Page 11 of Saving the Rockstar

"Well hello, Officer Goodbody," he crowed, plucking the phone out of Vivian's unresisting grip to ogle it more closely. "I think I just felt my briefs spontaneously combust."

"Dylan!" I yelped, heat flooding my cheeks at his blatant ogling. "Jesus, could you be more inappropriate?"

Chapter 4: Asher

The first few days of having Jared as my personal shadow were an exercise in suffering.

Every time I turned around, there he was - looming silently in doorways, prowling the perimeter of whatever room I happened to be in, all coiled strength and watchful intensity wrapped up in a suit that fit him like a second skin.

It was infuriating. A reminder of that moment at the charity event. The electric brush of his fingers on my neck, the steady surety of his hands on my shoulders as he'd talked me down from the edge of hysteria.

It was too much. And so, being the mature, well-adjusted adult that I was, I did what any self-respecting man would do when confronted with an intense attraction. I got mean.

I made it my mission to be the biggest pain in Jared's ass I could possibly be. I changed plans at the last minute, announcing sudden trips to seedy dive bars just to watch his jaw clench and eyes narrow with disapproval. I ducked into crowded throngs of fans after shows, "forgetting" to let him know where I was going until he was forced to wade through the screaming masses to extract me.

I did it all in the hopes of getting a rise out of him. Of cracking that implacable facade and catching a glimpse of the man beneath, the one who'd held me so carefully, so gently, as I shook apart in his arms.

But despite my best efforts to hold onto my resentment, I couldn't help the traitorous curl of safety I felt in his presence. The bone-deep certainty that as long as he was near, as longas he was watching over me with those sharp, hawkish eyes, nothing and no one could touch me.

It was an intoxicating feeling, that sense of being protected. A temptation I knew I couldn't afford to indulge. And so, I pushed him away all the harder, lashing out with barbed words and icy silences, determined to keep him at arm's length.

I skipped rehearsals, blew off interviews, retreated into my suite for hours on end to lick my wounds in private. The only time I emerged was to perform, to don the mask of Asher Roth and swagger onto the stage like I hadn't a care in the world.

Dylan, to his credit, tried his hardest to draw me out of my self-imposed exile. He straight up bullied, showing up at my door at all hours with greasy takeout and truly atrocious B-movies, determined to jolly me out of my funk through sheer annoying persistence.

I couldn't go online without being bombarded by headlines, each one more speculative than the last. "Asher Roth gay shocker!" they screamed, next to zoomed in photos of my blissed-out face, my kiss-swollen lips parted in ecstasy. "Rock Hunk's gay secret!"

The comments were even worse - a septic tank of homophobia and self-righteous moralizing, all made by anonymous keyboard warriors with too much time on their hands and too little human decency in their hearts.

"I always knew he was a little too pretty and prancing to be fucking bitches," one charming specimen opined. "Bet he takes it up the ass from his bandmates, too. Fucking disgusting."

"This is why I don't let my daughter listen to that sinful rock music," a severe looking woman sniffed. "It's all sex and drugs and Satan worship, just like Pastor Rick says."

I tried to stay away, tried to heed the warnings of my publicist and manager and keep my head down until the worst of the firestorm passed. But it was like picking at a scab, worrying at an aching tooth with the tip of your tongue - I couldn't stop myself from looking.

It was during one of these ill-advised hate reading sessions that Jared found me, curled up on the closet floor of my hotel room, my phone clutched white-knuckled in my shaking hand as I scrolled through the endless stream of poison.

I didn't even hear him come in, too caught up in the whirlpool of my own spiraling thoughts. Didn't register his presence until the mattress dipped beside me, the heat of him searing through the layers of clothes and miserable self-loathing.

"Asher," he said quietly, and just the sound of my name in that low, steady voice was enough to make my breath hitch, my head snapping up to meet his gaze before I could stop myself.

His eyes were soft in the dim light. They roved over my face, taking in the dark circles and red-rimmed lids, the pinched whiteness around my mouth. When they dropped to the phone still clutched in my hand, something hard and fierce flashed behind them, quick as summer lightning.

"Give me that," he murmured, reaching out to gently pry my fingers loose from the device. I let him, too wrung out to put up even a token protest.

He glanced down at the screen, jaw clenching as he skimmed the comments. Without a word, he tapped the power button, the display going dark with a soft click that seemed to echo in the charged air.

Then he was tossing it aside, the phone landing on the thick carpet with a muted thump. His now empty hand landed on my knee, big and broad and so impossibly gentle.

"You can't let them get to you like this," he said, the words low and intent. "Can't let them inside your head, twisting you up in knots until you can't see straight."

I huffed out a laugh, the sound brittle and jagged in my own ears. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one being crucified in the court of public opinion for daring to have a personal life."

His fingers flexed on my knee, a brief, convulsive squeeze that shot sparks up my thigh. "You're right. I'm not in the same position as you, and I won't pretend to know exactly what you're going through. But Asher, I do know a thing or two about the cruelty of strangers. About how vicious people can be when they think they're anonymous."

I blinked up at him, startled by the sudden rawness in his voice. The bleakness in those clear eyes, shadowed with some old, unhealed hurt.

"How could you possibly?" I asked slowly, my brow furrowing as I studied his shuttered expression. "I mean, no offense, but you're not exactly a household name. How could you know what it's like?"

---