Write or Wrong (Common Threads #9)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

WAKE ME

ASA

He glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was after 3am. He’d completely lost track of time.

After making cookies, he’d gone to have dinner with his dad. Out to the burbs for gnocchi. He’d thought about inviting her but didn’t think Cas would approve.

Maybe next time. Maybe not. The whole idea of it made him nervous. One thing at a time. Inviting friends over to meet his dad was often an event. Not because anyone planned it that way, it was just how his dad was.

He’d made it back to Lincoln Park around midnight but instead of going to bed, he reached for the guitar again.

And after three hours of jotting down notes and playing with a melody, he was hungry. For cookies.

He set the guitar back in its stand and stared at the sheet of paper he’d been scribbling on. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written something just for himself. It had been a while.

He definitely deserved a cookie, he decided.

He should be able to sneak upstairs and not disturb anyone.

And by anyone, he meant Zara.

Her bedroom was two floors above the kitchen but he still tried to be as quiet as possible. Not because he thought she’d get upset if he was loud—she wouldn’t. But because it would be rude. He was a guest and he was not going to take advantage of her goodness.

He left his bedroom and didn’t close the door behind him. The downstairs was mostly dark except for the track lighting in the stair well.

Skipping the first three steps, he took two long strides to the first landing, turned?—

And stopped.

He almost yelled but he recognized Zara immediately and his brain processed the information quickly enough that his surprise died and turned to confusion.

She was sleeping on a step, her head resting on her folded hands on the step above, an open book fallen at her feet.

What in the world was she doing here?

He looked around, for what he didn’t know. Looking for someone to tell him what to do because he had no idea.

Should he wake her up? Leave her there?

Right away, he dismissed the idea of leaving her there.

But wake her? She was so tired that she’d fallen asleep on the stairs?

Nothing about this situation made any sense. He looked back the way he’d come. Was she… No. That would be ridiculous.

He picked up the book. The Hobbit . He shook his head. Nerd.

He set the book aside and rubbed the back of his head, having already made his decision but not knowing how to act on it.

Guess he could just…pick her up.

He practiced the motion with his arms. He would just…put one arm under her bent legs, the other kind of under her lower back, and lift.

Okay.

That didn’t seem too bad.

He looked up the stairs and back down. The elevator would make sense. What did he have to prove by passing out before making it up the four flights?

He took a breath, preparing himself.

Dropping into an uneven squat on the stairs, he slid his arms under her and pulled her close.

Slowly, he straightened.

Her warm body pressed against him in various places that he tried to ignore. She was softness and curves and she smelled incredible. It was familiar but he couldn’t place it. Or maybe he just didn’t know what it was called.

Carefully, he descended the stairs and carefully turned the knob to the elevator.

The door opened and he grimaced at the bright light inside.

She didn’t seem to notice though.

It was smaller than he expected.

Rich people were weird.

He angled his arms and tilted her towards his body. Her arms cradled close to her chest and she turned into him.

He hit the button for the top floor. It lurched upwards and still, she didn’t wake up.

He stared down at her peaceful face. Her hair was in a messy knot on top of her head, her pink lips slightly open, her thick black lashes resting against her tan skin.

Her pajamas were fucking adorable. Pants and a matching top, pale pink with little white buttons.

The elevator came to a halt, he opened the door and stepped out.

And stopped.

He’d never been up here before.

The elevator opened to a short hallway that became the main bedroom. He carried Zara to the bed and carefully laid her down on the open covers.

She must’ve been in bed to start.

What was she doing sleeping in the stairwell?

He pulled the covers over her, his eyes flicking to the balcony on the other side of the bed.

It looked like simple glass doors. And her roof was connected to the roof next door.

No wonder Cas was so intense about the security. How the man slept at night knowing the only thing in between his client and any crazy stalker out there was a couple inches of glass, Asa didn’t know.

In fact, now that he knew that, he might have to have a conversation with Cas himself.

Zara stirred and his attention returned to her.

Her eyes fluttered and she squinted at him.

“You fell asleep on the stairs,” he said.

He couldn’t tell if she was awake enough to really hear him.

She blinked at him sleepily.

“I’m sorry I’m a mess,” she said.

His lips tugged up on one side and he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead.

“You’re not a mess,” he reassured her.

“But I am,” she said. “When I am most myself, I am a chaos.”

She rolled onto her side and hugged a pillow before returning to whatever dreamland she’d briefly stepped out of.

He hoped it was peaceful and beautiful there. She deserved at least that.

ZARA

Consciousness claimed her slowly. Images from her sleep flickered behind her eyelids and she sat up.

She glanced around the room but it was empty.

The space in the bed beside her had not been slept in.

But she had a distinct image of Asa standing in her bedroom.

