Ashton Croft Confidential

by Ava Moore

  So here I am, standing outside of Sushi Yasuda, reciting my life’s resume back to myself as if performing some sort of New York City street soliloquy, wondering what on Earth Hollywood’s hottest bad boy and overnight celebrity sees in me. Talk about pressure. Edwin, although I prefer Jeeves, has already left me alone on the street so I really have no turning back. It is now or never and although I am close to choosing never, the rush of people behind me heading inside kind of forces me against my will into the restaurant like a fish hungry stampede.

  I am in and it is beautiful. I like sushi but wasn’t ever about to spend hundreds of dollars on a meal that consists of raw fish. I’m a New Yorker on a budget. Give me a salmon, a knife and I’ll eat for days. This place is simply stunning. Think of the most luxuriously modern restaurant you have been to and imagine it on steroids and you’ve got Sushi Yasuda. The whole restaurant glows in this golden hue, giving it a very romantic ambience. The one side of the restaurant is an oversized sushi bar, where the chefs are busy creating their latest masterpiece for their awaiting guests. I am caught in the droves of people that have just walked in, so I wait to the side to try to speak with the hostess alone, all the while trying to get my nerves in check. “Hi, party for two for…” Shit, I can’t say his name out loud. I know that news travels fast in this city but I don’t know just how fast that statement actually holds true. “… I’ll just go walk around and take a look.”

  “Your party is in the back to your left, ma’am. Please follow me,” the hostess instructs, smiling at me from ear to ear.

  How she knows who I am, I will never know. I too, feel like I have gone through an overnight celebrity status change as well. It is freaking me out.

  The very petite front hostess leads the way and I follow her through the crowded restaurant to the back where, sure enough, there sits Ashton Croft in all of his deliciously sexy delight. His hair is less slicked back this time; kind of dangling in front of those panty-dropping blue eyes and it gives him a more down to earth demeanor. I smile at him, but he doesn’t notice me. Typical.

  As I get closer and approach the booth, which is conveniently tucked away and private from the rest of the restaurant, I notice he is sitting with three other women, all of which are, you guessed it – stunningly beautiful. They all sit with their body language towards him, legs ready to spread at any moment’s notice. I can sense from here how sexually charged each and every one of them is and Ashton just sits in the middle, soaking it in with a big stupid grin on his face.

  It’s not a special date with just the two of us. He probably rounded up all the girls he met last night and now has time with them set up in intervals. Now, being Ashton’s 8 o’clock as recited to me by Edwin on the way here, makes a lot more sense. How can I be so stupid? My heart drops, my jaw drops and my confidence is literally stripped off of me. In this moment, I have never felt stupider in my entire life. Here I was all day, daydreaming about how amazing this entire situation is and how a celebrity, through a sea of strikingly beautiful women, noticed me. It felt too good to be true because that is exactly what it was.

  This is why I don’t fall for these types of men, or at least, tried my fucking hardest not to. They are the scum of the Earth and they just use women to get what they want. I knew it. I knew better. Why am I even here?

  I can feel the panic start to settle in and tears start to well in my eyes, which is an eerily all too familiar feeling that haunts me always. I can’t let him see me cry. We weren’t even formally introduced. In addition to that, it’s a silly dinner date that obviously means nothing to him. I’m not supposed to let it get to me and I’m not supposed to feel like I’m special, but for a brief moment, I did. I can’t take one step further, in fear I might burst at the seams, so I turn around and beeline it for the door.

  “Tricia! Tricia! Wait!” I can hear a voice call out after me, but I keep going. Hold it together, Trish. You’ll be safe soon.

  A firm grip is placed on my left arm and it forces me to turn around. Sure enough, it’s him and god, does he ever look good. I look a mess though, I am sure, with tears welling in my eyes, but again, that gaze of his holds me in like he has some sort of power over me and I am helpless beneath his spell.

