Colt and Ash's Spring Break 2

It only took a moment for an uncertain smile to slip across Ash’s face. “Okay,” he said. “As long as we stay on the beach.”

“Yes, babe!” Colt kissed him. A few times. And then, pulling back, he added, “Bruh, it’s going to be so fire.”

They made their way down the sand. Colt had walked on beaches before, but only in Missouri, which meant only around lakes. This was different. The sand slid under his flip-flops, and walking was harder than it should have been until Ash drew him down to where the waves were rolling in. The wet, packed sand made for easier going, and the music grew louder, competing with the sound of the surf. Ahead, a mass of bright lights slowly took on individual shapes, and The Dive—the beach bar on the island—came into view.

Even at a distance, it was overwhelming: the back of the bar was a massive outdoor stage, and on the stage, a DJ was playing music over huge speakers. The song was something by Dua Lipa, although Colt couldn’t think of what it was called. Although the beach near their hotel had been practically empty, here the crowd packed the sand from the stage to the waterline. Lots of people. Lots of college-aged guys and girls. They were shouting and drinking and dancing. A long-haired guy was vomiting into a foam cup, and two girls were making out while a crowd of frat bros—all of them with matching frat tattoos—cheered them on. On the stage, one girl was trying to take off her top, and another girl got up to join her.

Colt glanced over at Ash. His eyes were wide as he took in the scene. He’d put his hair in a bun, but the wind off the ocean pulled at a few loose strands, and they whipped around his face. Uncertainty was written there.

Before things could change, Colt took Ash’s hand and pulled him into the crowd. There was a moment of resistance as Ash held back, and then he followed, and they plunged forward. At first, it was all bodies—shoulders and hips bumping Colt as he tried to make his way deeper. But nobody seemed mad as he forced his way past. Nobody seemed to care. They didn’t even seem to notice, for that matter. There were too many people. One girl did look at Colt. Stared at him. Like she was going to yell at him. No. Not like she was going to yell at him. Lauren used to look at Colt like that, back in Joplin. Before they started hooking up.

Heat ran into Colt’s face, and he pulled his gaze away from the girl. A space opened among the bodies, and Colt and Ash settled into it. Ash asked something, but they were in front of the beach stage now, and the music was so loud that Colt couldn’t hear anything else. Ash still had that worry around his eyes. Colt slipped his arms around his waist and pulled him closer.

Ash stiffened in his arms. “Bruh!” he shouted over the music. “Your dad said not to!”

“It’s cool!” Colt shouted back.

The worry deepened around Ash’s eyes, but he let Colt draw him in again, and now Colt started to move. He didn’t know how to dance, not really, even though Pops had tried to help him. And it didn’t help that he and Ash had been to a school dance together—as friends, sure, but still. Dancing with friends was different than this.

So, at first, Colt just held Ash close and moved with the music. Ash’s body started to soften. He moved with Colt. Then he leaned back, and he got that dumbass smile on his face. He slid one of Colt’s hands to his waist, and he smiled bigger. He didn’t say, Relax, but it was in his face. He began to dance—one hand keeping contact with Colt, the other hand following the beat.

Colt tried to copy him. He looked like an idiot. Everybody was staring at them. His face got hotter and hotter. But after a few minutes, the flush started to fade. People weren’t really staring. People weren’t even looking. As the prickle of adrenaline faded, he tried to follow the beat and move like Ash.

Then the song changed, and it was The Chainsmokers. Ash got this little grin that crooked at one corner, and he started to move differently. His hand didn’t stay on Colt’s hip anymore—he ran it down Colt’s chest, up his side, behind his neck. He dropped down, almost into a squat, and his hand followed, moving lower on Colt. When he came back up again, he stepped in, slotting one leg between Colt’s, both hands on Colt’s body now, grinding on Colt.

The pressure on Colt’s dick made him let out a sound—thank God the music swallowed it. But maybe Ash heard anyway, or knew somehow, because that little grin got sharper. This was the side of Ash that adults never saw. He did it again, using his hands to pull Colt into him, rubbing against him. Colt’s body melted. He was only vaguely aware of looping his arms around Ash’s neck. Only distantly—gratefully—aware that Ash was hard too. They’d made out before, sure. And sometimes, when they were in bed, Colt had felt—well, this. But also not this. Nothing like this. And not with the music hammering in his pulse, and not with a crowd around them, and not this good. And the thought that Ash could do more to him. That he could make him feel more.

And they had their own room.

He’s going to want it, tonight. He thinks that’s what you’re going to do.

The song ended, and it was like a spell broke. Ash was just Ash again, such a dork with his big smile and his reddish-brown hair dark with sweat at his temples.

