Torn

by Deborah Bladon

  I cock both brows. "You need to learn how to shut up during sex or you're going to be homeless."

  "You'd let me move in with you if I got the boot from this place. I know you wouldn't leave me out in the cold."

  "It's a million degrees outside right now," I tease as I smooth my hands over the skirt of the red dress I'm wearing. "Besides, there's no room in my place for me, you and Jason's massive dick."

  "I knew you were interested in it."

  I giggle. "Tell me about this guy you've set me up with."

  I wait for her to respond as I watch her apply another coat of mascara to her long lashes. Maya is one of the most beautiful people I've ever known. Her black hair is cut into a sleek bob, her blue eyes are always rimmed with just the right amount of liner. Tonight she's wearing a little black dress that fits her like a tight glove. She's curvy, vivacious and a master at making everyone in a room feel at ease.

  We met right after I moved to Manhattan. I literally ran into her on a street corner near my place and since then, we've been the best of friends. She always says that it was fate that brought us to that corner, the day before our shared birthday.

  Her strong belief in the power of the universe to give her anything she hopes for convinced her that we were meant to cross paths. I, the more skeptical of our dynamic duo, wasn't buying it but I was grateful to find a friendly face the same age as me.

  She works in real estate which has helped my business tremendously. I've done headshots for all the brokers in her office as well as a few location shoots for apartments hitting the rental market. She's a fantastic work contact and an even better best friend.

  "He's no Jason or Asher Foster." She turns and winks at me. "I don't know Tony all that well. He's Jason's friend but he seems cool."

  "Cool?"

  "He works at the hospital too." She tucks the mascara back into her purse before scanning the screen of her phone. "He's not a doctor like Jason though. He's an administrator of something."

  I'm not an expert on anything business or hospital related but that spells boring to me. "How old is he?"

  "Twenty-nine, I think."

  I'm not a prude when it comes to age. I've dated guys a year younger than me and some ten years older. If it's a good fit, that's what matters to me.

  Before yesterday I was looking forward to this dinner. When Maya invited me to celebrate Jason's birthday I envisioned a party at her apartment complete with cheap wine and bags of potato chips.

  Maya throws a mean party but little of that has to do with what's on the menu. She has a knack for bringing like-minded people together. I've met a few other friends through her and I'm always excited when she tells me she has someone new for me to meet. Tonight it's Tony and although I'm sure he's going to be a great guy, I can't shake what happened this afternoon.

  When Asher kissed me, I wanted him so much. I would have fucked him right there in my studio, with the door unlocked and the sunlight streaming in. He stopped though and although I know it wasn't because he didn't want me, it didn't matter then.

  I was pissed, mostly from sheer disappointment and embarrassment.

  He wanted me to give up my plans to go to his place. The offer was temping, but Maya is going to be here for me tomorrow and the day after that and probably ten years from now too. Whatever happens between me and Asher is going to last a night, maybe two or three more at most, but I know what his life is like.

  He'll leave New York to go on tour. He'll hook up with whoever is screaming his name from the front row that night and every night after that will be a repeat.

  I'll be here, working on building my career and my life. He'll be out there, somewhere in the world, charming another woman.

  Maybe Maya's not so wrong about fate. Maybe it was fate that stopped Asher dead in his tracks today when we were kissing. If it was meant to be it would have happened. It didn't and tonight I'm open for any new adventure, Maya, or Tony, for that matter, throws my way.

  I scoop my clutch into my palm and follow her out the door of her apartment, hoping this dinner will chase away what happened, or technically didn't happen, in my studio this afternoon.

  ***

  "Are you ever going to forgive me for that?" Maya whispers as we step out of the restaurant after dinner. "I can't tell you how sorry I am."

  "For what?" I ask with an animated cock of my head to the left. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "This train wreck of an evening I subjected you to," she mutters as she looks towards the curb where Tony and Jason are huddled together in a deep conversation. "I should have pre-screened Tony more closely. I had no idea he was considering getting back together with his ex-wife."

  I shrug. "I know everything I'm ever going to want to know about Lenora Valdize. Who, by the way, has an ex-husband who worships the ground she walks on."

  "You don't have to find a bright spot in this. You can be mad that I wasted your evening."

  "Wasted my evening?" I half roll my eyes. "I got to have dinner at an expensive restaurant with my best friend and her boyfriend and a guy who is all kinds of crazy in love with a woman he just divorced. How is that a waste?"

  "You could have been at Asher Foster's place."

  I don't need the reminder. I've thought about him all day. It started when he calmly said goodbye and walked out of my studio. I had to push myself to focus during the hour long headshot session I had after he left. It was with a budding Broadway actress who nervously talked about her high school performance days while I tried to find the right angle to hide the large hickey on her neck. I finally gave up, deciding that it would be easier to remove it in post-production.

  Dinner wasn't any better. Listening to the burly man seated next to me talk about kissing his ex-wife for the first time make me think of the taste of Asher's lips.

  "You should call him now and see if he wants to hook up."

  I smile at Maya, shaking my head. "I'm going home to bed. I don't think I'll be seeing Asher anytime soon."