  “Where are you going?” his voice is deeper and raspier than I remembered even though it was just yesterday. Then again, I wasn’t too perspicacious during our first encounter and my conversation skills vanished into thin air. This close to him, I can smell his natural scent mixed in with the woody cologne he freshly sprayed on his neck. It’s different than the smell I breathed in last night but it is just as stimulating, if not more so. He is truly intoxicating and making me weak in knees. Fight it Tricia! You got this! I start stumbling over my words but unfortunately, words aren’t even coming out.

  “Are you okay?” his tone becomes deeper and even more sincere. I think it’s evident that I look upset because he can sense it. “Is everything okay?”

  I want to truly believe that he is being genuine but I need a few minutes to try to collect my thoughts. His hand still on my arm drives me insane with the flesh-to-flesh contact and I swallow some air to try to help me breathe. “I just have to go to the bathroom.” Nice excuse.

  He smiles at me, half believing me and lets go of the grip on my arm. I’m able to take in more of his appearance in the lighting ambience of this restaurant compared to the pink dark glow of the bar last night. His teeth are perfect – so straight and white as porcelain. He has a trace of stubble on his face and his eyes pierce into my soul. He looks a bit more rugged than he did last night, but then again, I was in such a trace, everything about him started to blur together. I can’t look away and just stare at him, something I’ve mastered it seems. “Don’t make me wait too long,” he whispers to me and winks.

  I could have cum right on the spot with that wink; it is lethal. I teeter on my stilettos, turn away from him sharply and walk around aimlessly trying to find a washroom. In this moment, I actually do need the privacy and time away from him. I can’t even look back. I don’t want to see those bimbos sitting with him. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it, let alone having to endure dinner with them.

  Seconds later, I am in the safety of a washroom, even though it is just as crowded as the restaurant itself. I never understood this phenomenon about female washrooms. It takes women and men the same amount of time to pee and wash our hands. The only thing holding us back is the fact that we have to use a latch on a door handle to get in and out of a stall. Otherwise, it takes a total of maybe 45 seconds to get in and out. Why do we feel the need to check our make up anyways and stare in the mirror aimlessly? Shouldn’t we all just take solace in knowing that we are enough as we are and that the makeup is only used to enhance what we already have? I always think to myself that if my makeup looks as good as it does from the beginning of the night until I get home, then I didn’t have a good enough night. Besides, if I’m on a date, guaranteed the guy is only picturing me with my lipstick smeared, my hair tied into knots and my mascara running from being pounded so hard. I can’t help but think about Ashton doing the same to me tonight and the thought is enough to make me want to collapse, call a cab and run out of the restaurant immediately. Abort! Abort this date! I can’t even handle it right now!

  I maneuver my way into a stall and am able to take a few deep breaths, before almost puking my guts out and realize I just have to face him. I can’t be one of those girls. I can’t just be another number. I actually have brains in my head and a fine pair of tits. I am worth it. He is going to see that.

  With my newfound sense of confidence in tact, I storm out the stall like a bat out of hell and right out of the bathroom. The back booth that he’s in, I have a bloody target on it and if I could shoot lasers out of my eyes, well you know I would.

  I march right up to the booth, throwing elbows at anyone and everyone who is in my way, hypothetically of course and sure enough, all that sits in the booth at the back of the restaurant is none ot
her than the playboy dreamboat himself – alone.

  “Where did your friends go?” I ask trying to sound interested as I approach the booth, but little does he have to know I am so relieved we are alone.

  “Oh, the girls that were here when you arrived? They were just fans sitting down for a picture and some autographs. My life went from zero to hero overnight, let me tell you,” he smiles with sincerity and I can’t help but allow it to warm my heart. “Please, sit.” He stands up to greet me, nearly towering over me and kisses me on the cheek before taking my coat and purse and handing them off to someone who works there to stash in the back. “Is there anything in your purse that you need?”

  I shake my head. The only thing worthwhile in there is my cell phone and hell if I am calling anyone right now. I take this time standing in front of him, to admire his appearance. He’s even sexier close up. The stubble on his face is too much for me to handle and he’s wearing an even nicer suit than the one he had on last night, only this time, he is a little more dressed down. The top two buttons on his white dress shirt are undone, allowing my eyes to play with the thought of what might be underneath that tight and perfectly tailored grey suit.

