by T. K. Leigh
Maybe I fell asleep after showering and Asher York manifested in my dreams for some reason. Just like Ebenezer Scrooge was convinced his manifestation of Jacob Marley was due to something he ate, perhaps this fantasy of spending a night in Vegas with Asher York is the result of too much liquor and not enough food.
“Why do you think our waitress wants me?” he presses, his eyes focusing more intently on me.
I consider a viable response. I could list the obvious signs that would cause even a blind person to realize they’re getting hit on. Instead, I test my limits. If this is a manifestation, a dream, what do I have to lose?
“Because if our situation were reversed, I’d act the same way,” I admit, the words leaving me before I have a chance to evaluate the potential ramifications of being so truthful. My statement rings around us as I stare, seconds ticking by in a savage march. I feel like a contestant on one of those talent shows waiting to hear whether they’ll continue on to the following week or be sent home, their dreams of stardom dashed. That’s the power Asher holds over me at this very moment.
Hope seems to build in his gaze, his eye contact strong, his lips parting slightly. He leans closer, the corners of his mouth quirking up, as if struggling to reel it in but can’t. As if he’s waited years for me to say something like this.
Then, just as quickly as his bright expression appears, it fades, gaze distant and even. As stoic as a soldier. “Thankfully, that’s not an issue.”
“You’re right.” I swallow down the pain of disappointment rising through my body, forcing the most fabricated smile of my life. If Asher can tell it’s fake, he doesn’t bring it up. “It’s not.”
With a shaky hand, I grab my Bloody Mary, taking a long sip. The spicy drink tingles as it hits my tongue and throat, but I’ve had spicier food. Hell, my mother jokes she pureed jalapeños and spoon-fed them to me as a baby to toughen me up.
“Not that.” When he grabs my free hand, I fling my eyes to his, loosening the desperate grip my lips have on my straw. I remain silent, awaiting further explanation. “I’m talking about my girlfriend coming to one of my gigs. That’s not an issue.”
I perk up. “Oh?”
A sexy smirk draws on his full mouth and he releases his hold on me, angling away. “No girlfriend.”
I nod, pretending the information is inconsequential. Inwardly, my libido does a little victory dance. I attempt to settle her down, tell her this doesn’t change anything, but the sex-starved nymph refuses to listen.
“And your boyfriend wouldn’t like it if he learned you were here with me at, oh…” He looks at his watch, “three in the morning.”
“That’s not an issue, either.”
He raises a single brow. “Oh?”
“No boyfriend.”
He makes a subtle gesture of acknowledgment by pursing his lips. Otherwise, his expression is unreadable. I peer into his dark orbs, searching for any sort of positive reaction to this news. But there’s nothing, my not having a boyfriend seemingly as mundane a detail as how I take my coffee.
“So…” I tear my eyes away before I do or say something else I’ll regret. Something else to make this awkward. “How’s Grams doing?”
That’s all it takes for a brilliant smile to light up his face, as I knew it would. I always admired the bond Asher had with his grandmother. “Still as headstrong and crazy as ever.” A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest, natural and unforced. “She recently took up kickboxing, a fact I have first-hand knowledge of after witnessing it this past Christmas.”
“You were in Florida?” I ask, recalling how his parents typically spent the colder months down south. His father’s job as a financial planner allowed him to work from wherever he was. And spending November through April in the south allowed him to have clients in multiple parts of the country.
“Boston,” he corrects. “Since Grams is getting older, Mom and Dad have been staying up north. Of course, she tries to insist she’s fine, that age is only a number, and she has no intention of dying anytime soon.”
“That sounds like something Grams would say.” Regret squeezes at my heart, the heaviness settling deep in my chest.
Despite everything that transpired between Jessie and myself, I should have made more of an effort to stay in touch with Grams. She’d reached out to me in the months following the breakup, but I’d made my decision. The only way to repair the splintered fragments of my heart was to walk away from the entire family. It hurt too much otherwise. Which is why I should have walked out of that bar tonight when I had the chance. I fear it will take another eight years to repair my heart again.
“So… Kickboxing?” I press, swallowing back the memories.
“Right.” He brightens his sympathetic gaze. “I’d been home for no more than five minutes when Grams walked in wearing workout clothes. And not, like, old granny workout clothes.”
“Oh god.” I cover my mouth with my hand. “Was she wearing spandex?”
He rubs his eyes. “I still have the image ingrained in my memory. I mean, she’s in great shape for being nearly ninety, but still. After a while, gravity does its thing. Grams has never been one who cares what people think of her, though. Anyway, I’d barely had time to unpack when she came barreling in and said she was dragging me to her kickboxing class. Claimed she’d been telling all the people in her class about my music, that they were all dying to meet me. I thought about blowing her off, but she’s getting older, so I indulged her. I figured we were going to the Y or the senior center. You can imagine my surprise when she directed me to the parking lot of some industrial building. It was an actual MMA gym.”
I burst out laughing. As ridiculous as the picture he’s painted sounds, it’s entirely believable. Grams never adhered to society’s expectations. And she certainly wouldn’t let her age get in the way of doing something she wanted.
