The words take a few seconds to register with me. I'm not oblivious to the world we live in. I know that online gossip sites and print magazines pay top dollar for shots of their favorite celebrities.

I totally get that the men and women who take those pictures are just trying to put food on their tables the same way I am. What I don't understand is why they have to be as aggressive as they are.

When I was searching for anything Asher Foster related the other night, I stumbled on a few video clips of the paparazzi chasing after Asher and a model. They both covered their heads as they held tightly to one another's hands. I didn't feel jealous of how he tried to shield her from the onslaught of cameras. I felt pity for them both. All they wanted was to enjoy an evening out, alone in Los Angeles and it turned into chaos as soon as they exited the restaurant.

"Your folks?" His voice is low and deep, edged with curiosity. "Did they say anything about the picture? About me?"

They hadn't really. My mom covered her eyes in jest, pretending to be embarrassed but later, as I was leaving she whispered that she thought Asher was cute. My dad told to me to be careful, patting his hand over his own chest above his heart. I told them both that it was a date, nothing more.

"They di

dn't say much," I answer honestly. "My siblings had the biggest reaction. A few of them are fans."

He nods, his gaze falling back to his guitar. He asked me to meet him here, at the recording studio after work today. I thought I might have heard from him last night after I was done in Brooklyn, but there was nothing.

Today I did edits for most of the morning before I had a session with a family with twin five-year-old boys. I was wiped by the time I locked my studio door behind me. I'd typed out a text message to him on my phone telling him I needed to bow out since I have so much work. I deleted it before I sent it though, realizing that the work will be there tomorrow, but his need to see me might not be. I knew I made the right decision when kissed me as soon as I arrived at the studio.

"I've been working on that new song," he says, his voice low and throaty. "You inspire me, I think."

That's a compliment, I think. It is, right?

"I inspire you?" I ask quietly.

"You do." He clears his throat. "There's something about you that just gets to me. I can't explain it."

I wish he could. It might help me. I feel the same way about him. I think about him constantly. I love being around him. I'm aware enough to know that the draw at first was because of who he is. It's shifted now though. I've never had as much fun with a man before, in or out of my bed. I like the way he looks at me. I love the way he touches me.

He lifts his head to gaze at me. "I need to go to Philly next week. My manager booked a show there. It's a small venue. It's more a rehearsal for my tour than anything but I need to do it to make her happy."

"Philadelphia?" I look down at my jeans. "I bet people are lined up for days to get tickets to that."

"They sold out fast," he says. "It's one of the few shows I'm doing before my tour officially kicks off. I'd like you to be there, Falon. It's on Thursday night."

"Thursday night?" I repeat back after a minute. "That's next Thursday night?"

My mind is racing. I never thought we'd move beyond the late night pizza dates and the sex in my bed. I've never been to his place. The closest I've made it is here. I suddenly realize that maybe bringing me here, to his recording studio, actually means more than taking me to his apartment. This place feels personal and intimate. He's at ease here.

Asking me to go with him to one of his shows feels like a big deal. It is a big deal. I don't know why I don't just tell him I'll be there. I want to be there.

"I'm not the guy to ask about the going rate for concert photography."

"Concert photography?" I close my eyes. It's not a date. He wants me to work. He's asking me to shoot the concert for him.

"Isn't that what you call it? I don't handle that part of things, but we'll pay you well."

"I've never shot a concert before." I sigh deeply. "You should probably hire someone there for that. I can ask around, get a few recommendations if you need me to."

"I want you to do it, Falon." He scratches the side of his nose. "I want you there. I trust you more than any other photographer."

I feel like I'm on a ship, cresting a wave of assurance every few minutes before I crash below the surface of doubt. Does he want me there for me or for my photography skills? There's only one way to find out.

"You want me to go to Philadelphia so I can take pictures of you performing?" I rub my hand across my chin. "I just want to be clear, Asher."

He tilts his head a touch as his brows knit together. "You're the only photographer I want there. If anyone is going to take pictures of me on stage in Philadelphia, I want that person to be you."

CHAPTER 28

Asher

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Fosters of New York Romance
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