Sweet Oblivion

by Alexa Padgett

  Sure, easy for her to say. She wasn’t supposed to have a conversation with Asher Smith. The Asher Smith. Oh, holy hell…the guy was on the bus, shaking hands with Cam and Chuck. I rose, tugging Aya up with me, unable or unwilling to let go of her hand.

  Asher strode across the bus like he owned it—probably because he’d spent more of his life on one of these than I’d been alive. Like Cam, he wore black motorcycle boots. The shiny silver chains jangled with each step. His jeans were faded and worn—they looked comfortable, not designer. His pin-stripe button-up shirt was untucked, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His face was clean-shaven and his brown hair a tumble of waves—as if he’d been running his fingers through it, not using the product guys my age preferred. His intense eyes bored into mine, causing my palm in Aya’s to sweat.

  “Mr. Smith—”

  “Asher,” he said, a faint smile at the corner of his eyes and his mouth.

  “A-Asher…” My tongue seemed to tie.

  Aya stepped forward, her fingers gently squeezing mine. “I hear from Cam that your son likes to ride horses,” she said with a smile. “My name is Aya Aldringham.”

  Asher shifted his focus to Aya, giving me a moment to breathe. “Mason does. He picked it up a few years back.”

  Aya began to recount a visit to a horse farm in Nepal, causing Asher to chuckle. “I’ll have to bring Mason out to meet you tomorrow. He’s about your age.”

  “That would be lovely,” Aya said. “I’d love another friend to hang out with.”

  “Aya’s the beauty and the charm of this duo,” Cam said with a chuckle. “She’s been a pleasure to have aboard, though she’s been off at MIT doing some fancy robotics. But you gotta hear about her book choice, man.” He turned to Aya. “Go on, tell him what you’re reading.”

  Aya gauged my reaction before explaining her current historical fiction book choice to Asher freaking Smith. She was talking book club with the world’s best lyricist.

  Surreal.

  He smiled at her, his white teeth gleaming. “Dahlia is going to love you.” He leaned in closer to Aya, bending a little from the waist to make the moment more private between them. “My wife’s an author. She got me into this Galileo series.”

  Aya gasped, eyes wide, as she named the book.

  “That’s the one.”

  “Oh, I’m desperate for the sequel, but it doesn’t come out until next month.”

  “It’s better than the first,” Asher said, his tone confident.

  “No way,” Aya scoffed.

  She scoffed at Asher Smith.

  His eyes twinkled as he met my gaze and winked. He began to extoll the merits of the first book, causing Chuck to chime in. Seemed like they’d all read it but me.

  And just like that, my tension eased. It wasn’t gone—it shimmered over my shoulders and into my neck—but I could think again. I owed Aya, big time, for not letting me embarrass myself in front of my hero.

  Asher seemed aware of my return to functioning status because he turned toward me when the book debate finally subsided. “Are you interested in signing with a label?” he asked.

  I blinked at him, shock rocketing through me. I’d hoped for this, of course. But the reality—and with Asher as my mentor…

  “If you are, I’d like you to consider my company,” he continued. “We’re based out of Seattle, which could be tricky since you’re in Austin, but I think we can work something out.”

  My shock turned into bubbles of euphoria. Much as I wanted to tell him hell yes right here, I understood enough of the business to know one of my parents needed to sign off on the agreement. And it wouldn’t be my father. “I need to discuss that with my parents.”

  Steve stepped forward, nervous but firm. “I can say that your parents will support this decision.” His gaze met mine, softening in a way that caused my pulse to ratchet up. “If that’s something you want.”

  I swallowed thickly, my hand trembling in Aya’s.

  “I don’t have a band or…”

  Asher nodded. “That’s something I can help you with.”

  Asher will help me choose my bandmates? I felt lightheaded.

