Chapter 65
For a moment their eyes met. Benjamin felt that same energy spin out between them, a pulsing fire that burned from his throat to his groin, twisting everything inside him on the way down. Flicking his hair out of his face, he replied, “The way you do with yours.” He started to move away, thought better of it, and leaned closer to Ty. The familiar whiff of clean, sharp soap and spicy deodorant made his balls clench. To Nick, just behind the lead singer, Benjamin said softly, “It’s paint itblack.” One corner of Ty’s mouth pulled up in a half smile, which encouraged Benjamin. “Next time you’re going to insult us, get it right.”
Before he could lose himself in the scent of soap and Old Spice, Benjamin turned on his heel and walked off, heading for the stage. Skree and Mark followed after him, probably casting suspicious glances back at Hazard, but Benjamin didn’t turn around to check. He didn’t want them to see the grin that threatened to split his face.
* * * *
Onstage, Benjamin leaned into the mike with the stand tilted down over the edge of the stage—a dangerous move that drove the girls in the front row wild. His lyrics were lost in the music—Skree’s drums throbbed out a primal beat, and Mark revved his bass like a racecar squealing around the track. The bass rose in pitch, drawing the song up after it, ripping the words from Benjamin’s throat in a scream of rage and lust. Sweat blinded him, slicked his hair to the back of his neck, his forehead, his cheeks. He wiped it out of his eyes and leaned towards the crowd, away from the music that pounded through him.
Chin tucked in, head down, Benjamin kept his eyes on the crowd. The look he projected from the stage was pure sex—raw, needy. A snarl, one of his best, with the slightest hint of a boyish pout, and the crowd surged around him. Hands reached for him, fingers brushed the tops of his boots and tried to find purchase in his jeans to pull him down. Behind him the music swelled higher, a climax he felt building deep within his chest, where the drum beat out the sound of his heart. He let the music sweep him away, the words mere whispers now, the song spent. Hunched over the mike, cradling it in one hand while the other held the stand out of his way, he fell to one knee and let the final lyrics drain out of him. As the last word faded and the music died away, he turned and caught a glimpse of Ty backstage.
Watching. Waiting.
* * * *
After their set, Benjamin didn’t stick around for Hazard’s performance. He didn’t have to—their song filled the club, and Skree kept up a running commentary that Benjamin could have lived without. “Wrong note,” the drummer chided as they headed for the men’s room, the closest thing to a dressing room that Catch-22 offered. Skree kicked the door open and laughed when it swung into the wall with a thin crack. “Wrong lead-in. Damn. Did you hear the stutter in that drum roll? I thought they knew this song.”
Shoving past his band mates, Benjamin shrugged out of his leather jacket and sighed when stale air cooled the sweat that stained his T-shirt. “Give it up,” he muttered. He draped his jacket over a nearby towel dispenser and turned on the water in the sink full blast.
“We’re gonna win this hands down,” Skree stated. He stood to one side of the door and held it open with his foot so he could hear Hazard’s finale. “Listen to that shit, will you?”
“I said drop it.” Benjamin leaned over the sink and splashed a handful of water into his face. It felt delicious on his heated skin and God, so cold. His arms broke out in goose bumps from the chill. Another splash trickled down his chin to dampen the neckline of his T-shirt. Right at that moment, he would’ve given anything to make the rest of his band disappear.
Mark took up a position inside the door near Skree. “You can’t even hear the crowd,” he said with a laugh.
“What did I say?” Benjamin asked. Then he ducked his head beneath the faucet, drowning out any reply. Eyes closed, he let the water wash away his band, the music, the club, and the competition, it all ran down the drain. The only thing he couldn’t seem to shake were the eyes he saw burning behind his, dark eyes, swirling, alive. Suddenly his pants felt too tight, and he shifted from one foot to the other in an effort to relieve the budding ache in his crotch.