Chapter Seven
Ash
"Can I ask you a question?" Loralei asks over lunch, peeking at me from beneath her lashes from the opposite side of the small kitchen table.
Sunlight streams through the large windows all around the room, catching on lighter strands of her hair.
She's dressed in her own clothes again. There was no other choice.
By the time we made it back to the cabin, her borrowed sweats and t-shirt were covered in mud. So was she.
I regret nothing. I'll fuck her against a tree any day of the week.
But as soon as the question leaves her lip, I tense on instinct before forcing myself to relax.
Whatever she wants to ask, I doubt it's any of the nine thousand asinine questions everyone else always asks me.
That isn't Loralei. I may not know everything about her, but I've learned enough about her to know that much.
"Ask away," I say, leaning back in my chair with my hands clasped behind my head.
"Why are you here?" She grimaces as soon as the curious question bursts from her lips. "I'm sorry. That came out way ruder than I meant it. I just mean…"
"Why the fuck am I hiding out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere?"
"Yeah," she says, shrugging apologetically.
"Good question." I frown at a tiny divot in the wooden tabletop, still not entirely sure I know the answer to that question or that I'm comfortable with the answer, rather.
"You don't have to tell me," she whispers after a moment. "It's not really my business."
I'm not so sure that's true, not anymore. I think it might have become her business the second I found myself outside of the bathroom yesterday, hoping she'd let me in.
When I woke up this morning and she wasn't in the cabin, I panicked. I keep telling myself that this can't last, that we're too different. Truth is, even if that's what she needs—for me to be a fleeting moment in her life—it's not what I want.
I don't want this to be over when she goes back to her life tomorrow. I want to keep seeing her. I want to keep feeling the way I do right now. I want her, goddammit. Any way I can have her.
"I had a problem with alcohol fifteen years or so ago," I admit, my hands flat on the tabletop.
"I was young, dumb, and didn't have enough people around to tell me no, and I spiraled out of control.
My publicist managed to keep the worst of it out of the press, but it got really bad for a while.
" I swallow hard. "She found me passed out behind the wheel in my driveway after missing a recording session.
She sobered me up, and told me that I either get help or she was firing me as a client. "
"You got help?" Loralei asks.
I nod. "I knew I could have killed someone had I actually managed to take off that night.
I didn't even remember getting in the fucking car," I rasp.
"That scared the shit out of me. So Jess, my publicist, had me in rehab in a matter of hours, and I haven't had a drink since.
But I've been working my ass off for the last five years straight.
We've put out two albums, gone on a stadium tour, and have another album in the works.
A few days ago, I found myself sitting in the dark, staring at a bottle of whiskey, thinking about how nice it'd be to just… drink the whole goddamn thing."
Loralei makes a soft sound of distress, reaching across the table to place her hand in mine. I link our fingers together, grateful as hell.
"I knew I couldn't do that shit, so I told the band I was taking a hiatus, rented the first cabin I could find, and took off," I say, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.
"You needed a break," she says softly, empathy painted across her face.
"I've needed one for a while, but when everyone is counting on you, it's easy to put it off, you know?"
"I'm glad you didn't pick up the bottle, Ash."
"Me too."
"Do you still want to? Drink, I mean."
"You want the truth?"
She nods.
"It was never about the alcohol, beautiful.
It was everything you find at the bottom of a bottle that was so fucking tempting—the silence, the numbness, the escapism.
" When you're too drunk to function, shit doesn't feel so heavy, at least for a little while.
But when you come out the other side of a bender, it's always heavier than when you started.
I don't think I even realized when I started drinking back then why it appealed to me so much. It wasn't until I was two weeks into rehab that I figured that part out—it wasn't the parties or a lack of self-control that led me there. It was how fucking heavy everything had become.
I never intended to end up right back in the same goddamn place, carrying the same weight.
I thought if I just worked hard enough and kept myself busy, I'd be fine.
It's a fucking stupid thought to have when working so goddamn hard all the time doesn't silence the noise. It only adds more on top of it.
"Is it still?" she asks.
I stare at her for a moment, not entirely sure she's ready to hear the whole truth. And then I say fuck it and give it to her anyway. "Not since I almost ran over this sexy little librarian who likes to read filth and talk about possessed vibrators."
