Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Asher pauses in front of the mic and looks over. I'm surprised his gaze has followed me up here.
He watches as I sit.
I watch as a new sense of comfort washes over him.
Happiness.
His wide grin as he plays his first note could light up this whole City.
The crowd erupts.
The stage is very much still his home, even after all these years.
His voice vibrates in the most overcoming way. Somehow I've managed to tune everything else out. It's just his sound and my dry mouth, the blood rushing, loudly pumping in my ears. It competes with his enchanting music but doesn't actually stand a chance. Each stroke of his guitar sends a shiver down my spine. The way he keeps having to look away so no one follows his stare has me unable to take my eyes off of him.
Mouth against the mic, guitar in his arms, he's alive.
He’s a presence.
And I'm nothing more than a willing participant, no better than any of those other New York's down in the VIP section. Worse, it's in this instant I know I'll take whatever he wants to give.
Soon the I love you's get so loud that he stops to quiet everyone down, only he does it in a totally charming way. He jokes, and we all eat up every word. He's outgoing, totally different than the Asher I've come to know.
No, you gotta keep your clothes on, love.
I realize a few bras have landed on the stage.
Come on, my Mum's here.
Everyone laughs, and as a few stagehands arrive to clear the articles of clothing he thanks them and starts his next song.
God he's adorable.
He heads to the edge of the catwalk and a group rushes over. He sings to them, and when he turns around he looks up at me, almost as if he's embarrassed. I roll my eyes and he chuckles before playing the familiar notes of one of his older songs.
Everyone sings along.
It's magical.
My body buzzes. I can't figure out why. It's not like I haven't heard him sing before. I've seen him in concert many times! Yet I’m blown away.
Alright I'm gonna do one more. Something new. This good, Joe?
One of the sound guys throws his thumb up.
Asher's distinct voice and the soothing melody of his newest song takes me to another world. It’s a catchy tune that without a doubt is going to be a hit.
With a huge smile his new song bleeds into his most popular one, and the crowd goes wild.
I can almost hear him in my head. When this is all over I picture him rushing up to me, grabbing me like he sometimes does, taking me in his arms and shouting.
Fuck this is amazing.
He's home, and I'm happy for him.
His strong fingers glide along the strings, but as he looks up with that gleeful expression I suddenly can't stop imagining the way they’d move over me. My breath quickens, and I force myself to look away because it’s too much.
Today was a fairytale but tomorrow I'll return to the real story, and that's all.
I wipe the wetness from the corners of my eyes, and the next time I look over he's handing his guitar to a stagehand, security is crowded around him, and he's heading to an area off to the side to pose with fans and sign things.
I'm unable to watch. I can't look at him right now, not without evoking all these feelings that I'm not ready to face. For years saying I loved him was a safe joke because it wasn't real. He was never close to being a remote possibility, and I'm not sure that he is now but I know that I want him to be.
Shit.
I spot Brad. He's still chatting with a group. His eyes widen as he sees me approach, but I can take a hint. He's working hard, and it's clear it will pay off for him.
I continue on.
I don't know if I can do this.
Wanting Asher will ruin what we have.
I'm enjoying our friendship, more than I've ever liked anything before.
Suddenly my phone goes off.
I realize how deep I'm in by the way my heart flutters, thinking it's him.
It's not.
I mean I should have known it wouldn't be. He's busy with pictures and autographs, and this is exactly what I'm talking about - the type of trouble I'd be in if I let this go further. I'd be the pathetic, sad girl waiting for him to finish being amazing, seeking any glimpse of whatever time of day he'd give me.
I take the lanyard off my neck, stuff it in my pocket, and head for the lobby. I'm gonna gracefully bow out now before I make a complete fool out of myself.
I look down at my phone and read the text.
It's Sam.
She wants to know if I’m here and crap. I totally forgot she was coming.