  “Take the night. Talk it over with Cam, your folks. And don’t make the decision lightly,” Asher said. “Touring can eat you up.” His gaze darkened. “It’s why I like to stick close to my home base these days. I’m not all that interested in living on a bus and in a bubble of my bandmates, roadies, and staff.” His eyes fell to where I gripped Aya’s hand, and his gaze softened. “It’s also damn near impossible to keep normal relationships. They suffer.”

  A chill swept over me as I inched closer to Aya.

  With that, Asher turned back to Cam, asking him about a guitar maker in Austin. J. Olsen crafted them in a shop off of Sixth Street. Cam knew the maker, and he, Chuck, and Asher moved forward in the bus, leaving Aya and me in the back.

  “Did that just happen?” I asked.

  She smiled, the brightness seeming almost brittle, and her eyes shining, even in the low lights. “You’re going to reach your every goal, Superstar.”

  I realized later that Aya had understood what Asher said and what it meant for us. Just as she understood that, despite all of that, I was desperate to take his offer.

  19

  Aya

  All that night, Nash vibrated with excitement, unable to sleep, pacing the suite’s living room, on the phone with his mother and grandfather. We were at one of the Syads’ hotel properties, and Nash had given Cam the penthouse, so we were a floor below, in a gorgeous suite with three bedrooms. It must have been five times larger than the average Manhattan apartment, with a mix of modern, geometric rugs and antique furniture. I fell asleep on one of the sofas, but I woke in my bed the next morning, a blanket tossed over me.

  After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I changed into a clean outfit. Then I opened the door, and Nash practically accosted me.

  “I signed the contract,” he said, eyes burning with excitement.

  “Oh! Well, great.” I smiled as I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing his excitement would coat my worries.

  “I had to tell you. I can’t believe this is real, Ay. I can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes wide, the dark circles under them telling.

  I touched his cheek. “You need to get some rest before the show tonight,” I murmured as I led him toward his bedroom. He followed, and now that he’d told me his news, the last of the adrenaline seemed to evaporate, leaving him exhausted. He settled on the bed, and I tugged off his sneakers.

  “This is amazing,” he mumbled. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow. “I’m going to write the perfect song…”

  I pulled the comforter across the bed, covering him. I brushed the hair back from his forehead, my heart throbbing with love as his lashes fluttered.

  Steve’s comment to me the night before swirled through my head: “He’s going places you’re not going to want to follow.”

  That seemed abundantly true, especially considering Nash had been on stage, enjoying the adulation of the crowd, when Steve said it. Nash craved the spotlight while I wanted to sit in a cozy chair and read a book.

  A few hours later, Nash knocked on my bedroom door. He poked his head inside. “Hey, can we talk?”

  I closed my book and sat up, tucking hair behind my ear. Inwardly, I groaned. I was in a pair of black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt atop my sleeping camisole. Nothing about the outfit was sexy. I’d wanted to feel comfortable as I settled into the self-pity building in my head.

  Tomorrow, I would go back to the last two weeks of my program. Nash would continue to tour, but I’d promised to visit him on the weekends as he and Cam worked their way up the East Coast.

  He closed the door behind him, and I thought I heard him lock it.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “Where is everyone?”

  He tensed for a moment. “Steve’s talking to my mom. Again. You know how long those calls go. And Chuck and Cam went to meet
up with a friend.”

  So, we basically had the large, connecting suite to ourselves. A shiver slid down my spine as I considered my options. But then I shut down my hope that Nash would kiss me. He needed a friend—was desperate for the connection—and I’d promised myself I would be that for him. Even if it hurt.

  Especially because it hurt.

  “You don’t seem excited about my record deal.” He settled his hip next to mine on the bed.

  It was a cushy mattress, and we rolled closer, separated only by the comforter and our pants. Need curled in my belly.

  I forced the smile he needed. “Oh, I am.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll get to tell people I was there for the birth of Nash Porter, Superstar.”

  His smile turned shy. “You really think I can be that? A superstar? Like Cam and Asher?”

  I reached up and touched his cheek, letting my fingers linger. “I think you’re going to blow them all away.”

