Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

Asher

I do this when life fucks me over. I used to shoot up. Heroine was my escape of choice when the negative parts of life took hold of me. I'd pick up some random girl at a club, score something that would make us both forget our night together and then take her back to my place.

I don't remember any of those nights. The only evidence of them when I crawled out of bed the next day would be the used condoms in the trash and the syringes on the floor. I hated myself when I was doing it. I couldn't stand the sight of my own face in the mirror when I refused to quit and now,

that I've been sober for more than two years¸ I can't imagine going back to that.

When life overwhelms me, I run. I don't physically take off anymore. The last time I did that I got so much shit from everyone who loves me that I promised them I wouldn't do it again. I struggle to keep my feet in one place when my world collapses. It feels like that right now. That phone call back in Falon's studio fucked everything up.

I'm supposed to be at the recording studio, working on a new song with my producer. Instead, I'm in some hole-in-the-wall coffee shop in Midtown Manhattan with a beautiful woman who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" I've learned, through a lot of trial and error that being direct with the women in this city is the way to go. Besides, I've wanted to ask Falon that question since she made that comment about my dick before the photo shoot. Hearing that word from her made me harder than it should have.

She takes another small sip of iced coffee through the thin plastic straw the barista handed her when he was checking her out. "No, I don't."

I pick up the bottle of orange juice I ordered and bring it to my lips. I was going to follow her lead and go for coffee too but my heart is already racing. Why the fuck is it bothering me that the guy behind the counter was flirting with her?

I watch her across the table, waiting for her to ask me about a girlfriend, but there's nothing. Maybe I misread her body language back at the studio. I totally thought she was into me. It wouldn't be the first time I miscalculated a woman's interest. It would be the first time that I'm this disappointed.

"You're Asher Foster, aren't you?" A high-pitched voice calls out from somewhere behind the table we're seated at. "Oh my God, it's you."

Fuck. Just fuck.

Falon's brows perk up as she glances over my shoulder. She dips her chin slightly. I take it as a dare to respond. She has no idea how often I have to deal with this. Normally, I'll be friendly and pose for the obligatory selfie with whatever teenage girl is calling out to me. Today, I doubt I can form a smile.

"Asher." There's a tap on my shoulder. "Can I get your autograph? I totally love Precious Beats. It's like the best song ever."

I agree. I wrote it.

Falon sets the cup of iced coffee she's been drinking on the table. She's silent. Her eyes dart from my face to whoever is standing next to me.

"What about a picture? My friends are going to totally freak when they see this."

"Did she say Asher Foster is over there? Let's go see if it's him." That's a new voice but it's just as urgent as the first. Drawing a crowd is never a good thing. There's no fucking way I'm going to get out of this without pasting a smile on my face and playing the role of the musician who adores his fans as much as they adore him.

It's a concept I still can't grasp. I make music because I love it. I don't need the screaming girls and propositions from women to know that I'm good at what I do. It's part and parcel of being successful in this business so I have to take the good with the bad.

"Are you his girlfriend? You're his girlfriend, aren't you? Did he write Precious Beats for you?" The questions all run together, the voice behind them breathless.

"No," Falon answers quickly. "I don't know that song. Is it good?"

I laugh inwardly. If nothing she's honest. I don't take offense. My music doesn't appeal to everyone. "I like to think that it is."

My voice pulls the younger woman's eyes to my face. She stops and stares at me. Her gaze is so blatant that the want in it is almost palpable.

Her voice betrays her. She's older than she sounds. She's definitely younger than me but not by more than a year or two. She's pretty in a generic sort of way. A few months ago I would have hooked up with her in an instant. Right now, the attraction isn't enough to even keep my gaze on her. I look at Falon again.

"My friend and I were just leaving." I eye the entrance which now seems more like an escape hatch. "If you want a picture, we need to do it now."

"I'll take it." Falon is on her feet. "Why don't you all cuddle up and I'll take it for you."

I stand and before I can react, the three women are huddled around me. An arm circles my waist from the back, a hand lands on my chest, another precariously rests near the top of my ass.

"That's perfect." Falon reaches for one of the three phones being shoved at her.

She takes one picture after another, being mindful of where everyone is looking. She makes sure that each shot is acceptable to the owner of the phone before she moves on to the next.

"I have nothing for you to sign." The oldest of the women pouts as I quickly sign the back of a receipt that one of the other women shoved at me. "I can't leave here without an autograph."