“Stop trying to persuade me with fashion.”
“Stop pretending you’re not that easy.”
“What color?” I asked, through gritted teeth.
“Indigo.”
Fuck. That was my color. It made me feel less pale—and brought out the best in my cool skin tone, light eyes, and dark brown hair.
I screeched my chair back and stood up, grabbing my guitar and holding my whisky tight to my chest.
“Goddamnit, show it to me.”
Summer grinned and snatched her drink, walking tall toward her glowing, modern ranch home yards away. I followed Summer toward the back door, glancing over my shoulder to take in the dying fire. The smoke bloomed upward, dulling the crisp stars in my eyes. One dream was a pile of ashes at my feet. But here I stood, still eager to play with fire.
34
THIRTY-FIVE
I HAD SEEN IT ALL as a cater waiter working summers in the Hamptons, but I had never made it past the gates of a Lily Pond mansion. Lily Pond Lane was one of the most exclusive streets in the Hamptons, and I gawked behind the wheel of Summer’s car, a classic diesel Mercedes, taking in the sun pouring down on Martha Stewart’s quiet street. I soared past the towering beech trees, with oceanfront estates on one side of the street and a variety of privacy hedges along the other.
Mike Emblem was a beloved action movie star who happened to be Asher’s best friend, and who also happened to own a home on Lily Pond. I squinted at the address on a mailbox in front of two thick rows of perfect green hedges sandwiching a stark-white privacy gate. A moment later, the gates opened, and I had access to a three-story, classic shingle-style cottage.
I hopped out of the car and adjusted my high-waisted jean shorts, feeling smaller than usual against the towering oceanfront home. It was one thing to work inside a home like this, it was another thing to pretend like I belonged here. I squinted to read a note taped to the doorbell, written with Asher’s horrible handwriting, which was still barely legible all these years later.
“Come straight on through to the pool,” the Post-it read.
I creaked open the front door, and fresh ocean air hit my face as I took in the coastal foyer—studying the high ceilings, which were made of thick, white beadboard. The white-on-white home was sprinkled with vibrant blue accents, and straight ahead through open French doors, a turquoise pool glittered back at me. Behind the pool, there was a stretch of dunes, where an ocean casually hung out in the backyard.
I walked past the wraparound deck, and I felt my heart thump wildly as Asher came into view—glued to a thick novel by the pool, looking every bit like the movie star that he was: damp hair brushed to the side of his face; chiseled, olive torso; lime-colored board shorts wet against his thighs.
I swallowed hard to keep from tugging his body onto mine, and then I cleared my throat, making my presence known. Asher met my eyes and took off his sunglasses as I waved and walked toward him. He set his book down and stood up so that I could fold right into his open arms.
“Hi,” he said into the curve of my neck.
I felt every muscle in his body constrict around me as he hugged me tight. He smelled like an intoxicating swirl of nostalgia, bringing me back to summer camp. Wildflowers, sunblock, and young love.
We held each other’s grins for a moment too long, making the tips of my ears burn. I tugged a bottle of cold rosé out of my tote bag and thrust it in front of his mouth to keep from falling onto his lips.
“I want you to do something before we drink,” he said, trying to hold back a grin.
I stared back confusedly as his smile widened—a full smile—one I almost never saw from him.
Before I could say a word, Asher’s hand gripped mine, leading me past the French doors, down a flight of stairs, landing us in the chilly basement. We walked past the home gym and through the doors of an enormous, high-end recording studio.
“This is Fin Bex,” Asher said, his arm stretched out toward the boyishly handsome man sitting behind the audio mixer. “He’s co-producing On the Other Side’s soundtrack.”
“I know who he is,” I said, stunned.
Fin flashed an energetic grin in my direction and reached out to shake my limp fingers.
“Hi,” he said.
I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor as I shook hands with one of the biggest music producers in the business. Fin Bex was a small-town kid from Pennsylvania who was now crushing it in his late twenties. He talked a mile a minute and produced number one hit after hit, also at a mile a minute. I’d known that Fin was producing the soundtrack, but I didn’t know I would actually be coming face-to-face with him. It would have a been a dream, but in my dream, I wasn’t wearing a see-through tank top with a barely-there scalloped bikini underneath, leaving significant side-boob sticking out.
Fin pointed to the other side of the glass where, inside the isolation vocal room, a cool-as-fuck woman with a tattoo sleeve and pink hair adjusted the cord on the microphone.
“And that’s my sound engineer, Lila Corr.”
I knew her name as well. These were my celebrities: the people I dreamed about working beside.
I tried to keep my attention on Fin, but I had no control. My eyes drifted to the empty, little black stool next to Fin, like a moth finding its flame. My heart began to race, and the room was suddenly thick, muffled, and hot. The walls were closing in around me, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. Asher led my body out of the studio, as I blinked back white spots clouding my vision.
Asher crouched in front of me in the basement hallway, with his eyes narrowed on my face.
“Can I get you some water? Are you okay?”
I opened my mouth to say I was fine, but no words escaped. My eyes shifted down to his gentle hand on my arm.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have asked you beforehand. I thought this would be a cool surprise—but now I’m thinking: not actually a cool surprise.”
I slowly looked up at Asher, as he attempted a weak smile. It was plain as day that he felt horribly responsible for something he was not actually responsible for. He was the most sensitive human that I’d ever encountered, which was saying something, considering I overanalyzed every human interaction.
I was relieved to feel words escaping my throat. “This isn’t your fault,” I cracked. “It’s just—it caught me off guard, is all. I—I don’t have my guitar, or my notebook,” I stammered, searching for an escape route.
“We were just going to lay down your vocals. I printed out the lyrics and notes for ‘Joyride,’” he said. “I actually wanted to surprise you. We decided you would sing it for the end credits on the film.”
I stared at him, blinking rapidly.
“Me? Not to be recorded over?”
“You. Just you,” he said with a warm smile, which faded as he took in my expression. I was swallowing hard, trying to clear the terror boiling up to my throat. He crouched lower to my eye level with his hand still on my arm. “But none of that’s relevant. We don’t have to do this today.”
The AC grate was below my feet, blasting air into my lungs, cooling my insides. I found my mouth moving, letting out an exhale of words as his hand ran up and down my arm, softly.
“I had a bad experience once, in a recording booth.”
I could taste bile in my throat, reliving something horrible just by hinting at it. Asher’s face pinched together, and I watched his chest rise and fall, right in front of me. He placed his other hand gently on my arm and turned his head to both sides of my face, so he could try and understand what I was saying. After a moment, he seemed to understand, because his eyes darkened and his neck tightened.