Write or Wrong (Common Threads #9)

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FINALLY // BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

ASA

He found Shawn in Studio Y.

Since dinner the other night, he’d been thinking about what Nikki had said. The last time he and Shawn had spoken in depth it had been about whether or not it was a good idea to have a muse.

But that had been…shit, October? Eight months ago? Had it really been that long since the NMAs?

Time was weird. Some days lasted forever; some days were a blur.

And all the days with Zara were in vivid color.

He had nothing to compare it to. He couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d felt so dangerously, haphazardly, completely alive. Not in his youth, not when Winking Pete had gotten signed, not their first international tour. All of those moments had been amazing but they’d also been underlined by constant stress and anxiety. Worrying about Shelby’s mental state, wondering if she’d be sober enough to do the show, waiting for her to sabotage all their hard work.

Not to mention the emotional toll it had taken on the band, on their family, on his relationships. He’d gotten so used to carrying the weight of it that he had no idea what it felt like to put it down.

The night he’d opened up to Zara about Shelby had been confusing. Her reaction triggered an unpleasant memory. Of trying to communicate to Gemma what he was feeling and how fucked up Shelby was being and having her turn it around on him.

For some reason he thought Zara was going to think the same things. Was going to take Shelby’s side or question his perspective.

She hadn’t though.

And it was still confusing him.

But the confusion had slowly melted into comfort and now… Now he was always waiting to see her again. Waiting for her to let him know what she needed.

Because without knowing how, without being asked, she’d given him more than he knew he wanted. Space to feel, without telling him he was wrong. The ability to connect with music in a way that didn’t feel like a risk.

He was feeling things for her he had no business feeling. But he didn’t want to fight it. It was softer and more sincere than those spikes of electricity he’d experienced months and months ago.

It was all those things she’d given to him—given back to him—that gave him the confidence to seek out Shawn and see if he could help the kid out.

The young musician was sitting behind the drum kit in the dark. Not playing. Not moving. Just staring off into space, too much on his mind.

Nikki was right, he was too in his head. Asa could read it clearly from across the room.

“Are we jammin’?” Asa asked, picking up a nearby bass and plugging it in. He looped the strap over his shoulder.

“Huh?” Shawn shook himself out of his thoughts. “Oh, hey,” he said, finally seeing Asa.

Asa started tuning the bass. “What are we messing with today?”

Shawn huffed a laugh and tapped the drumsticks on the top of the snare. “I don’t know.”

The kid sounded so glum Asa wanted to hug him. But he knew from experience that wouldn’t help anything. Unless it was a hug from Zara, but that was beside the point.

Getting the bass sound where he liked it, he gave a few experimental thrums.

Shawn lifted the sticks and he poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Asa waited. After a minute, Shawn started a beat, simple and easy.

There was a reason Asa enjoyed playing the rhythm section in a band. It was the heart of the song. Without it, the music was lifeless.

Shawn set the tempo and Asa provided the low-end sound of a tune they found along the way. Together they created a groove they got lost in.

How long had it been since Asa had just jammed with someone? Sure, he played the piano with Zara occasionally. But those weren’t his songs. Those were sounds well established by others and easy to fit into.

The rush of creating and collaborating came over him like a wild wave and pulled him out to the untamed ocean of possibility.

He wasn’t sure when he closed his eyes, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was miles and miles of open space. Unowned and undefined.

And words began to float through his brain. Snippets of ideas, words that conjured images of golden skin and bright eyes, delicate twists of lyrics that were just there, at the edge of where he’d been hiding.

He could almost touch them.

He had no idea how long they played. Sweat trickled along his hairline and his shirt stuck to his back. He glanced over at Shawn to see the kid wiping perspiration out of his eyes while maintaining the beat, his face flushed with exertion as he shot a lopsided grin to Asa.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention.

Zara stood in the doorway.

He hadn’t seen her since breakfast on the terrace that morning. At the time she been in pajamas—sky blue with little white clouds on them. Her hair had been epically messy. She’d laughed at a joke he’d told about wishing he had dip for the chip on his shoulder.

Every time he saw her, he was stunned by her beauty. Whether it was in pajamas or in jeans or evening wear. She could wear anything or nothing and… fuck. His fingers slipped at the idea of her in nothing. He regained his rhythm and shook his head at himself.

He should probably look away from her. But he didn’t want to.

Her long black hair was down, the layers framing her face. She wore those three silver necklaces that seemed to be her daily staple. He couldn’t tell if she was wearing earrings because of her hair. Black leggings, a cropped Bon Jovi t-shirt, Doc Martins.

Effortlessly, casually cool.

