Mind Games

by T. K. Leigh

  “I could probably tell you which one has dimples, which one has the goatee, and which one has the ‘adorable’ birthmark right above his lip,” I retort sarcastically. “They’re just so dreamy.” I bat my lashes, mimicking the way some of my patients fawn over their teen idols.

  He chuckles. “Well, I couldn’t. I’d never even listened to their music until I got that phone call. After doing so, I wasn’t sure why they called me. Or how they even found me. My stuff isn’t the pop music they typically perform.”

  “Right. So…”

  “When I asked about it, their manager told me they were tired of the normal ‘dog and pony show’, as they called it. Wanted to go for a different, more mature sound now that they were in their mid-twenties. If they didn’t want to die the same death every other boy band seemed to, they needed to do something to make themselves attractive to a broader audience.”

  “Take the ‘boy’ out of boy band,” I offer.

  “Exactly. They’d brought in some of the top songwriters to help with the transition, but no one ‘got it’. They were all professionals who’d made a living writing melodies and lyrics that were popular. The band already knew what was popular. They didn’t want that anymore. So they started hanging out in area bars in various cities, checking out the local music scene. Incognito, of course.”

  “And they just so happened to be at a bar in LA where you were performing?” I tilt my head at him, then quickly return my attention to the piano when I hit another wrong note. After looking at Asher’s fingers to figure out where we were in the progression, I recenter my hands on an F-major-seven chord, regaining my confidence.

  “They were. Well, one of them was anyway. Grabbed a postcard I was giving out containing free download codes of the songs I’d written. Played it for the rest of the guys, then their manager. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  “So you’re actually writing the songs for Fallen Grace’s new album?” It seems so far-fetched, like something he’d tell a girl in a bar to get her to sleep with him.

  “I am.”

  My fingers fall from the piano as it sinks in. Why didn’t he mention anything earlier? Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he’s under a non-disclosure agreement. That would make sense, considering the band probably hasn’t gone public with this new direction yet.

  “The way you made it sound, you were only here for the weekend.”

  “I never said anything like that.” He shrugs. “You assumed.”

  “But you still didn’t correct my assumption when it was obvious what I was thinking, especially when I asked how long it takes to get here from LA. Why?”

  The music fades away as he stops playing, facing me. “I guess I wanted to make sure you were the same Isabella I remember. That you’d want to spend time with me for me. Not because of all this.” He waves a hand around. Guitars of every brand hanging along the wall. A drum kit sitting in the corner that any serious drummer would drool over. Even a wet bar with top-shelf liquor so you don’t have to venture into the house for a drink.

  Resting my hand on his arm, I lock eyes with him, refusing to look at anything else. “I’ve always enjoyed spending time with you for you, Asher. Everything else has always just been…noise.”

  A tiny exhale of air escapes his lips as they part, a slow smile building. He scoops my hand off his arm, holding it in his, running his thumb along my skin. This time, he doesn’t have an overly amorous waitress as an excuse for touching me. He doesn’t have any excuse, other than he wants to, needs to. I try to tell myself it’s a platonic gesture between two old friends, but the tenderness with which he brushes my knuckles, the darkening of his eyes, tell me that’s not the case. Tell me we could very well be playing with fire.

  Just like we did all those years ago.

  An outside force pulls me toward him, a tether keeping our bodies bound to each other. As I lean closer, Asher shifts his eyes to my lips. His shoulders rise and fall in a quicker pattern, his grip on my hand tightening to the point of being nearly painful. A tumultuous tug-of-war plagues his expression. Desire, then guilt. Infatuation, then indifference. Hunger, then repulsion.

  His conscience winning out, he jumps up from the bench, stalking toward the door. “It’s almost sunrise.” His voice trembles with the aftereffects of his internal battle.

  I can’t even pretend to be surprised by his abrupt retreat. That seems to be the game we’re playing. One step forward. A giant leap backward. A promise to move ahead. Then a swift change of course. Or maybe change of heart.

  “It’s beautiful off the back patio. You should really see it. It’ll be like old times.”

  I sigh, briefly closing my eyes before standing. “Like old times,” I repeat, meeting him in the doorway.

  He offers me an apologetic smile, which I return with a nod of understanding. Then he leads me out of the recording studio and down the long corridor lined with framed prints of some of the biggest names in the industry. When we emerge into the living area, he continues toward a set of French doors, opening one and allowing me to step outside before him.

  “This way.” He rests his hand on my lower back, steering me through a luxurious patio, complete with a fire pit, past what appears to be a regulation pool, and up to the edge of the property. A glow has already begun to sneak out behind the mountains in the distance.

  I’d always thought Las Vegas to be flat. For the most part, it is, but this house sits on a parcel of land that’s elevated enough so I can see the Strip with no obstruction.

  “Not my favorite city in the world, but it’s home to one hell of a sunrise.”

  “Even better than at the lake house?”

  A smile radiates through his features. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” He rests his forearms on the steel fence surrounding the property, peering into the distance, deep in thought. I do the same, basking in what I know will be our last few minutes together. We’ve settled into our old routine. A few drinks. A bite to eat, although it used to be in the form of roasting marshmallows and hotdogs. Playing music. Watching the sunrise. Then going our separate ways.

