by Linda Kage
I went that way, and could hear the muffled singing before I reached the last room on the left. The door was cracked, so I nudged it the rest of the way open and paused just inside the entrance where Asher was belting out a kickass rendition of Hozier’s “Take Me to Church.”
He really did have the most amazing voice, and I was coming to realize he liked songs that challenged his vocal chords. He loved to let it loose. And God, I loved to listen to him. I propped the box against my hip, leaned a shoulder on the wall, and enjoyed the show.
He’d just emptied a cardboard crate of bourbon bottles onto a shelf and was beginning to tear down the empty box when he hit the round of Amens in the song. So he paused to tip his head back and really wail the chorus. Mesmerized, I shook my head.
Didn’t matter if he was alone or in front of a crowd, he put his entire heart and soul into it, didn’t he?
Once he started the next verse, he kept singing but returned to work, straightening the row of bottles on the shelf. Then he stepped back to inspect his work, only to step forward again and nudge one bottle an inch to the right until he was satisfied.
I laughed because I couldn’t help it. He was just too adorable. The guy was as easygoing as they came, acted as if nothing ever bothered him, messy and forgetful on occasion, and yet he had this small perfectionist side that totally contradicted the rest of him.
Startled, he stopped singing and spun toward me.
I shook my head and said, “Te amo,” blurting out the first thing on my mind.
I didn’t realize what I’d said until Asher sent me a confused grin. “Te amo? What does that mean?”
I froze, my mouth opening, but no words coming. I totally hadn’t meant to say that. He’d just been so cute with his OCD bottle arrangement and his voice flooding me with a happy, content feeling; the words had poured out.
“Uh...” Thinking way too slowly for my own taste, I said, “You know...good job...with your stocking abilities. I think you could win some kind of award with such damn fine alcohol shelving.”
The tops of his cheeks brightened as he strolled toward me. But then he shook his head and grinned. “Shut up, smart-ass.”
I loved the way he walked—that unintentional swagger in his hips was just so incredibly male. It was nothing like the cock-and-go Jodi had tried to teach me and had nothing to do with hip movement. It was in the arms, his posture, and even the way his thighs were spaced. It was just so confident and slow. There was no way “Sticks” could ever cop a walk like that, and thank goodness; I’d probably want to do myself if I could.
“Did you get it done already?” He reached out to take the box from me.
I didn’t answer, could only watch as he pulled out a folder and started flipping through the spreadsheets I’d made. “Hey, these are awesome. Thanks, man.”
I studied his expression, the eager appreciation making something heat in my belly. I cleared my throat, noticing he’d gone back to humming “Take Me to Church” under his breath as he looked over my work.
“You really love to sing, don’t you?” I mused.
“Yeah. Sure.” A grin split across his face. “I definitely didn’t go the rocker route because I wanted a mob of women to attack me everywhere I went.”
I laughed.
“Actually,” he shrugged, “another reason I was so determined to be in a band was so I could piss off my dad.”
Now he sounded like me. I’d recently gotten my purple highlights pretty much just to piss off my uncle, who hated unnatural hair colors.
Splaying my hands out as if reading a nameplate on an office door, I said, “Asher Hart, rebel singer.”
He smiled lightly. “My old man used to knock the shit out of me every time he caught me singing when I was a kid. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I’d just be playing with my Tonka trucks, you know, minding my own business and trying to stay out of his way, when wham...out of nowhere I’d get a wallop on the back of my head. He’d tell me to cut the singing shit out because it was gay.”
“Shit,” I murmured. I’d known he’d been abused, but to hear actual details tore me up. Tío Alonso had been a strict motherfucker and never seemed to hold back on punishments, but he’d never physically struck me aside from a couple slaps on the back of the hand with kitchen utensils.
Asher sent me a sudden, mischievous grin, which told me his bad childhood hadn’t kept too tight of a hold on him. “If I didn’t love boobs so much, I probably would’ve turned gay too, just to piss him off even more.”
