AISHE

Touring with Clown Irruption isn’t the same after you’ve seen Heaven through the clouds and then get thrown back down again. After breakfast, we were behind schedule for the airport and barely made it there.

It’s easy to ignore Troy right now. Don’t get me wrong; I’m sure Hailey set him up. I’m even sure she borrowed my feathers for the photo op she arranged at the 7-Eleven, but that doesn’t mean I can trust him anymore. See, trust is an odd thing. If you don’t have it, everything else falls apart, no matter how good it is.

I could never share my man with another woman. Now, I’m just worried about the consequences of my actions, of how I will feel once reality sets in and I find myself with the lovesickness.

Will I end up like my great-aunt on my father’s side, so ill they had to leave her behind in a mental hospital? Or will I stop eating and slowly wither away until there’s nothing left for my body to do but shut down on its own?

We’ve seen it all in my family and in my clan. We know the Drago Fuoc down to its finest, most excruciating details, and even if you find your moixcho like I have found mine, if he doesn’t treat your heart right, you’re doomed to the eternal darkness of love sickness.

I’ve got my earphones plugged in. I swapped seats with Troy’s drum tech, and I’m sitting in coach after all. Rob’s happy up front, in my seat next to Troy. In a minute, he’ll be flattening his seat and getting a good night’s rest, while I’ll be sitting here next to Zap. I’ve bound my hair into a dark scarf on top of my head. I’m wearing no jewelry, and I’ve removed my makeup. In a sweat suit and sneakers against Hailey’s Aishe costume all the way in the back of the plane, I’m left in peace beneath my headphones, watching but not watching a film.

I saw her giggle on my way to the restroom, talking with some dude. I couldn’t help myself. I glared as she lifted a pen, possibly signing for me again. I could make a stink. She’s been forging my autograph. Maybe I’ll think about getting her for that later. Find out what it takes to sue people for random shit like that—I don’t know.

Troy comes walking down the middle aisle, hands on the backrests on both sides as he ambles toward me. Safari gaze full of sadness and glimmer, he keeps them fixed on me, on the camouflaged me, not the Halloween me farther down. He ignores the people whispering around him. Troy is the only Troy there is on this plane. He’s his unique formidable self as he sinks to his haunches by my seat and lays his warm hand over my cold one.

He speaks to me, but I keep my headphones on. I turn the volume up a little too. His thumb caresses the lower part of my arm, and I can’t bear ripping free of it. He motions for me to remove my headphones. I do.

“You’re going to let this happen?” he asks, his voice low.

“Let what happen, Troy?” I want to add that he was the one letting things happen. I didn’t. I wasn’t there, and over the last six hours, there’s nothing I’ve wished more than having been there. None of it would have happened, then. The paparazzi would have gotten a shot of Troy and me, maybe, but I wouldn’t have tried to kiss him or embrace him, and I wouldn’t have let Hailey get so close to him.

“I didn’t kiss her,” he murmurs. “Nadia told you, right?”

“I didn’t see you pull away, exactly, either,” I smirk out.

“I pushed her off me. Those paparazzi? They were there at the exact moment for a reason, Aishe. I’d never willingly kiss that girl.”

I don’t answer.

“You’re letting her win. Do you really think it should pay off to feed off of people the way she does?”

“She’s on your payroll, not mine.”

“Oh she’ll be off our payroll so fast your head will spin,” he mutters.

“Yeah?” My voice sounds like it believes him already. My heart doesn’t. My burning, storming heart saw what it saw in those pictures.

“I wasn’t lying to you.” He leans in, his gaze as intent as my heart. “She’s the one who’s lying. There was a fucking piece of candy there, and she was insisting the shit out of me to get me to eat it. I finally accepted, and that’s when it started. You know she set up the photo op, right? The paparazzi had no way of knowing where we were.”

I can’t lie and tell him I don’t believe him. It’s grief and relief mingling that makes my eyes shut and a tear hang on my lashes when I open them again. Troy wipes it off with a finger.

“Don’t push me away, Aishe. It took us so long to get here, and it was no spur-of-the-moment thing when I told you what I told you last night.”

“What was that?” I ask. How could I forget?

“That I love you. That you’re my moixcha. You said something to me too,” he whispers, tucking a stray lock of hair back under my scarf.

“I said nothing to you.” I look down at my hands, but I’m unable to keep a smile from the corners of my mouth.

“No?” His pitch is deep and hopeful. “So you didn’t call me your moixcho?”

“I would never,” I say, daring a glance up at him.

He stills. Troy is breathtaking with his face shining with possibilities. “I beg to differ, Aishe. And I’ve got a suggestion.”

“You do?” Even I hear the sudden lightness in my voice. “And what is that?”

“That Rob gets his seat back and you come up front to your own seat so we can get a little deeper into the specifics of your selective memory.”

I hesitate only for a moment. Then I rise to my feet. Way in the back, there, I feel Hailey’s glare as I walk up the plane to my assigned seat.

Let’s just say our arrival doesn’t go under the radar in New York. Tablet in hand and immaculately business-attire-dressed, Janet is at the airport, picking us up.

She’s loving this, eyes alight with the frenzy around us. The hugs she gets from the guys seem polite at best. Not that they’ll complain about her openly. She is their publicist, and she’s only using what raw material they give her… like yet another leaked visual to play with. Problem is, Janet doesn’t just run with it. Apparently, she flies with it.

“Fuck,” Troll mutters, scanning the area beyond customs. The hall is jam-packed with fans, photographers, and journalists. “I wasn’t informed of this mayhem, or I’d have had management provide security.”

As it is, the guys autograph their way out of the airport one slow step at a time, but when male fans start pawing the pretties, one of them almost toppling over Selena’s stroller, Bo’s had it.