“What did you do?” I ask, wiping the corners of my eyes.
“What could I do? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about the entire scenario. So I went in with her, prepared to defend her against any asshole who tried to tell her she should go somewhere else. But the second she walked through those doors, everyone welcomed her. Hell, Grams even got into all the locker room talk, too. I will admit, she’s got one hell of a round kick.” He winces. “I found that out the hard way.”
“How’s that?”
“Let’s just say I got a little too close and her leg hit me with such force that an ice pack was attached to my balls for the next twenty-four hours.”
My laughter echoes in the restaurant, nostalgia filling me. Of all the people I lost when Jessie and I broke up, Grams was the hardest, more so than Jessie, or even Asher. She had this spirit, this vitality I felt drawn to the second I met her. Like she was a kindred spirit. Like she knew me and I her, even though she was a stranger to me at that point.
“Knowing Grams, she intentionally did that to prove she could take care of herself.”
He lifts his coffee to his lips with a wink. “You’re probably right.”
“Here you go.” Our waitress approaches, carrying two plates. “Red velvet pancakes.” She sets the dish in front of me before turning toward Asher, her smile shifting from cordial to much more flirtatious. “And your steak and eggs.” Her voice grows seductive as she places it in front of him, pushing her arms together to make her cleavage pop.
I take this opportunity to study her. Her appearance is similar to every other woman out here who’s trying to catch their big break in modeling. Waif-thin. Blonde hair that’s most likely not her natural color. Overdone makeup. Nothing about her stands out as remarkable. I’m not saying I’m supermodel material, but I hate the idea of Asher and this cookie-cutter blonde being together, as unlikely as that is. Or maybe it’s the idea they can be together that irritates me. That she can flirt with him, and he her, with no consequences.
“Thank you. This looks delicious.”
“Is there anything else I can get you?” Her voic
e becomes increasingly breathy. “Ketchup? Tabasco? More coffee? Or maybe something else?”
Asher waggles his brows at me before returning his attention to Waitress Barbie. “I believe I have everything I need right here.” Eyes connecting with mine, he reaches across the table, grabbing my hand in his, gently brushing his thumb across my knuckles.
The subtle sensation causes me to inhale a sharp breath. I don’t move. Don’t blink. It’s not the first time I’ve felt his hand on me. But this seems so much more charged than any of the other times he’s touched me. Then again, that was before. When I was blind to everything and everyone other than Jessie York.
“Oh.” Waitress Barbie straightens, her expression falling, but Asher doesn’t seem to notice. If he does, he doesn’t care, his stare still trained on me in a way that makes me think he’s peeling back layer after layer, exposing every single one of my vulnerabilities. Or am I just imagining that, too?
One minute, I’m confident it’s all in my head. The next, I feel something I didn’t think possible, confident Asher does, too. This is why I’ve avoided dating for so long. It’s too stressful.
“Well, if you change your mind, give me a shout.”
She shoots her eyes to mine before spinning around. I’m about to pull my hand away, but Asher tightens his grasp.
I try not to read too much into it. We’re just two friends holding hands. Hell, there were quite a few nights I’d dozed off on his shoulder as I listened to him strum his guitar at the lake house.
Each summer, I looked forward to spending time there. After dinner, we’d sit by the lake, a campfire burning, and actually talk to each other. No distractions. Spending time together in a way most people no longer do in this technology-driven society. Jessie would inevitably go inside early, complaining about the mosquitos, despite not having a single bite on his flesh. I should have known then we were incompatible. He hated everything to do with nature, preferring the pace of the city. While I love urban life, I enjoy getting away from it all, too. Something I haven’t had the opportunity to do for too long now.
A squeeze on my hand brings me back from my memories, and I return my eyes to Asher as he releases his hold. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have used you as a barrier, but I don’t think she would have gotten the hint otherwise.”
I smile weakly. “What are friends for?”
Chapter Four
“I can’t remember the last time I stayed out this late,” I remark as Asher and I make our way across the nearly empty parking lot. It’s now that in-between time of night. Most bar and clubgoers are passed out in their beds. The nine-to-fivers haven’t started their day yet. The only people out and about are the insomniacs or the ones who seem to find inspiration in the romantic notion of being awake when the rest of the world sleeps. “Except the nights I work, but I don’t consider that staying out late. It’s not exactly voluntary, but something I do so I can pay my bills.”
“I get it,” he responds with a slight wink. “My body’s hard-wired to stay up late, too. That was always the difficult part about teaching, and the part I don’t miss. I could never adjust to the early hours. Grams always said it was because I inherited her non-conformist free spirit. It was hell waking up at six every morning after having gone to bed only a few hours earlier. Falling asleep by two was a good night.”
I nod in understanding as we approach his car. He opens my door, and I slide into my seat. “That’s why I don’t mind working the night shift. I think it gives you a different perspective on things. Makes you see the world in a different light.”
He ducks in behind the steering wheel, treating me to a small smile. “Glad to see there’s still a little Holly Golightly in you.”
I scrunch my brows.
