Mind Games

by T. K. Leigh

  “It’s not exactly a common name, is it?” I laugh, trying to cover my nerves, but it has the opposite effect.

  “Asher York, the handsome, struggling musician?”

  “Yup.”

  “The Asher York with a singing voice that makes you forget your name?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “The Asher York who looks like a fucking Adonis with a guitar strapped to him?”

  “Yes, Chloe. That Asher York,” I say louder as a blush blooms on my cheeks. If she only knew just how amazing Asher York looks now with a guitar slung over his chiseled body.

  He’s a far cry from the guy I knew all those years ago. Hell, if the band’s lead singer hadn’t introduced him by name last night, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him. But I would have eventually figured it out. He still has the same raspy, soulful voice, still writes lyrics filled with so much passion and heartache.

  “The Asher York who would have been your brother-in-law if you hadn’t smartened up and called off your engagement to Jessie?”

  “Exactly.” I swallow hard, a pang squeezing my heart, my stomach churning. I shouldn’t feel guilty about this. I haven’t spoken to Jessie in years. But I still can’t help but feel like I’m betraying him by being here, even if nothing untoward has happened between Asher and me.

  She blinks once. Twice. Then she steps back, glancing around at the exquisite grounds, her voice chipper. “Well, it looks like Asher’s not a struggling musician anymore, is he?”

  “Oh, this isn’t his place,” I correct quickly. “He’s just kind of…staying here.”

  “Like, house sitting?”

  “Not exactly. He, uh…”

  A motion catches my attention. I whip my eyes to the front door, Asher appearing. A wicked smile curls his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the doorjamb. It takes all my willpower not to ogle his biceps. Hell, it seems to take all Chloe’s willpower, too. I can’t blame her. He is really nice to look at.

  “When I told you it was okay for you both to crash here, I meant inside the house. Not on the front stoop.”

  “Hey, Ash.” My cheeks warm as my lips kick up in the corners, the response as innate as breathing. I avert my eyes, doing everything I can to hold on to the little composure I have left so as not to make it obvious there’s something more going on between us. I keep reminding myself there isn’t. We’ve never even kissed. Not like that. So why do I feel like a hormonally crazed teenager who’s run into the object of her affection during a middle school dance? “Thanks for this.”

  “It’s nothing, Iz. You know that.” He uncrosses his arms, taking a step toward me. “I was thrilled to hear your voice, considering I thought you’d be 35,000 feet in the air by now.”

  I lift my eyes to his. “I guess the universe had different plans.”

  “I guess so.” A beat passes as we stay in our bubble where it’s just us. Then he remembers we’re not alone and clears his throat, looking to my left. “Chloe. Good to see you again. I like the hair. It suits you.”

  “Thanks for letting us stay here.”

  “Anytime. I’d never turn away a friend in need.” I notice the faintest hint of a wink as he gestures for us to come in.

  “Hear that?” She leans into me as we pass him, entering the foyer. “He’ll never turn away a friend in need, Iz.”

  “Oh, hush. It’s not like that.”

  “You want it to be like that, though, right?”

  “Maybe,” I mumble in a barely audible voice, hoping she can’t hear. But the devious expression on her face tells me she did.

  “I’ll show you around down here, then take you up to where you’ll be staying,” Asher announces.

  “Great!” I respond brightly, spinning around to face him.

  “Great…,” he repeats, his voice full of uncertainty as he eyes me, my overly enthusiastic reaction presumably catching him off-guard. That’s the downside of trying to hide things from someone you once knew so well. They’ll know in a heartbeat when you’re acting out of character. Just like I am now.

  “So, the tour?” Chloe asks, stepping forward.

  “Right. This way.” He turns around, and I can’t help but stare at his backside. It doesn’t matter that he’s wearing a white linen shirt and a pair of loose-fitting shorts. I can still make out the definition of his muscles through his clothes. I thought the dimples on his face were addictive. They have nothing on those right above his waistline.