  He smiles back at me and helps me into the booth. I slide into one side and he slides into the other, so we both wind up in the middle, mere inches apart. I feel so awkward and so out of my league. Here I am at some hoity-toity restaurant with the guy every girl in America wants to fuck. Am I dreaming? I have to be dreaming. Maybe I can get Ashton to pinch me…

  I can tell that he is looking over and smiling at me but I can’t bear to look at him, fearing that eye contact with those dangerous cobalt eyes will make me throb. I pretend like I am reading the menu but the past twenty-five years of speaking and reading the English language have just gone out of the window. I can sense that my cheeks are reddening because I’m blushing and trying to contain my giddiness. It’s torturous knowing that he is inches apart from me but I’m too terrified to do anything about it. This power of paralysis that he is able to force my body under is lunacy. Thankfully, the waiter saves the day and interrupts my inner teenager screaming at the top of her lungs in my head. “Good evening Mr. Ashton Croft and Miss Tricia. Can I grab you something to drink?”

  Ashton proceeds to order for me, some sort of cocktail concoction that will probably be littered with drink umbrellas and maraschino cherries but I stop him. “Actually, sorry to interrupt, but may I have a Sapporo please?” I like beer, what can I say? Hoping I didn’t offend him, I look over to my right to see if I have done something wrong. Where I was expecting to see a look of shock, I see an impressed smirk on his face instead.

  “Make it two,” he commands to the waiter, his eyes stuck on me with looks of admiration. The waiter nods and heads to the bar to retrieve our matching beers. “A beer drinking woman. Now, that is rare for New York.”

  If my cheeks start to redden any more at this rate, either my brain is going to explode or I’m going to pass out; both options will leave me far less coherent than I am in this particular moment. I nervously curl my hair behind my right ear, feeling his eyes soaking up my entire body. “I just like my alcohol straight up.”

  He smiles back at me as the waiter returns our drinks in record time. I guess when you are dining with the hottest thing in town, you get service and you get it fast. Ashton holds up his beer in my direction, signaling for us to cheer. “To it straight up – never sugar coated.”

  I smirk and pick up my pint glass, tapping it gently with his. This might have been the first moment I make eye contact with him but I’m not keeping score. All I can think about is how those lethal blue eyes could undress me on the spot and he wouldn’t even have to lift a damn finger.

  “So, I don’t think we were formally introduced,” he begins, wiping the fizz away from his lips on a napkin before extending his firm hand out to mine. “I’m Ashton. Ashton Croft.”

  I take his hand in mine, but probably more so the other way around. His hands are huge! Maybe the biggest I’ve ever held. I can’t help but allow my mind to wonder if the statement, big hands big feet big dick, actually holds true. “And I’m Tricia. Tricia Parker, but you can just call me Trish.”

  We shake hands and he smiles back at me. “Trish. I like that.” His hands are so soft, like silk and I can only imagine what the rest of the flesh on his body feels like to the touch. The thought overwhelms me, so I take a sip of my beer for one, because I need booze in my system if I’m going to talk to this hunk of man meat face-to-face and two, because I have no idea what to say to counter or match his flirtations. He knows how to catch a woman off guard. He’s good at it.

  “So, Trish, what do you do for a living?”

  Great. The one question I anticipated but am terrified to answer truthfully. I basically work in the industry that is out to get him and to make him look like a fool at every chance it gets. I can’t fess up and tell him on the spot, so I go with my failsafe. “I’m a writer.”

  Here it comes. “What do you write?”

  I hate that question. What if I say I’m a painter? Wouldn’t you just leave it at that? Not too many people want to talk about art deco or renaissance. That’s just boring. Why can’t writing be in the same boat? “I’m working on my first novel actually.” Good enough.

  “Your first novel? That’s very exciting. What’s it about?”

