Page 32 of Guitars and Cages

“I ain’t talkin’ about me. I’m sayin’ that stickin’ your nose in shit around here ain’t exactly smart. Last guy who tried to break up a domestic got shot for his troubles, so if you’re one of those nosy do-gooder types you might wanna think about reining that in.”

He laughed then, though I didn’t particularly find it funny. “You better watch out, Asher; someone might start to think you cared.”

The way he said my name gave me goosebumps, my thoughts going to what it would be like to have him groaning my name in my ear. I shivered, and brushed my hand through my hair, trying to push it back from my eyes. My fingertips slid over the remains of my scars, and I killed the desire that had slashed through me with a reminder that no one who looked like he did would ever want to touch someone like me. “Yeah, well, I don’t give a fuck if you get yourself shot for stickin’ your nose in where it don’t belong, but it’s a bitch when the cops come and question everyone, so do your neighbors a fuckin’ favor and don’t be stupid.”

His eyes flashed angrily at me, and I frowned ’cause I didn’t get what the hell I’d done to get him so pissed. “Why the hell would I wanna do any favors for you?”

I hadn’t said fuck-all to him since the night I’d helped him build his shit, so I didn’t see a goddamned reason for all the fuckin’ hostility. “What the hell is your fucking problem anyway?”

“Narrow-minded bigoted assholes like you.”

“I ain’t done shit to you.”

“No, but you haven’t said two words to me either. One minute we’re talking and bullshitting, and I’m thinking I’ve got a new friend to maybe hang out with and talk to after work, and the next you can’t even stand to look at me ’cause I said I wasn’t into pussy. Well, if you’re so fucking shallow that friendship with you is defined by who the hell I take to my bed then I’m glad I didn’t waste any more time getting to know you.”

“Oh ’cause it’s all my fault you had to fuck up the whole conversation by sayin’ you were gay.”

“And exactly how did that fuck up the conversation?”

“It just did.” I huffed, crossing my arms, wishing he’d go away.

“Help me out here, Asher; I’m confused. See, I could have sworn you said you were friends with Angus MacBain’s son, Sionn. I also could swear that when Sionn came into the studio today he had his boyfriend, Dare, with him. So how is it, exactly, that you’re friends with them when you have an issue with the whole gay thing?”

“It’s different.”

“Why?”

“It just is.”

“Wow, that explains a lot; thanks.”

He was studying me, like actually standing there with this look on his face like he was trying to peer into my soul. I didn’t like that.

“So if you don’t have a problem with them, it must have to do with me. Did I offend you somehow, Asher, or were you suddenly uncomfortable to find yourself in a gay guy’s apartment? What, were you worried I’d make a pass at you, try to cop a feel or something? I mean, thatiswhat all gay guys are supposed to be after, right, anything with a dick?”

I squirmed. The entire conversation was making me uncomfortable. I tilted my head, trying for cocky again. “Look, helping you out was a mistake, all right; you’ve obviously got issues you need to work out. I’ll leave you to them.”

I started backing away, and he let out a rough, bitter laugh.

“Whatever. I’m sorry we can’t be friends; I was looking forward to hearing about all the places you’d been.”

I huffed, said nothing, and turned to walk away.

“Oh, and Asher,” he called out from behind me. I paused, looked back over my shoulder, and tapped my foot impatiently. “You didn’t need to worry about me hitting on you; you’re so not my type.”

I blushed and ducked my head, letting a curtain of long hair spill over my scarred cheek, hiding it even as I reached up, touching the marks. Stupid. I dropped my hand almost immediately. “Scarred-up freaks ain’t most people’s type unless they’re payin’ for it. Folks don’t dig ugly.”

He gave me a look of disdain, his nose wrinkling. “It’s not your scars that make you ugly, Asher; it’s your soul.” He did walk away then, his boots heavy on the old stone steps.

I watched him go, too stunned to say or do anything. Hell, those words stung almost as much as Alex’s message from Gage, or maybe it was hearing them on top of Gage’s message that made it get to me. I fished my keys out of my pocket and opened the door, locking it behind me before I went looking for the bottle on top of the shelves.

As I crossed from the kitchen to the living room I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror, the scars deep and glaring on the side of my face. Bullshit, they ain’t ugly, I thought as I unscrewed the cap. They’re fuckin’ gruesome as hell. The first drink burned going down, but I knew it wouldn’t take long for the burn to fade and the drinks to get smoother the farther into the bottle I fell.

Who the fuck was he to judge me? I thought as I drank, stewing over the conversation, fuming at his hostility. It’s not like I’d called him names or anything, or given him shit for what he’d said. I just left is all, and left him alone; who did he think he was, calling me a fuckin’ bigot and acting like one conversation was gonna make us friends. I had enough friends. I didn’t need any more, especially not friends I’d have to struggle to keep my eyes and thoughts off of.

I flipped on the TV and hit buttons until I found the station with all the monster-truck shows and MMA fights. Some preliminary card was starting and I settled in to watch, trying to remind myself to take it easy on the bottle so I wouldn’t be drunk by the time Rory got back, though a part of me wished Morgan would keep the kid for a night.

Okay, so I could admit that Alex was right, it would be easier if we watched Rory together. Hell, he’d even suggested we move into the rooms over the bar with Morgan; that way we’d all have our own space. He’d asked why I wasn’t already staying there, wouldn’t it have been cheaper than where I lived. I hadn’t felt like explaining that I lived where I did so Morgan couldn’t see half the shit I got into. It was far easier to say that I just hadn’t thought about it before. He’d asked me to think about it; I’d told him I would.

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