My breasts tingled at his words, making me wish I could unleash them on him and let him enjoy my boobs. But then I remembered I was in guy mode. Gay guy mode. So I said, “Well, that’s a damn shame,” and I wiggled my eyebrows as if to tempt him to the other side.
He let out a full laugh and bumped my arm. “Sorry,” he offered with an amused grin that was so freaking adorable it sizzled my hormones.
This guy was going to be the death of me. The more time I spent with him, the more I liked him and the more attractive he grew.
“I should probably get back up front.” He hitched his head toward the door. “You want a beer or anything?”
Totally not ready to leave him yet, I nodded. “Sure.”
I followed him from the storeroom, then waited in the hall as he dropped the Non-Castrato box off in the break room. Once we made it back into the main area, he slid behind the bar and went to fetch me an Angry Orchard, which gave his coworker a moment to slide up across the counter from me and whisper, “Learn his tell yet?”
I scowled. “Shut up.”
He only laughed as he moved to the other end of the bar to serve a customer.
“What was that about?” a curious Asher asked, glancing between the two of us as he opened my bottle and set it in front of me.
God bless my mask; he couldn’t see my blush. I was able to play it off by shrugging and lifting the malt liquor to my lips. “How should I know? I’m only fluent in Spanish and English, not Asshole.”
Asher laughed. “Good one.”
Had I mentioned how much I loved his laugh? But I loved even more how I seemed to always be able to make him laugh. He liked me, not just as some pretty girl he’d seen in a shower or someone singing on stage. He liked me, the person.
That made me feel better than I could ever verbalize.
The first moment his back was turned as he tended to a customer, I tapped the bar top to get Ten’s attention.
“Hey,” I hissed. He scowled suspiciously at me but wandered closer. “Just how sure are you that it was me he was singing about in that song?”
“Oh, so you finally heard your song, huh?”
I growled. There was no time for him to crow with a load of I-told-you-so’s. “Ten,” I warned.
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Incubus shirt girl was singing with Jodi. I know that for certain. How many fucking chick friends named Remy does she have?”
Just me. I gulped. “Did she have longer, straight black hair? Taller than Jodi? A black, tighter, form-fitting, instead of loose, Incubus shirt?”
He nodded. “Yep, yep, and yep.”
Damn. I bit my lip. That sounded exactly like me. But I didn’t want to admit without a doubt yet. “Any other distinguishing features? Tattoos? Birthmarks? Anything?”
He sighed, clearly growing weary with my interrogation. “No, but...” Snapping his fingers, he pointed at me. “Tattoos. The dude she kissed after singing had this tattoo on the left side of his face of a—”
“Fish,” I finished for him. “¡Dios mío! It was me. Oh...my...God.” I buried my face in my hands and leaned forward, unable to handle this. “What the hell do I do?”
“Tell Hart the truth,” Ten said on a careless shrug as if he thought it was as easy as that. Then he narrowed his eyes. “Wait, you’re done with fish-face, right?”
I scowled at him as if he were insane. “Yes! He turned out to be a lying, cheating, thieving asshole, so yeah...that’s over. Way over.
”
“Good. So then come clean with my boy, and all will be okay.”
All would just...be okay, huh?
Yeah, right.
Leveling a get-real stare at him, I said, “You really think it’d be that easy? He’d just...forget I’d been lying to him for almost two weeks?”
“Yeah, I never did catch why you were lying to begin with? There’s, like, a good reason for that, isn’t there?”
I sighed. “They wouldn’t even listen to me audition when I went in to try out as a girl. So I had this stupid crazy idea to dress up as a dude to see if that made a difference, and obviously it did. Things just snowballed from there. Every time I had a nice little opportunity to come clean, something would happen to make me keep up the act just a little bit longer, until now...now it feels too late to say anything without causing a huge problem.”
Ten nodded as I talked as if he understood and sympathized with my dilemma perfectly. But then he lifted his hands. “So, wait...you went in as a chick to try out first?”