It’s not good when Bo’s had it. Quiet but ruthless, it’s game over and you better not stand in his way. Troll has worked with him for years and is painfully aware. Now, he’s cussing out Janet and calling airport security in one, swift, efficient move of damage control. Fuming, Bo keeps his girls safe until security appears minutes later.

Troll makes up for it with the hotel. Five stars and with all imaginable amenities, The Bastien on Eighth is exactly what people need to settle down. It’s a newer, exclusive hotel constructed in conjunction with a chain giant next door.

Bo whisks Nadia and their daughter off immediately, not interested in any more small talk.

“Rendezvous at six a.m. tomorrow for the FNL gig?” Troll calls after them.

Bo just nods. “You’re taking care of things?”

“Yes, sir,” Troll replies.

I feel a hand on my hip as Troy collects my suitcase with his own, pulling them both behind him toward the elevator.

“Troy and Aishe. Does this mean we’re good with one room less tonight?” Troll asks, holding up the extra key.

“That depends on Waris,” Troy says, smirking.

“No, man, over my dead body will I be sleeping alone tonight. Right, babe?”

Waris puckers an air kiss at Elias. “Yes, I think we’re good.”

“I see what you guys did, there,” Elias adds walking with us toward the elevators. “You just drew the attention away from you. It’s gonna be discussed tho. The pretties will be all over it as soon as they’re not so exhausted anymore. ‘Woooh. Aishe and Troy are toge-e-ether.’” He makes jazz hands as he says it.

“Hailey, please have a seat. You and I have a few things to discuss,” I hear Troll say behind us. The elevator opens, now empty of its former group, the Lindgren family and all their baby paraphernalia.

One after the other, we file in. Accommodate suitcases. Elias drops his phone on the way in and turns to pick it up. He brushes it off, takes his time studying it for spiderwebbed glass, before stepping back inside again.

In the meantime, Troll speaks to Hailey out there. She replies, voice lighter than usual. I can’t distinguish the words, but it almost sounds like she’s pleading with him. I can’t say my hopes aren’t soaring.

Curious, I turn as the elevator doors slide closed between us, and the last thing I see is Hailey shooting to her feet, fury blazing in her eyes as she shouts, “You asshole!”

TROY

I stroke the delicate curves of the woman I love beside me. She’s on her stomach, mane draping down her back and fanned out over the sheets.

More peaceful than I’ve ever seen her, she’s channel-surfing, allowing me a twitch of fine wrinkles at the corner of an eye depending on where I touch her.

She watches TV. I watch her. I let out a sigh of relief that she’s here with me. It didn’t look so good just a few hours ago.

“Did you like that?” I ask her again.

Her gaze flickers off the screen while those beautiful wrinkles at her eye get deeper with contentment. She lets go of the remote and tips herself over to the side so she faces me completely. “Yes-s.”

Her prolonged “s” brings my grin out. “Did you think it was time?”

“Heck yeah. Try to imagine it for yourself, to have someone copy your every move until you feel like you’re staring into a mirror. Then, imagine that person hating you and wanting to be you and take everything you have at the same time. She’s a psycho.”

“Hmm, so good riddance, you’d say?” I brush my hands together in a couple of sideways clapping moves.

“You’re so funny.” She reaches for me and draws my face down to her. “Thanks for calling Troll and checking. I was going crazy, waiting to hear what was gonna happen next. I just wish…”

“Wish what?”

“That we could’ve stripped her of ‘my’ clothes before she left. I hate that she’s out there doing whatever now, and that people might think she’s me.”

Aishe has a point. I keep my face from showing my agreement and kiss her slowly instead. It makes her moan. My girl, she ignites for me so easily, and I love it.

Scooting closer, I press myself against her, rubbing us together. “She’ll get tired of it. Now that she can’t be around Clown Irruption anymore—”

“Around you,” she specifies.

“—she’ll get tired of her costumes. And even if it takes her a minute, what’s the worst she can do, star in a sex tape?”

“Yep.” Aishe nods against my mouth. I’m busy finding silky folds I made slick only half an hour ago.

“We…” she begins. “Crap.”

“Losing your train of thought, moixcha?” I press a finger inside of her. God, she’s warm. Her cleft sucks me in like I was meant to be there. It’s a little bit breathtaking.

“No, I’m still here,” she gasps, “cool and collected… as… always.”

“Good.” I sink over her again, spreading her legs with my own, pressing my cock against her slit, wanting, needing inside of her before I explode. I can’t get enough of this woman. I waited for so long.

I force myself to slow down until I’m motionless. With her in my arms, I lean my forehead against hers. “Are you ready for me?”

Her hold on me tightens first. Then come her heels, digging into the back of my thighs as she pulls me closer. “You know what, Troy Armstrong?”

“Hmm?” I duck my mouth against her throat and savor the salt of our last love.

“I’m ready for you to never ask me that again.”

“That so?” I sound hoarse. I sound playful. But that’s not all it is. I’m in awe of this moment, when Aishe Xodyar, the woman I became a predator with is telling me to get over it. That’s what this means, isn’t it?

Get over it and suck it up.

Stop being a sissy.

I enter her slowly. Feel the red warmth of her welcoming me deep. Pleasure rides in waves through my body, heightened by each squeak she lets out against my lips.

“You don’t want me to ask permission anymore?” I manage, my breath ragged.

Lost in pleasure, she doesn’t answer. Her whole body moves in perfect rhythm with me, dancing, pressing us together, making flames grow in me and crave release.

“You’re so good around me,” I gasp, my speed increasing. “Really? You don’t want me to ask anymore?”

“No more asking,” she puffs, “because a moxchia never fears her moxchio.”