Thorned Heart (Cash Me Outside 2)

So Cash noticed too. I was hoping I was reading into everything because I’m worried about him.

I glance in the direction Seb disappeared to. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I guess I’m playing for this encore then.” Cash goes to one of Seb’s backup guitars.

“You got this?” I ask him.

“You know it. Can you go make sure he’s okay?”

“Already ahead of you.” I push my way through the crowd of backstage crew and roadies, hoping like hell Seb’s gone to the dressing room.

I walk in to find him changing out of his pants.

His bare ass and exposed muscles in his wide back and shoulders are right there, and I should not be imagining pushing him against the nearest wall and fucking him until he forgets all his problems. But now my brain’s already on that track, and my cock gets on board too.

I only manage to shake out of my daze when he pulls on some jeans and throws a clean T-shirt over his head.

“What time’s the flight to Montana?” he asks.

I meet his eyes, and if he caught me staring, he doesn’t acknowledge it. His dark eyes are colder than usual, and that same vibe of him not really being himself is still there.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Peachy. I just … I need to be on my own for a bit. So, what time’s the flight?”

“Need to be in the charter terminal in two hours.”

“I’ll be there.” Seb goes to walk past me when I grab his arm.

“Will you, though?”

“I promise.”

I don’t want to let him go because I get the feeling he’s lying, but there’s absolutely no reason for me, professionally, to hold him back.

This vacation was a choice. With Cash’s mom retired and traveling overseas, Locke’s parents not speaking to him, and my family scattered across the country, we decided to spend Christmas together. Seb has parents he could go home to. So do Jasper and Greg, but they figured two weeks of secluded living would give us all a break from the full-speed lives we lead.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to let him go and just hope that he turns up later. I’m worried he’s going to go out and do something stupid and that will only make this situation worse.

We have the PR team at Joystar Records doing damage control and getting the photo buried on all social media sites. Another scandal so close could bring them back up to the surface. Next thing we know, Seb will be having a diva-inspired meltdown and attacking paparazzi. The last thing he needs to do is add fuel to this fire.

But I can’t keep him with me like some hostage, and I can’t follow where he goes because arguably, that’s not my job. I reluctantly release his arm, but I stop him right before he walks out that door.

“Seb?”

He pauses.

“Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t be me if I promised that.” The forced smile on his face says more than his words do.

I fear what’s coming next. If he even shows up at the airport at all.

It’s worse than I’m expecting. Worse than worse.

I thought at most Seb would blow off the band vacation and disappear on some bender and meet us in LA before we fly out for the Australasian leg of the tour.

This? Yeah, this is definitely worse than that. Because he walks through the doors of the private charter terminal with a half-naked twink on his arm.

This boy is wearing silver boots, silver boy shorts, and a giant gray fur coat. Nothing else. He has a pretty face, blond hair ... and his tiny hands all over my ... Seb.

“Hey, everyone. This is ... Andrew.”

Could be worse. Could’ve been something like Butterfly or Sugarbits.

“But my stage name is Lemon, and everyone calls me that.”

There it is.

I’m not bitter. Not bitter at all.

“He’s decided to come with us,” Seb says.

I grunt. “Packing light, are we?” Yes, that’s a dig at Lemon’s size and pointing out the fact he doesn’t have a bag and I’m pretty sure in the middle of Montana in December, he’s going to die of hypothermia. Or lose his dick to frostbite.

Is it bad karma to wish that on someone?

“He can wear my clothes,” Seb says.

“Or none at all,” Lemon supplies unhelpfully.

He’s definitely going to die of hypothermia.

I can see the headlines now. Naked, Malnourished Twink Dies in Snow Because Cash Me Outside’s Lead Guitarist is a Slut.

That’s probably too long for a headline but whatever.

This Christmas is going to be the best. I’m alone, and the guy I’m in love with is with someone else. No matter how temporary they are together, it still fucking hurts.

“Lemon.” I try to smile though I’m gritting my teeth. “See the desk over there? Can you please go let them know your name and show your ID so they can put you on the flight manifest? Thank you so much.”