When I nodded, he shook his head. “Why didn’t Hart recognize you then?’
Embarrassed to admit the truth, I ducked my face and mumbled, “I kind of went a little overboard to dress the part. I had on a blonde punk rocker wig and fishnet hose and—”
“And you obviously like to go around incognito,” he concluded.
My shoulders slumped. “Not really. Just...those two times.”
“Which was enough to completely dupe my boy.”
“Hey,” I muttered, scowling. “I never meant to dupe, or deceive, or hurt anyone.”
But Ten wasn’t paying attention to me any longer. A wistful smile had flitted across his face. “You know, my woman went incognito to catch me, too. It was really hot...and a most effective way to win the guy.”
Or lose him, in this case, I said in my head.
“What’d I miss?” Asher said, coming up to us from Ten’s left side as he tapped a beat onto the bar. “What’re we talking about?”
“Remy has something to tell you,” Ten announced before clasping Asher on the shoulder and strolling away.
I scowled after him, wishing I could strangle him. But Asher was already turning to me. “What’s up?”
“I...” I gazed into his green eyes and...totally chickened out. “I really should get going. It’s late.” I actually looked at the time after that and, wow, it was late. Almost closing time.
“Okay.” Asher grinned at me and waved a farewell. “See you tomorrow at practice then. And thanks for organizing that box.”
I slipped off the stool. “You bet.” Then I hurried from the bar so I could cry all the way home. After making it to my lonely apartment—no clue where my supportive roommate was to mope all over—I had a pity party in the shower, obsessing over the fact that nothing I did from this point on was going to have a nice happy ending.
I’d auditioned as a way to find myself, be accepted into a band for who I was, and stick it to my ex. But none of that had happened. I’d had to fake it the entire time, pretending to be something else entirely just to fit in, and Fisher couldn’t even know what I was doing.
Now I had no idea what I was striving for.
Wait, yes I did. Now, my main goal was not to hurt Asher.
Except I had no idea how to avoid that except to keep on keeping the truth from him.
Damn it, I’d fucked up. Big time.
My fingers were pruned and white by the time I shut off the water, telling me how long I’d dawdled and moped. But I just couldn’t help it. Asher was never going to want to see or talk to me again after he found out.
I’d just dressed in some comfy pants and camisole, pulled a pint of ice cream from the refrigerator, and was dipping my spoon straight into the carton when my phone rang.
It was Asher.
Of course. Because my guilty conscience needed to hear his voice so I could feel even worse.
“Hey, I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked as soon as I answered.
“No. Not at all.” I returned the spoonful to the container and slapped the lid back on as if to hide all evidence of a sulk fest.
“Good.” He blew out a breath. “I was hoping you might still be up, because...I need a ride...if you’re in the area.”
“A ride?”
“Yeah, my bike started and then...died, so I’m stuck here alone in the parking lot, and Ten’s already left. I would’ve called and bothered him, but I just had this horrible mental picture that he wakes Caroline up whenever he gets home from work, and I didn’t want to interrupt, you know, any of that.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Oh, but you knew you wouldn’t be interrupting anything if you called me?”
He was quiet a second before hissing, “Shit. I’m sorry. If you’re busy, I’ll just call—”
“No, no.” I laughed and waved a hand. “I’m just fucking with you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
I hung up on him and leapt into action, taking longer than I wanted to get into my Sticks gear. This shit was definitely not made for speedy dressing. In my hurry, I tore a little bit of the latex on the back of the neck, but hoped my hair would cover it.
Not that it mattered; he knew I wore a mask now. He just thought I was grotesquely disfigured under it. Shit...another lie I’d added to my plate.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled into the empty parking lot across the street from Forbidden where a lone figure leaned against a badass-looking motorcycle directly under the spray of a streetlamp.
¡Por Dios! He rode a motorcycle. Okay, yeah, he’d said bike when he’d talked to me, but it took me until I was actually looking at it to really process the words. Asher Hart drove a motorcycle.
