Page 64 of Saving the Rockstar

"I missed you too, Ash," he murmured. "Every moment, every breath. I thought about you constantly, dreamed about you every night."

I pulled back slightly, my hands coming up to frame his face as I stared into his eyes, my thumbs brushing gently over the stubble on his jaw.

"How's your mom?" I asked softly, my heart clenching at the flicker of pain that passed over his features.

"She's stable," he said, his voice heavy with relief. "The doctors say she's going to make it."

"I wish I could have been there with you, to support you through all of this."

Jared shook his head, his arms tightening around me as he pulled me impossibly closer.

"You were, Ash," he said fiercely. "You were with me every step of the way. In my thoughts, in my heart. Knowing that you were here, waiting for me, loving me, it gave me the strength to keep going, to be strong for my mom and my sister."

Over the next few days, as the tour wound its way through the bustling cities and picturesque countryside of Asia, Jared and I made a point of stealing every moment we could together, of exploring each new location with a sense of wonder and excitement that left us both giddy and breathless.

We snuck away from our entourage to wander through crowded night markets and serene temple gardens, our fingers interlaced and our eyes wide with awe at the beauty of it all. We sampled street food and haggled with vendors, our laughter ringing out through the narrow alleyways and crowded squares.

And in the evenings, we would slip away to restaurants and cozy cafes, our conversations flowing as easily as the wine and the candlelight flickering between us.

Of course, we were never truly alone, not with Dylan and Mason constantly hovering around, their playful conversation and good-natured ribbing a constant source of amusement.

Like the night we found ourselves crammed into a tiny booth at a diner on the outskirts of Osaka, the air thick with the scent of frying oil and sizzling meat. I was barely recognizable, my face obscured by a truly outrageous disguise that Dylan had insisted was necessary to maintain my anonymity.

"I'm just saying," he had said, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he handed me a pair of oversized sunglasses and a truly hideous wig. "If you're going to be out in public with your boy toy, you need to be incognito. We can't have the paparazzi catching wind of this little love nest."

I had rolled my eyes, but ultimately given in, figuring that a little discomfort was a small price to pay for a few precious hours of normalcy.

And so there I sat, wedged between Jared and the wall, my fake mustache itching like crazy and my wig slipping down over my eyes with every move I made.

"Well, isn't this cozy?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I elbowed Jared in the ribs. "It's like a double date, but with more polyester and less personal space."

Dylan grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Mason, who sat across from him with a look of long-suffering patience on his face.

"Hear that, Mase?" he said, his voice pitched low and sultry. "Asher thinks we're on a date. Isn't that just the cutest thing you've ever heard?"

Mason chuckled, rolling his eyes. "In your dreams," he said, his voice flat and unamused. "I would rather date a cactus than go out with you. At least the cactus wouldn't talk back."

Dylan clutched at his chest, his face contorting in an exaggerated expression of wounded pride.

"You wound me, Mason," he said, his voice trembling with fake emotion. "And here I thought we had something special. A connection that transcended mere physical attraction and blossomed into something deeper, something pure and true and..."

"Oh my god, stop," Mason groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm going to puke if you keep talking like that. And trust me, you do not want to see what I had for lunch today."

Dylan grinned, undeterred. "But don't you see, Mase?" he said, his voice rising with excitement. "That's just further proof of our undeniable chemistry. The way we banter, the way we trade barbs and insults, it's like foreplay for the soul. A dance of wit and charm and barely contained sexual tension."

Mason made a gagging noise, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "The only tension I'm feeling right now is the urge to strangle you with my bare hands," he said, his voice flat and unimpressed.

But even as he spoke, I could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, the way his eyes softened ever so slightly as they met Dylan's across the table.

It was a dynamic that only grew more pronounced as the night wore on, the four of us falling into an easy rhythm of laughter and conversation that felt as natural as breathing.

At one point, as we waited for our food to arrive, Dylan launched into a truly epic rant about the perils of datingsomeone like Mason, his hands waving wildly in the air as he listed off a seemingly endless litany of imagined flaws and shortcomings.

"First of all," he said, his voice rising with each word, "he's way too tall. Like, freakishly tall. I'd need a stepladder just to kiss him goodnight. And don't even get me started on the logistics of spooning. It would be like trying to cuddle with a telephone pole."

Mason raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back in his seat. "I'm sorry, are you saying that my height is a dealbreaker?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because last time I checked, you weren't exactly a towering pillar of masculinity yourself."

Dylan sniffed, his nose rising in the air as he pointedly ignored Mason's jab. "Secondly," he continued, "he's way too serious. Like, does the man ever crack a smile? Does he even know how to laugh? I swear, sometimes I think he was born with a stick up his ass and a scowl on his face."

---