Torn (The Fosters of New York 3)

"You look beautiful, Falon."

I laugh. I actually laugh because it's so untrue. "I look horrible. I have a mirror in my studio. I know exactly what I look like."

"Then you know I'm right. You know you're beautiful."

I was right. He is a lunatic. Maybe it's true what they say about people who are as talented as he is. There's always some madness beneath the brilliance. In his case, it's a lot of madness and a lot of brilliance all wrapped into a ridiculously good looking man.

He's hotter than when he was in my studio earlier. It's the shadow of whiskers that have crept over his jaw. I wish I had my camera with me. Under this streetlight he's striking. His hair is messed up just enough to make him look perfect. He is perfect. He's the perfect lunatic.

"Do you always go out to eat in the middle of the night?" I ask, wanting to shift the focus from me to him.

"Not always."

That's a satisfactory non-answer but it's not enough for me. "Just sometimes?"

"I don't sleep after shows. I u

sually work out, and then I work on new music." He glances down the street at a row of cars stopped at a light. "Some nights I skip the workout and eat instead. It depends on my mood."

I push my hair back from my face. I'd pulled it out of the bun after he called, hoping that if I ran my fingers through it, that it would resemble less of a mop and more of a tousled, sexy something. It didn't work. I didn't have time to try and bundle it all back up on the top of my head, so now, it's blowing in the wind, some wayward strands bat me on the side of the face.

"What kind of food are you in the mood for?" His head is turned towards the approaching traffic.

I'm not one of those girls who pretend to not care when it comes to food. I take it seriously. If I want a pizza, I'll order one with every topping available. If I'm craving chocolate cake, I'll take the subway to my parents' bakery because that's where the best cake in the world is. Tonight I want something else. "Cheeseburgers."

"You want a cheeseburger?" The corner of his mouth curls into a smile. "Fries too?"

"What's a cheeseburger without fries?"

He raises his hand in the air to hail a passing taxi. "I know just the place. You can even get extra mustard for your burger."

"Extra mustard?" My hand flies to my blouse and the not-so-inconspicuous yellow stain. "I had a sandwich earlier. I was hoping you wouldn't notice."

Just as the cab slows to a stop next to him, he leans closer. "I notice everything about you, right down to those three tiny freckles under your left eye."

CHAPTER 8

Asher

I've told women before that I've never met anyone like them. I want to say it now, to Falon, but it won't mean as much as it should. I don't want to use the same tired lines that I've used on other women. Hell, I don't want to say anything I don't mean to her. I can't explain where that's coming from but it's real enough to make me think twice before I say a word.

"I listened to that song after I got back to my studio this afternoon." She pops a fry into her mouth and chews slowly.

"Unless it was one of my songs, I don't want to hear about it."

Her eyes squint as she laughs. "You're not one of those musicians, are you? Do you get jealous when you hear other people's music?"

"I never have," I say truthfully before taking a swallow of water. "Other people's music only inspires me."

She traces her fingertip around the rim of the glass of iced tea she ordered. "It's the way for me with other people's photographs too."

"You're really good for someone so young."

That draws a hearty laugh from her. "I think we're the same age, or around the same age. I'm twenty-three."

"Twenty-six." I tap my fingers on my chest. "I've got a few years on you."

"Barely," she says under her breath. "Anyways, I was talking about that song that girl mentioned at the coffee shop. Precious Beats. I listened to it tonight."