Torn

by Deborah Bladon

  "I had lunch with my manager." His gaze drops to the floor. "I needed to see a friendly face after that."

  I take the roses from his hand, using the gesture as a way to escape the presumption of a reply. I don't know anything about his life other than what I've read online or the limited scope of what I've seen for myself.

  I spoke to his manager briefly before his photo shoot. She seemed pleasant, almost cordial, but curt. She was all business which isn't how I operate. My parents taught me that kindness goes a long way when you're chasing your goals. I don't let anyone step on me or push me down, but I also don't cater to those who treat others with little respect.

  I use a pair of scissors on my desk to cut the stem of each of the roses before I tuck them into one of the vases on the windowsill. They don't match the others that he sent me. These are a different shade, their shape not quite the same.

  "Are you busy tonight?" He scratches his jaw. "I was hoping we could go on a date."

  I bite the tip of my tongue. "What did you have in mind?"

  "I was hoping for an immediate yes, but I like that you're playing hard to get." He pulls his phone from his pocket and once again looks at the darkened screen before his gaze travels back to my face. "It's a surprise. I'll come by your place at eight to get you."

  "I'll be ready."

  "I'm going to hit the studio for a few hours." He leans forward to brush his lips across mine in a soft, tender kiss. "The recording studio, that is. The air conditioned, recording studio."

  I pat him on the chest, kiss him again and then watch as he walks quickly towards the door.

  CHAPTER 24

  Asher

  Going to the recording studio was a fucking waste of my time. I couldn't focus. Part of that was the taste of Falon's lips. How can she always taste that sweet? I seriously could kiss that girl for hours, maybe even days. Her lips are so soft, the pressure always right. I haven't thought this much about kissing since I was twelve-years-old and trying to find the courage to kiss a girl in my class.

  I shake my head to clear it. I'm home now. I've showered, changed my clothes and I ate some leftover stir fry beef I found in the fridge from a few days ago. Nothing was growing on it, so it was good.

  As soon as I finished the last bite of the food, I was in my bedroom, opening the safe and pulling out the envelope that has been burning a hole in my mind since I first saw it. Sooner or later I have to deal with it. I have to face what's in it.

  I hold it in my hand and dump everything that's inside of it on the dining room table. Papers fly out, the flash drive bounces twice before it settles and two pictures fall onto the dark wood.

  When Caterina agreed to download the voicemail onto a flash drive and delete it, I wanted more. Daniel told her that there wouldn't be a deal unless she agreed to forward every saved email of my dad's she had, to Daniel, before she deleted those too. She took it a step further and printed them out.

  His last demand was the one she balked at. I wanted everything my dad had forgotten at her place when he left her. It amounted to little more than a few pieces of clothing which Daniel donated, a watch, which I told him to keep for now, and two photos.

  I rip the one of my father and Caterina at their engagement party in half. That moment is history now. Their relationship never made it out of the starting gate because of her greed.

  I pick up the other picture. I study it. It doesn’t hold any deep or dark secrets. It's a picture of a house in the Hamptons that my parents would take us to in the summer when school finally let out. We'd spend weeks there with our mom while dad traveled back and forth to Manhattan to take care of business.

  Those summers were some of the best of my life. My older brothers showed me how to swim. Caleb was right beside me when I caught my first fish and Gabriel let me hold the steering wheel when we took out the boat. There was an old piano there that I taught myself how to play. It was an escape from the city, but more than that it was a reprieve from the thick tension that invaded our apartment.

  My parents never fought in the Hamptons, or maybe we never heard them because there were so many bedrooms for them to go to so they could argue out of earshot.

  One summer, the day after we came back to New York, they told us their marriage was over. Neither of them cried. My dad's bags were already packed. He didn't care that we asked him not to go. He didn’t stop when Caleb got on his knees and apologized, even though it wasn't his fault. My dad just left.

  The house in the Hamptons became a sticking point in their divorce. They couldn't agree on who got to have it, so neither did. It belongs to the company now. Caleb and his wife make the most use of it.

  I drop the picture and pick up a pile of papers. Most of them are uninteresting emails where my dad professes his undying love to Caterina. He writes about how his marriage to my mom was a mistake and how the divorce almost destroyed him.

  If my parents would have ended their marriage when they should have, a decade before they actually did, the process would have been cut and dry. Everything started to fall apart when the women's clothing line took off. My parents worked like mules, each in charge of something that was vital to the success of the business. We were left in the care of nannies.

  That was fine until both of my brothers were too old to abide by anyone's rules and I was way too young to have the freedom it gave me. I was a teenager who didn't need a nanny following me around. I needed honesty from my parents. I needed to know that everything would be alright.

  I started using then. It was alcohol at first to numb the pain of not having my dad around. I graduated to weed after that. It was a step up and I knew that it pissed both my parents off. They may think that's why I did it. It's not. I needed the buzz to function.

  I stare at the flash drive. Daniel offered to forward the voicemail to my phone. The temptation was there but to have it so accessible would have fed the addictive parts of me. I know that I would have listened to it over and over, my dad's words echoing so deeply in my mind that they'd never leave. I don't want that. I can't do that to myself.

