Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ONYX
April
Over the next month, I begin to lose control of my good sense and flirt with Cash at every opportunity.
By that, I mean for the entirety of several-hour-long visits each night.
The way his cheeks turn pink when I compliment him has my blood humming as it moves through my veins.
The way he laughs when I flirt badly is everything.
Most of the bad flirting is intentional. I’m not exactly a Casanova, but I’m decent at flirting. I think.
However, I also know that I’m beginning to cross lines that can’t be crossed. Benson would lose his shit if he found out I was hanging with his little brother at night while he sleeps. He would go apeshit crazy if he found out I was hitting on Cash.
My resolve not to flirt with Cash only lasts so long, though. I keep my distance during daylight hours, but once I’m in his room at night and we’re surrounded by secrecy, I can’t stop myself.
Tonight is our third night gig at the Hinky Dinky Bar this week.
Usually, we play three or four nights a week—generally, Friday through Sunday.
Sometimes, we pick up a gig during the week, too.
It’s Saturday night, and while our attendance at the bar doesn’t generally fluctuate much each day, there is a surge in people.
Maybe the weather? A glance out the window shows that it’s dark. It’s not raining, but maybe it’s windy? Are people looking for something to do inside?
Benson chose to concentrate on the songs I wrote about rebellion, sex, and angst tonight. Most of them are empty lyrics. They rhyme. They have a boring theme. There’s literally nothing behind them, so they always feel flat to me.
I think our audience always feels the same way I do because they don’t get into them like they do with the songs I wrote with Cash as my muse.
There’s a very distinct change in atmosphere when we play one of those songs.
Even when the music is too loud, and the lyrics are being screamed instead of sung.
If I didn’t enjoy playing the drums as much as I do, I might have quit the band a long time ago. This isn’t the kind of music I like. It’s not the music I listen to otherwise. I’m not even convinced Benson likes it either.
He has an image in his head, and he’s determined to be that person. To have that success. He doesn’t realize that he’d be much further if he sang my songs how they were meant to be sung.
It’s fine. Cash is here tonight, and while I try my best not to stare at him, I can’t help myself. He’s more than just something to look at. A vision to admire to pass the time.
He’s sitting at the bar in his usual spot, but tonight, Lie isn’t sitting with him. He’s behind the bar. Cash told me how Lie somehow got roped into working at the bar with Laiken and that he’s not entirely happy about it.
I’ve watched Lie on and off for the first week he was working, and he doesn’t seem to hate it.
There’s always a smile on his face. He thrives on attention, and behind the bar where there are hot guys ogling him and handing him their room numbers is exactly his jam.
He especially loves it when Laiken gets all Daddy protective and forces his admirers away.
There’s something going on there. I’m relatively certain of it.
However, my curiosity about Lie behind the bar faded a couple weeks ago. I’d much rather admire Cash. From the safety of the bulk of the room between us, I can’t flirt with him. I can’t speak to him at all. Except through my songs. Which might be awkward, since his brother is our vocalist.
It’s a little amusing when I think that Benson is singing songs I wrote for his brother. If he knew, he’d have a tantrum.
My hands nearly freeze when I turn my attention back to Cash and find that he’s surrounded by three men. Three! What the actual fuck!
I nearly jump off my stool when Cash slides from his seat and follows them to the dance floor. One already has his hand on Cash’s waist. They’re touching him. My entire body vibrates with fury as I watch.
Cash doesn’t look at me as he allows them to bring him into the middle of their little huddle. Their hands are all over Cash. I mean, seriously, they’re groping him. How did they get practically right in front of our makeshift stage? Why are they so close?
None of them look in our direction. The blond man has a fistful of Cash’s hair as he aggressively rolls his hips against Cash’s pelvis. The two dark-haired men are grinding on his ass. I think they’re purposefully alternating which of them has their cocks against Cash so he doesn’t miss it.
I watch their hands slide over Cash. They remain over his clothes, at least. There’s a small victory. Cash laughs at something. I can barely hear it over our music. Or maybe I don’t hear it at all. Maybe I just know what his laugh sounds like, and I hear it in my head.
I shake with frustration. The heel of my foot taps on the ground out of rhythm with the tune of the song.