  He studied me, no doubt looking for any insincerity. But he found none. I’d known, even as a small child, that Nash was destined for that stardom he’d mentioned. He practically shimmered with talent and possibilities. The fact that I’d held his interest this long was a gift.

  “One of Asher’s stipulations was that I had to finish high school before I record my album.”

  My belly warmed, and I smiled. Asher Smith cared about the musicians he worked with. Postponing Nash’s album was a blessing, all the more so because Nash wanted to push forward so badly. This gave us time.

  Nash leaned in closer—so close our noses nearly bumped. “I know you’re upset about the girls flirting with me. But they don’t matter.”

  I traced a pattern in the comforter next to my hip. “I’m sure one of them will be more than willing to keep you company once I’m gone.”

  “I want…” He blew out a breath. “I want you, Aya. To be with you.”

  Happiness exploded in my chest as I leaped forward in a tangle of limbs and sheets and tackled him to the bed. He laughed, his face so young and carefree, as he tucked my long hair back.

  “You’re everything to me,” he said, his tone solemn. “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe I should have pushed you away. But I couldn’t. I can’t.”

  I dropped my gaze.

  He tipped my chin up, connecting us again. His gaze ignited nerve endings and sizzled down my spine, warming my belly.

  “You’ve made me re-evaluate a lot of things, but mostly my stance on relationships. I kind of blindsided you at MIT, but I’m glad you went along with it—that you’ve stuck with me.”

  “Nash,” I said on a sigh. “You have no idea what a beautiful guy you are. I’d choose you every time. I only want you.”

  His smile blinded me. “Good. Because I want to be with someone who makes my pulse race, who makes me forget where I am when I’m kissing her. Who makes me smile as soon as I think about her.” His whiskey-brown eyes implored me. “That’s you.”

  “I feel the same way,” I whispered. I leaned in a little, needing to feel his lips on mine.

  He obliged, and they were warm, soft, as perfect as they’d been at that day under the oak trees. Except this time, he opened his mouth and tugged my hips even tighter to his. I slid my fingers into his hair and cupped his head, desperate to be as close to him as possible. I whimpered as need shot through me, causing my body to throb and feel hollow.

  Our kisses morphed into hot, deep dances of tongue and teeth. He drugged me with pleasure, causing me to shiver and ache. His hand slid under my shirt, creeping to my chest, cupping my breast. I moaned into his mouth as he rubbed his thumb across my nipple.

  “Your tits are my favorite thing,” he groaned against my mouth. “I need to see them.”

  But he waited for me to reply. His face remained taut, his eyes luminous. Those luscious lips plumper than usual—because of passion, from wanting me.

  “Yes, Nash. I want you to touch me.” I want you to love me like I love you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.

  But I bit those final words off, unwilling to say anything that might cause him to stop. Passion and foreboding drove me. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, this moment might become. Nash’s focus remained on my body, pushing away the pain of his reality. I wanted to keep him safe, in my arms, forever.

  He buried his face in the valley between my breasts and held my back, his palms cupping my shoulder blades. His shoulders started to shake, but before I could offer comfort, he whipped up and took my lips in a punishing, drugging kiss.

  His tongue penetrated my mouth even as his fingertips slid down my belly to the waistband of my leggings. He stripped me of those and my thong as he kneaded the supple flesh of my buttocks, pressing tiny kisses down my neck.

  “Ay. God. Aya. You feel so good.”

  I panted, trying to catch my breath. He laid me back on the bed before he yanked his shirt over his head. When the warmth of his chest settled over mine, I gasped, arching into him, into the feeling of rightness pervading the moment.

  “Feel me, Ay. Hold me, touch me.” He nuzzled his nose against my ear.

  Did he just ask me to love him?

  Before I managed to process the words, his mouth covered mine again, his tongue tangling, dancing, dueling, leading mine.

  “I want you,” he said. He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. The storms that lived there were tempered by his desire. For me.

  I slid my palm over his cheek. “I’m always here for you, Nash. Whatever you need.”

  “You,” he whispered, pressing closer. “I need you.”

