Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
ONYX
I stop by Benson’s garage to grab a couple more sets of drumsticks.
I’m relieved when he’s not home. When I walk by Cash’s room, his curtains are open, and the window cracked, so I don’t think he’s home either.
His window is almost always closed when he’s home; otherwise, Benson has a hissy fit because Cash is listening to us practice.
Like he has a damned choice.
My frustration with Benson grows constantly.
I feel like maybe it’s been increasing more rapidly over the past week.
Everything out of his mouth is obnoxious.
He’s been in a shitty mood ever since Cash pointed out that we get paid $50 a performance at the bar.
Now he has it in his head that we should be getting $1,000 a performance.
I don’t bother to point out that he’s absolutely out of his mind. Cash is right. He treats the patrons like shit. There’s no way he’ll be getting a raise.
Which I think might be where he is now. He decided to bypass asking Laiken, who runs the Hinky Dinky Bar, and go straight to management. I’m sure he’s going to be extra angry when he gets back tonight after being laughed at.
I wouldn’t pay us more than $50 a performance. Honestly, our music isn’t that good. It could be better, but Benson is pretty determined that we’re punk rock and we’re just… not.
More than anything, I think I’m getting more frustrated with Benson because I’ve kissed his brother. Not just once, but every night for the past week. Not just a kiss, but full-blown making out.
It might just be the best kissing of my entire life. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a slut, but I’ve kissed my fair share of people. Even with Cash’s inexperience, I could kiss him for hours.
Which is exactly what we do. We kiss and talk and trace each other’s faces and hands, and then kiss some more.
During the day, I feel guilty. I feel like I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m seriously challenging the universe with Benson. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s oblivious, but he’s not blind or stupid. In fact, it wasn’t that many years ago when I thought he was actually a really intelligent person.
That’s the problem with anger, though. It makes you forget to think. Which, in turn, makes you look like an absolute idiot. This is where we’re at.
Crossing the island, I continue to think about my situation with Benson and Cash. I wish I knew what Benson’s problem was. If I knew, then maybe I could do something about it. Maybe we could talk like adults and figure some shit out.
All I know is that he suddenly has a stick up his ass, and his anger is primarily pointed at Cash for some reason. But that anger bleeds out toward everyone else, too.
My house is empty when I get home. My first student is sitting out front. Lacey is twelve. She’s been my student for a couple years now, so she’s kind of like my little sister. I tug on her hair as I walk by.
“What’s got you so engrossed in your phone?” I ask.
Lacey huffs. “I’m twelve. It’s what we do.”
“You live in paradise. Surely there’s more to life than what’s on your phone.”
“But I can’t go anywhere beyond Bane and Keone Reef, or I might be exposed to naked bodies doing adult things.” She gives me a deadpan look. “This place is weirdly free love and also ‘keep the kids in bubbles.’”
I laugh as I open my front door. She’s not wrong, of course.
Something that comes up at least three times a year is the kids who grow up on Kala.
They need more freedom to explore and grow, and to appreciate our islands.
But they also don’t need to be exposed to sex on the beach or on benches as they walk down the sidewalk on Ceto.
There’s a constant push and pull. We need to keep the islands free for our guests to enjoy themselves, just as we promise. But what about the kids?
In reality, I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.
As someone who was born and raised on Kala, I don’t find it such a problem.
I did explore the other islands. Our classes took trips on the water, to the volcano, and all over the place.
They close certain expeditions for the day or a few hours and limit access to some roads during those times.
Not only that, almost the entirety of Bane and Keone Reef is a free-for-all. The kids can go anywhere and do anything. There are parks and playgrounds and libraries and a ton of shit to do. Benson and I were never lacking for fun.
And with parental permission, kids can start exploring Anapos at fifteen.
That doesn’t mean they have access to all the shops and places, but they can go to the rec centers and explore.
Their bracelets tell everyone that they’re not of legal age, and every staff member takes note of our young people on Anapos.
