Steam (Homecoming Hearts #4)(24)

Because try as he might, Ashby could never seem to stay away from the bad boys.

He thought maybe he had broken that cycle with Gordon. Ashby never wanted to be with anyone like that again for as long as he lived. But Trent had a reputation. Only last week he had gotten in trouble for punching a photographer and from what Ashby had seen in person, Trent definitely had some issues rolling around. But as much as he cautioned himself, he couldn’t help but be tentatively happy as he picked an outfit to wear down to the bar. Because Trent was also sweet. And kind.

Ashby looked at the clothes he had hanging up in his little temporary wardrobe. He touched one of the prettier tops he’d brought. As much as he felt like getting a bit dressed up to meet Trent, he didn’t want to scare him off. Besides, it was difficult to gauge how people here would react.

So he played it safe with a super comfy, huge cream cable knit jumper – or sweater as the Yanks called it. He smiled, enjoying adapting to the different lingo again after not being in the country for a few years. He paired the jumper with a pair of black leggings and black fluffy boots – the same ones he’d worn to dash out to the pool the night before. He chuckled as he put them on. That sight obviously hadn’t sent Trent running, so maybe Ashby could risk being a little flamboyant.

He decided to go for a bit of makeup. Nothing too extreme. But foundation and concealer, a hint of contorting and a touch of pencil to fill in his brows. The most outrageous thing he put on was a slick of pale pink gloss, just enough to give his lips some shine. It wasn’t like he was going to be kissing anyone tonight, so he could indulge in a little glamor.

His hair ruffled and aftershave applied, Ashby sauntered out the door leaving everything behind. He didn’t need his phone because he was taking a break from everything. It felt wonderful. He could charge all his food and drinks to the room, so all he needed was his key, which he slid into the side of his boot once the door was locked. He also brought his lip gloss with him, which he dropped down into the other boot. He felt remarkably free as he sashayed down the corridor toward the lobby.

As he was making his way to the restaurant, he spied a familiar furry face. “Oh!” he cried as he approached Trent’s puppy for the second time. Looking up, he quickly confirmed the person holding the leash was not Trent. But there was enough familial resemblance for Ashby to guess this was Trent’s dad that he’d mentioned was working here. “Hello,” he said as he got closer to the older man. He held out his hand. “You must be Mr. Charles. I met Trent and your lovely puppy here yesterday.”

The old man narrowed his eyes. Ashby got the sudden feeling that maybe he’d put his foot in it. “You know Trent?” Mr. Charles asked. His eyes raked over Ashby and Ashby got that familiar prickling anxiety when he wondered how much he was being judged. He was very glad he hadn’t gone for a more outlandish outfit, but he did try and lick the gloss off his lips as subtly as he could.

“Yes,” he said brightly. “I’m by myself on holiday and he’s taken me under his wing, somewhat.”

For a second Mr. Charles continued to stare. Then his face lit up with a tentative smile that Ashby also recognized from Trent’s face. “That’s nice,” he said quietly, nodding to himself. “I’m glad he’s being good to you.”

Ashby hadn’t been expecting that, but it felt reassuring. Like Trent’s dad approved of him or something. “He’s been very kind,” he assured him. “He taught me how to snowboard in, like, an afternoon. Which shows he has the patience of a saint.” Ashby chuckled, then looked down as the puppy scratched at his leg. “Do you mind if I pet him?” he asked. He’d learned his lesson the day before about making assumptions with other people’s dogs.

“Sure,” Mr. Charles said. “It looks like he likes you.” The puppy had flopped onto his back, demanding belly rubs.

Ashby crouched down and obliged. “Oh, that’s because he’s a good boy, aren’t you? Yes, you are. What’s his name?”

“Merlin.” Ashby looked up. Mr. Charles sounded sad for some reason.

“That’s a great name,” he told Mr. Charles.

“Very English,” Mr. Charles commented with a rueful laugh.

Ashby tilted his head and smiled as he continued to rub the pup’s fat belly. “It is indeed,” he said warmly. Reluctantly, he stood back up. It was getting close to six o’clock. “I’m actually going to meet Trent now. You’d be more than welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

But Mr. Charles got that sad look on his face again. “That’s very kind of you,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose where they’d slipped a little. “But we’ll let you boys have fun. Maybe…you could tell him I said to have a nice night, though?”

Ashby beamed at him. “Of course,” he assured him. He gave Merlin one last rub on the head, then watched the two of them walk away.

He sighed. There was a story there, he was sure. But he wasn’t going to pry. Perhaps Trent would elaborate when Ashby relayed his dad’s message.

While no one else was in the corridor, Ashby sneakily pulled his gloss out from the side of his boot and reapplied it to his lips. Feeling buoyed from his brief chat with Mr. Charles, Ashby walked toward the bar, wondering if Trent had beat him there.