“Holly Golightly,” he repeats. “You know. Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“I know who she is, but I—”
“The opening scene. When she’s strolling down Fifth Avenue in an evening gown and stops in front of Tiffany’s to eat her breakfast. Something about that scene always spoke to me. Like it was the calm before the storm. Few people get the opportunity to see Manhattan, or any city, so peaceful. I think that’s why I do my best work at night after the world’s gone to sleep. There’s no distraction. No constant buzzing of my cell phone. I can lock myself away in the studio and write.”
“Are you working on something now? A new album?”
“You could say that.” He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, glancing at me in contemplation. “Actually, it’s something pretty big. Something that could change everything for me.”
“That guy at the bar…,” I begin, meeting Asher’s gaze. “The one who said in a few months we wouldn’t be able to turn on the radio without hearing your music.”
“Wasn’t lying,” he states without me having to ask the question on the tip of my tongue. “As long as I meet this deadline. Honestly, I shouldn’t have gone out tonight, but when Mark mentioned his band was in town, I figured taking a break and performing could be a good way to get the creative juices flowing again.”
“Did it?”
He cranks the ignition, stealing a glance at me before reversing out of the parking spot. “I do believe it has.”
He shifts into first and maneuvers the car through the lot, coming to a stop before merging onto the street. I focus on my surroundings, relishing in the chilly night air on my skin. The sky’s no longer pitch-black as it was when we entered the restaurant. There’s an almost purple-blue hue, a warning that daybreak is on the horizon.
We come to a stoplight, the lack of any noise unnerving, especially when I feel the heat of Asher’s gaze on me. I glance his way, a flicker of something I can’t explain in his expression. Yearning? Nostalgia perhaps? He parts his lips, peering at me as if my face holds the answer to whatever has him so conflicted.
Then his mouth quirks into a combination of a grin and a smirk. “Are you tired? Or do you think you can last a bit longer?”
A little voice in my brain warns me I’ve already spent more time with Asher than I should have. But just like those nights at Grams’ lake house, I don’t want tonight to end.
“Oh, baby, I can last all night long,” I shoot back playfully. My smile falls quickly when I notice his grip on the steering wheel tighten. The vein in his neck throbs, his jaw ticks. I continue to stare, making sure I’m not imagining it. This time, I know I’m not. I see it. The quickening rise and fall of his chest. The constricting of his muscles. The flaring of his nostrils. All over what should have been a harmless sexual innuendo between friends, one I’d made several times with him in the past. But that was before. When it truly was harmless. I’m not sure I can say the same thing here.
Not saying a word, he pulls a quick U-turn, driving deeper into the night. The wind blows my hair as I observe the commercial buildings turn into more residential neighborhoods, the traffic becoming more and more sparse. I steal a glance into the rearview mirror to see the familiar silhouette of the Vegas Strip grow smaller and more distant behind me.
“Where are we going?” I break the cryptic silence.
“You’ll see.”
“So secretive.”
“Trust me. If I told you, you wouldn’t believe it. It’s better if you see for yourself.”
Desperate to cut through the stiff tension, I flash him a bright smile. “You’ve been moonlighting as an Elvis impersonator and have to perform a last-minute wedding for some celebrity A-listers.”
He glances my way, his tight expression waning, his dimples popping. I remember looking through family photo albums from when Jessie and Asher were younger. Due to their proximity in age, it was often difficult to tell one from the other. Unless they were both smiling. Asher has these adorable dimples that have only made him more endearing with age. He can give off this tough, brooding persona of a tortured artist all he wants. But the second he smiles and those dimples pop, he looks like the boy next door.
Maybe the bad boy next door.
B
ut he’s not a bad boy, either. I’m not quite sure how to describe Asher York. I also wasn’t sure back then.
“Nope. But good guess. Try again.”
“Was I even remotely close?”
“The only thing I have in common with Elvis is that he could also play guitar and sing.”
“Okay.” I exhale dramatically, looking at the sky as I try to come up with yet another ridiculous scenario. When I return my eyes to Asher, I can’t help but admire his carefree and relaxed demeanor. One hand rests on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift. Something about how casual he is as he drives this beautiful classic car makes him appear even sexier than when he performs on stage.
“You have an audition for one of those all-male reviews and want me to give you a quick rundown from the striptease classes Bernadette made us attend a few days ago.”
His wide eyes fling to mine, the vein in his neck pulsing once more. Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned those lessons.
“You took striptease classes?” His voice comes out as a low growl, heat and desire dripping from him. I can only imagine his reaction if I offered to give him a private show.
“And pole dance lessons.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, his hand sliding off the gear shift and onto my thigh, squeezing.
I remain still, unsure where to go from here. All I know is the way he’s touching me has me wanting more, that spark returning with a vengeance.
He suddenly slams on the brakes, causing my body to jolt toward the windshield. The only things that keep me from crashing through it are the seatbelt and Asher’s arm bracing me.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat as he takes a quick left, the houses becoming more spread out and opulent. This isn’t a regular residential neighborhood anymore. This is where the wealthy play when they’re in Vegas. “Almost missed the turn.”
“Did something distract you?” I tease.
“I’d have to surrender my man card if I wasn’t distracted by that.”