They stay right there through three entire songs, somehow getting progressively dirtier the longer they dance. I watch like I physically can’t look away while they head back to the bar. The three men remain right up on Cash.
Cash returns to his stool with one of the dark-haired men behind him, mouth moving over Cash’s neck. Another stands between Cash’s legs, his hands on Cash’s face and neck. The blond is at Cash’s side, tracing Cash’s lips.
I’m thankful when Benson puts us on break. However, I’m a little startled when he practically stomps through the crowd toward Cash, furious. I’m right on his heels, and while I can pretend to be following to keep Benson from being a menace, my attention doesn’t leave Cash.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Benson seethes when we’re close. “Go somewhere else if you’re going to be a slut.”
The three guys back off a little, giving Benson a wary look.
“Or,” Cash says, “you could mind your own business.”
“You think I want to see this when I’m playing?”
“This your ex or something?” one of the guys asks.
I make a face.
“Ew, no. That’s my brother,” Cash says. “He’s a jackass with a superiority complex and is creepily homophobic.”
All three men turn their attention on Benson. I can’t decide whether they’re startled or angry. Perhaps both. “Dude, this is a gay island,” one says.
“Go away,” Benson hisses.
“I think if anyone needs to leave, it’s you,” another guy says. “Homophobic guys don’t belong on a gay island.”
“You think I want to be here?”
I listen to Benson make an idiot of himself, but my attention remains on Cash. The guys aren’t touching him now. I don’t even think they’re defending their right to touch him. Now it’s about who should be here and who shouldn’t be.
Cash doesn’t look at me at first. He’s watching the interaction with amusement and absently tapping the table with his finger.
When he finally looks my way, his smile climbs a little.
Not exactly a smirk. There’s maybe a little teasing in his eyes.
Very clearly amused. Otherwise, it’s his normal smile.
As if he has no idea why I’m fucking annoyed.
The moment is broken when the bartender, Mike, intervenes. “Back off, Benson. Don’t make me remove you from the bar.”
Benson’s eyes flash in anger, but he stomps away. I linger long enough to watch the three guys wander away as well. I wouldn’t say Cash is completely forgotten. All three glance back periodically before they get lost in the crowd.
“Hey, Onyx,” Cash says, and I narrow my eyes. “Good set. You’re really selling the punk rock vibe tonight.”
I bow my head and continue to glare at him. A quick glance down the bar shows Benson’s back in our direction, so I take several steps closer. “I swear, you’re asking for a spanking, Cash Ellis.”
His smile climbs, and I see mischief in his eyes now. An expression that’s far more familiar on Lie’s face than Cash’s. “Are you going to become like Ben?”
“No, Ben is an ass. I just…”
“Want to spank me,” he teases, and once again, his eyes sparkle with mirth.
“Yes. Don’t let guys like them touch you,” I growl.
He smiles sweetly. A smile that is so convincingly innocent that I glare at him. “Guys like them?”
“Let’s go, Onyx,” Benson hollers.
I don’t respond to either Ellis brother.
I hold Cash’s eyes for several heartbeats before I return to the stage.
My focus is on Cash for the rest of the night.
He leaves a couple of hours before the bar closes, and I only barely manage to convince myself to stay on drums. He went home.
He did not go to the room of the three guys.
Benson is in a rotten mood when our gig is up. If I wasn’t so determined to go home with him so I can see Cash once Ben’s asleep, I’d have left his belligerent ass at the bar. Instead, I follow wordlessly as he bitches and complains about Cash at the bar.
He continues to be a petulant child once we’re at home and in his room. Thankfully, his tantrum only leads to him falling asleep somewhat quickly. Fortunately for him, or I’d have had to knock his ass out just to shut him up.
I don’t pretend to go to the bathroom tonight. I knock once on Cash’s door and open it. I’m pretty sure he was waiting for me. His eyes are already on mine when I open the door, and there is now a smug smirk to accompany the mirth in his eyes.
When the door clicks shut quietly behind me, I cross the room and kneel in front of him. Without thinking, I grip his chin and turn his face up to meet mine.
I wouldn’t say I’m truly into spanking. Impact play doesn’t sound all that appealing to me. And yet, my hands itch to bend him over my knee and whip his ass. The thought, the image playing in my head, has my dick twitching.