She rubbed her eyes and tried to run her fingers through her hair but they got stuck immediately. So much for the bun on top of her head keeping her hair nice.

Her fingers searched through her hair until they found the stretchy band.

She got out of bed and went to the bathroom, still tugging and pulling on the elastic. After using the facilities, she washed her hands and took a look at what was going on with her hair.

It was as if it had a whole life outside of her. Like when she went to bed, her hair went out to party and had come home with a hangover to be proud of.

It was large and in charge.

Dee Snyder wished he could get the kind of volume she happened to acquire in her sleep.

She left the bathroom and stopped in her bedroom again.

Why did she think Asa had been in here?

Had she dreamt it?

She went down to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to get her half and half.

And closed it.

Asa sat at the island, eating a bowl of cereal and reading a book.

Her book.

He glanced up and lifted his chin in greeting.

His dark hair was still wet from a recent shower, his beard freshly trimmed. He was dressed in jeans and a white, Black Flag t-shirt, his tattoos spilling out of the sleeves.

Asa, so far whilst living with her, had yet to grace her with his presence in the morning. If she’d known he was going to be there, she may have tried a little harder to tame her hair.

He looked so casual sitting at the bar, eating breakfast. Like he did it every day.

How did he get her book?

She blinked in the direction of the stairs, trying to remember if she’d brought it with her last night… She’d been reading in bed…took her book to read in the stairwell…Asa had been playing…

She frowned harder, like the force of the frown would fill in the rest of the missing information.

Did she leave the book on the stairs and he’d picked it up?

Also, why was he in the kitchen? Not that she wasn’t happy to see him. But they’d just spent some quality time together the day before. And going by his previous behavior, Asa usually avoided her right after that.

So many questions.

“What…?” She didn’t know which one she wanted to ask first.

His eyes drifted to her hair and his lips twitched.

“It’s a little early to be electrocuting yourself, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned. She touched her hair, still staring at him, then let her hand drop to her side. “What are you doing?”

“Having breakfast,” he answered.

“Right.” Taking a deep breath that she hoped would shove more oxygen into her foggy brain, she shuffled over to the coffee maker. “Do you work today?” she asked, popping in a coffee pod and closing the lid.

“Nope,” he replied.

She glanced over her shoulder. His head was dipped to read from the aged book on the counter in front of him. He flipped a page, his eyes tracking up to the top. He was really reading.

Reaching for a mug out of the cupboard above the coffee maker, she wondered what his plans were. Maybe he wanted to hang out again? Was that why he was in the kitchen? Had he been waiting for her?

She shoved aside the little bit of delight that slid through her at the idea.

Yesterday had been awesome. A little awkward for her, internally anyway, but she could tell he was trying and that meant… Well, it meant more than she could really say at the moment.

“Can I ask you a really weird personal question?”

She darted him a look but he seemed to be speaking directly to his cereal.

“Go for it.”

“Why did you pick this place to live?”

She frowned, watching the coffee sputter from its spout and fill the cup below. “Like, why Chicago?” she asked, taking the full cup and turning around to face him.

He shook his head and finished chewing. “No. I mean this house. Why here and not like a penthouse downtown or, I don’t know, something with more security? Like where Hannah and Sunshine live?”

She narrowed one eye at him. “Have you been talking to Cas?”

He chuckled.

Where was the half and half? She’d gotten it out of the fridge, right?

“Um,” she blinked against the heavy feeling in her eyelids and opened the fridge again. There it was. “I didn’t want to draw a lot of attention. But I also didn’t want to feel so…” She wagged her head back and forth, pouring the cream into her coffee. “ Away from everyone. I love Chicago, you know? The energy and the people and even the light is different here. Being hidden away in a fortress or a tower?” She shook her head and screwed the lid back on and returned the carton to the fridge. “I feel like that would defeat the purpose of coming here.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time as he frowned in thought. His spoon held aloft but the cereal forgotten.

“You have an opinion about that,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“You’re trying to live like a regular person,” he said but it sounded like an accusation.

Irritation ran down her spine and her left eye twitched. “I am a regular person.”

He tipped his head to the side and made a noise in his throat. “You’re not though.”

Acid churned in her empty stomach and heat rushed up her neck. “I am,” she said, but even she didn’t sound like she was convinced.

She put her cup down so hard the coffee sloshed up the side. “I’m a regular person, Ace. I’m not better or worse than anyone else. I breathe and eat and have trouble sleeping and fight with my boss and love my family and want better for the world.” She closed her eyes and took a breath as she tried to sound less defensive. “I’m a person. I’m just a person. Just like anyone else.”

His expression shifted as she spoke—going from thoughtful to watchful and then something else she wasn’t familiar with. He left his seat and came around the island, stopping in front of her, stern and focused.