  “Come on, Izzy.” Chloe grabs my arm, snapping me out of my mental undressing. I stumble, my face burning, but I push down any embarrassment from getting caught ogling him. We follow him into the spacious open living area that contains the kitchen, an informal dining space, as well as a sitting area, complete with large-screen TV and what I can only imagine is a state-of-the-art sound system.

  The entire place boasts high ceilings, neutral walls and furniture, the space bathed in natural light. Based on the décor, I never would have guessed who owned this house. It’s muted and understated. Apart from a glass display case in the corner of the living room containing a handful of Grammys that Chloe pays no attention to, nothing indicates this is home to Fallen Grace’s recording studio.

  Asher leads us down a long corridor, showing Chloe the game room, library, workout room, and the wine “cellar”, even though I struggle to call it a cellar since it’s on the ground floor. I feign interest in the tour, not wanting to make it too obvious I’ve been here before, although it’s only a matter of time until I’m forced to come clean.

  As we leave the theater room, I expect him to show her the one remaining space — the recording studio. Instead, he heads back toward the foyer. Grabbing our bags, he leads us up the stairs and down what he referred to as the guest wing.

  After showing Chloe to her room, he turns to me, pulling my roll-aboard a little farther down the hallway, opening the door into a luxurious space that would rival even a five-star hotel. Lush, four-poster bed. Fireplace. Magnificent view. Ensuite bathroom I imagine contains a jetted tub.

  “I hope these accommodations are up to your satisfaction.” He enters behind me, setting my suitcase on an ottoman sitting below one of the windows overlooking the patio, the Las Vegas skyline on the horizon, majestic mountains stretching beyond it.

  “I suppose it’ll do,” I joke, shifting on my feet. “At least it’s only for one night.”

  “You’re a resourceful girl. I’m sure you’ll survive these inferior quarters.” His eyes shine as they trace over my face with amusement, his smile wide. Then he steps back. “I’ll let you get settled. I’m about to fire up the grill and make some burgers.”

  “Burgers? Are they—”

  “Dad’s recipe? You’d better believe it.”

  I place a hand on my hip, and his gaze floats to the sliver of exposed skin between my jeans and my shirt. “So he finally decided you were trustworthy enough to be given it?”

  “Sure did,” he replies boastfully, jutting out his chest. “Of course, it took quitting my decent-paying, respectable job, with great benefits and summers off, and moving out to California for him to share it. Said if things got bad, I could at least sell the recipe to make a bit of money.” He winks, the gesture causing my knees to weaken.

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to resort to that. Your father’s recipe should stay in the family.” I pat my stomach. “Although I hope you have enough. It’s been years since I’ve had one of your father’s world-famous burgers. I may eat my weight in them.”

  “If I have to run to the store to get more ingredients, I’ll do it. Can’t have you leaving…unsatisfied.”

  My mouth grows dry at the innuendo, every cell in my body humming with the need to know all the ways Asher can satisfy me. I imagine he’d be able to do so in a manner no man before him has. In a manner no man after him will again. But that’s all this can be. A fantasy. Nothing more.

  With a smirk, he turns, his footsteps sounding his retreat. I go to
my suitcase, about to unpack, when his deep voice fills the space. “Hey, Izzy?”

  I whirl around, meeting his dark eyes swimming with deep indecision, the pendulum still swinging madly within. He licks his lips, squinting, searching for an answer that remains out of reach.

  Then he exhales, his expression softening. “I’m glad you’re here. Really glad.”

  He doesn’t wait for me to reply, spinning around and disappearing down the hallway.

  “I’m in so much trouble,” I murmur to myself.

  Chapter Eight

  “When were you going to tell me you’ve been getting all chummy with Asher York?” Chloe bites out the second I pull back the door to my room after changing into the only bathing suit I brought with me — a revealing black bikini that seems to make my already ample chest seem even more voluptuous. As if I’m doing it intentionally for Asher.

  Maybe I am.

  “Have you been waiting outside my room this entire time?”