  I've always had my doubts. They started when my dad refused to show me how to ride a bike when I was five-years-old. They intensified when they filed for divorce and he didn't fight for custody of me. I was the only one underage back then and he gave my mom full custody. There was no arguing, no scheduling visits.

  Since I've hit it big, my mother's former lovers have crawled out of the woodwork to sell their stories to the press. My dad's mistresses have gotten equal time in every one of those magazines people thumb through in the grocery line.

  There have been dozens of pictures printed of me and my brothers, with captions about how I don't resemble them. The ones that stung the most were the articles that had images of me right next to photographs of men I've never met, but who knew my mom nine months before I was born.

  My parents told me it was all the press trying to push me to react. My brothers both warned me to stop paying attention. "It comes with fame," Gabriel told me. "You're a big name now, Junior, don't let the little people fuck with you," Caleb said.

  I ignored it, instead diving into my music, nurturing my career. Maybe I would have overlooked all the signs forever. I don't know. All I do know is now it's different. Everything is fucked since I listened to the voicemail on that flash drive. It lasts less than thirty seconds but the words are crystal clear. I can still hear every nuance in my dad's voice, the way he pauses before he speaks.

  I don't have to plug the flash drive back into my laptop to know exactly what he says to Caterina in that voicemail.

  "Remember what I said this morning, Pumpkin. Gianna and I have worked hard to keep this quiet. You can't tell anyone he's not my son. If that reporter calls again, you say nothing. Not one word. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, he's a Foster just like his brothers. "

  ***

  "Pizza?" she asks. "Are you taking me to Brooklyn?"

  I kiss her to quiet my racing heart. It's f
elt that way for hours now, ever since I was putting the envelope back in the safe. Caleb called me right then and even though I tried to sound calm, he knew something was wrong.

  I told him it was just stress from writing the new songs. I doubt he bought it. He offered to take me out for dinner, to a place we used to go to when I was in college. I told him to get in line since I was having dinner with Falon tonight. He wished me luck before he ended the call.

  "You must really like Brooklyn pizza if it makes you this excited." She dips her chin towards my crotch and my erection which is now pushing against her stomach.

  "Your kisses do something to me." I steal another, running my tongue along her soft bottom lip. "Just kiss me again."

  Her hand circles the back of my neck, pulling me closer. She moans softly into my mouth, the agony of hearing that is so strong that I want to push her into her apartment so I can fuck her again. Who needs pizza, or anything for that matter, when a woman like this is in your arms?

  "Do you want to stay here?" she asks against my lips.

  It's like she's read my mind, or maybe it's that I've been practically dry humping her. "I want to, but the pizza. I want you to taste it."

  It sounds so fucked up. I shouldn't care about her as much as I do, but I like her. She's fun to be around. She's incredible in bed. I could call it a distraction but it's more than that. I want her to know that I'm not using her just for a quick lay. I want her to get that.

  She swallows. "Let's go to Brooklyn for pizza."

  I raise my eyebrows. "You're sure. You'll have to admit I'm right once you take a bite."

  "You're so sure of yourself." She pats my shoulder with her hand as she brushes past me toward the stairs. "We both know you're wrong, Asher. When are you finally going to admit it?"

  CHAPTER 25

  Falon

  "I didn't say you were right." I tentatively take another bite of pizza. "I said it was good. That's not the same thing."

  "You just don't want to admit it," he goads me. "If you admit that it's the best you've ever had, I'll win."

  "I forgot," I say before I place the paper napkin on the plate. "What exactly was the wager again?"

  He takes another hearty bite. He's eaten more than half the pizza himself. I wait while he chews, glancing around the dimly lit restaurant. The man working behind the counter greeted him by his first name when we arrived. He spoke to Asher in another language. It was Italian I think. I was stunned that Asher could speak it as fluently as he does.

  I've always wanted to learn to speak a language other than English. It's all I know but I want to change that. It's part of my plan to move to London within the next ten years. I envision a studio there where I can take pictures of families, children and maybe some celebrities while I use some of the money I earn to travel to Paris, Rome and Madrid. I'd like to pick up at least a passing understanding of Italian so when I go there, I'll feel like I belong.

  "Bragging rights," he chuckles. "You'll forever be able to tell me that you found the best pizza in the city."

  Forever. He doesn't really mean forever.

  "Then I win." I cross my arms over my chest.

  He dips his chin towards me. "You got sauce all over your shirt. Maybe I should call you Spot."

  I look down at the streak of pizza sauce that trails across the entire front of my shirt. I'm wearing white again. When will I learn that I need to invest in some clothes that are either black or so full of colorful patterns that my messy eating habits won't be broadcast to the entire world?

  How the hell did this happen again? He's going to think I need a bib when I eat.

  "Fuck," I whine, as I try and wipe it clean with a napkin, which only makes it worse. "I've ruined another shirt."

  "It's not ruined." He drops the pizza in his hand onto his plate and moves to the chair next to me. "I can get it out. Sit still."

  He dips the corner of the napkin in his water glass and gently rubs at the stain. "I kind of like the random stains. It only adds to who you are."