In that second, he got, like, five times hotter.
Trying to cool my jets, I blew out a breath and pulled up next to him, rolling down my window. “Still won’t start?” I asked.
He pushed upright away from the bike and reached for the door handle of my car. “No.” After he slid inside, he slumped low and moodily into the passenger seat. “I discovered the problem. The fuel line was cut.”
I blinked and stared at him. “Cut? You mean, like, cut-cut?”
He arched an eyebrow, letting me know there was no other kind of cut.
My mouth fell open. “Holy shit. Who would...” Then it hit me. “Fuck. Do you think it was your dad?”
That idea made him pull back in surprise. He flashed me a strange look. “No.” Then he shook his head and made a face as if to reassure himself his answer was still no. “Why would it be him? We already had our confrontation. All he wanted from me was his stash, which I didn’t have. So I doubt I’ll ever hear from him again.”
I sighed. “Your testimony put him in jail, Asher. For years.”
“Yeah, right. My testimony did shit. There was enough proof and evidence to put him away without me ever taking the stand.”
That made me frown in confusion as I put the car into gear, leaving his lovely dead beast behind. “Then why did you have to testify at all?” Seemed like a lot of undue stress to put on a kid.
He shrugged and turned to stare out the side window. “I don’t know. Guess the lawyers thought my seven-year-old self wasn’t traumatized enough after I saw my mother murdered.”
“Bastards,” I hissed with agreement.
“It certainly wasn’t reason enough for the old man to carry a sixteen-year vendetta against me.”
I bit my lip, taking that option into consideration. Then I remembered, we were sitting at the opening of the parking lot because I had no idea where he lived. “Which way?”
He glanced up. “Oh, sorry. This way. Then hang a left when we get to Grand.”
I nodded and turned onto the street. “Then who do you think did it?” I pressed. “Because, you know, fuel lines don’t just go cutting themselves open. Someone obviously has it out for you.”
He arched an unimpressed eyebrow my way. “So they went after my fuel line? That’s like...a thirty-dollar fix,
and the worst that could’ve possibly happened to me from this is that my bike wouldn’t start, which...it didn’t. If someone really had it out for me, they could’ve done so much worse. This was probably just one of the guys fucking with me.”
I made a face. “That’s not a very funny joke.”
He blew out a frustrated breath and scrubbed at his hair before admitting, “Yeah, I’m not laughing about it either. Go north here.”
I turned, frowning at his directions. We were not heading toward any kind of residential area. The only thing in these parts was a couple of dying factories and condemned-looking warehouses.
Just where the heck did he live?
When he said, “Turn here,” I faltered.
“That’s an alley,” I argued.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed.”
Finally, I turned, shaking my head slowly. “You live in an alley?”
“I rent the basement of this place. And the only entrance is in this alley.”
“Creepy,” I murmured, squinting out my window at the total darkness surrounding Asher’s home.
“Right here,” he said, and I stopped, then killed the engine. He sent me an amused glance. “Seriously, man. I’m fine. You don’t have to walk me to my door. My old man isn’t creeping in a corner, waiting to off me.”
“We’ll just see about that,” I answered, taking off my seat belt and opening my door.
“Whatever,” Asher answered, sighing in defeat. “You can come on down if you want. There’s not much to look at, though.”
My curiosity about this basement apartment of his, plus my worry over his cut fuel line, prompted me to follow him through the dark to a rusted metal door. A streetlight at the opening of the alley showed how dented in the entrance looked, as if multiple people had tried to kick it in, multiple times.
“Watch your step. There’s no light in the staircase.” After he swung the door open, he disappeared inside. I took a breath, and glanced in to see a soft glow from the other end, helping to light my way some, so I cautiously stepped down. The steps were steeper than I was expecting and made from a wood that liked to creak and groan, but from the way Asher was plowing down them, they must be sturdy. Once he reached the ground floor, he turned on another light in his apartment and called, “Better?”