  “No.” She grabs my arm, ushering me back into my room and closing the door. “But I figured twenty minutes would give you enough time to shave all your naughty bits to clear a landing strip.” Dropping her grip on me, she sweeps her gaze over me, a smirk pulling on her mouth. “I was right.”

  I wrap my arms over my stomach, trying to hide my body, but my sheer, white coverup doesn’t help much in that area. “Don’t get your hopes up. There will be no landing.”

  “Why? I saw the way you looked at him.”

  “Chloe,” I begin, but she doesn’t let me say another word.

  “And I saw the way he looked at you. How long has this been going on?”

  Sighing, I collapse onto the bed. “Less than twenty-four hours.” Although one could argue it’s been going on since my freshman year of college.

  “How?” She sits next to me, frowning, her brow wrinkled. “We’ve spent our entire weekend together. I’m pretty sure I would have noticed you talking to Asher. Hell, pretty sure Bernadette would have noticed, too. She would have included it in the gossip section of one of her daily ‘Bachelorette News’ emails she’s been sending.”

  “Please tell me you don’t actually read those.”

  She shrugs. “I may have fed her a fake story or two. But that’s irrelevant. What’s the deal with you and Asher?”

  “No deal. We ran into each other last night,” I explain, looking ahead with an unfocused gaze.

  “Last night? When?”

  “My body still thinks it’s working the night shift, so I ended up going out and found an Irish pub with a live band. It was a nice change after the thumping club music we’ve been forced to endure this weekend.”

  “You mean you haven’t been enjoying all that electronic crap?” she mocks in faux disbelief.

  Brushing off her comment, I continue. “I went inside to have a beer and unwind. Imagine my surprise when the lead singer of the band performing announced a special guest by the name of Asher York. After he finished singing, he noticed me in the crowd and came up to me. We ended up hanging out.”

  “But you’ve been here before,” she remarks, as I suspected she would.

  Chloe has one of those analytical minds that doesn’t miss much. It’s what makes her one hell of a gossip columnist. She can smell a story before it even starts. I’ve lost count of the number of celebrity pregnancies she’s accurately predicted before they’ve been announced to the public. Hell, there were a few she knew about before the celebrity’s own publicist was made aware.

  “After last call, we went to get a bite to eat.” My lips tick up into a smile. “Then he wasn’t ready for our night together to end, so he brought me back here.”

  “And what did you two do when you got here?” She waggles her brows.

  “Played the piano,” I answer.

  “I bet you did.”

  “We did. Then we watched the sunrise before he drove me back to the hotel.”

  “So you mean to tell me you spent all night with Asher York… And not the Asher York you knew those years ago, but that Asher York.” She points toward the closed door. “You’re trying to tell me you spent all night with him, played piano, watched the sunrise, and nothing happened?”

  “Precisely.”

  She pinches her lips together. “Did you want something to happen?”

  “I don’t know, Chloe.” I get up from the bed, pacing as I attempt to make sense of my warring emotions. “The entire time I dated Jessie, I never once thought of Asher this way. Never looked at him this way.” Until the day I realized the truth.

  “I find that hard to believe,” she mutters.

  “Why?”

  She rolls her eyes. “I may not have gone to college with you, but I saw how you guys were. Even back then. And I wasn’t the only one. Hell, at your own engagement party, you spent most of the night hanging out with Asher.”

  “Because Jessie got drunk at the Sox game earlier in the day. Asher was only trying to make up for his brother’s lack of self-control.”

  “Still…” Standing, she shrugs before crossing her arms in front of her. “You guys have always been good together.”

  “We’ve always been friends.”

  She approaches. “What changed?”

  I point toward the door, just as she did a few seconds ago. “Have you seen him? You just admitted you’ve noticed the changes.”

  “He’s definitely got an incredible body now.” She giggles. “And that hair… He’s got that sexy Johnny Depp hair. And you know how much I love me some Johnny Depp. And so do you. Bet you’d love to tug on that. Am I right?” She nudges me, passing me a devious smirk that has me cracking a smile in less than a second.

