Dirty. Sexy. Love.[*Complete*]

Chapter Twelve -- Asher

Asher

After the block-fair, I didn't take her home, and there wasn't any wild sex. Instead, we went back to Gretchen's and passed out in my bed together. Seeing all the cellphones out toward the end of the song worried me some and I didn't expect Jez to admit that we had whatever we had to Zach, so when I passed out with her in my arms I felt high.

We slipped into a routine that I hadn't even allowed myself to hope for. One with random check-in texts and dinner plans. The whole thing with the video had just about run its course too—the questions stopped coming while we did our press meetings.

Jez coordinated by phone with us before each of the little junkets we did. As far as the world was concerned, the biggest news for the band was the tour and Dan's engagement to the Instagram girl.

A week into the tour, I sat in my hotel room by myself after the post-show party ended. I was drunk off my ass and did something which even I thought was stupid. I took a picture of myself snuggling a small pack of unfiltered luckies like Jez smoked and posted it to Instagram. I'd done the same thing with bottles of alcohol in the past, so I didn't expect people to say much about it. And they didn't, other than a whole bunch of people making comments instantly about how I'll hurt my pretty voice.

While still staring at the phone, I got a notice that Jez posted a picture, and so I checked it out. It was her in my MC5 shirt, holding a glass of wine with #Goodnight and #SomeOneIsMissed. I almost liked it... then remembered everyone else could see I liked it, so instead, I called her.

It rang and rang and rang. I knew Jez did it on purpose and it made that part of myself that hated submitting to her bristle and itch.

"Hey," she answered right when I thought she wouldn't. Just hearing her voice made me hard.

"Saw your post."

"Yeah, saw yours too. How's... New York?"

"Boring. They say when you play Madison Square Garden that's supposed to be the sign that you've made it. The only thing I like about it is the afterparty, but even that's not the same."

"Asking for a pass?" She sounded a little annoyed, and I didn't blame her.

"No. But I was wondering if you'd like to fly out this weekend."

"Sure." She laughed. "Fuck, you won't believe the shit I did this morning."

"Oh?" I smirked.

"Yeah, so you know that nasty fucking Kombucha shit you have in my fridge."

"It's not nasty. It's good," I countered with a grin.

"No, it's gross."

"I'm surprised you can taste anything at all with your taste buds deadened from smoking and all the crap you eat."

"Hush. So, I got up this morning and made my coffee before contacting the radio station in... Tulsa or whatever about the interview. I was getting out the creamer, and I saw that fucking bottle. For whatever bizarre and unexplainable reason, I opened it and left it on the counter to stink up my kitchen while I worked."

"Sounds like someone's got it bad." I chuckled.

"Says the guy who takes pictures of himself kissing cigarette packs goodnight."

"Guess I've got it bad too. What time is there?"

"A little after one." She sighed. "Go to sleep."

"Why?"

"Because it's a little after four and you need your rest."

"You're coming this weekend though, right?"