Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Asher

The roar of the crowd seeps through the concrete walls, a distant thunder that vibrates in my chest.

I pace back and forth in the narrow space behind the stage, my boots scuffing the floor with every step.

The air is thick with the scent of sweat, metal, and anticipation.

"Five minutes, Asher," a stagehand calls out, glancing up from his clipboard.

"Got it," I respond, though my mind's miles away.

I lean against the wall, closing my eyes for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, I let the noise and chaos fade into the background.

It's just me and the memory of her—Polly—the girl who turned my world upside down once upon a time.

"Hey, you good?" another voice interrupts my thoughts. It's Jake, my bassist, looking at me with concern.

"Yeah, just... thinking," I say, pushing off from the wall.

"About her?" he asks, eyebrow raised.

I've had a couple of nights on my tour bus, drinking with Jake, explaining what's been going on lately in my personal life.

"Always about her," I admit, shaking my head. "But it's showtime."

"You're gonna kill it, man," he says, clapping me on the shoulder before heading toward the stage.

"Thanks," I mutter, but my gaze is already shifting to the side entrance where I know she'll be watching.

"Two minutes!" someone shouts, and the crew buzzes into action.

I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension coiled there.

This isn't just another gig. It's a charity concert, something that needs to be on point.

"All right, Asher, you're up," my manager signals me.

"Time to rock ‘n roll," I whisper to myself, stepping toward the blinding lights and deafening cheers.

As I walk out, the energy hits me like a wave.

Fifty thousand people screaming my name, their hands reaching out as if they can touch the music.

I raise my arm, the microphone catching the gleam of the spotlights. "How are we doing tonight?" I shout, my voice echoing across the sea of faces.

The response is a deafening roar, and I can't help but grin. This is my kingdom, my sanctuary.

You think over time I'd get bored of it, but it's just as exhilarating as the first time I ever stepped on a stage.

"Tonight," I begin, pacing the stage, "I'm gonna start with a song I wrote a few years ago. It's about a woman who changed my life. This one's called ‘Magnetic'."

I strum the first chords, my fingers moving instinctively over the strings.

The melody flows, and I let myself get lost in it.

My eyes drift backstage, and there she is—Poison, standing still, her gaze locked on me.

She knows this song. She knows it well.

"Like a magnet, you pull me in," I sing, my voice rough and raw. "Can't escape, don't even want to."

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it's just the two of us in the universe.

Her expression is unreadable, but I can feel the connection, the invisible thread that ties us together.

"Every time I try to leave, you pull me back," I continue, the lyrics pouring out like a confession.

She doesn't look away, and neither do I.

The crowd fades, the stage dissolves, and it's just me singing to her, pleading with her to understand.

"You're my magnetic force, pulling me closer, never letting go."

The final notes hang in the air, and the crowd erupts, but all I see is her, standing there, unmoving, unblinking.

"Thank you," I say into the mic, my voice barely above a whisper.

I finish the set, the next hour passing in a blur of lights and sound. Every song feels like an eternity, but finally, the last chord dies away, and I make my way backstage.

"Great job, Asher," someone says, but I'm not listening.

My eyes are searching, scanning the faces until I find hers.

"Polly!" I call out, walking straight toward her.

She rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. "I know what you're doing, Ash," she says, her voice sharp. "And it's not a good idea."

"Really? Because I seem to remember you promising to always be with me," I counter, stepping closer.

Her expression falters, and I see the flicker of doubt. "I promised to be there for you, not with you," she retorts, but her voice lacks conviction.

"Semantics," I smirk, leaning in. "I'm desperate for another chance, baby. So why not give it to me?"

"You're being really fucked up right now," she snaps, but there's a crack in her armor.

"How so?" I ask, stepping closer, crowding her space.

Her perfume—something floral and dangerous—hits me like a punch.

"You're trying to drag up the past," she snaps, crossing her arms tighter over her chest. "Us being together? It's a terrible idea."

"One more time," I say softly, my eyes boring into hers. "If it doesn't work out, I won't ask for another chance with you ever again. I promise."

"That's not fair, Ash," she mutters, looking away. But she doesn't step back. Doesn't push me away.

"Fair or not, it's the truth," I insist. "You're not the kind of person who breaks promises. Not after what your dad put you through."

She flinches, eyes snapping back to mine, anger and something deeper flickering there. "You don't get to use that against me."

"Then tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm fucking crazy," I challenge, my voice softening. "Tell me you don't feel this... magnetic pull between us. Because I can't let this slip away again, Polly. I won't. We have a chance to do this right this time."

"Dammit, Asher," she whispers, voice cracking. "You're making this so hard."

"Good," I reply, taking her hand, feeling her fingers tremble against mine. "Because some things are worth fighting for."

She sighs, looking away. "You really think we're worth fighting for, after all that's happened?"

I grab her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Of course I do."

Poison's eyes narrow, but the fire behind them flickers.

She crosses her arms, weight shifting to one foot, causing her hip to jut out in a way that makes my pulse quicken.

Her lips press together in a tight line before she finally speaks.

"Fine," she mutters, almost like she's spitting out broken glass. But it's there—the crack in her voice that tells me she's giving in. "But don't get your hopes up, Ash."

A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. "I never do."

She rolls her eyes again, but there's no real bite in it.

More like she's trying to convince herself this is a bad idea when her heart is already sold.

"You're impossible," she says, but her tone is softening. A whisper of vulnerability slips through, and my chest tightens.

"Only for you." I step closer, barely an inch between us now.

Her breath hitches, and I can feel the heat radiating off her body.

My hand finds its way to her waist, fingers curling around her curves, pulling her flush against me.

"Don't think this means I'm going easy on you," she warns, but her hands betray her, clutching at my shirt like it's the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Wouldn't dream of it," I whisper, leaning in until our foreheads touch.

"God, I've missed you," I murmur against her lips, feeling her shiver in response.

Her hands slide under my shirt, trailing over my skin, sending sparks shooting through me.

"Shut up," she whispers, capturing my mouth again. And I do, losing myself in the taste of her, the feel of her.

Everything else fades away—fifty thousand screaming fans, the bright lights, the world outside.

All that matters is here, now, with her.

And when our lips meet, it's like a match striking against the rough surface of an old, wooden matchbox.

Her hands move to clasp the back of my neck as we deepen the kiss.

I can taste her, truly taste her—like the first sip of a crisp champagne, bubbly and intoxicating.

Flavors of sweet peach and tart cherry subtly weave every time we kiss.

My hand moves from its resting place on her waist to cradle the back of her head, my fingers tangling in her silver blonde hair. "Polly," I breathe against her mouth.

She hums in response, biting my lower lip softly, causing me to moan low in my throat.

Feeling bold, my hand sweeps downward, tracing the sublime curve of her hip, then further down to the roundness of her rear.

She fits so perfectly in my grasp like she is moulded just for me.

Slyly, my hand slips into the back pocket of her jeans.

She gasps, pulling away just enough to look up at me, her icy gray eyes dark with desire. But there's also a warning in them, reminding me that this time I have to get it right.

"I mean it, Asher," she says, her breath hot against my lips. "Don't get your hopes up, because I'm not optimistic."

"You might not be, but I'm positive enough for the both of us," I reply, my hand still cupping her ass. "Trust in that."

Her gaze holds mine for a moment longer before she leans back in, capturing my mouth once again with a hunger that makes my head spin.

My other hand finds its way under her shirt, the fabric soft and warm against my fingers as I trace the line of her spine.

She shivers at my touch and instinctively presses herself closer, her breasts pushing against my chest.

I break away from our kiss only long enough to mutter these words, "I think we should get out of here."