I didn’t mention any of that to Ashley, though.
I really wasn’t into making a giant deal out of my birthday.
That was more Daniella’s thing.
According to my phone, she’d been calling and texting all day about our birthday plans. But as far as I was concerned, the plans were already set.
My twin sister just needed to learn how to leave well enough alone, and calm down a bit about celebrating her existence. Which was why I’d kept my phone on silent today, on purpose, and ignored her calls.
But I did text her back, just once.
Me: Everything is fine as planned. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner. DON’T CHANGE ANYTHING AND DON’T INVITE ANY MORE PEOPLE.
A reply popped up immediately. I didn’t read it.
I put in about an hour of work on my laptop, sitting at Ashley’s kitchen island and sipping my wine. I shuffled around some work I’d been planning to do tomorrow, including rescheduling a couple of client calls.
Meanwhile, Ashley sat by the fireplace in the adjoining living room, working on a song on his guitar. It was an acoustic, and whatever he was playing sounded pretty cool, though I couldn’t make out any words. He was kind of whisper-singing under his breath, making notes on a pad of paper.
When I was finished my work, I topped up my glass of wine and took it over to sit by him.
“New song?” I asked him.
“Sort of an old song that I never really finished writing.” He set his guitar aside and got up, stretching. His T-shirt slid up, revealing a yummy slice of skin and inked flames. “I like to write a lot, but it’s mostly just an exercise. I feel like I’m better writing in collaboration with other musicians. You just never know when you’re gonna come up with that amazing riff or melody or lyric that catches fire, though.” He wandered over to the fridge to get himself a fresh beer.
“That’s cool. I do the same thing with jewelry, sometimes. Just start working without any kind of design in mind.”
Interesting, that I’d never really talked to any of the guys I’d dated before about my jewelry making. But then none of those guys had ever taken an interest in it like Ashley had seemed to when we’d gone to dinner. Same as he did right now, listening as I spoke.
“I’ll start putting a chain together, link by link,” I told him, “and then hooking stones onto it, and before I know it, it’s many hours later, the sun’s gone down, my fingers are sore, and I’ve put together some kind of crazy Frankenbracelet that’s the best thing I’ve ever made.”
“Sounds a lot like writing a song on guitar,” he said, as he came back over to sit next to me. “I think that’s what we’re aiming to make with this band, actually. Frankensongs. I picture four or five amazing musicians, creators, coming together, writing songs together and bringing in all our different styles and influences to make something new and unexpected. We’ll throw all our best ideas into the forge and see what takes shape. Which parts we actually use and how we put it together… that’s what’ll make it magic.” He took a swig of his beer and shrugged. “Or a total failure.”
“I doubt failure’s an option.”
“Who knows,” he said.
“Have you written many songs for the new band yet?”
“No. We’re not really writing yet. We pretty much decided to hold off until the band is whole, before we officially write any songs. But I’ll keep writing on my own, as usual. Just let the ideas flow, at least. Summer will, too. Then when we all get together as a group, hopefully we’ll all have some ideas and little pieces of things to bring to it.”
“Cool. It seems like that would be fun… And a lot of work? And, I don’t know, kind of scary? Like, do you feel pressure to write something as good as your best hits with the Penny Pushers?”
He snorted. “Yeah, not so much. Honestly, I’d like to be a part of writing something way better than what the Pushers ever put out.” He shrugged again. “I really don’t want to reinvent the Pushers or any of the other bands I played in before them. Whatever we do with this new band, it’ll be a departure from the Penny Pushers’ sound, for sure. More sophisticated. The Pushers’ thing was pretty much alt-rock for skater kids. It made sense for us when we were twenty-two, but then we never really evolved. I don’t want to be stagnant like that again. I guess that’s why the supergroup thing, and working with Summer, feels right. I want to work with musicians who are as good as I am, or better, even. People who can push me to be better. You know… I guess I’m done with mediocre.” He looked closely at me when he said that.
“I can’t wait to hear it,” I said. “Whatever you come up with together.”
Ashley stared at me for a moment. “You know, I can’t wait for you to hear it, either.”
I smiled. Actually, I was pretty sure I beamed rainbows at him.
He settled back right next to me on the couch, stretching his arm out behind me. And we spent most of the evening right there, in front of the fire, nursing a drink and talking while the summer night eased down around us.
Then when the fire died out and our drinks ran dry, we spent the rest of the night in his bed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Danica
The next morning, I woke up in Ashley’s bed feeling… incredible.
I’d definitely never felt this way waking up in a man’s bed before.
So, I knew I was in deep here.
Already.
Well… I was in deep long ago.
Like pretty much the moment I met him… and couldn’t stop thinking about him.
I should’ve maybe been a little concerned about that?
But I wasn’t.
Ashley made it so I wasn’t. I felt safe with him, even though some part of me told me I probably shouldn’t.
He told me he’s not falling in love with me.
But I just didn’t believe him.