At seventeen, they have free rein of all the islands. On Kala, the legal adult age is seventeen, regardless of what it is anywhere else in the world. Of all the things that come up for debate, this is never one of them.
Lacey takes her spot behind the drums, pulling her sticks from where they’re stuck in her belt. She smacks all the drums several times before settling in.
She’s a good student, but I think she sticks with the lessons for something to do. She’s not entirely interested in becoming a drummer. That doesn’t mean she’s untalented or not dedicated. She’s here three times a week, and nothing gets in her way.
We talk about twelve-year-old gossip throughout her practice, and she leaves just as Allen arrives. They high-five on the way by, and Allen adjusts the stool behind the drums. He’s eight and has been drumming with me for the past three years. He loves the drums and is incredibly dedicated.
Unlike Benson, who is narrowly focused on becoming a massively successful musician, I’m realistic. I’m not willing to cross my fingers and hope for a break because I have some unrealistic notion that I deserve to be successful.
Besides, where does he think he’s going to catch a break? It’s not like the bar patrons are recording our performances on their phones and uploading them online to go viral. There’s no technology. That’s never going to happen.
The only other option is for some big executive from a record label to show up on the island and, for some bizarre reason, fall in love with our music. Which is as unlikely as it is that our non-existent videos will go viral.
Being a drum teacher isn’t my end-all career. But if I have six students at two to three classes a week and $50 per class… that’s not a bad income. I can live with $750 a week. Roughly $40,000 a year and working two to three hours a day isn’t a bad living.
Allen doesn’t chat like Lacey does. He’s singularly focused on his lessons. He wants to be a master by the time he’s ten. I’m not sure he’s going to be a master, but there’s a good possibility that I’ll reach the end of my skill level with Allen in two years.
It’s a good thing I have a waiting list of new students. I could take on more and continue pouring money into my savings account. I’ve been doing this for three years, and I almost have enough that I could pay for half a house in cash.
Between there not being many housing options available and not wanting Benson to suddenly want to live with me rent-free—which is exactly what would happen—I don’t pursue the possibility.
It’s rich that he calls Cash a mooch, considering the fact that I know he’s not going to get a so-called ‘real job’ and actually contribute to his parents’ household.
Which is what makes Cash and Benson fundamentally different. I have no doubt that Cash will begin paying his parents rent or his phone bill at the very least. I’m not sure his parents would accept rent from Cash, but he’d offer. He’d try.
Benson… not so much. He’s innately selfish, which is a new characteristic that he took on when that stick got stuck up his ass.
Maybe I’m thinking about my once-upon-a-time bestie too loud because the loud, angry knocking on the front door can only be him.
Allen looks up, his sticks still holding the beat.
I wave for him to continue as I head for the door.
It’s not like I’ll suddenly stop hearing him playing when I leave the room.
Unsurprisingly, Benson is at the door. He’s angry. Shocking.
“Who’s here? Who are you hiding?” he demands, trying to force his way into my house.
I shove him backward, which he hates. “My student, and you do not have permission to be in the house when I have students here. We’ve been over this.”
“Why are you dedicating time to this? How is this furthering our—”
“We’re not having this argument again, Ben.
I’m going to earn a real living because $150 a week isn’t a realistic living wage.
You do what you want, but I’m keeping my students.
” Once, I would have suggested that he take on students, too.
He is, in fact, a fantastic guitarist. I’ve stopped suggesting as much because no one should be exposed to his ugly attitude.
“I’m trying to get us a raise. You could help.”
“Again, I’m not going to continue arguing with you about this.
Like it or not, Cash is right. No one is going to pay you more money to be an asshole to the patrons.
This is a queer resort, and that means there are primarily gay men in the audience.
Making sure they know you’re a bigoted straight boy isn’t gaining you fans or a raise. ”
If I had left Cash out of this comment, he might have just blown it off. But the moment I mention his brother, he’s immediately irate. Can’t take it back now.