“All dirty guys like that only want your sweet little ass,” I growl.
Cash’s lips part, and my eyes immediately drop to stare at them. I think I growl when I see the tip of his tongue poke out to moisten his lips. Fuck. My cock jumps in expectation, urging me to get those lips down there.
“My sweet little ass?” he asks.
For a minute, I don’t even hear what he says. I can only look at his mouth. Feel his warm, damp breath on my hand. He’s so close like this.
“Don’t go home with strangers.”
“Isn’t that how hooking up works? That’s like the entire premise of Kala, right? Meet a stranger and take them home.”
“Fucking help me, Cash.”
His grin splits his face, and I grimace. Fucker is playing me. He does it so well. “It was just a dance, Onyx. Not a big deal.”
“They touched you everywhere!”
Now his grin is smug. He gently pushes me away, and my hand drops from his chin. “No, they didn’t. Their hands remained in PG-13 places.”
“Yeah? And at the bar?”
“They were telling me all the fun things they would do to me if I joined them in their room tonight,” he says as if they were talking to him about their cat. His shoulders rise in a shrug.
“You don’t appear… interested.”
“I never said I was. You made that inference.”
My eyes narrow to slits. “Little bitch,” I mutter.
He grins and settles back against his bed to watch me with hooded eyes. Reluctantly, I sit beside him like I always do, though maybe I’m a little closer tonight. My arm doesn’t just brush his. I’m right up tight against his side.
“Are you telling me you’ve never hooked up with a stranger?” Cash asks. “Or is that something you’re allowed to do, but I’m not? I’m just the kid brother who needs to stay away from all the guys looking for my sweet little ass.”
I huff and shove him. It’s hard enough that he topples over to the side and laughs. “Seriously, how many guys give you their room numbers?” he pushes.
“I’d have more offers if it weren’t for Benson cockblocking me at every turn,” I say.
He laughs and sits back up. “Is it cockblocking if you’re straight, though?”
“I think so. Even if it’s their cock he’s blocking, right?” I tilt my head to the side as I consider this. “As long as he’s blocking someone looking to hook up, I think that counts as a cockblock.”
“Yeah, okay. I can see that. So he totally cockblocked all three of those guys tonight. Is that how we’re looking at it?”
“You’re gay, so doesn’t that mean he cockblocked you?”
“No, because that would imply that I was looking to hook up, and I’m not.”
“No?”
He looks at me with amusement again. I’m a little surprised when his cheeks turn pink. “My shy, innocent act isn’t all an act,” he says quietly. “So… three guys are probably a lot to take on for my level of… inexperience.”
Fuck. Is he saying…? “So one guy would have been okay, but not three.”
Cash rolls his eyes. For several minutes, he doesn’t respond, grabbing his earbuds instead. He offers me one and then fishes the charging cord for his phone from under his bed to plug it in. Cash scrolls through the playlist, hits play, and picks up his journal.
His journal is spiral-bound and half-filled with art that mixes various forms of flat media—be it magazine pictures, newspaper clippings, stickers, scraps, pieces of our island newsletter, or whatever—and then colored in all around with markers, pencils, crayons, paints…
whatever he has on hand. Or maybe there’s a method beyond the media he uses to color. I don’t know.
While he hasn’t outright shown me what he’s working on, he doesn’t exactly hide it either. I admire his art at night while we listen to music and talk. Every single piece is just… as complicated, detailed, and stunning as Cash himself.
“No, I don’t think so,” Cash says after a long time. “I’m not sure I’m looking to hook up with anyone right now.”
I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or pleased with that. “Not at all, huh?”
He raises one shoulder. “Maybe if the right situation presented itself, I’d consider it, but right now, no. Hookup culture is all well and good. Our entire island resort thrives on hookup culture. But I’m not sure it’s for me.”
I nod absently as I watch his fingers smudge the pencil marks he just colored. I get that. Hooking up might feel good at the time, but it always leaves me feeling empty afterward.
My gaze focuses on Cash’s hand for a long time, and then I’m staring at his profile.
If he knows I’m watching, he doesn’t give any indication.
We sit in silence for a long time, listening to music as Cash makes his art.
Me? I fight the desire inside me demanding that I act on whatever’s building between us and fuck the consequences.