Page 39 of Betsy
I swallowed down the growl climbing up my throat and waited for him to call me out. Say something he’d think was cutesy about how he knew he was irresistible or some other male chauvinist comment. Or something. Anything. I didn’t really know what exactly, because Asher was starting to make me question everything I thought I knew about him and guys like him.
But he didn’t say anything. He just continued walking toward the front of the bus.
“We need a bathroom schedule!” I shouted.
He half rotated until he was in profile.
“So Tricia and I aren’t subjected to seeing you guys walking around without proper clothing.” I cringed at how prudish I sounded, but I was prodding the bear more than anything. This would get him to say something about my ogling him. Accuse me of liking what I’d seen. Prove to me that my previous assessment had been right all along.
One of Asher’s eyebrows rose.
I waited.
Instead of saying anything, he inclined his head. “I apologize for making you uncomfortable. There was a mishap, but I won’t use that as an excuse. Of course we’ll do everything we can to maintain propriety. I’ll make up a sign-up sheet, and all members of the opposite gender will vacate the bus while the others shower. Does that meet with your approval?
“Umm…yes?” I jutted my chin forward. “Thank you.”
When he opened the bus door and stepped outside, I flopped back onto my pillow and let out a long breath. The truth was, hehadmade me uncomfortable, but not like he’d implied. Worse. I was uncomfortable with the knowledge that my attraction to Asher wasn’t dying; it was growing. I needed something that would kill the bond forming between us once and for all.
Tricia climbed into the bus, a tray of muffins in her hand. “I found a camp store near the restrooms and got us some breakfast.”
Who knew Asher better than those who’d spent the most time with him—his bandmates? They’d be able to tell me who he really was, how he really acted when he wasn’t trying to impress or win someone over. They probably had all sorts of dirt on him they could share. Once I knew all of that, I’d stop second-guessing myself and recement why I’d made a rule about falling for musicians in the first place.
Tricia found a roll of paper towels and ripped off a rectangle on the perforated edge. She set a muffin on top of the paper and held it out to me. “Muffin?”
I accepted with a thanks. “Hey, Trish. Can I ask you a question?”
She peeled the muffin liner away from the sides of her baked good. “Sure. What’s up?”
“How long have you known Asher?”
She chewed slowly, considering. “About three years or so. Why?”
I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “No reason.” I took a bite and forced myself not to gag at the smushed banana flavor. I put the muffin to the side to keep myself from forgetting and taking another bite. “Just trying to get to know the boss man better, I guess.”
“Oh, he’d hate to hear you call him that.”
“Call him what?”
“The boss.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
“Asher doesn’t consider himself the boss.”
“Even though the band bears his name and he’s the lead singer and guitarist?”
She nodded as she chewed. “The name True North was actually Jimmy’s wife’s idea. She thought it was a clever play on Asher’s name but also a reminder to our audience to look toward the One who is our own personal true north and director of our paths—Jesus.” Crumbs fell from her lips to land on top of her rounded belly. She brushed them into a neat pile. “Asher tried to argue, but we all liked the name and the meaning behind it, so he got outvoted and we kept it.” Tricia pinched the crumbs in her fingers and deposited them into the paper muffin liner.
“So, he didn’t want his name as a headliner?” The incredulity in my voice gave away my interest, and I tried to rein the physical display in.
Tricia folded the liner in half then in half again. “Nope. I think it embarrassed him a lot at first. As much as he loves to share music with others, I don’t think he enjoys the spotlight as much as some other people I’ve come across. More like he endures it as part of his job and because he feels like ministering through music is something he’s been called to do.”
“Huh.” That was not what I’d expected her to say.
“What about you?” She folded her hands primly and looked at me with undivided attention. “Asher has said you’re in possession of a singing voice unlike he’s ever heard before.”
I trailed the pattern of the fabricated wall with my gaze. Somehow, I’d let the conversation turn away from unearthing dirt on Asher to digging into my own life. “He exaggerates.”