And those eyes that seemed to shift and change with her mood and time of day. Sometimes amber gold like they were now. And sometimes when she was tired and introspective, they were dark and deep, making it difficult to distinguish where her pupil ended and the iris began.

When those eyes were on him, he felt like he could do anything.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later he even noticed Nikki standing right beside her.

Shawn acknowledged their audience and stopped playing. Naturally Asa did too.

Shawn stood up and shoved his sweaty hair out of his face. He came out from around the drum kit and Asa, having returned the bass to its stand, met him in a hand clasp and back slap.

“That was…” Shawn shook his head and folded his hands on top of his head. He didn’t need to expound because Asa got it.

“Same, dude,” Asa returned.

“I’d like to track that,” Shawn said, sounding almost shy. “Would you mind?”

“Doing a drum track for you?” Asa repeated. “You got it.” He backed toward the stairs that led up to Studio Y’s control room. “How long do you need?”

“I’ll be ready in… fifteen?” Shawn was moving toward the door and Nikki and Zara. “I just wanna check in with Z.”

Asa nodded, his gaze lingering briefly on Zara’s smile as she greeted Shawn.

Huh.

Something uncomfortable curled in his stomach and he pushed it down. Taking the steps two at a time, he entered the control room and started flipping switches. His gaze drifted out the glass window to where Shawn and Zara were talking below.

They were about the same age, weren’t they? Or close.

“Hey.”

He flinched at Nikki’s unexpected presence. “What’s up?” he greeted casually, taking a seat on the stool where he couldn’t see Shawn and Zara anymore.

“How’s it going?” Nikki asked, sidling up to him.

He puffed a laugh at her pretend casualness. “Fine. How’s it going for you?”

“Fine.”

He finished turning on what he’d need to use and swiveled to face his longtime friend.

She regarded him quietly, her cool blue gaze narrowing as a small smile tugged at her mouth.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. But her expression said it was something. And whatever that something was made her happy.

He suspected the reason but he didn’t want to give her false hope. So instead of addressing it, he picked up a nearby rubber band and flicked it at her. She swatted at it too late and it hit her on the shoulder.

“Be careful,” she said in a teasing tone.

“About what?” Asa asked, picking the rubber band up off the floor.

Nikki didn’t answer and he glanced back up at her.

She had a look on her face he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before. Which said a lot because he’d been with her the first time she’d bought tampons.

In other words, they knew each other. Well.

But he didn’t know that particular look.

She studied him for a beat and that soft smile grew a little. “You’re still relatively new here. But those of us who’ve been around for a while know this studio isn’t ordinary. It has magical powers.”

“Magic, huh?” he asked with a chuckle. “Magic isn’t real, Nik. Pretty sure I’m safe in that department.” He spun back around to see if Shawn was ready yet.

Nikki was a goof. Though he couldn’t really argue with her belief system. After all, she’d made an award-winning album within these walls and André had miraculously gotten his shit together too. To her, that had probably felt a lot like magic.

“It’s okay, Ace,” she said, a not so small edge of smugness in her tone. “You don’t have to believe in magic for it to still knock you on your ass.”

He spun around to say something snarky in return, but she was gone.

“Fuckin’ nut,” he muttered.

Shawn returned to the drum kit and shot him a thumbs up through the window.

And Asa completely forgot about Nikki’s warning.

He made it home in time for dinner that night. It had been a very productive day for both him and Shawn.

Shawn had moved around some music.

And Asa had moved around some internal baggage.

It felt…good. Really good.

He and Zara made linguini together and split a bottle of wine. They ate on the roof terrace, talking about anything and everything as the sun sank low in the sky. They did the dishes together and she asked if he wanted to open another bottle of wine.

He really did.

Grabbing a new bottle of Riesling from the wine fridge (he’s learned it was Zara’s favorite), he poured them each a glass that would be considered way too full and joined her in the music room. Which was how he’d been referring to where the piano was.

She was still in black leggings and the cropped Bon Jovi tee but she was barefoot. He walked in as she was putting her hair into a sloppy bun on top of her head. She sat crossed legged on an ottoman with an electric guitar in her lap. It was plugged into a small amp he didn’t remember seeing in there before.

“Can I show you something?” she asked as he handed her the glass.

“Absolutely,” he replied, taking a seat at her feet.

She smiled, taking a drink of wine. “You’re so great,” she said. She set the glass aside and adjusted the guitar on her lap. “Now this is still very, very rough so bear with me,” she warned.

And then she proceeded to blow him away.

It wasn’t her typical sound. It was moody and rich, the chords pulled from somewhere deep in her soul. She was finger picking on a Fender Stratocaster (because of course she was) like she’d invented the concept. The sound reverberated through the air and into his soul.

This fucking woman.

