by Alexis Daria
His arm tightened around her waist. He braced himself against the dresser with his free hand. And with his eyes still on hers in the mirror, he pumped into her until, with a grimace and a groan, his body stiffened and he followed her over the edge.
The silence in the room was deafening without the sounds of their pants and moans. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Her mind was utterly blank, still focused on her body and taking stock of her limbs, her balance, and where they were still joined.
Then, a single thought came to her: Ashton Suarez had just fucked her brains out. And she’d loved it.
After a moment, Ashton slipped out of her. He kept his arm around her waist and shifted her to the bed. She sank onto it, boneless, as he stumbled drunkenly into the bathroom. Finally, she closed her eyes.
She thought she fell asleep, drifting in hazy bliss. Then Ashton stroked her arm. “Jasmine. Me voy.”
“Hmm?” Wait, he was leaving?
She sat up and saw he was already fully dressed.
“If I stay, neither of us will get any sleep. And I can see that you’re tired.” He pulled the bedsheet over her legs, then bent and kissed her lips, long and sweet. “Tomorrow?”
“I have to go to the Bronx.” Her thoughts were still a little scrambled and her voice was husky from the most amazing fucking orgasm she’d ever experienced in her entire life. “To see my grandparents. I’ll text you when I get back?”
“Okay. We still have to go over our lines. We got a little . . . distracted tonight.” His easy grin warmed her. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to stay again, but he did look tired, and she was ready to curl up and pass out.
She was also worried that she’d only be asking to see if he said yes again. And she didn’t want to play those games with Ashton.
When she nodded, he cupped her face and kissed her again. “Dulces sueños, querida.”
She heard him leave, then flopped back on the bed with a giddy smile on her face. Sweet dreams, indeed.
Chapter 25
For the next week, Ashton spent every nonworking minute he could with Jasmine. Not that there were many, since the seventh episode required long days and multiple on-location shoots, but they managed to steal time here and there.
He knew he was asking for trouble, sneaking around in a hotel where some of the other actors and higher-up crew members were also staying, but he couldn’t stop.
They saw each other at work, of course, but it was different. They were careful not to do anything to arouse suspicion—no heated looks, no lingering glances—although Ofelia had remarked on their improved performances a few times, and Ashton worried the first AD was starting to suspect something was up.
However, they were most careful around Vera, who had an uncanny knack for tuning into their emotional states. Pretending that he wasn’t falling locamente enamorado with Jasmine was the most difficult role he’d ever tried to pull off. Even harder than the time he’d played his own evil clone.
After being on location all week, it was nice to be back at the ScreenFlix Studios lot on Friday, which was gradually feeling more familiar to him. Ashton was in between filming Victor’s daytime talk show performances when he ran into Jasmine chatting with Nino and Lily at craft services.
Nino waved him over. “Hey, Ash. You coming to the summit tonight?”
Ashton shot Jasmine a puzzled look. “What summit?”
“The Latinx in the Arts Summit,” she told him. “It’s a new group, and they’re having their first big event tonight.”
“The three of us are being honored together as part of their ‘30 Under 30’ in the performing arts category,” Lily explained.
“I’m technically already thirty,” Jasmine admitted. “Do you think they’ll drag me off the stage if they find out?”
“It’s okay, vieja,” Lily said with a grin. “If we average all three of our ages, we come out somewhere in our late twenties.”
“Thanks to me,” Nino scoffed. “So, Ash, you want to come with us? We have VIP tickets, which means open bar!”
Jasmine caught Ashton’s eye. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she said quietly. “I know it’s not really your thing.”
It wasn’t his thing at all, but supporting Jasmine had quickly become his thing. And in his view, you showed support by showing up, like his parents had done all those years for him.
“Sure, I’ll go,” he said.
“Really?” Jasmine’s eyes went round.
“Awesome.” Nino grinned. “I’m bringing my mom, and she can’t wait to meet you. She loved El duque de amor.”
A sinking feeling dragged at Ashton’s stomach, like a premonition, but it was just anxiety. Then he saw Jasmine’s grateful smile, and knew he could endure the discomfort for her happiness.
The summit was held at an event space near Hudson Yards. After they were done shooting for the day, they all went back to the Hutton Court to change, and Ashton shared a taxi cross-town with Jasmine.
“I’m surprised you’re not bringing anyone from your family,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers on the seat between them and relishing in the private moment where he could touch her without worrying.
She shrugged and gazed out the window at the city passing by. “It was late notice. Ava’s babysitting and Michelle is working on a big design project.”
“What about your parents, or your brother or sister?”
She turned back to him with an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? It would just stress me out to have any of them there.”
He didn’t say anything, but he hoped he got to meet her parents someday, so he could tell them how amazing their daughter was. They were missing out on knowing her.
“I appreciate that you’re coming with me, especially since you don’t like big events.” She squeezed his hand. “I would have asked, you know. But I didn’t want to put you on the spot.”
Ashton brought their joined hands to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “You still could have asked.”
The look in her eyes was so hopeful, it made his chest ache. “Now I know.”