  "It's not going to kill you to sleep with him, Falon. You know what they say about all work and no play."

  "You know what they say about rock stars."

  "What do they say?" she asks with a slow drawl. "Do they say that it's an experience that you'll always remember and that you'll be able to write a memoir when you're old and gray about all the famous men you've fucked?"

  "No one I've slept with has been famous," I point out.

  "If memory serves," she pauses to tap herself on the forehead. "Tyler Monroe wanted to fuck you senseless when you took his picture."

  She's delusional. When I took a set of photographs of celebrity chef, Tyler Monroe, in his new restaurant, Nova, he commented that I had nice legs. That's a far cry from wanting to fuck me.

  "He never said that, Maya."

  "They never come right out and say it," she begins. "Actually, sometimes they do but sometimes you have to read between the lines."

  I don't respond. Instead I look over her shoulder at an approaching cab.

  "I know for a fact that Drake Sullivan wanted in your panties bad."

  "Drake Sullivan?" I stifle a giggle. "You're talking about that baseball player who donated all that money to the children's charity?"

  "I was there when you took his picture. The man had a hard-on the size of the Empire State building."

  "He was standing behind a podium giving a speech at a dedication ceremony, Maya." I rub my hand across my chin before I wave at the cab as it nears us. "There's no way you saw anything from where we were standing."

  She raises both eyebrows. "He was staring at you. He had that look in his eyes."

  "I was hired to take his picture. He had to look at me." This conversation is going nowhere fast. "We'll talk about this tomorrow, or never. I need to crash."

  "Don't let Asher Foster slip through your fingers. You've got nothing to lose."

  CHAPTER 14

  Asher

  "You're staring at me." His voice is ras
py. "I'm so goddamn good-looking you can't take your eyes off of me, can you?"

  I want to laugh, but I can't. Any other day I would have. All I can do is say something, anything back to my brother. "You're getting old, Caleb. I'm staring at the wrinkles on your forehead."

  His right hand darts to his brow. "Fuck you, Asher. I don't have wrinkles. I'm only six years older than you."

  There it is. That's the relationship I've longed to have with him. It's that easy banter that ends with him telling me to fuck off or go to hell. Anyone else might be offended when Caleb says those words to them, but I know for him, they're a token of affection.

  I wanted this for years. Caleb couldn't be around me when I was using. My addictions scared the shit out of him. He withdrew from me then, instead using anger to deal with it all. He'd scream at me to quit, call me degrading names to try and guilt me into rehab and then one day, he had me arrested because he thought I was using again. He thought I physically hurt someone who worked for me at Foster Enterprises so he had my ass thrown in jail.

  I should have hated him for that. I should have walked out of his life for good but his wife, Bell, was the one who brought us back together.

  Caleb has no idea that Bell confided in me about the morning that the police called Caleb after he filed a missing person's report because I'd taken off. A man's body had been found in a cheap motel room littered with needles.

  He thought it was me. He lost it. Bell told me how Caleb had cried when he thought I was dead. She shared what he said about wanting another chance with me. I'll never forget that.

  Caleb's always been the one just out of my reach. He's been the one I've worked the hardest to prove myself to. We've gotten close since I started my career in music. He's proud of me. He tells me every chance he can. He's finally the brother I've always needed and now, I'm questioning whether that'll change if I tell him what I discovered about our family two days ago.

  "Gabe said you were taking off soon." He glances at me. "You know I would have been pissed if you left New York without telling me."

  I lean back in the leather chair I'm sitting in. "Gabriel hates when you call him that."

  "That's why I do it." He takes a long, slow sip from the bottle of water he grabbed out of the refrigerator when he showed up at my apartment. "You seem on edge."

  I feel my jaw tighten. After he called fifteen minutes ago saying he was on his way over, I put the envelope Daniel dropped off in the safe that's built into the wall of the closet in my bedroom. I hid those secrets away so no one would stumble on them, especially my brothers.

  "It's a woman, isn't it? You must have them lining up."

  I turn to look at him, blinking at the sight of his eyes. They're a different shade of brown than mine. I never noticed that until now. "I met someone the other day. She used to work for Noah."

  "Noah? Our cousin? Doing what?"

  I rub my hand over the back of my neck, suddenly feeling the unmistakable grip of tension. "She was his assistant. She handled those new promotional shots that the label wanted of me."

  "She's a photographer?" He straightens. "That's different for you, isn't it? You're more the supermodel type."

  I'm more the 'whoever is available for a night type.'

  "That's not my scene." I hesitate. "I dated one model. She was great but it ran its course."

  "You like this girl, don't you?"

  I give him a smile. "She's fucking beautiful, Caleb. I can't get her out of my mind."

  "What are you doing about it?"

  Other than pissing her off yesterday when I pulled back, nothing. I spent most of last night back at Hugo's place, working on that new song. It was useless. I couldn’t concentrate knowing she was out with someone else. I had my chance. I fucked it up royally.

  He doesn't wait for me to answer. "I've never heard you say a girl is beautiful, Asher. She's special, isn't she?"

  "I barely know her," I say honestly. "There's just something about her that's different."