The song didn’t have words. But he heard the story in it. The way it rose and fell, the chorus, the bridge. The sound took hold of something in his chest and he wondered if every song she wrote would have this effect on him.

She finished and reached for her glass of wine. “What do you think?” she asked, taking a long drink.

What did he think? How was he supposed to put what he’d just experienced into words that wouldn’t sound trite or cliché?

How was he supposed to tell her that she wasn’t like any musician he had ever known? That she was unlike anyone he’d ever known?

She walked around this world with her heart held up in front of her, sharing it with a world that didn’t deserve it. Daring it to be better, do better, feel better.

“I know it needs, you know, all the things. But…” She shrugged.

“It’s amazing,” he said softly. She flashed a quick smile. He took a deep breath. “Is this what you’ve been working on?” he asked, hearing the jagged edges in his voice. Because it had hit him that deep.

She nodded.

“Why are you sharing it with me, tesoro ?”

Her chin lifted slightly and she blinked like she didn’t understand the question. “Because I trust you to tell me the truth,” she said simply.

He bit down on his lower lip and shook his head slowly. “It’s incredible,” he said honestly. “I can feel the story taking shape in the sound.”

Her eyes brightened and she beamed at him. “Yeah?” Like she was surprised.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his smile spreading across his face. “You got anything else you want to blow my mind with?” he asked.

She swallowed down the last of her wine and set the empty glass aside. “If I have your attention, I will use it,” she confessed unashamedly. She didn’t wait for a response before launching into a completely new song. This one a little slower, a little brighter. Still extraordinary.

He finished his wine and laid down on the floor, letting her music wash over him. She played three or four more things, each one a gift. Maybe it was the buzz from the wine, maybe he was just intoxicated by her absolute breathless talent. Maybe it was just the nearness of her, the joy and peace that she gave so freely. He didn’t know the cause, he didn’t want to know. But a thought drifted through his mind, unencumbered and subtle.

Slow like progress and wanted like a kiss,

Your eyes are a gift,

that hurt as much as heal…

His mind swam with words and phrases. Some in order, most not. Apprehension and joy curled in his chest as he realized what was happening.

Without asking, without pushing, without even knowing, Zara had unlocked that sacred door in him that he’d forgotten about. Behind which he’d boxed up all of his hope, trust, and words.

What was the opposite of an existential crisis?

“Are you okay?”

He opened his eyes, not realizing he’d even closed them, to find dark gold ones staring back at him.

Zara had put down the guitar and joined him on the floor. She was up on her knees with a concerned frown dipping her black eyebrows.

“Are you drunk?” she asked, narrowing one eye. “Do you need a designated driver back downstairs?” She blinked. “Or I guess you could just take the elevator. That would make more sense.” She sat back on her heels. “You gotta watch out for the wine. It sneaks up on you.”

He chuckled, lacing his hands together and putting them behind his head. “Not drunk. Just enjoying the moment.” He watched her eyes flick over his body and back to his face. She blinked at him and he knew he wasn’t supposed to have seen her do that.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything you want,” he replied easily. He’d learned that Zara’s questions could range from silly and innocent to deeply personal. He’d also learned that he could trust her with whatever answer he gave. Even if it was a non-answer. She just accepted it at face value.

“Can I touch your beard?” she asked seriously, her lips twisted to the side.

He barked a laugh, surprised by her yet again.

“Why?” he asked, still chuckling.

She huffed. “Because I want to know what it feels like. I’ve never touched a beard before.”

He narrowed his eyes at her very open and honest expression and thought about the men she’d dated.

“None of the men you’ve been with ever had a beard?” he asked, trying to remember if he’d ever seen Logan with facial hair.

She rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Ace. You’re smarter than that. Just because I’ve been photographed with someone doesn’t mean we dated. The only guy I’ve ever been with is Logan.” She stuck out her tongue and gagged. “And he never even tried to grow facial hair.”

She’d only ever been with Logan? He felt two things in that moment. One, jealousy like he couldn’t fucking believe that Logan had ever touched her. And two, shame for even questioning her in the first place. She didn’t lie to him. She’d never even stretched the truth.

“Go ahead,” he said wiggling his shoulders like he was bracing himself. He closed his eyes and tipped his chin a little higher. “Touch away.”

She made a little excited noise in her throat that made him smile.

He could so easily fall in love with this girl. He was halfway there already.

And not the popstar, not the woman who sold out stadiums and had countless number one hits. But the beautiful weirdo who squeaked when she was delighted and couldn’t cook an egg to save her life.

Tentative fingers touched the hair on his face along his jaw line, down to his chin, and back up again.

“Oh, it’s soft,” she whispered.