As the car pulled up near the event space, Ashton released her hand. They’d agreed to keep this—whatever it was—secret. Ashton didn’t know how long they could keep it up, but he couldn’t deny that he was feeling lighter and happier than he had in a long time. He entered the summit at Jasmine’s side, riding a wave of optimism.
It took less than an hour to bring him back down to reality.
He hated events like this.
The crush of people was packed into an open space, hemmed in by a stage at one end and a bar at the other. The format was loose—more party than conference—and Ashton felt completely exposed and far too easily recognized. Everywhere he turned, someone saw his face and gasped, and then he had to make nice and pose for pictures until he could politely get away. Then someone else recognized him, and he had to do the whole thing all over.
He drank three gin and tonics during the first hour in an attempt to calm his nerves, but he was still ready to climb out a window. The party was on the ground floor, so it would probably work. Then he could hail a taxi, go back to the hotel, and—
Someone grabbed his elbow and he jumped, nearly spilling his fourth G&T. It was Tanya Onai, the ScreenFlix publicist assigned to Carmen. She was a pretty young woman, tall with dark brown skin and long box braids.
She was also the one with the power to make him do interviews, so he’d studiously avoided her thus far. But now she had him cornered.
He sipped his drink to clear his throat, then muttered a hello.
Tanya released his arm and gave him a bland smile. “You look like you’re planning an escape.”
“That obvious?”
She shook her head at him, sending her braids sliding over her shoulders. “I have a sense for when my actors are about to make a run for it. Also, you’re getting drunk in a corner, staring longingly at the windows. Yes, it’s obvious.”
He
set the drink aside, because she was right, and mumbled, “I don’t like big crowds.”
“They’ll be on stage soon,” she promised. “Stick it out a little longer. We’ll clap, take some pictures, and then all of us can go home and start our weekends.”
He nodded and accepted the carton of water she handed him. It was fine. He’d done this before, and he’d have to do it again. He was okay.
But that didn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder or feeling better when his back was to the wall.
The best moment of the night was when Jasmine, Lily, and Nino were on stage. They were interviewed as a group by a Mexican American poet, who asked great questions about the ways personal identity and cultural history played into creative work.
Ashton nearly burst with pride every time Jasmine spoke. She captivated the audience in a way that had nothing to do with being an actor and everything to do with being her. Her smile, her humor, and her ability to share vulnerably had the room hanging on her every word.
Lily and Nino also shared moving stories about their own paths to becoming actors, about the struggles and triumphs, and Ashton felt honored to be working on Carmen with them too.
He clapped loudly at the end of their segment, but was interrupted by someone asking for a photo.
“Stop scowling,” Tanya murmured when the person walked away. “Can’t you at least act like you’re enjoying yourself? You might as well get used to it. You have a press tour coming up. ScreenFlix wants to send you and Jasmine everywhere to drum up interest in the show.”
Ashton attempted to relax his facial muscles. “Double-check my contract. I think you’ll see there are limitations to the amount of press work I’m required to do.”
Tanya’s amused grin was as sharp as a blade. “We’ll see about that.”
Ominous. But Ashton didn’t have a chance to dwell on it, since Jasmine, Nino, and Lily were leaving the stage and coming over to join them.
Jasmine took one look at his face and feigned a yawn. Ashton knew it was fake, because when she yawned for real, it was nowhere near as dainty.
“I’m super tired,” she told the others. “I think I’ll go back to the hotel.”
Ashton narrowed his eyes and gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. He knew what she was doing, and he wouldn’t let her leave early on his account.
Even though all he wanted to do was leave. And the thought of cuddling with her before heading back to his own room held a lot of appeal.
Still, this was her moment. She was being recognized for her contribution to Latinx representation in media. There was no reason for her to—
“I’ll go too,” Lily said. “My feet are killing me. Remind me to throw these shoes in la basura.”
Well, that changed things.
Ashton pulled out his phone. “I’ll get us a car.”
Tanya shook her head. “Pictures first. Then you can all leave.”
As she herded them over to the Latinx in the Arts photo backdrop, Jasmine sidled up next to Ashton and whispered, “I tried.”
“I know. You didn’t have to. But thank you.”
Jasmine gave him a reassuring smile. “We’ll leave soon, okay?”
It was almost another hour before Tanya released them, and by the time Ashton climbed into a car with Jasmine and Lily, he was practically vibrating with nerves. Jasmine shot him worried looks on the ride back to the Hutton Court, but Lily—who’d taken her heels off immediately upon getting in the taxi—kept up the conversation well enough that he didn’t need to contribute much.
In the elevator, they all pressed the buttons for their floors. Lily—still barefoot—got off first, and when the elevator stopped on Jasmine’s floor, Ashton got off with her. Once they were in her suite with the door firmly shut behind them, she caught him in a tight hug.
“I’m so sorry,” she said into his chest. “You hated it. I knew you would hate it.”
He wrapped his arms around her like he’d wanted to do all night, and breathed in the soothing citrus scent of her hair. “It’s not your fault, querida. I’m an adult, and I agreed to go.”
