Torn(36)

I wish he could. It might help me. I feel the same way about him. I think about him constantly. I love being around him. I'm aware enough to know that the draw at first was because of who he is. It's shifted now though. I've never had as much fun with a man before, in or out of my bed. I like the way he looks at me. I love the way he touches me.

He lifts his head to gaze at me. "I need to go to Philly next week. My manager booked a show there. It's a small venue. It's more a rehearsal for my tour than anything but I need to do it to make her happy."

"Philadelphia?" I look down at my jeans. "I bet people are lined up for days to get tickets to that."

"They sold out fast," he says. "It's one of the few shows I'm doing before my tour officially kicks off. I'd like you to be there, Falon. It's on Thursday night."

"Thursday night?" I repeat back after a minute. "That's next Thursday night?"

My mind is racing. I never thought we'd move beyond the late night pizza dates and the sex in my bed. I've never been to his place. The closest I've made it is here. I suddenly realize that maybe bringing me here, to his recording studio, actually means more than taking me to his apartment. This place feels personal and intimate. He's at ease here.

Asking me to go with him to one of his shows feels like a big deal. It is a big deal. I don't know why I don't just tell him I'll be there. I want to be there.

"I'm not the guy to ask about the going rate for concert photography."

"Concert photography?" I close my eyes. It's not a date. He wants me to work. He's asking me to shoot the concert for him.

"Isn't that what you call it? I don't handle that part of things, but we'll pay you well."

"I've never shot a concert before." I sigh deeply. "You should probably hire someone there for that. I can ask around, get a few recommendations if you need me to."

"I want you to do it, Falon." He scratches the side of his nose. "I want you there. I trust you more than any other photographer."

I feel like I'm on a ship, cresting a wave of assurance every few minutes before I crash below the surface of doubt. Does he want me there for me or for my photography skills? There's only one way to find out.

"You want me to go to Philadelphia so I can take pictures of you performing?" I rub my hand across my chin. "I just want to be clear, Asher."

He tilts his head a touch as his brows knit together. "You're the only photographer I want there. If anyone is going to take pictures of me on stage in Philadelphia, I want that person to be you."





CHAPTER 28


Asher




I've pretty much f*cked this up as royally as I could have. I thought I was doing Falon a favor by asking her to come to Philly with me next week to take some photos of me and the band performing. Dita brought up the idea of hiring Falon last night when she called me to tell me that I was playing there. She didn't ask if I wanted to do the show. She booked the venue, spoke to my band behind my back and then she arranged for the tickets to go on sale before she bothered to pick up her phone to call me. I was stuck, yet again, in a web she'd woven for me. She billed it as a surprise thank you show for my fans, but I know what it is. It's punishment for me backing out of those European dates and it's her way of making sure I'm ready to take center stage on the world tour. Philly is a chance for her to see me in action. That's what it really is.

I don't give a shit at this point. The break from New York may actually be good. My dad still hasn't called me back, most likely because he's chasing after another money hungry model. My mom is basking in the attention she always gets from her friends in Los Angeles. Gabriel is fussing over his wife, Isla, and Caleb is training to be the next Olympic gold medalist judging by how often he sends me selfies of himself running at five in the morning.

All of their lives are moving forward without a missed beat. Mine is stuck back at the moment I heard that goddamn voicemail. They're all Fosters, even my mom, who still has the name because of all the invitations to private parties it gets her. I took the name for granted. Now, whenever I sign my name to anything or see it written in a headline, I die a little inside. I don't know who the f*ck I am anymore. If that wasn't enough, I've gone and pissed off the one person who has kept me afloat through this.

I expected her to jump at the chance to come to Philly to shoot pictures of me while I perform. She didn't respond the way I thought she would. She just crossed her arms over her chest and tensed her jaw.

"Dita showed me some of the shots you took of me in your studio." I rub my palm on my thigh, hoping the denim will absorb the moisture that's settled there. "I know there are other photographers who could handle the concert, Falon, but your work is impressive. You'll capture me the way I want. I have no doubt about that."

I know, from my limited experience with her, that appealing to her creativity is the way to go. The woman is beautiful, she's the most sensuous lover I've ever had, but beyond that, she's talented. It's f*cking amazing how talented she is.

"I'm glad you liked the shots, Asher."

I can't tell her that I want her to take on the job because I'd rather she collect that fee than some guy in Philadelphia who doesn't need the money the way she does. She's young. Her studio is in the heart of Manhattan. She has a one bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. If I can help lessen her financial load by sending work her way, I'm going to do it.