Page 14 of Puck to the Heart
“That might be the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me, Barnes.”
“You should stop at the merch store. Get a t-shirt or something.”
His dark eyes met mine, pinning me in his stare. “I don’t think I could compare to you in your t-shirt right now.”
Picking apart his words in an attempt to find an insult, I tapped neon blue powder off my brush back into the palette and swiped it onto my other eye. Was it a compliment? I didn’t know how to tell if he meant what he said, and his ability to switch his false face on and off with such ease left me at a loss. Instead of taking the bait, if itwasbait, I ignored it, swiping on mascara and lip balm, and taking out the ponytail keeping my hair back all day. An involuntary moan escaped me as I rubbed my fingers against my sore scalp.
Ash didn’t react, but mortification slammed into me.
Instead of throwing myself out the window, I fluffed out my hair, hoping for the best. Not much I could do with it in the back of a car. The reflection of my burning cheeks told me to skip adding blush, so I reached out, taking the mirror back. Ash snatched his hand back like it burned him when our fingers brushed.
Weird, but I probably would’ve done the same. I tried not to overthink it, but I still sat stiffly in my seat, letting silence fall again.
Outside the arena, Ash turned, taking in as much of my final outfit as was visible with me sitting. “Nice.”
What the ever-loving fuck?
One-word answers were the bane of my existence, and his had such a weird inflection, I couldn’t figure it out. One-word answers gave the least possible information; there was so little tone, minimal expression, barely any body language to give away the true meaning, particularly when the person speaking keptstaring at me.This odd flip-flopping thing was giving me whiplash.
I was damn well going to enjoy this night, whether he did or not. “Are you ready?”
He spun the silver ring on his middle finger, pressing the thumb and middle finger of his other hand hard against the metal. Then, he adjusted the hat and nodded.
* * *
“We’re probably close enoughfor the lead guitar to drip sweat on you, if you’re into that.” Amusement deepened Ash’s dimples.
“Gross! He’s my dad’s age.” And age gaps were a big no from me.
“Some people are into that sort of thing. I get DMs all the time asking for my worn?—"
“Please donotfinish that sentence.” Revulsion rippled in my gut. The audacity of some people.
It clearly bothered Ash, too, no matter how much he tried to play it off like it was no big deal.
Well, if he wanted to ignore it, so would I.
All around us, a frisson rippled through the arena, spreading like a tidal wave through the crowd. Or maybe it was just me—I downed a triple espresso before racing down to meet Ash, and it was catching up to me. My thundering heart echoed the rhythm of our hurried footsteps as we pushed through crowded walkways. I’m not a small woman by any means, but following in Ash’s wake was unexpectedly nice. His large body and vaguely ominous presence split the crowd around us. Groups of people parted around him like water, almost unconsciously, as if they knew he’d barrel right through them if they didn’t move.
Big puck energy.
Nope, do not go there.
On stage, a handful of aging men sang, and I bounced on my toes, too hyped up to sit. The creased leather of my boots flexed with my movements as I shifted my weight back and forth. As a precaution, I’d put on my earmuffs before we walked inside, and as thousands of people sang along with an opening act I wasn’t familiar with, their mid-level roar beat against the foam blocking the worst of it out.
A full body shiver at the sensation sent me brushing against Ash’s warm body. He stood arms crossed and legs spread, and he raised a barely visible eyebrow in the dark.
“You good?” he asked, looking pointedly to my hands gripping my elbows, my arms squeezing tight against my torso.
“It’s loud.” I had to yell, standing on my toes to reach his ear.
“Concerts are loud.” He leaned in to speak, his cologne engulfing me in a pleasantly subtle cloud. I couldn’t identify all of the components, but its scent felt warm and masculine. Something woodsy and leathery, but with lighter notes of something floral and spicy with a hint of tobacco.
I scowled and shifted back to the square I imagined drawn in the air in front of my seat. If I stayed in it, hopefully no one would invade my personal space either. Ash did, but since I sort of knew him, it didn’t bother me as much. And he was a nice buffer to the crowd on his side.
Between sets, my mind wandered as techs raced around to reset the stage for the next band. I’d seen this a million times; hell, I’d lived it when I traveled with my dad for gigs during summers before he retired. The familiarity sent an aching longing through me, missing Dad and home and music.
I’d missed music so much, especially live music, and it was nice to be with someone who didn’t judge me for my taste. And being here somehow made me feel a little bit closer to everything I left behind.