“I know, but—”
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. “It means more to me than I can tell you that you tried to give me an out, twice. And while it’s true that I don’t enjoy events like that—”
“No kidding.”
He smiled, and continued. “I was happy to be there to support you and the others.”
“If you say so.” She took his hand and led him to the sofa, where they sat and got comfortable—Jasmine kicking off her own high heels and Ashton shrugging out of his suit jacket.
“Do you want wine?” she asked. “I have a bottle of chardonnay in the fridge.”
He shook his head. “I drank more than enough at the open bar.”
She put a hand on his knee. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He covered her hand with his and looked down at the splay of their fingers. The truth was, he never wanted to talk about it, and he’d decided that if he didn’t talk about it, it couldn’t affect him. If no one else, aside from his family, knew what had happened, it couldn’t haunt him.
That mindset didn’t work. It still affected him. And he very much wanted to tell her. Now.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “Around seven years ago, someone tried to break into my house.”
She gasped, and the hand on his knee squeezed. “Oh, Ashton.”
“I had a stalker. A fan. He’d been writing to me a lot. Letters, packages, that sort of thing. All of the mail got filtered through my agency, so it took a while for anyone to notice it had gotten excessive—and aggressive. And even when my agent’s assistant realized it, I didn’t want to believe it was a concern. I had enough to worry about without some overzealous fan, so I put it out of my head. Until . . .”
Jasmine shifted closer, her eyes shining with sympathy. “Until?”
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He had never talked about this with anyone who hadn’t already known, and putting it into words was almost like reliving it. A reminder of the fear, of the destruction of his sense of safety in his own home.
It was why he wouldn’t live in a house. He felt safer in apartments with doormen and security systems, high above the ground. No one could break his window when he was ten stories up.
She was waiting patiently. He wanted to kiss her, to forget about the Incident and lose himself in her touch, but it suddenly felt imperative that he get these words out. He swallowed hard and continued.
“Until he found out where I lived and tried to break in.”
Saying the words out loud made him realize that this was the crux of his ongoing fear. Ashton had always thought that the scariest part of the whole thing was that the intruder had broken Yadiel’s nursery window, endangering that which was most precious to him. But in telling Jasmine the story without mentioning Yadiel, Ashton realized . . . it was still pretty scary. The whole thing was scary.
And maybe . . . it was okay for him to have felt afraid. To still feel afraid.
Jasmine gently tugged on his hand, pulling him into her embrace. Ashton clung to her, letting her warmth anchor him. She held him for a long time, stroking his hair and his back, and he took the comfort she gave, soaking it in and letting it refill the well that had been empty for years.
Finally, she whispered, “Thank you for telling me.”
He let out a shaky breath. “Thank you for listening. I think . . . I’ll stay here, tonight, if that’s okay.”
He swore he could feel her smile against his hair. “Of course.”
Ashton eased back first, because he got the feeling she’d hold on to him for as long as he needed it. And while he was starting to realize that he did need it, he knew she had to be tired.
They got ready for bed, taking turns in the bathroom, and then climbed under the covers together.
In the dark, all cozy under the covers with the soft whirr of the a
ir-conditioning unit insulating them from the outside world, Ashton finally found the courage to ask her something he’d been wondering for a while. “Jasmine?”
“Yeah?”
“What happened with McIntyre?”
She let out a sigh and he felt her deflate next to him. “You want the whole story?”
“Not the whole thing. Just . . .”
“The end?”
He felt like a dick for asking. But he sensed that, like him, Jasmine also carried a burden. “Yeah.”
She shifted, tangling her legs with his. “Well, he broke up with me. Via tabloid.”
Ashton’s eyes widened, though she couldn’t see his reaction. “No.”
“Oh, yes.” Her voice held a trace of amusement. “I thought he was traveling for a pop-up concert. It turned out he was in Mexico with my doppelgänger—you might remember seeing her picture before I broke the TV in the fitness center.”
At the time, he’d wondered about that, but of course, hadn’t wanted to ask.
“Anyway, he told a reporter—my nemesis, Kitty Sanchez—that we were over. It was supposedly an exclusive interview but was probably just some offhand comment while he was leaving the plane at LAX. The quote ran with the photos of him making out with this other actress, and I . . .” She shrugged. “I found out while I was buying paper towels at Target and saw my own face on the cover of Buzz Weekly.”
He was stunned. “That must have been terrible.”
“Yeah. I had to buy the damn magazine to find out that he’d broken up with me. They didn’t even have the decency to put the pertinent info on the cover.”
“Jasmine, please don’t take this the wrong way . . .”
“I promise I won’t.”
“But that . . . that was it?”
She laughed. “Yup.”
“I mean, he’s clearly the most stupid man in the world to cheat on you. Especially with someone who looks just like you, but who I guarantee isn’t as amazing as you are.”
She squeezed him around the waist. “Thank you.”
“But some pictures and a short quote . . . that’s why they’re hounding you at the studio every day?”