As it turns out, it's Asher's turn to watch into the night.
Asher, the man who drew me like something beautiful and mystical, too perfect to be real and too human to be anything else.
I lie in bed with just the nightlight casting a yellow glow over the paper, staring at his artwork. It's not as crumpled as before. I covered it with one of my shirts and used an iron to try to smooth out the wrinkles as best as I could.
For all the things I have in the world, this is now one of the most precious to me.
My heart beats in a strange and skittering way when I remember the look on Asher's face as I saw the image, and how he left the table to escape our scrutiny. All afternoon, he was different, as though the weight of the world had settled on his broad shoulders. As though being seen had wounded him.
Now, the man who sees me in a way I don't deserve is standing outside my door, and I can't bear the thought of going to sleep without talking to him. I can't leave things as they are.
When I'm sure the rest of Steel 7 are asleep, I slide out of bed, taking a quick look at myself in the mirror. Wide eyes greet me and flushed cheeks. I chose a clingy slip to wear to bed tonight, and I wish I could say it was for no other reason than comfort, but if I did, I'd be lying.
I knew I was going to ask Asher to come into my room.
I know exactly what effect the pale pink silk trimmed with lace will have on him.
At the door, I hesitate, listening.
The silence tells me that the hallway is deserted except for one man whose only duty is my welfare.
When I turn the handle, I hear the shuffle of footsteps. Light streams through the doorway as I pull it slowly open, moving to lean against the polished wooden door frame.
Asher blinks, gazing down first at my face and then at my body. When he realizes his mistake, he looks away, staring at a point far down the hallway, his hand combing through his messy blond hair. "Do you need something?" he asks.
"Can you come inside? I want to talk to you."
"Connor asked me to wait here. He won't like it."
"Connor's sleeping, and anyway, I'm your client. Aren't you supposed to do whatever I need you to do?"
Asher's shoulders drop, his resistance gone with almost no effort at all. I should feel bad for putting him in this situation, but I don't. I feel powerful.
"What do you need?"
"Just to talk. And for you to sit with me while I sleep." I watch the flicker of awareness in his eyes as he understands what I'm asking of him.
"You want me to stay in your room?"
"I can't rest knowing you're standing out here. If I don't sleep, I won't be able to perform tomorrow. You see my dilemma."
The war Asher is having with himself is written all over his face, but I'm not sure if it's because he's worried about what Connor will think or if he's worried about us being in such close proximity. Instead of continuing, I decide to turn and hold the door open for him. The seconds that tick past as I wait feel long and slow. Warm anticipation settles in my belly, although I'm not certain what I'm anticipating exactly.
All I know is that I want to talk to his man. I want to tell him how I feel about the drawing and see if he'll be transparent enough to tell me what motivated him to sketch me and then act as though he's ashamed about it.
Will he take a step over the threshold?
I want him more than I've wanted anything since Blueday Records signed me.
When his foot makes contact with the plush cream carpet of my room, a little puff of air leaves my lips, and when I close the door behind him, the atmosphere seems to change.
Asher heads straight for the couch by the window. Behind the drawn curtains is an exquisite view of Athens, illuminated like the sparkling, glitter-filled world of a children's fairy tale. But none of that is visible. Instead, the room feels enclosed and warm. A private sanctuary, separate from the rest of the world.
He slumps down with a huff of exhaustion, his shoulders curling as he allows his long legs to flop open. But once he's settled, I don't know what to do. Should I perch at the other end of the couch or sit on my bed? I want to be close to him, but maybe that'll be too much too soon. Maybe he won't be as open with me without a little distance between us.
I go with the bed, sitting demurely with my knees pressed tightly together, close to the nightstand. I finger the paper with Asher's drawing.