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“Want me to show you your room?” I ask as we step into the foyer.
Asher spins in a circle, head back as he stares up at the two-story ceiling with high windows and a ridiculous crystal chandelier. “I don’t care where I sleep. I want to hit the pool.”
“Sounds good. Don’t you want to change in your room, though?” He grins, toes off his shoes and grabs the waistband of his pants.
I slap a hand over my eyes. “Dude. I love you, but I’m not ready to skinny dip with you.”
“Relax. I’ve got swim shorts on.”
I lower my hand to see that he is actually wearing tiny swim briefs. His clothes are strewn on the floor around him and he’s rubbing his hands together like he’s ready to race through the house and cannonball into chlorine water.
“I have to change, but you can wait for me in the pool.”
I lead him through the house to the back and my Olympic-sized in-ground pool. Unlike most of the fancy houses in Hollywood, mine isn’t on the side of a mountain. I’m in lower Bel-Air where it’s quiet and I don’t feel like I’m above it all.
As soon as we’re outside, Asher races to the pool and does indeed cannon ball into it. Barley and Begonia watch, going very still, from behind their newly installed fences. Their homes and play areas are smaller here, but they seem happy enough with it.
It won’t be long until their kids arrive, according to a local vet.
I head to my room and change. Before I go back outside, I shoot a text to Heidi about getting Asher in to see the tattoo artist he mentioned.
***
“It’s done,” Asher says as he walks into my office. He’s in black cargo pants and a black, fitted t-shirt. His idea of being dressed up, apparently.
I spin on my office chair, glad for a break from looking over my tour itinerary. “Let’s see it.”
He pulls off his shirt to reveal white gauze taped to his left pec. Wincing, he peels back the tape and pulls down the gauze to reveal a puffy purple flower with the word Clover underneath.
It’s a delicate tattoo for such a rugged guy, but no odder than the pineapple tattoo on his biceps. “That’s a hell of a statement. You must be serious about Clover.”
He smiles fondly, love on every line of his face. “I’m as serious as it gets. She’s the only one for me.”
“I’m happy for you. For both of you.” It’s true. And if his requited love for Clover makes me miss Honey even more fiercely, that’s my problem, not his.
“What you doing up here?” Asher asks. “If I had a pool like yours, I’d never leave it.”
“Contrary to popular belief, rock stars actually have to work pretty hard.” Asher and I spent hours in the pool yesterday and sat up late talking after we had dinner, but the conversation hadn’t gone beyond life experiences and sports talk. Neither of us mentioned Honey. I didn’t want to push, even though I’m dying to know how she’s doing.
I didn’t invite him here for that.
“Do you like the work?” Asher plops onto the couch near the door, shirt still off.
“How is Honey?” I can’t resist asking a moment longer.
Asher’s smile is slow. “This is the real reason you invited me all the way out here, isn’t it? You didn’t have to hook me up with a tattoo appointment first, man. You could have just asked.”
“I don’t want some half-assed answer or for you to protect her feelings because your loyalty is to her.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “So, my loyalty should be to you now, right? Bros before hos?”
“No.” Is that what he thinks of me? “Not at all. I just want to know—”
Asher doubles over and bursts out laughing. “Your face… Priceless.”
I grab the closest object, a pen, and throw it at him. It bounces off his shoulder and hits the floor. He sits up, oblivious, and swipes at damp eyes. “I like you, Jaxon. I like you for Honey. I want you two to get back together, so I’m going to be honest with you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
