Page 40 of When the Stars Rise
He returns my smile and cocks a brow.You’re loving it.
If Dean and I sounded good together, Asher and I probably sound even better.
Asher leaves everything on the stage and doesn’t hold back. Plus, he knows how to work a crowd and use his looks to his advantage.
He gives off a vibe that a lot of girls fall for:I’m a hot bad boy with a chip on my shoulder and a shitload of baggage, and I’m going to seduce you with my music.
So it’s no surprise that his fans love him.
When the last note rings out, the crowd erupts into applause that gets even louder when Asher pulls me into his arms. His hands roam down my back and settle on my ass as he whispers in my ear, “Come back to my hotel with me.”
I open my mouth to shoot him down just as his lips crash against mine. “Asher,” I hiss. “What are you doing?” I give him a shove but it’s too late. His fans have their phones out and they’re capturing this little display that I know is all for show.
Undeterred, Asher laughs and wraps a lock of my hair around his finger, tugging on it as the corner of his mouth lifts in a half-smile. “It’s been fun. We were good together.”
I cock a brow, not so sure that’s true. “Were we?”
“Could’ve been. If you weren’t so hung up on another guy and I wasn’t so fucked up…” His voice trails off, and for a moment, he lets me see his vulnerability—the boy beneath the cool facade. “We could have had something real. Something good.”
I can hear it in his voice that he yearns for that kind of connection but doesn’t know how to find it. It makes me sad for him. I’ve had that and I know how good it can be.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Ash.”
He takes both of my hands in his and gives them a little squeeze. “See you around, Hayley. Stay sweet and innocent.” His smile is soft, like his voice. “Don’t let that big bad world change you.”
What would make him think I’m still sweet and innocent?
But it’s the kindest, most genuine version of Asher he’s ever shown me, and I know this is goodbye.
He squeezes my hands again before releasing them. “I’m glad you’re safe from that asshole.”
A reminder that I’m not only here because Bastian asked me to attend. I wanted to make sure Asher was okay, too.
The guy who was stalking me threatened Asher, too. He didn’t want us to be together and it enraged him when he saw me with Asher in London.
I don’t know what compels me to do it, but I pull Asher into a hug, and after a moment’s hesitation, he hugs me back. There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s the kind of hug you give an old friend when you say goodbye. But I get the feeling that Asher has never had a platonic hug in his life.
I pull away. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
The sadness in his eyes is gone, replaced by his characteristic smirk. “Been doing it all my life, babe.”
We’re back to babe again. My cue to leave. I pivot and walk away.
But I guess Asher knows my name, and he also knows there won’t be any repeat performances for us.
I doubt he’ll lose any sleep over it. There’s no shortage of willing females in Asher’s life—moths to a flame. If you get too close, you’re going to get burned. I recognized that from the start and saw the red flags from day one. So, I protected my heart by never letting Asher in, and he returned the favor.
No hearts were broken, and we both came out unscathed, with my love for Noah still fully intact.
I guess I was hoping that casual sex with a guy I never truly got to know would fill the void. What a silly thing to believe.
Our only true connection was music. I think I knew all along that Asher was using me to get some media attention and a record deal. I didn’t really care though. My entire career wasmade possible by my connections so why not pay it forward by helping a talented musician along the way. I introduced Asher to Bastian, told him Ash Tuesday was the real deal, and left the rest up to them.
On my way to the door, I stop to say goodbye to Bastian, who’s holding court.
The people at his table are hanging on his every word, and the woman next to him is batting her lashes and giving him a look of adoration, but as usual, Bastian looks chronically bored.
When I stop next to his table, he stands to greet me. He’s wearing a black velvet jacket over a metallic silver button-down with a long silk scarf, leather pants, and a black fedora. Dark hair that nearly touches his collar, silver rings on all his fingers, and high, sharp cheekbones that could slice through a sheet of paper,People Magazinenamed him “Sexiest Man Alive.”