He cracked one eye open. She was so close to him, the heat of her body washed against his side.

“You didn’t think it’d be soft?” he asked, trying not to move his mouth too much.

“I hoped,” she said, her fingers gained confidence and she used both hands on each cheek. “I thought it might be scratchy.”

“I condition it,” he said.

Her thumb brushed over his lower lip and heat swept through his body and he swallowed.

“Do you have to trim it every day?” she asked, still stroking him in a way that somehow felt more intimate than he’d expected.

“Mm-hm.”

Her eyes snapped to his. This close he could see her dilated pupils and the pink tinge on her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

But her thumb brushed his lip again and he held himself as still as he could when everything in him wanted to catch her by the back of her neck and pull her to him.

“I think I want to kiss you,” she said, sounding slightly confused and a lot breathless.

His pulse thundered below his skin and he knew he should end this. Push her hands away and blame it on too much wine.

But he didn’t.

He reached out a hand and curved it around her jaw, his fingers reaching back to the nape of her neck, his thumb resting on her cheek. He did an ab curl, bracing himself up on his other forearm.

She didn’t move back and they met in the middle, their lips separated by millimeters.

He took a deep breath, inhaling her sweet scent that had started to haunt his dreams. Her warm breath washed over his mouth and he closed his eyes.

“Ace,” she whispered. “Is this a good idea?” Her lips brushed over his as she spoke, sending spikes of awareness to his lower extremities.

He wet his lips with his tongue and it grazed hers in the process. Electricity shot through him, making it difficult to concentrate on anything other than her mouth and its proximity to his.

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, trying to keep his head clear before he did something they both regretted.

If she wanted this, she would have to make the final move. She’d have to close the gap because he didn’t want her to feel pressured in any way. People were always expecting so many things from her.

He wasn’t going to be another voice pulling her in a direction she wasn’t even sure she wanted to go.

Their mouths hovered too close to be considered innocent though. A line had been blurred. They could still go back. If she pulled away, he wouldn’t stop her and he would never bring it up.

But this moment, her heat, her breath, her mouth, he would dream about this moment for the rest of his life. Because he’d been this close to everything he never knew he wanted.

A soft whimper washed over his mouth just before she kissed him. He let out a groan of relief as the warmth of her mouth crashed into his. His fingers flexed against the back of her head and he pulled her closer.

Her lips opened over his and his tongue answered the invitation, tasting wine and honey. The softness of her mouth, coupled with the heat of her breath, went to his head, making him dizzy with desire.

Slow, slow, so fucking slow, he moved his mouth against hers. Paying attention to every pressure, every tremble, every breath.

It was just a kiss. Kisses happened every day. But not like this. And not to him. Electricity and warmth spread through his body, setting his fingertips on fire. He used those fingertips to delve deeper into her thick hair.

Her tongue slipped past his lips and he groaned. Fuck.

Her hands slid from his face to his neck, the back of his head, nails lightly scratching his scalp. Her touch filled him with heart-pounding awareness. He was flying, he was falling, he was so fucking alive in that moment he knew he’d never be the same. Her kiss had changed him. Was still changing him. It burned through every doubt and hesitation in his mind and all he wanted was to be lost in her forever.

Since he’d met her, he’d done his best to keep himself carefully distanced. As if something in him knew that the second he found out how her lips felt on his, how her hair felt in his fingers, he’d never want to go back. Life before was nothing compared to the violent awakening of his soul in her arms.

The house alarm started going off and both of their phones started ringing simultaneously.

They broke apart wearing matching frowns and breathing heavily. She blinked, disoriented, and realized what was happening a second before he did.

“The alarm,” she said, scrambling to her feet and out of his arms.

“Wait,” he said as she started for the nearest alarm panel on the wall. Asa pulled his phone out of his pocket, his heart still hammering, his body still on fire. She glanced at him over her shoulder.

“Cas,” Asa answered, his eyes on Zara.

“Are you both there?” Cas asked earnestly.

“Yeah, she’s checking the cameras.” Asa got to his feet, willing his body to calm down. His heart began to pound for a different reason as his mind sluggishly processed the change of focus.

Why was the house alarm going off?

Zara barely glanced at the camera view before she snorted and waved a hand at him. “Oh. It’s fine.” She went to the front door they never used and Asa had basically forgotten was there.

“Wait,” Asa said, worry rippling through him. He started in that direction, intent on stopping her, but she opened the door.

“What?” Cas asked in his ear. “What’s going on?”

Asa backed up, chuckled, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s her family.”

Cas said something that Asa wouldn’t repeat and then, “Be there in five.”

Asa hung up and forced a smile as Zara introduced him to her family.

And any hope he had of finishing that kiss died a sad quiet death.