  “I hope it’s not too bold of me to say…” He leans toward me, “but the reason I loved those sunrises was because of who I often had the pleasure of watching them with.” The heat of his breath on my neck sends an involuntary tremble racing through me.

  “Are you cold?” he asks, oblivious to the fact that my reaction was because of him. Because of his words. His honesty. His everything. “Let me grab a sweatshirt for you.” He starts toward the house, but I wrap my hand around his bicep, stopping him.

  “Don’t.” I quickly release my hold on him, increasing the space between us before I’ll no longer be able to control myself. “I wouldn’t want you to miss the sunrise.”

  I resume my position, subconsciously rubbing my arms to fight against the chill as I watch the glow make its gradual ascent over the peaks. It’s unlike any sunrise I’ve seen. One side of the mountain is in light. The other still shrouded in relative darkness. Like an eclipse.

  As I marvel at how beautiful this planet truly is, a presence approaches from behind. Asher wraps me in his embrace, pulling me into his strong body.

  “Glad to see some things never change,” he comments, running his calloused hands up and down my arms.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’re still as stubborn as you were all those years ago. When we sat and watched the sunrise together at the lake, you never let me run inside to grab you a sweatshirt. Why’s that?”

  I’m not sure what comes over me. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s feeling like this is a dream. Or maybe it’s the idea that I’ve longed to be in this man’s presence again for the past eight years. So instead of brushing off his question, I do something I normally wouldn’t. I offer him a piece of the truth, regardless of how he’ll respond. In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane heading back to my life, and he’ll return to his. May as well take a risk.

  “I d
idn’t want to lose the moment,” I answer in a soft voice. “Didn’t want it to disappear.”

  I don’t have to turn around to feel the smile on his lips. He draws me closer, the sear of his breath on my nape spreading a glow within. “I won’t disappear.”

  “Here we are,” Asher announces as he pulls the car into the valet area under the awning leading to the lobby.

  “Here we are,” I repeat, pretending not to be as forlorn over the idea of saying goodbye as I am. The entire drive here, I wanted to tell him to take me back so we could have another day, another hour, another minute. But it’s after seven in the morning. Chloe and I are supposed to leave for the airport at eleven. That only gives me a few hours to get a little sleep so I’m not a complete zombie.

  But I’d gladly trade those few hours of sleep for more time with Asher. To recreate whatever I experienced the last several hours.

  He holds my gaze, his expression making me think there’s a question on the tip of his tongue. As seemed to be the case all night, he shakes it off, stepping out of the car and making his way around to my side, helping me to my feet.

  “Promise you’ll stay in touch.” He brushes that same errant strand of hair behind my ear. “That you won’t shut me out because—”

  “I promise,” I respond, saving him from having to bring up Jessie.

  “Good.”

  I shift on my feet, uncertain of the protocol in saying goodbye to your ex-fiancé’s brother, whom you fantasized about kissing on more than one occasion throughout the night. I doubt there is one.

  “Well then…” I clear my throat, stepping back. “It was—”

  Before I can utter another syllable, he advances and clutches my face in his hands. It steals my breath, a current pulsating through me. I swallow hard as I’m forced to stare into the fervor in his deep-set eyes, years’ worth of longing swirling into a tidal pool of lust.

  “Izzy.” The way my name rolls off his tongue has my insides coiling and tightening. It’s husky, yet still prayer-like. A wanton benediction. A sensual communion.

  My virtuous sin.

  His lips inch closer and closer as his grasp on my face becomes harsher, more punishing, more consuming. I can physically feel the battle waging, his mouth struggling to advance while the wounded pieces of him sound a retreat, yanking him back.

  His chest heaves, muscles shaking, everything about this moment so surreal, so hypnotizing, so fucking perfect. I don’t even care if he actually kisses me or not. The knowledge he wants to is enough.

  With a growl, he tears his hands from me, anguish and turmoil covering his expression. A beat passes, then another as he hangs his head, attempting to collect himself. When he returns his eyes to mine, they’re no longer inflamed, those of an untamed beast. They’re even, albeit still flickering with want.

  He expels a sigh and brushes his lips against my forehead. The touch is slight, yet profound. More profound than any act of intimacy I’ve experienced these last few years. Because with just the most subtle of touches, I feel the meaning behind it.

  “Thanks for tonight. It was exactly what I needed.”

  “Me, too,” I respond with a half-hearted smile when he pulls back.

  “Go get some rest.”

  “You, too.”

  “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried,” he admits.

  “No?”

  He treats me to one last devilish grin, slowly shaking his head. “No. Can’t waste this.”

  “Waste what?”

  He grabs my hand in his, bringing my knuckles up to his lips. His eyes remain glued to mine as he feathers a soft kiss across the skin.

  “You inspire me.” He allows his words to linger in the air between us. Then he drops his hold on me, rushing to his car and jumping behind the wheel. He cranks the ignition, which roars to life, grabbing the attention of a few valet attendants and early-morning stragglers making their way to whatever hotel they’re staying at.