Her cheeks turn bright red, but the way she lights up tells me she's just as thrilled as she is embarrassed, and I can live with that.
"I mean it, baby. I feel better since meeting you than I have in months." I tip my head to the side, studying her. "You don't treat me like everyone else does. I'm allowed to just fucking be Ash for five minutes. That's some powerful shit right there."
I haven't been allowed to be him in a long time. I'm always performing, always putting on a smile, or a show, or faking my way through it for the sake of the press, the fans, or the band. There's someone in my ear, every minute of the day, asking for more, more, more.
"You want the truth?" she asks, and then waits until I nod before continuing, "I've been listening to you since I was a little girl.
I wasn't really sure what to say, do, or how to act at first. I'm still not entirely sure I've got it right.
But most celebrities who come through here act like celebrities.
Those who don't, don't for a reason." She shrugs.
"You rented a cabin in the middle of nowhere without an entourage.
I figured that meant you just wanted to be ordinary for a while.
And if there's one thing I know, it's how to be ordinary. "
"There is absolutely nothing ordinary about you, Loralei."
Her smile is wistful. "I'm just a boring librarian. Unless we're talking about books, I usually don't say much."
"You aren't shy."
"I am."
"You aren't."
She quirks a brow at me. "I talked to like four people my entire first two years of college. And my freshman year was nearly over before I realized one of them was the janitor." She shrugs self-consciously. "I've never been very good at making friends, dating, or talking to people."
"You talk to me."
"You're easy to talk to," she whispers, glancing down at our hands. "You make me feel…like what I have to say matters, even when it's not important."
My heart does this weird clenching thing, and I suddenly feel a little bulletproof.
"I like knowing that," I rumble, stroking her knuckles again. "I want to be someone you aren't afraid to talk to about anything, whether it's books, possessed cocks, your fantasies, what you're dealing with, or the goddamn weather. Listening to you isn't a hardship."
"Thanks," she whispers.
"Can I ask you a question now?"
She nods, her expression still soft and open.
"Why the library?"
"Books," she says simply, lighting up just like she did yesterday. "My whole life, I've wanted to be surrounded by books. Now, I am." A tiny laugh escapes her lips. "It's my happy place."
"I've always felt that way about music," I murmur. "Didn't care what I did, so long as it involved music."
"And now, look at you." She beams at me. "I guess we both got our dreams, didn't we?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I say, a little uneasy.
We subside into silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
Mine are worrisome as fuck. The library is her dream…
and it's about as far removed from my life as you can get.
She's shy, content with her life here. Is it really fair for me to insert myself into it and fuck it all up for her?
To force her to face public scrutiny and a constant barrage of attention just because I like the way I feel with her?
I don't know. I really fucking don't. But the thought of letting her walk out of here tomorrow twists my stomach into knots, too. Whatever this is between us is big, it's important, and it fucking matters.
"If I asked to keep seeing you, would you tell me to fuck off?" I ask, praying she doesn't tell me no. Maybe she should. Maybe that's what's best for her. But I'm selfish enough not to want this to end yet.
She glances up at me, startled. "You want to keep seeing me?"
"Hell yeah," I rasp, holding her gaze. "For as long as you'll let me."
"I…"
My heart clenches, convinced she's going to shoot me down.
"I'd like that, Ash," she whispers.
"Yeah?" I grin at her like an idiot.
"Yeah." She shoots me a tiny smile I feel in my heart. "I think I'd really like that."
I climb to my feet, circling around the table toward her. Before she can say anything, I lift her to her feet, pulling her into my arms. She burrows into me with the sweetest little sigh.
"You're going to change my whole life, aren't you?" she asks, her voice soft.
I don't know, but I'm absolutely positive that she's already changing mine.
"Maybe," I murmur, tipping her head back to take her mouth in a deep kiss. "Or maybe I'll just invite myself into it and never leave, baby."
She moans against my lips, melting into me, and I think, maybe, she wouldn't hate that at all.
Christ, she's perfect. So fucking perfect.
I scoop her up into my arms, striding out of the kitchen.
"Where are we going?"
"I'm going to get you naked. You're going to sit on my face. We're both going to come until we can't move."
"You should read more," she says with a soft moan, shifting restlessly in my arms. "Books give you all kinds of fantastic ideas."
I chuckle, dipping my head to claim her mouth in another deep kiss.