The Switch [COMPLETED]

Chapter 22

Paisley Monroe:

I was an enormous ball of nerves as Asher and I were driven to my house in the backseat of one of the vehicles that the band used while on tour. After explaining to management that "Paisley" needed to go home to pack, we had been given a driver and strict orders to return immediately as soon as we were done. It felt weird to be chauffeured around by Tony the security guard, especially given our weird run-in from that morning. Every time he made eye contact with me in the rearview mirror, I instinctively blushed and looked away. 

The closer we got to my house, however, the more my awkward feelings over Tony were overshadowed by the fear of how my family was going to react at the news that I was basically running away to be a groupie for a band that played what my mother liked to refer to as "devil music." Even worse was the knowledge that I wouldn't be the one delivering the news. It would, of course, be Asher masquerading as me - the same Asher who had so far proven to have all of the tact and social mannerisms of a caveman raised by trolls. 

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" I asked for probably the millionth time since we had left the tour bus. 

"First of all, this isn't only a good idea, it's our ONLY idea. Secondly, it was yours in the first place," Asher drawled lazily, sprawled out on the seat next to me with his legs wide open. 

I looked at him reproachfully, thankful for the first time in my life for my mom's proclivity towards amish-like skirts. He was going to have to stop sitting like that if we were going to be out in public together. The last thing I needed was to be photographed next to Asher Halen with my underwear on display for the whole world to see. 

The thought made me cringe. 

Soon enough, we were pulling into my neighborhood. I swallowed roughly when the big black SUV pulled to a stop at the curb in front of my house. My hands were shaking and sweating so badly that I thought I might pass out again. I wasn't sure how badly fainting twice in one day might affect my health, but I didn't really want to find out. 

My head snapped up when I felt a small hand on my knee. Asher was looking at me with concern, and I was almost touched by the sympathy that I saw in his eyes. 

"Are you okay?" he asked gently.

"Not really," I breathed, letting out a harsh little laugh. "I've dreamed of leaving this house since I was ten...but not like this." I looked away, biting my lip in an effort to stop the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. "They're going to hate me," I whispered.

"They're not going to hate you," Asher said vehemently, sliding out of his seat to scoot closer to me. "They're probably going to be mad for a while, yeah, but they're not going to hate you."

"How do you know?" I asked, looking at him pitifully. 

He cocked his head to the side and looked at me for a few moments before answering. 

"I don't," he admitted, shrugging slightly. "But I DO know that in the past ten hours or so, you have almost succeeded in ruining my reputation AND my career on live television, cried more times than I think I ever have in my life, and generally made me look like an all-around pathetic basket case. If anyone has cause to hate you, it's me."

I wrinkled my brow and looked at him angrily, my nostrils flaring slightly. If this was Asher's idea of a pep talk, it sucked. 

"And yet..." he continued, "I don't hate you. Not even a little bit. In fact, I think you're kinda funny. You keep me on my toes."

My glare softened and I looked at him in surprise. 

"Really?" I asked, a small smile tugging at the edges of my lips.