  "Don't waste time debating whether you should make a move." His gaze drops to the water bottle in his hand. "I did that with Bell. I wasted years."

  I know he did. We all do. Caleb fought everything he felt for Bell for most of his adult life because he was scared he'd damage the friendship they had since they were kids. They're happy now, but it wasn't easy for them to get there.

  "I didn't say I wanted to marry her, Caleb." I laugh. "I met her two days ago."

  I watch as he pushes himself to his feet. "I know exactly what you want to do with her. If she's like all the other girls who throw their panties at you at your concerts, you're gold. You're Asher Foster, for Christ's sake. Go see her. I'll bet you a twenty she wants you as much as you want her."

  I'd make money on that wager. After yesterday, I doubt like hell Falon wants me to shine her shoes, let alone fuck her.

  "You're taking off?" I stand too. "You just got here."

  "I need to run." He taps the palm of his left hand on his bare thigh. "I mean literally run. I'm working towards a marathon. I dropped by because I forgot my water bottle and because Bell wants you to come over for dinner before you take off again."

  I scan his frame, realizing for the first time, since he got here that he's dressed in his running clothes. It's a new passion of his, one he took up to balance the stress of the family business. "Tell her to call me. My schedule is up in the air right now."

  It's not. My life is. There's no way I can sit through a family dinner this week, or anytime soon. I'm too fucked up to hold it together around Bell. She's one of my closest friends. She'll know something is wrong the minute she sees me.

  "Will do, Junior."

  The nickname hits me with the brutal force of a punch in the gut. He didn't start calling me that until a year ago. It came out of nowhere and stuck. I've never complained. I never will. He'd stop if he knew. Everything between us would change if he was aware of the secret our parents have kept hidden from us.

  "Call the photographer." He slaps me on the back. "Do it before it's too late and she meets someone else."

  I watch him walk out before I pick my phone up off the table, pull up Falon's number and call her.

  ***

  It's near ten when I finally see her round the corner. I've been sitting here, on the stoop of her building for more than an hour. The baseball cap and sunglasses I'm wearing make me look more mugger than singer. The sun has dropped but I know that if I show my face, someone is bound to ask for a picture or an autograph. That invariably draws a crowd even if the people gathering don't know who I am.

  Everyone wants a picture for their Instagram or Twitter of someone famous, or for that matter, infamous. They think it buoys them in the eyes of their followers. My face has become a token of other people's self-worth. It's all kinds of fucked up, so if I can avoid it, I do.

  It's easier for me in New York than it is in L.A. Most people here are just trying to get where they need to be with as little stranger interaction as possible. In California, too many people want a short cut to notoriety so they'll hang out where celebrities do and they'll scan each face they pass on the street or pull up next to in traffic, hoping they'll see someone they can tag in a photo they post online.

  It's surprising how often I can get away with telling the person approaching that they've got it wrong and I'm not Asher Foster. Once the flash of embarrassment on their faces gives way to disappointment, I know I'm free to go.

  I did it this afternoon on the sidewalk in front of the gym. A woman, who expertly darted through four lanes of traffic to catch me, wanted anything I was willing to give to her. The touch of her hand on my forearm as she studied my tattoos was aggressive. Months ago, I would have taken her up on her unspoken invitation to fuck.

  Today, I wanted a workout so I told her she had me mistaken for someone else. Her brows peaked as she opened her mouth, I assume to tell me that she knew I was bullshitting her. Then her hand dropped and her head turned when Tyler Monroe hopped out
of an SVU stopped at the curb.

  He can cook, I can sing. Apparently number one songs are no match for Michelin stars.

  I look back to where Falon's approaching. Her left hand tucked into the front pocket of a pair of oversized jeans. The strap of the black bra she's wearing peeking out from under a light blue tank top. With the flat sandals she has on, she looks like she just came back from the beach, not Brooklyn.

  She's as gorgeous as she was the first time I saw her. She's perfection. The only thing not perfect is the tall, curly haired, guy walking next to her with his arm draped around her shoulder.

  CHAPTER 15

  Falon

  "What are you doing here?" I glance up at Elijah before I look at Asher again. "How do you know where I live?"

  He slips off his sunglasses, his eyes trained on my face, avoiding Elijah altogether. "I heard you tell the Uber driver your address the other night. I wanted to talk."

  "I'm busy tonight." I balance a small pink cardboard box in my hands, against my stomach. "You should have called."

  "I tried calling twice." He exhales roughly. "That was before I realized you were in Brooklyn. You mentioned you were going there to see your folks."

  "Seven, is that Asher Foster? Are we talking to Asher Foster right now?"

  Hearing Elijah's excitement brings a smile to my lips. My younger brother loves music. Whenever I go to Brooklyn, I tuck a gift card in my pocket for his favorite music streaming site. I see the same passion in him for music that I had for photography when I was his age. If I can foster that, by introducing him to the actual Foster he can't shut up about, I'm going to gain a lot of big sister points in his book.

  Initially, I had planned on asking Asher's manager if I could get one of the finished headshots signed and personalized for Eli. I hadn't even considered an in-person meeting between the two of them.

  "Seven?" Asher pulls the ball cap from his head giving sight to his unruly hair.