  If I get grilled any more, I’m going to turn into a steak. Maybe he is just genuinely curious and I’m the one flipping my shit because I know, deep down, that I am writing for a magazine that is out to completely ruin his career. I’m not really good at lying and anytime I play poker and get a good hand, I start giggling, giving it away instantly. It’s like my body doesn’t know how to hold in a lie, especially when I’m with someone that I think I care about. “It’s an erotica.”

  “An erotica?” he pauses, intrigued and collecting his thoughts. “So, you write about sex?”

  It’s not a complete a lie, so I feel comfortable talking about it. “I do.”

  “You know, it’s hard to find a woman who is that comfortable talking about sex so openly. I think it’s a very attractive quality...” he trails off as his eyes drink in my appearance further. If he were any other man ogling at me with this salacious stare, my drink would have been in his face in seconds but with Ashton, he could stare at me forever and all that would happen to me, is that I would die of dehydration from becoming so wet.

  He is turning on the charm and turning it on hard. Usually, I’m able to counter cheesiness with witty humor and put a guy in his place, but not here. Not now. He is winning and I am helpless. I curl my hair around my ear, shyly, again and tend to my beer. I can hear him exhale and giggle. He knows he has me wrapped around his little finger and he loves it. I hate to admit it but I love it too. Thankfully, this waiter keeps saving my ass and comes over looking for our food order. We both have neglected the menu because we have been too busy being giddy little kids.

  “Can we just have a few more minutes?” Ashton asks the waiter and sends him away, briefly, so we can have more time together. He turns to me. “So, what are you hungry for? I didn’t want to order for us because I was waiting for you to impress me again.” It’s cheesy but it’s sexy.

  “I’ll take anything and everything from maki to sashimi, except for mackerel. I just think it’s too salty for my liking.” It’s true. Mackerel to me is like munching on a block of salt. Yuck.

  “So… you don’t like it when salty things are in your mouth?”

  I nearly spit out my fancy cucumber lemon infused water, which is insanely delicious by the way. Did he seriously just say that? What on Earth am I going to conjure up to even match that?

  The answer? Nothing.

  Nothing at all.

  All the once quick witted Tricia Parker can do is sit there quietly, trying to quell her nerves and also trying to swallow the mouthful of water without spitting it all over the table to embarrass herself even further. I feel so inadequate in t
his moment and it’s awful.

  “I’m sorry. Did I take it too far?” He seems very concerned with his voice, as if he is hoping he didn’t just royally fuck it up. Seeing Ashton Croft on edge like this, all vulnerable and open, is incredibly alluring.

  I shake my head no and start to laugh. “No, not at all. I’m just not used to someone with the same sick sense of humor as me. You’re catching me off guard a little.” It’s true. I am usually the one who is sharp as a tack and always has something to say before anyone around me even has the time to process what is going on. He just smiles shyly at me, like he doesn’t know how to take the compliment. I think it’s totally adorable and it surprises me a little. A guy like this, I didn’t think he possessed any quality of humbleness. Then again, maybe the stardom just hasn’t sunken in quite yet.

  “Now, I’m the one who is impressed.” Did that seriously just come out of my mouth? No way. It is way too smooth. I’m not smooth. I am clumsy. I don’t usually put myself out there like this, so I automatically can feel my body act like it is rejecting the words I have just said. I feel the need to almost cover my mouth in fear I am about to make a stupid face or say something to completely decimate the moment. So instead, I take the other route and look right at him.

  He is blushing. Holy shit! I just made Ashton Croft blush! I am in. I don’t know how, but I am. He looks back at me and I at him. We both lock eyes for a moment, before both succumbing to the intensity, turning away shyly and laughing. I am into him because of his confidence and he is into me because of my ability to counter him. It all is too good to be true. Please be true.

  The waiter returns and Ashton places our order, which could rival any sushi buffet. So far, this is the best date I have ever been on. We exchange flirtatious glances and I decide to stay on this confident train I have somehow jumped on. “So, how did you get into acting and how does it feel to be the most wanted man in America?”