“Zara,” he said softly. “You’re a person. Absolutely. But you know…” He dipped his head and caught her eyes. “You know… nothing about your life is regular.”

Her sinuses burned and she blinked away the moisture. “I know.” But she hated that it was true. She didn’t want it anymore.

Which immediately made her feel guilty and ungrateful. She had so much more than so many and she was crying about it?

He put a finger under her chin and lifted. His dark eyes scanned her face, soft and serious. “You are a person. Of that I have no doubt. But you’re not regular folks. Even without all the albums and the awards and the fame. You’re top tier folks.”

He was being funny again and it was almost working. Maybe because he was still saying real things, just in a funny way.

She smiled and his eyes dropped to her mouth and held. His hand fell away and he took a step back.

“Can I ask you a weird personal question?” she asked, picking her coffee up again and changing the subject.

His lips pursed and he nodded once.

“Why are you reading my book? Did you take that from my room?”

His mouth pulled up on the side in that lopsided smirky hot way and then he rubbed his thumb over his lower lip.

She should have known by his reaction that his answer wasn’t going to be the distraction she was seeking.

“You, uh, you fell asleep on the stairs last night. I carried you upstairs.”

What?

She blinked and shook her head, positive she hadn’t heard him right.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“I fell asleep on the stairs,” she repeated.

He nodded.

“You carried me. Upstairs.” Her mind raced through everything she could remember from the day before.

She felt queasy. Heat rushed up her neck to her cheeks.

“Well, not up the stairs. I took the elevator,” he clarified.

“That makes sense,” she whispered, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Hey.” He stepped forward and grabbed her chin in a gentle pinch. “Stop.”

Her eyes darted to his.

“Stop chewing on that lip. It’s fucking raw.” He sniffed a laugh and let her go. The heat from his touch lingered on her skin. “What were you doing sleeping on the stairs?” he asked, completely unaware that her brain had stopped working entirely.

When was the last time someone had called her out on her lip biting? Her dad, maybe? It had been years since she’d struggled with the habit but it had come back over the last month without her really noticing until she saw the evidence when she looked in the mirror.

She measured the distance between them. Took in his relaxed posture and open body language.

“Are we friends?” she asked.

He shifted, expression turning guarded but he didn’t turn away.

“Because I want to be super upfront with you,” she hurried on. “But I have no idea if we’re friends.”

He looked at her like he thought she was being weird but he wasn’t going to stop her. “Yes, we’re friends.”

She nodded and crossed her arms. Okay, she could do this. They were friends. New friends, but still friends. She could tell him the truth and he wouldn’t disappear on her again.

“Since leaving New York, I’ve been having a hard time sleeping. My mind just…goes. Like it’s on a loop of all my greatest worst mistakes.”

He made a face.

“A couple nights ago…” She swallowed. She could do this. She wasn’t a crazy stalker. She had crazy stalkers. She was just insecure and weird. Not. A. Stalker. “I was awake and I heard you come home and I went downstairs because I wanted to ask you why you hate me.”

Shock and concern rippled across his face but she pushed on.

“And I heard you playing,” she said softly. Big swallow. “And singing.” Another slow breath. Was it hot in here? “And I…liked it.” she shrugged. “It was very soothing… And I know that makes me sound weird and creepy but whatever,” she rushed out as fast as she could. “It was nice. And I was able to sleep.”

There.

She’d told him.

He narrowed his eyes and she shifted uncomfortably.

“You’ve been sleeping in the stairwell?” he asked.

“No!” She huffed. “That’s the first time I’ve actually fallen asleep before getting back to my room.”

His gaze dropped to the floor and he tugged at his ear. “I had no idea,” he muttered.

“I know. I was afraid to tell you because I was afraid you’d…stop.” She scrubbed a hand over her face like it would wipe away all of her discomfort.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “It’s a little weird.”

She glared at him. “Whatever.”

“I didn’t know you weren’t sleeping.” His teasing tone faded to one of concern.

“It’s fine,” she said, waving it away. “I think my body clock is all screwed up.”

He eyed her skeptically but didn’t argue. She heard it anyway. She’d been on a new schedule for a while now. It wasn’t her body clock.

She also noticed he completely bypassed her listening to him play and sing. If that was good or bad, she didn’t know.

He hummed, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “What do you have planned for today?” he asked.

She shook her head once. “Nothing,” she replied definitively. That had been the point in coming to Chicago, hadn’t it? She’d wanted a break?

But not being able to go places and do things was starting to make her feel trapped in a different way.

Asa hit her with those deep brown eyes as he poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. And then he said the last thing she expected.

“Do you think Cas would let me take you out on the motorcycle?”