The Tour. | +18 | BWWM

𝄞17 | That Night - Part 1

Why didn't I go with Zo to the hotel?

We caught up to the other team's total points, making it a two-way tie. Team Broadway wasn't that far ahead of us in total votes. At the end of tonight's show, most of the cast took the limo bus to the hotel for the after-party. My gaze tracked Zoey linked up with her new friends and her back was only five steps in front of me. Her dark black dyed hair joined the three blondes that welcomed her into the group near the bus. Zo, Camille, Brenda, and Roberta took pictures with fans. The crowd closed around them, getting more excited, and Zoey looked like one of the famous people. Real famous, not Z list YouTube famous. I smiled to myself but also took a step back from it. It was just one, but the distance between us grew by my own doing. I'm not even sure how one simple step grew to be so big. One step became two before I knew it. The idea of going back to the hotel with the reality tv cameras until morning had me fighting an inward heavy sigh. It simply wasn't something I was looking forward to.

A third step back was so unconscious that I didn't know I took it until my back bumped against a hard chest. My eyes snap up, locked with that amber whiskey-colored nebula of possibilities. The name Asher isn't even a whisper from my lips as coiling heat floods my core.

But still, I can't put my finger on why I didn't go with Zoey and her friends? And, more importantly, why am I listening to uncompleted songs? I keep turning the idea around in my head as if turning it upside down might shake the stars out of the box of the thought. With all the answers pouring out but none are the correct star. Wheelz is on Asher's fucking Kells tour bus, listening to some of his work in progress. WHEELZ!

Asher's tour bus door is locked and we are in the little studio with no windows and the world is blocked out. It's just Ash, me, and the music. He sits in front of the computer and soundboard. A mic, guitar, and small keyboard are within reaching distance. On the table next to him is his journal, rich amber whiskey, and the open skinny folio cigar holder. But the problem is there's no more left. It always seems like he's either having one or about to have one when he meets me. As if the cigar he told me about isn't simply a bad habit. It could be like strikes and he's crossed out five with a slash no more left. I was excited when he offered to let me listen.

The beat was the one in from the stranger danger van when he gave me a ride home. Also, the riff from the night I got my tattoo. It played with my senses, the blending of the two. Out of the ten songs I heard so far, this one had the most pull to it. It had this sensuous promise when you mixed the two sounds. Unexpected snap to it with that dirty riff burning up the sound.

It was a little off from the beat I taught him in the Van. There's a rhythm to it that he's not hearing. I lean harder against the wall of the studio. It was close, but that wasn't it. We played a few other songs together, just random jams until we stumbled into this. It was back to the van beat. And when I thought about that, I couldn't help but think about the hot kiss after he dropped me off. Then my mind found a way to get even filthier because it's in the gutter now. Once it's in the gutter, I'm fully committed back to the couch in the front of the tour bus. Where I damn near crawled up to him and I was pissed when he stopped after he made me cum. PUSSY WAS NOT DONE!

It's like I'm always on edge around him. One minute was cool and the next minute I'm ready to climb him. It isn't a matter of him being hot, it's the way he thinks about things. The way he added on while we were jamming together. It's like his mind is wrapping around me. I have a singing rapping and I can do flow style. He has his guitar riffs. Sometimes he sings, sometimes he flows.

Asher changes a few settings on the laptop. His hand strokes over his wireless guitar and his notes show up in the music program's many tracks. Asher's face forms a slight frown of disappointment as he fiddles with the beat again. His instincts were right, the beat wasn't inputted correctly. He slightly changes that nasty guitar riff from the night he tasted me. A shiver runs down my spine and I can feel his phantom touch. I've been ruining myself nightly with thoughts about that touch. And it couldn't wear out my mental spank bank. I was avoiding him, but I was on fire at the same time.