“An Irish Pub,” I clarify.
“It looks…”
“Don’t judge it by its looks,” I tell her. “It’s old. A hole in the wall, but I promise it won’t disappoint.”
We go inside and she perks up a little. Irish music is playing through the dimly lit pub. The walls are a mix of brick and wood, covered in Irish logos and photos.
“This is cute,” she says, and I grin.
“Come on,” I say, taking her hand and pulling her to the bar.
We take seats on two open stools, and within seconds, the bartender walks up. “Holy shit, I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Hey, Alex,” I grin, and Ashlyn looks surprised.
“You’ve been here before?” She says, like she didn’t believe it a minute ago.
“Been here before?” Alex says. “Before he started selling pictures of himself in his boxers for a living, Zane was in here every week.”
“You were?” Ashlyn asks.
“I was.”
“This is where he came to get away from his bougie friends and his judgey parents,” Alex explains, setting two glasses of Guinness in front of us. Ashlyn looks at me, but I just smile. I don’t say anything because I can’t. It’s true.
“Of course now that he’s rich and famous, he’s forgotten about us,” Alex goes on.
“That’s not true,” I say after swallowing my first sip. “I just got busy.”
Alex shakes his head, and Ashlyn giggles, taking a sip of her beer. More people come in, pulling Alex away from us, and I turn my attention to Ashlyn. She sets her beer down and I chuckle. She has a Guinness mustache and she notices it, smiling and licking it off.
“Do you like it here?” I ask.
“I do. But I’m going to need to know more about this secret life of yours,” she answers.
“What do you want to know?” I ask. And I really mean it. As guarded as I have taught myself to be over the years, something about Ashlyn makes me put that guard down. I want her to know everything about me. And I want to know everything about her.
Chapter 28
Ashlyn
“Ask me anything,”Zane smiles warmly from across the table.
“Your parents. Your childhood. How you became a model,” I rattle off because I want to know it all. I want to know him and not just the him the world gets to see. I want to know the one the world doesn’t get to see.
“My parents were rich,” he says as he takes a sip, sucking his teeth.
“And let me guess, they didn’t want you to be a model,” I conclude.
“Oh no. They wanted me to be a model,” he says.
“They did?”
Curveball number one.
“Hell yeah. In fact, it was their idea. What they didn’t want was for me to be an artist,” he says and it takes me a minute to process that. Then I remember.
“An artist,” I echo. “Wait. So the paintings and sketches in your office…you did those?”