  "Who I am?"

  He stops then to look me in the eyes. He doesn't say a thing. Instead, he leans forward, closes his eyes and brushes his lips against mine.

  "You're the girl I want to go home with," he says as he breaks the kiss. "But first I want to take you somewhere important to me."

  ***

  "This isn't what I expected at all." I run my fingers along the edge of the wood. "It's so complicated. Does each one of these make a difference in the sound of your voice?"

  "Yes." He points to all the buttons on the recording equipment. "I record a lot of stuff on my laptop when I'm just experimenting. When it's time to get serious, I come here."

  I nod, even though I have no idea what the difference between experimenting and getting serious is when it comes to making music. Maybe it's akin to using a smartphone to take a picture as opposed to the expensive camera back in my own studio that I covet. I make my living with that. The iPhone pictures I post on my social media sites are fun and aren't meant to pull in any serious business.

  "It's impressive," I say. "Is there something I can hear? Do you have a new song recorded?"

  "I do." I hear the smile in his voice as he turns his back to me to touch a few buttons on the large panel we're standing in front of. "It's just a melody now, but I'll be adding the lyrics soon."

  I shift back on my feet so I can sit on the brown leather couch. My knees feel wobbly. They have since he kissed me back at the pizza place before he said he wanted to take me to his recording studio. I didn't say anything. I just held out my hand to him so he could bring me here.

  The soft lull of a guitar playing fills the room. I lean back, crossing my legs as I listen. I don't want to tell him how beautiful it is because he's lost in it. His eyes are closed, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans as he sways back and forth to the music.

  He's dressed differently tonight. He's wearing a light blue dress shirt, open enough at the collar that the hint of color from one of the tattoos on his chest is visible. The arms of the shirt are pushed up to his elbows, revealing his toned forearms. The right one is covered in tattoos, the left bare except for the three beaded bracelets he wears.

  His hair is messy again. He rakes his hands through it constantly. I can't tell if that's from anxiety or just habit but it makes him look even more tempting than he would if it were neatly styled in place. His beard is filling in. It's only been a few days since I met him but his face is different with the growth of hair. I like it. I like him. I like everything there is to like about Asher Foster, even though I know that one day soon he's going to walk out of my simple life and back onto the stage.

  CHAPTER 26

  Asher

  I glide my lips over the back of her neck as I circle her with my arms, pulling her tighter against my chest. We're back at her apartment now, in bed. We came here after we listened to the new track I recorded earlier this week. I could tell that she liked it. For some reason her opinion matters more to me than anyone else's right now. Maybe that's because with her there are no pretenses. I know she doesn't expect anything from me. She even tried to pay for the taxi that we took back into Manhattan tonight.

  I'd watched her take off her clothes after we shared a bottle of water. She put her shirt in the small kitchen sink to soak out the pizza sauce stain. I didn't bother to tell her that I'd buy her another just like it or ten more, if she wanted. I won't do that to her. I won't make her feel inadequate by shoving my money at her.

  She takes care of herself. That's obvious by how busy she is. She's not one to take hand-outs or expect things from me because my songs have been downloaded millions of times. She just wants to spend time with me.

  "Can I fuck you now?" I whisper into her ear. "I can't wait much longer."

  I'm not kidding when I say that. After we got on the bed, I sucked on her nipples, pulling them between my teeth while I touched her pussy. I slid my finger inside of her, curving it until I felt that sensi
tive spot that drove her legs up and forced her ass off the bed. She came so intensely that she was trembling before I pressed my body into hers from behind, holding her tightly.

  "You know where the condoms are," she says softly. "Help yourself."

  That's an invitation I won't refuse.

  I move to the left to open the jar of condoms. I pull one out, peering in at how many there are. There's at least a dozen left. I don't know how many were in there the last time I was here. I can't think about that. I can't think about her fucking anyone else.

  I sheath my cock, smoothing the latex over it, before I fall back onto the bed behind her.

  "Lift your leg up." I push on her hip.

  She gives in, lifting it and curving her body so I can enter her from behind. She's still as wet as she was when she came. I slide in easily, smoothly, burying myself inside of her slick pussy.

  I pump slowly, my hand reaching down to her clit. She protests with a shake of her head and a slap on my hand. "Don't. I'll come so fast."

  I move my hand back. "You'll come twice then."

  She murmurs something under her breath as her hips roll with each thrust of my cock. She moves her body, adjusting her arm so I can see her tits. They're perfect with those nipples that I can't get out of my mind. Such hard little points begging to be bitten. I lower my head and take one between my teeth while I fuck her slowly, her leg splayed over mine.

  "I want to be on top, Asher," she pants.

  I move quickly, pulling out, pushing her aside before I lie on my back and grab her hips. She straddles me, taking my cock in her hand, edging it along her pussy lips before she slides it inside with a quick thrust of her body.

  I suck in a groan. Her eyes bore into mine as she rides me hard. Her hands press into my shoulders for leverage, her tits bounce with each jerk of her hips. I grab hold of her waist, slamming myself up into her as I kiss her. She sucks on my bottom lip, little sounds escaping her with each pump of my cock.