“I’m going to see if I can get us some drinks,” Colt said quickly. He pecked Ash on the lips, and before Ash could protest or ask questions or anything, he slipped into an opening in the press of bodies, and he didn’t look back.

A crush surrounded the bar, and fighting his way through the line gave Colt time to take some deep breaths. It wasn’t like Ash had ever said anything. It wasn’t like Ash was anything except—well, Ash. Which meant he was pretty much perfect. And it wasn’t like Colt didn’t want to, because he did. He pretty much always wanted to. With Ash. Maybe that was why it was so scary. Because it was only with Ash. Because it hadn’t been like that with anybody else. Not with Lauren. Not even the first time.

Suddenly, Colt was aware of the heat from the bodies around them, the smell of boozy sweat and sunscreen and dudes who needed to shower. The lights from the stage made his head hurt, and this new song—whatever it was—had so much bass that he could feel the vibrations in his bones. We’ll go back to the hotel. We’ll go back, and we’ll watch TV, and there are two beds, and it’s not like Pops isn’t going to say something, so it’ll be fine.

It had just been a lot. And it had been a long day.

And then he was at the front of the line.

The bartender took one look at him and laughed. He laughed harder when Colt tried to pass off his hotel key as a drink wristband. The second bartender didn’t laugh; he told Colt to get lost before he called the bouncer.

Colt elbowed his way through the crowd back to where he’d left Ash. But Ash wasn’t there.

A quick scan showed him where Ash had gone—to the edge of the party. He was standing there, holding a red plastic cup, talking to a girl. Dark hair tucked up under a Rangers cap. Denim shorts. A black hoodie because of the night breeze. She leaned in, laughed, and put her hand on Ash’s ass.

It was like somebody turned off all the lights except the red ones.

Colt pushed his way past a bro wearing a backwards ball cap. He stepped around a girl who had—for some fucking reason—worn high heels with her bikini and was trying not to fall. A couple of guys charged out of the crowd, and Colt stopped, body swaying with leftover momentum, as they barreled past. Everything had gotten quiet. But not really. Because the music was so loud.

Maybe it showed on his face, because as he approached, the girl took one look at him, pressed the cup she was holding into Ash’s other hand, and scurried away.

“Bruh,” Ash said with a huge smile as he displayed the cups. “Free drinks!”

Colt looked past him. The girl was leaving the party, heading around the side of the bar toward a darkened stretch of sand between this building and the one next to it. She looked back, met Colt’s gaze, and started walking faster.

Even with all that red light in his head, Colt hesitated. He’d done that before, himself. The backward look. Walking faster. J-H would say it was a guilty look. And J-H would be right.

He checked Ash. And then he said, “Where’s your bracelet?”

Ash’s eyebrows quirked.

“Your hotel key,” Colt said. “Where is it?”

Ash glanced down at his bare wrist. “Bruh, I just—” Something like concern sparked in his face, and he juggled the drinks so he could pat his shorts. “My wallet!”

Colt took off running.

The girl was already disappearing around the corner of the bar, but she must have sensed him somehow, because she looked back again and broke into a sprint.

Colt hit the gas. He’d spent the last year doing conditioning for three sports—football, basketball, and baseball. He’d run until he’d puked. He’d run—one time—until he’d almost shat himself.

But the sand underfoot made everything strange, slow, uncertain, and it was like running in a dream.

Behind him, someone shouted, “Hey!”

He reached the narrow passageway between the buildings and stopped. The girl was standing there. Ahead of her, the way was blocked—what looked like collapsed vendor tents were stacked across the path to form an impromptu barricade. She could climb over them, maybe. But the unexpected barrier had given Colt enough time to catch up.

Ash pounded up the sand and skidded to a halt next to Colt. His fists were balled at his sides, and he was breathing fast.

Colt didn’t feel like he was breathing fast. He felt like he was underwater. Or like he was still running in sand. Like everything took so much longer, and that gave him all the time in the world.

He opened his mouth to demand the wallet back, but before he could, someone spoke behind him.

“You stupid cunt.”

Colt glanced over his shoulder.

The man was big. Almost as big as Pops. And he had the too-tight skin, the ’roided-out look of an old guy trying to be a beast. A big beard. Short hair with a little gray. He was wearing a tank and shorts and fucking Chucks like he was twenty years old.

He spoke again. “I’m going to kill you.”

The girl still hadn’t said anything. She stood with shoulders hunched. Her face was screwed up in a look somewhere between terror and pleading. She was staring right at Colt.

She was asking him something.

No.

She was begging.

“Bruh,” Ash whispered, the single word taut.

And Colt knew what Pops would do. What Pops would say.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Trapped in a seedy beachside alley! What will our boys do now?