Page 78 of Ashley & the A-Listers

That feeling in his chest flared and he swallowed against it. God, it was like he wanted to… fucking put her in a bubble. Stuff her in his pocket. Keep her safe.

Kiss her.

Dylan blinked as the thought rocked him, and turned his attention to the crowd around them, ushering them through the other couples—not that he and Ashley were a couple. Fuck.

He scrubbed the thought from his brain and lowered his arm from Ashley’s shoulders as soon as they located their seats, which weren’t terrible. They had a great view of the stage even on this upper level, and he spied the logo of the opening band on the drum kit.

“Okay, since we know where the seats are now… do you wanna go check out the merch table before it gets crowded?” he asked.

Her eyes went even wider, downright sparkly amongst all the lights in the venue. “Oh my god, of course!” she said.

Dylan grinned, and then they were off. He was hyper-aware of all the people around them, practically stalking behind Ashley like a guard dog as she led the way to the table.

“Why are you following me? Walk beside me, idiot,” she muttered, and tugged him up next to her.

“Just looking out. Lots of people here.”

A frown and she glanced up at him, brushing her bangs out of her face so she could see him clearly. “You hate crowds, don’t you? How’d I forget that? Are you okay?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he said, unsure how to tell her he was only anxious because of… her.

Not her, but making sure she was… safe. And maybe a little bit her, but he didn’t know why, or how to articulate such emotions, even in his own head. “I’m excited to be here, promise.”

“Alright,” she said, lips pinching. “If you start freaking out, let me know, okay?”

She squeezed his hand and it was like she’d reached into his chest and squeezed his heart instead.

“I will, promise.”

“It’s only fun if you’re having fun, too,” she told him.

“I know, I know. Once we get back to our seats I think I’ll chill out,” he admitted.

“Okay, bodyguard,” she teased. “Then let’s look at this merch super-fast,” she said, and dragged him through the crowd and to the line. It wasn’t terribly long, since the show hadn’t started yet, and he watched her attention dart from shirt to shirt to hoodie to hat to poster and watched the indecision eat away at her.

“Which one do you like?” he asked. “I’m undecided.”

“I think…” She chewed on her lip. “Okay, it’s gonna be too hot for the hoodie and the sweatshirt soon, so…” She clapped her hands together and closed her eyes. “Pick a number between one and three.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Dylan’s lips. “Two.”

She opened one eye and squinted at the hanging merch. “Okay, pick again.”

“One,” he decided.

“Great! That’s the one I wanted anyway,” she said.

Dylan bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. When they got to the merch table he was already prepared with his card, and swiped it before she could even consider pulling her wallet out.

“Dylan!” she warned.

“Happy birthday,” he said, and grinned down at her.

The height he’d grown into was an adjustment for both of them, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to seeing her from up here, looking so fragile and small, and he wanted to protect her, god dammit. And also spoil her a little.

It was her birthday, after all. That was his excuse.

“Well, thank you,” she said softly, and accepted the shirt from the guy as Dylan scrawled his signature on the slip of paper and passed it back over.

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