17. ASHER
His face was the last face I expected to see while recovering from a hangover. It was a blur at first, and I thought I’d gotten to the stage where I was hallucinating. I turns out, I wasn’t hallucinating at all, and he was right in front of me. Kneeling on the floor, his hand at my chin, stroking it like there was something between us still.
“Go away,” I grumbled.
He looked away at the door to Santi. “And what are you doing?”
“Asher,” Santi said. “You know you can’t be in these dressing rooms.”
I hadn’t even recalled coming in here. My face hurt and my brain buzzed with numb vibration. I looked around. I was in one of the private dressing rooms. They were spacious and they had comfy sofas which were nice for sleeping on. I couldn’t sleep in any of the rooms upstairs. Those were only for members, and kittens could only go up there if they had a member on their arm.
“Let’s wash your face and I’ll take you home,” his soft voice washed over me, tapping his thumb at my chin to pull my eyes to him. My teacher, professor—Master, he’d come for me, even after I’d told him I never wanted anything else.
“I can’t go home,” I slurred. “You take me with you.”
“I—” he looked to Santi, like he was looking for permission. Santi wasn’t even in charge. “Let’s get your face washed first. And maybe you want to put some clothes on. Are you just wearing a t-shirt?” He lifted the blanket covering my waist. “Well, at least you’ve got underwear on.”
I didn’t think this would be the next time I saw him. I’d done my best at avoiding him and everyone else so far. He tugged at my arm until I was ready to stand. Nobody in this place cared to watch me, and maybe that’s why I felt comfortable enough to come here and get wasted, especially since the liquor was flowing, and the members were paying.
Sitting me down at a chair, he sat opposite me. I looked around to see if Santi was hovering still. He’d gone, from what I could see in my hazy peripherals.
“Can you take me with you?” I asked him.
He pulled at makeup wipes and started rubbing at my face. “Of course,” he said. “But I have to tell you something.”
“If you have someone over, that’s fine, I can stay on the sofa.”
Smiling at me, I didn’t know if he was humored by what I was saying or there was something else happening around me. “You can stay in my bed, I’ll stay on the sofa. I want to respect that as a boundary. You gave me a lot to think about. I don’t want you to give this job up, and I also don’t want to pressure you into doing anything with me, although we had our fun.”
“It was a member,” I said, sighing. “They’re just jealous.”
“It was my friend,” he added. “I wanted to tell you, but I knew it probably wouldn’t make a difference.”
I didn’t know that, and it wouldn’t make much of a difference, but I had found something that would. “Grab my bag.”
As he searched for my bag, I stared at my reflection. I was down and depressed. My skin seemed to have aged by years. I continued to wipe at the make up from my skin, rubbing it away as I found myself wondering what I’d missed out on, and all the calls I’d been ignoring. The entire frat house had called, but I’d told them I was away, and the photo proof of me being alive helped.
“Ash,” he whispered, sitting back in front of me. “Where did you get all this money?”
“There should be four-thousand in that bag,” I said. “Don’t steal it.”
“I—I won’t, I’m just asking,” he said, staring into the bag filled with bills. “It’s a lot of money.”
“It’s a week of tips,” I told him, taking the bag. “I have a—a contract, but it’s only for people who are in relationships. We both have to sign, and it says something about there not being any money involved, and that it exists before the job, and whatever. But I only just found out.”
He smiled at me. It forced a smile on my face. “I’ll sign it,” he said.
“No, but we’re not even together.”
“I know it’s not been long, but if you’re here getting drunk and I’m at home eating microwave meals that are cold in the middle and not even caring if it’s out of date, then I think being together and enjoying each other is the better option,” he said, taking the paper. “Where do I sign?”
“You’re being silly,” I said, stubbing my finger on the page. “But you can sign here.”
I hadn’t intended on seeing him again. Eventually, I’d have to go back to campus and sit the exams, but it was easy to avoid the professor since I wouldn’t have to go to his classes anymore.
I added my signature to the paper and Santi snatched it up. “I’ll give this to them. You need to put on some clothes.”
He was right. I had to finish getting dressed. In the week I’d been here, I’d grown accustomed to living in this place. Some of the other guys did the same. They worked every night, slept on the lounge chairs in the dressing room during the day, and then did it all over again. But that wasn’t the life for me. Too much of a good thing was bad.
Once I was dressed and in a state of self-awareness and slightly sober. Santi drove us back. The professor gave him directions and instructions from the front seat while I had my eyes shut in the passenger seat, trying not to get motion sick.
His apartment was just how I remembered it. Clean.