I knew what I felt when I was with him, and I saw the things in his eyes he wouldn’t say. He knew it as well as I did.
We just fit.
And I didn’t even know why. There was no explaining it.
It was just chemistry.
We had it.
I’d never really known it could be this good with a man. That sex could be this good. I’d had some pretty great sex before. I’d been in love before, or so I’d thought.
But I’d never felt… this.
This tide of feelings washing over me as I looked over at him, lying in his bed, with his guard down and half-asleep… his eyes flickering open as he woke up and looked at me.
And smiled, just a bit.
Then he rolled over toward me, stretched, and kissed my shoulder.
I sighed with happiness.
“Where you going?” he asked in a soft, gravelly morning voice, like I’d been on my way out of bed or something.
“Nowhere.”
His smile grew. He flopped back on his pillow. “Why isn’t there room service in this dump?”
“I know. I don’t want to get up, ever.”
“I’m hungry, though. You drained me last night.”
I grinned. “Okay. I’ll be your room service. Give me a sec.” I rolled out of bed before he could grab me and stop me. He tried. I dodged and snagged his T-shirt off the floor. I slipped it on, tugging it slowly over my naked curves, flashing him a little. “Oooh, she puts on his shirt,” I teased. “It’s a whole new level of intimacy.”
He snorted. “Hopefully it doesn’t stink.”
I sniffed it. “Smells amazing.”
“Where you going in that?”
“I told you… room service!” I sang over my shoulder as I headed out of the room.
When I returned a few minutes later, I had some of our leftovers warmed up and some of Mireille’s pastries on a couple of plates. And a jug of pineapple juice under my arm.
“You should really buy stock in pineapples,” I told him. “You’re always drinking this stuff.”
“Okay, weird fact,” he said, as he took the jug from m
e and arranged the pillows for us to sit up against. “I read somewhere, years ago, that pineapple makes a guy’s come taste better. Started drinking it then, got hooked, and never stopped.”
I giggled as I climbed into bed with him. He took the plates from me and we got comfy. “Is it true?”
“No idea.” He set a plate on my lap. “Thanks for this.”
“You never did a taste test?”
“What, myself?”
I wrinkled my nose a bit, smiling. “Well, I meant with a lover. Like had her or him taste it, before and after you drank the juice.”
Ashley considered that as he dove into his chicken sandwich. “You know, I think I meant to, but never got around to it. Usually when my dick’s about to slide into someone’s mouth, I forget about everything else.”
“Uh-huh.” I grinned at him and bit into my raspberry Danish.
“Quit looking at me like that or I’m gonna fuck you before we get to eat this… and I’m gonna be ejaculating dust.”
“Eat.”
We ate. Then he guzzled a bunch of pineapple juice straight from the jug and arched an eyebrow at me, offering me the jug.
I laughed and took a sip.
When we were sated, we slid back down into a horizontal position. He offered me a shower, but I couldn’t move. Way too comfy in his shirt, in his bed.
I actually dozed off a bit when he went to shower.
I heard him singing the Red Hot Chili Peppers, “Can’t Stop.”
Then the next thing I knew, I woke up to Ashley nuzzling and kissing the back of my neck, and his warm hand on my waist.
“You want a shower?” he murmured against my skin.
I groaned something unintelligible and stirred a bit.
He kissed me again.
“Do you always sing the Chili Peppers when you’re alone in the shower?” I asked him sleepily, trying to wake up.
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
“Shower, babe. You’ll feel better. The bathroom’s all nice and warm and steamy for you.”
“Okay…”
I dragged myself up and drifted into his warm, steamy bathroom. I had the world’s most amazing shower—well, except for yesterday’s shower—then brushed my teeth with my finger and some of his toothpaste, and slipped his T-shirt back on. Then I drifted back to bed, where he was lying naked under the sheet, and climbed back in with him.
He was awake, but relaxed, and I snuggled up against him, running my hand over his chest and playing with his nipple.
“Good shower?” he asked, his voice soft and husky.
“Perfect.”
“I didn’t hear you singing.”
“I don’t always sing in the shower.”
“Huh,” he said, like that was unusual.
Was it?
I ran my hand down his arm… over the tattoo of the white-blonde mermaid on his forearm.
“Is this Elle?” I asked him. I’d read something about that, in one of my internet stalking sessions. I didn’t know what to think of it at the time, and had actually forgotten about it—until yesterday, when he told me he’d dated her.
He glanced at the tattoo. “No. I got it when I was seeing her, but it was something I’d been planning to get for a while. I did get the idea to do the hair that color because of her hair, though.” He shrugged. “She has cool hair.”
“She does,” I agreed.
“But it’s not meant to be her.”
“Okay.” I ran my hand across his torso and down the flaming phoenix. And it occurred to me to ask… “Do you have any tattoos for other women? I mean, besides my sister…”
He threw me a regretful look. Clearly that wasn’t his favorite topic.
Wasn’t really mine, either.
