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She was asleep before she hit the pillow.
ASA
It was the curiosity.
Overwhelming and obtrusive, it pounded through his body like a pulse.
He hadn’t seen her or talked to her since the day she’d helped him move in.
And that had been deliberate. He had to make sure her generosity wouldn’t backfire on her. Just the thought of Shelby finding out how close he was to everything she thought she deserved…it was enough to keep him in hiding when the coolest person he had ever met was in the same house.
But almost two weeks later, not one media publication had found out he was living in her basement. He knew because he’d checked.
He’d gone from having mentions of her muted, to turning on alerts for his own name.
All had been quiet on the internet.
It felt too good to be true. And that had made his pause longer. Just to make sure. He thought he hadn’t been conspicuous but then he’d received a string of aggressive texts from Nikki yesterday.
NIKKI: What the hell are you doing?
ASA: I’m out with Steiny, why?
NIKKI: Pull your head outta your ass. We both know you’re not stupid. Stop avoiding Zara. She already thinks you hate her.
ASA: What?? I don’t hate her!
NIKKI: *I* know that. But you’re acting like a bad friend. You’re a lot of things, Ace, but a shitty friend isn’t one.
NIKKI: I know you’re going through shit and you don’t want to talk about it blah, blah, freaking blah. But you’re not the only one going through shit. She needs someone who gets it. And. You. Get. It. Be the friend I know is in there somewhere.
Obviously he hadn’t been as lowkey as he’d hoped.
And truthfully, he didn’t want to avoid her. He wanted to hang out with her all the time. Hear her thoughts, get her opinions, her laughs, and her sincerity. Every time he was in the same room with her, he wanted to soak up every drop of goodness he could get.
And it freaked him out.
Last night he’d stayed at Steiny’s as long as he could before going back to Lincoln Park. He had every intention of going straight to bed but his eyes landed on his guitar as he shut the door and something happened.
Something that he hadn’t let happen in a while.
He wasn’t ready to talk about it, or even define it. It was just a moment, like a long held deep breath releasing all at once. A relaxation of all his strict borders and limits. Something that was just his.
When he’d woken up that morning, he’d felt…different. Something inside had shifted imperceptibly.
And it had made room for the curiosity that now pulsed through his veins.
What was she doing? Did she really think he hated her? Why was she here? In Chicago? Why was she so good to everyone around her?
He paused—one hand on the railing, one foot on the first step.
Her clear voice spilled down the stairs and cuddled his eardrums. She was singing “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters” unaccompanied and it was…amazing. Her vocals were always strong, but there was a freedom to them now that was full of power and soul.
He rubbed his hand over his chest and let out a deep breath.
His legs carried him up the stairs, no longer checking with his head. He reached the doorway to the large, open kitchen, and leaned a shoulder against the wall, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
Zara was in light blue short shorts, a beautiful contrast against her tan legs. Her oversized cropped white t-shirt showed a tan midriff that was hard to look away from. Her black hair was in a thick braid so haphazardly entwined that several tendrils had escaped.