  “Maybe.”

  Her playfulness fades as she peers at me with all the sincerity I’ve come to expect from my lifelong friend. “So what’s stopping you?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” I throw my hands up, my voice laden with sarcasm. “Maybe the fact I was once engaged to his brother. And not a brother he doesn’t get along with. A brother who’s also his best friend. He’d never betray Jessie like that. And even if he would…”

  “You hate the idea of doing anything that would jeopardize their relationship,” she finishes.

  She knows me better than most people. She was the first person I went to when I found out I was adopted. She made me see it didn’t change anything. That I still had a loving family, even if we didn’t share DNA. Learning you’re adopted makes you see family in a different light. Makes you treasure it more. My stomach roils at the idea of being the cause of any strife between Asher and Jessie. Which is why I cut ties with them all those years ago. My heart had splintered in two different directions. It was better to walk away before it was beyond repair.

  “Do you blame me?”

  On a long exhale, Chloe drapes an arm over my shoulders, pulling me back onto the bed. “I certainly don’t. But you also don’t need to sit here, making long-term plans for a future. Hell, you don’t even have to make plans for tomorrow, since we’re headed back home… God willing. Have fun and enjoy your time with Asher.” The seriousness and compassion in her expression wanes, her mouth kicking up into a mischievous grin once more. “And if something should happen, you know what they say about this town, don’t you?” She stands, heading toward the door. “What happens here…”

  “I know. I know. Stays here,” I finish, dragging myself to my feet.

  “Exactly. Now, let’s go enjoy one more day in the sun before we have to return to the frozen tundra of Manhattan.” She loops her arm through mine, pulling me out of the room and down the stairs.

  The instant we turn the corner into the open kitchen, my heart speeds up at the sight of Asher standing in front of the island. I can’t stop my lips from parting, my eyes drawn to the flexing muscles in his forearms as he works the meat into patties. It’s a simple act, one that shouldn’t be considered erotic in any sense, but it sets my body aflame.

  “All right, Asher,” Chloe says, flashing me a sly
grin, noticing my stare trained on him. “Whose house is this? Izzy said you’re not house sitting, so what are you doing in a place like this?”

  “Don’t think I can afford it myself?” He catches my eye, winking, which only serves to turn me into a ball of putty. God, this man can wink.

  “Last I heard, you were playing bars in LA, trying to make it big.” This statement surprises me since I didn’t even know he’d left Boston.

  “Maybe I’ve made it big.”

  “Have you?”

  It’s silent for a moment while he considers Chloe’s question. Then he returns his attention to the hamburger mixture, continuing to form the patties.

  “Not yet, but I’m one step closer.”

  “What do you mean?” She looks from Asher to me, searching for some explanation. My gaze flashes to the display case in the corner of the living room containing the Grammy awards. Noticing my gesture, she turns, walking toward it. When she realizes who they belong to, her reaction mirrors what mine was. Mouth falling open. Dazed stare. Body stiffening.

  “You’re in Fallen Grace?” she all but shrieks, whirling around.

  “Certainly not.” A low chuckle rumbles through him. “They’re not really my style.”

  With an unaffected attitude I find attractive, considering most men in his position would probably brag about their good fortune, Asher recounts the story of how he came to form a partnership with one of the most successful music acts in the world today, demonstrating the same humility he always exhibited toward everything.

  “It goes to show that sometimes good things happen when we least expect it,” he remarks thoughtfully once he finishes telling Chloe the story he relayed to me last night. Or this morning.

  Heat washes over my face, and I lift my eyes to find the source. Has he always looked at me this way? Have his nostrils always flared as his gaze rakes over my body? Have his pupils always dilated with hunger as he steals a glimpse of my cleavage? Has this electricity always existed? I felt it that night all those years ago, but with the passing of time, I convinced myself I imagined it. But I felt it last night, too.