“Just this.” He lifted his left arm and showed me a small script, to the side of his heart. It was buried among all the intricate flames, hard to read at first, but when I looked closely, it clearly said: Lilith. “It’s my mom’s name.”
“Nice. When did you get it?”
“After I found out she’d died.”
“How did she die?” I asked him softly.
“Hit and run accident. She was a pedestrian and someone drove into her at a crosswalk. They never even managed to find the car or the person driving it. Just one of those freak things.”
“Jesus. Ashley… I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too. I mean, she ditched out on me, but there’s a part of me that knows she really ditched out on my dad. And maybe when I was grown-up and not a kid anymore, she and I could’ve… I don’t know. Had some kind of a relationship? I feel like she probably wanted that. I was her son, right? But I can understand why she had to get out of that toxic house.”
Yeah. Honestly, after meeting his dad and granddad, I kind of could, too.
But abandoning her son to do it… I wasn’t sure I could ever muster enough empathy to understand that.
He cleared his throat. “There’s also this one.” He showed me a small N on his right bicep, again pretty buried among the other tattoos there. “It’s for a guy, though. Kind of. My first… I don’t know. Boyfriend? Male lover? We never really dated, exactly. We were in high school. I would’ve, but he was pretty deep in the closet. Everyone found out at school anyway… He got beat up a lot because of it. Shit, I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
“Jeez. That’s awful.”
“Yeah. He ended up pretty messed up over it all. It kinda ruined him.”
“Was it ever like that for you, too? At school and stuff?”
“Not really. I think he had a harder time because he tried to hide it. He didn’t own it. I can’t say for sure, but I never really got hassled about it like he did. Or maybe it was because I openly dated girls, too. I don’t know. But I never really gave a fuck what people thought about me. Plus, you kick in one douchebag’s teeth for calling you a fag, it gets around to the other douchebags. They look for an easier target. It’s what bullies do.”
I sighed. I hated that he’d been through that. That anyone had such animosity toward him, just for being him.
Especially when he was so damn amazing.
Couldn’t they all see what a unicorn he was? Really.
“What was his name?” I asked, tracing the N on his skin.
“Nate. But he died too, long time ago.”
“Ugh. Ash. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry. Not all my tattoos are this depressing, I promise.” He smiled at me. “I got the N as a promise to myself, or a reminder, maybe, that I was never gonna hide who I was. No matter what anyone thought.”
Damn. I loved that about him.
Loved.
But…
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Yeah. Sure.”
“It’s a really personal question…”
He laughed. “How much more personal can we get?” He ran his hand down my back, his eyes darkening. “Ask away, because I’m gonna do something incredibly personal to you soon… and then your mouth will be too full to ask questions…”
I shivered at his words and his touch, and he smirked.
“I’m just wondering…” I said, “if you think you’ll ever need to be with a man again.”
I watched his eyes. The way they crinkled a bit at the corners, like he was trying not to laugh.
“Is that a dumb question?” I asked. “I just mean, if, let’s just say, you and I were to be together, as a couple… Would you want to be with men, too?”
“That is a dumb question.”
“How?”
He grinned. “You’re adorable.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make fun of me. I seriously don’t know.”
“Don’t know what? If I could be loyal and monogamous?”
“No. Not when you put it like that. I just mean… Okay. Here’s the real question. Could you be satisfied with what my body has to offer, when I don’t have a dick?”
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he did laugh.
Hard.
“Don’t laugh!” I poked him in the side.
“Okay. You realize the moment I met you, I knew you didn’t have a dick, right?”
“I’m not questioning whether you like me or not,” I said.
“Good.”
“I’m questioning…”
“If you could be enough for me?” he said, growing serious.
“Something like that.” I studied him. “It’s a fair question, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
I waited for more, and when he didn’t go on, I narrowed my eyes at him. “I kind of feel like you’re evading the question at this point…”
“Because I don’t really have an answer,” he said. “I don’t know.”
“How can you not know?”
“Because you’re asking me about something that hasn’t happened yet. In reality, it would depend on a lot of things.”
“Okay. That’s fair,” I agreed. “I mean, it’s fair if you can’t answer me right this second.”
“God, you’re nice.”
“I’m not!”
“It’s not an insult.”
“It didn’t sound like a compliment.”
“I like all your nice,” he said, his lips quirking.
I softened. “Thank you. You’re pretty nice yourself.”
He snorted. “Right. That’s what I’m famous for.”
“You’re way nicer than you think, Ashley.”
“Sure.”
“You’ve been nice to me.”
“That’s because I want to fuck you,” he said, and slapped my ass, then gave it a deep squeeze.
Yum.
I blinked at him, my eyes kinda glazing over. “What were we talking about…?”
He grinned. “Let me ask you. How would you feel about it if I did want to be with a guy?”
“I don’t know. If it’s something you want, though, or something you need… I wouldn’t want to stand in your way.”
To my surprise, he didn’t seem very happy about that. He actually slapped my butt, and not in a nice way this time.
Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1) Page 40