  As he’s about to drive off, he glances back at me. “You’ve always inspired me.”

  Chapter Six

  I stare out the windows of the airline lounge, watching airplanes prepare to depart. I’ve always found airports fascinating. It probably comes from my mother’s background as a flight attendant and her love of flying, but something about air travel speaks to the romantic in me, even if it’s nowhere as glamorous as it once was.

  “Thank God for espresso.” Chloe’s voice cuts through my moment of peace. I shift my eyes forward as she plops onto the chair across from me. “It’s good for what ails you. Like I always say…”

  “I know, I know. When you need something stronger than coffee but weaker than cocaine.”

  “Precisely. So, back to work tomorrow?” She avoids my eyes, looking out at the runway.

  “Don’t think you’re getting out of this so easily,” I warn, then lean toward her, lowering my voice. “Who was that guy I saw you practically humping in the lobby?”

  “Humping? Did you just say humping?”

  I take a sip of my coffee, needing it to keep my eyelids open. Thankfully, my body has learned to function on minimal sleep so the few hours I had once I returned to my room is enough to trick my body into thinking it got more.

  “You’re deflecting. Just like you did the entire ride to the airport.”

  “Which lasted all of ten minutes.”

  “Still…” I raise my brows in expectation, a silent warning I have no intention of dropping the subject until she talks.

  When I walked into the lobby to meet Chloe earlier, I was convinced my eyes were deceiving me. Or there was a Chloe doppelgänger roaming the streets of Vegas. The last thing I expected to encounter was my friend, who’s always shunned any semblance of romance, wrapped in a man’s embrace, about to kiss him. Until a group of rowdy guys, who didn’t look old enough to drink, bumped into her, making her lose her balance. We’d been in Vegas for four days and she never mentioned meeting a guy. Based on the way he looked at her, this was not their first encounter.

  Then again, I haven’t told her about running into Asher. I’m not prepared for the barrage of questions she’ll inevitably have. I’m still uncertain how to answer my own, especially after his admission that I’ve always inspired him.

  “You can’t avoid this forever. We do have a five-hour flight where I can continue to pester you until you tell me what I want to know. And I can be very annoying. You should know that by now.”

  Her mouth in a tight line, she studies me for a few moments, then sighs. “Fine.” Uncrossing her arms, she brings her espresso back to her lips, taking a sip. “Remember the club we went to our first night here?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’d rather forget it.”

  “Wouldn’t we all.” She mirrors my own sentiments on the ridiculousness of this weekend.

  “So…” I arch an expectant brow.

  “Remember when I excused myself to get a drink after Bernadette demanded blow job shots at the top of her lungs?”

  I nod.

  “Well, after I got my drink and was on my way back, some guy came up to me thinking I was a prostitute. I tried to tell him I wasn’t, but I’m pretty sure he was dropped on his head too many times as a child because he refused to believe me.”

  “So… What? You see him in the lobby this morning and decide to kiss him?”

  She scrunches up her face. “God no. If I ever run into him again, I’ll knee him in the balls, like I should have the other night. But before I had the chance, an arm wrapped around me and pried me out of his grasp.”

  “An arm?” I give her a sideways glance.

  A smile unlike any I’ve seen on my friend’s face pulls on her mouth, serenity engulfing her. “A really muscular and defined arm dressed in a blazer.” She stares into the distance for another beat before returning her eyes to mine. “He ended up sending the guy packing with his balls between his legs. Then I thought he was trying to pick me up because he called me ‘Dick Girl’. In reality, he was calling
me that because of the stupid penis necklace Bernadette insisted we all wear.”

  “I didn’t think you were gone that long.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Apparently long enough for him to leave an impression on you.”

  “That, and we kept bumping into each other all weekend. The other night, I went to the Italian restaurant off the casino floor to get something to eat before the striptease and pole dance classes. He was there. Sat next to me. Had this incredibly sensual conversation. Paid for my tab. Then this morning, as I was riding down to the lobby, the elevator stopped on the floor below mine. Wouldn’t you know it? When the doors opened, he stood there, waiting to get on. So we walked to the lobby together, then he left.”

  “But—”

  “He came back. Said he couldn’t leave without kissing me.” Her mouth crawls into a dreamy smile again, a blush blooming on her cheeks as she seems to glow from the memory.

  I can’t remember the last time Chloe has talked about a guy like this. Hell, I can’t remember the last time she’s talked about a guy…period. She has her reasons, the most prominent being an alcoholic mother she’s been taking care of the past decade. She doesn’t think she can manage both.

  “And, considering you saw the rest, that brings you up to speed.”

  “So… Who is he?”

  She sips her espresso. “Like I told you earlier, just some guy.”

  “His name would suffice.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know it.”

  My jaw slackens and I lean toward her. “You mean to tell me that, of the three times you’ve seen him—”

  “Four, if you count him coming back to try to kiss me.”

  “Whatever…” I wave her off. “That’s not the point. The point is that you never thought to ask him his name?”

  “I did think of it.”

  “A name is usually the first thing I ask. You’d think with all the time you spent ‘bumping’ into each other this weekend, you would have gotten that much.”