Page 16 of Sweet Oblivion

Nash,

We don’t have cards here like in the States. But I wanted to wish you happy birthday the old-fashioned way. I ordered you tickets to the Asher Smith concert, which I’ll forward to you next time I’m on the mountain. I know he’s your favorite.

Hugs,

Aya

I gaped at the card. “Holy…”

“What?” Steve asked.

My smile widened. “We’re going to see Asher Smith. Aya got me tickets.”

Steve raised his eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have gotten tickets through your dad’s record label?”

I shook my head. “Dad doesn’t like Asher. I guess something went down between them when I was little. Anyway, no way he’d ask for tickets.” I smiled. “But now I have to go. Because Aya got them for me.”

And because it would rub my dad’s face in it a little. Couldn’t be sorry about that. Not at all.

The weight of my confrontation with him yesterday hit me again. He’d never pressured me like that before.

“So those are from Aya? The pen pal?” Steve asked.

“Yeah. She’s great.”

“Is she pretty?”

I nodded, my throat tight. I hesitated a moment before I brought up the most recent photo she’d sent me. She was standing next to a pony, her hand on its neck. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a braid that draped over her shoulder and chest.

The V-neck of her T-shirt showed the top swells of a fabulous set of tits. Thanks to my mother’s profession, I’d seen my fair share of scantily clad ladies, and Aya put them all to shame.

I turned my phone around and set it down.

Steve picked it up and studied her for a minute. He looked up at me. “She’s very pretty.”

She had sweet, pink lips I wanted to taste. Lips that I’d bet molded to mine perfectly. I wanted to suck her plump lower one into my mouth and nibble on it. I wanted to do a lot more than that, actually. I’d been fantasizing about getting with Aya since she sent me that first photo—no, since my toad of a ninth-grade English teacher had posted Aya’s image on the smart board.

Steve shot me a look, reminding me he’d spoken and I’d nearly fallen into the fantasy of fucking Aya right there in the kitchen.

I swallowed the heaviness of desire. “Yeah. I guess.”

Steve shook his head. “Don’t fall for a pretty face, Nash.”

I snorted. “I’m not going to fall for her. She’s in Nepal.” At least for now. “Plus, I don’t do girlfriends.”

That was 100% true—much to my female classmates’ dismay. I had no interest in taking any of them out. Why should I? Instead I could hang out with Cam and his family, visit my mom on set for a photo shoot or one of her acting roles, or tour with my dad. I’d made out with my fair share of girls during the past couple of years, but I’d never pursued anything more.

I didn’t want more, especially not if relationships were filled with recriminating glances and stony silences like my parents’. Fuck, neither one of them was even here, at home, for my birthday because they couldn’t stand the possibility of running into the other.

“Want a piece?” I asked, attempting to send my mind elsewhere. I hated thinking about my parents.

Steve nodded. “I like cake.”

“This one’s good,” I said as I cut him a slice even bigger than mine.

“Your mom said she’s going to call,” he told me.

She wouldn’t, not now that it was happy hour, but I didn’t bother to respond. Just like I didn’t bother asking where my dad was.

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