  I smiled. “You already have me.”

  “I want to have sex. With you,” he clarified.

  I leaned back on my elbows, spreading my thighs wide enough that he could see my wet folds. “I want that too. Very much.”

  He stood quickly so he could shuck his pants. His cock bobbed against his belly, the tip red and swollen, weeping. His sac nestled in brown curls that led to toned thighs and up to his taut abdomen. God, he was gorgeous.

  He grabbed his wallet and pulled out a condom. I didn’t have to ask why he had one—his father had handed him a box the first night of the tour.

  Nash wanted me. And I wanted him—yes, physically, but just as much, I wanted his words, his heart, the happiness in his eyes. So I spread my legs, my heart pounding.

  This was it. Nash and I were going to do this. Be together.

  He opened the foil packet and rolled the condom on, the tip of his tongue pressing through his teeth as he concentrated. He settled at my side, his fingers finding my center, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over my clit.

  “I want to make this good for you,” he said.

  I placed my hand on his cheek, loving the feel of his skin against mine. “And I want it to be good for you.”

  He smiled, no doubt liking my breathy voice. “It will be because it’s you, Aya.”

  My heart melted and pounded all at once. This boy—how he made me feel.

  He kept up his gentle ministrations until my thighs tensed and my body bowed. The orgasm hit me hard, leaving me breathless.

  He kissed me softly, his gaze never leaving my face. “Good?”

  I nodded, suddenly shy. Nash rolled over, settling between my thighs, nudging at my slick center.

  “You okay with this?” he asked.

  I tugged him closer, my arms wrapped tightly around his back. “Yes.”

  He was my love. I would never consider sex with anyone but Nash.

  He was careful, watchful, as he pushed himself into my body. I bit my lip at the pinch of discomfort, but it passed as he bent his head to kiss me again. He thrust his tongue into my mouth as he pressed his cock into my body. I loved both. I loved being filled with him. I bucked my hips, wanting more. He pulled back, then pressed in.

  “Oh…”

  At my soft moan, he flexed his hips again, hitting a spot inside me that caused my nerve endings to blossom with pleasure.

  I gripped the back of his h
ead as I leaned up and kissed him. He caught a rhythm on the next stroke and pumped in and out. I spiraled up, seeking that pinnacle, striving for that beautiful release. His hips bucked as he cried out my name, and then he sagged against me. I lay still, breathing hard. After a moment, he pressed forward, into me again, and I arched against him.

  He kissed my neck as he rubbed my clit with small, tight circles, sending more pleasure bursting through me. I cried out, quaking as those beautiful spasms built in my belly and cascaded through my limbs, leaving me limp.

  After he’d dealt with the condom, he snuggled me close, his arm around my waist, my cheek on his chest.

  “We’re going to make this work, Aya. I know it. Because I need you as much as I need the music.”

  Even then, I knew he was lying—to himself and to me. But that didn’t stop me from snuggling closer to his chest and holding on to him with all my strength.

  20

  Nash

  I glanced up at the small sound, pulling off my headphones, a smile growing as Aya stood in the open doorway to my hotel room. I’d been unable to pick her up from her summer camp, so I hadn’t known when, exactly, I’d get to see her.

  I rushed forward and pulled her into my arms. “I thought you were going to call me when you were home from your program.”

  She wrapped her arms around me. “I missed you too much to wait another day.”

  “Welcome to Denver,” I said with a laugh.

  She smiled. “Have you seen anything other than the hotel room?”

  “Nope.” I rolled my eyes. “Tour life.”

  She nuzzled into my chest, where happy bubbles exploded. I settled my hand at the base of her neck, fingers tangled in her thick hair. She tipped her head back, and I lowered my mouth. I’d missed kissing Aya. The soft brush of her mouth against mine, her subtle shift closer, the parting of her lips as she opened for me—I’d experienced it before, but electricity still jolted down my spine and more fizziness blossomed in my chest.

  I delved in deeper, needing her. She tilted her head, granting me more access.