I’ll take my own advice and try to fucking chill.