Before he really starts to rant, I step back into the house and raise my hand to stop him from following again.
“You can bitch later. I’m getting back to my student, and you are not permitted inside my house while they’re here.
That’s the agreement I have with their parents.
You will respect it, even though you’re damn well convinced that you’re above the rules everyone else is held accountable to. ”
He is furious now, but I’m at the end of my patience for the day, so I shut the door in his face and lock it. I’m not supposed to have the door locked, though. So I take the long way back to the den and unlock the back door.
Allen is still keeping his rhythm. He meets my eye with a smile when I return. “The front door is locked, but the back door is now unlocked,” I inform him.
He stops his drumming and frowns. “Why?”
“Because my best friend is in a pissy mood and has a blatant disregard for rules, so I locked him out. However, I respect rules, so I made sure you have a door unlocked.”
Allen grins. It’s small and kind of coy. “It’s really not a big deal, you know.”
“I have a contract with your parents,” I disagree.
He studies me for a minute. “You’re a good person. You shouldn’t be friends with bad people.” His drumsticks hover for a minute, and then he’s back to keeping the beat he’d been working on.
Honestly, he can move past this lesson. I feel like he can play it in his sleep, but he isn’t confident in that yet, so he continues.
I don’t go to Benson’s after my two lessons for the day.
Instead, I wander around Anapos for no reason at all.
I stay out late, and I might not have gone to his house at all today except that I want to see Cash.
I want to taste his sweet mouth and swallow his quiet moans.
Feel how warm his body is against mine. Listen to his soft voice as we talk between kisses.
His light is on when I let myself in the back door. I’m not sure if Benson is asleep as I make a beeline directly to Cash’s room. My tapping is light, just in case his parents are awake. It’s not super late. There’s a chance that they’re watching television or something.
The lock disengaging lets me know he heard me. I’m already smiling in anticipation of seeing him. He meets my eyes, cheeks flushed.
Without waiting for him to close the door, I push him backward with my hands on his hips and cover his mouth immediately. His low moan makes me shiver in appreciation. I love that sound. I love how it vibrates through me. I love the way it tastes.
Blindly, I shut the door and lock it behind me. We stumble to the floor where we’re always spread out. Tonight, I bring him onto my lap. His sharp inhale is sexy, but I feel his nervous hesitation all the same.
“No pressure,” I assure him when he pulls his lips from mine. His hair is soft when I brush it from his forehead. “Promise. Kissing is the only thing on our agenda tonight.”
Cash sighs and presses his mouth to mine again. He’s a natural introvert. He’s quiet and shy. When we’re alone together, he sheds some of that insecurity, and he’s willing to touch me without express invitation.
Such as now. His hands land on my shoulders with a light, cautious touch. As he allows himself to get lost in our kiss, his hands find more confidence. They drop along my arms, my biceps, and come back up. He frames my neck, letting his thumbs trace along my collarbones.
Slowly, they slide down to my chest. My dick jumps when one of his thumbs purposefully brushes over my nipple.
Cash’s kiss loses rhythm briefly when he does. Maybe I made a noise. Maybe he felt my cock’s response to his touch. Maybe he’s exploring his own response to touching me. I’m not sure, but it takes him several beats before he’s able to jump on board again.
I’m usually very careful to keep my hands in PG-13 positions. I don’t want to push him. I’m not entirely sure what his experience is, but I have a feeling that it’s not as extensive as mine. I’ll never put pressure on him, so I try to let my touch on him reflect that.
With his fingers now playing with my nipples through my shirt, I lose a little of that control.
My hands, which had been lying stationary on his thighs, slide along his legs until I can grip his ass cheeks.
His breath catches, lips coming off mine for a second.
He pinches my nipple and I grunt in response.
Cash smiles and then he’s kissing me again. A little hungrier. With more confidence. This is good.
This is also very, very bad.