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“You think cutting them off is a mistake?” he asked. His hands grabbed my arms and slid down them until our hands were touching. His finger traced the outline of the gray band around my wrist. A few months back when Ash had his racing jersey tailored to fit better, he saved a piece of the fabric and had tied it in a knot around my wrist. I hadn’t taken it off since.
From his place on the barstool, we were about the same height. It was weird seeing him at this level instead of towering over me. The warmth of his touch revived that spark in the center of my chest. I loved him, and I wanted to push past this.
“Yeah, I do. I think you love your hair and if you cut it off, you’ll regret it.”
“I just wanted to race.” His eyes lowered and his shoulders sank as he exhaled. “I didn’t want press coverage or media exposure. Just a dirt bike and a way to earn a living that doesn’t require slaving away at some dead end job.”
He played with the hem of my shirt, twisting the fabric between his fingers. “I thought I could let all of these hippie drug-head references roll off my shoulders, but it hurts, Hana. I’d rather be a role model than a drugged up racer.”
“You are a role model.” I knew the words meant little coming from me, his number one fan. As far as I was concerned, Ash could do no wrong. But that’s because I knew the real Ash Carter, not the stoner they portrayed in magazines.
“What if we just cut your hair a little shorter for tonight?” I said, fe
eling confident that he’d regret it if we cut all of his hair off. “You and I know the real you, so who cares what that stupid magazine said? If you still feel the same in the morning, I’ll cut it all off. Hell, I’ll even pay for a hair stylist to make your new short hair look good.”
“Okay, I guess we can do that.” Ash turned back around and drew in a deep breath. “Goodbye hair. It was nice knowing you.”
As I cut his dreads in half and then worked to tease the ends back into shape, Ash told me more stories about the world of professional motocross racing. He tried to claim that the Team Yamaha New Year’s Eve party in Anaheim wasn’t that big of a deal, and I appreciated the effort, but I saw the photos online. I was still upset that my dad wouldn’t let me go, but at least he finally started to come around; I was here, at least.
“So how’d you talk my dad into letting me stay here?” I asked, cutting through another dread and placing the severed hair lock on a pile with the others.
Ash shrugged. “I might have implied that my cousin Louis and his wife would be staying with us.”
My eyes widened. “Ash Carter! You are definitely the hooligan the magazines say you are. Lying to my father,” I said with a tsk.
Ash winked at me through the mirror. “If you’re feeling too scandalized, I’d be happy to take you home.”
“Noooo,” I said, throwing my arms around his shoulders. I buried my face into his neck, taking in his citrusy scent. He reached up and held my arms as I gripped him tightly. “I’ve missed you so much. I want this weekend to last forever.”
“You’re eighteen now. Mr. Fisher should let you come see me more often. Spring Break . . . weekends. Just meet me at airports, and we’ll have our relationship in a different hotel each week.”
“Easier said than done,” I said, feeling that knot form in my chest again. “I have school and a job as soon as the semester is over. Even if my dad takes a break from his lectures on how I don’t want to get knocked up as a teen, he probably won’t be too thrilled to let me jet off with you all the time. Weekends are when I work, you know.”
“I know,” he said, casting a forlorn look toward the pile of dreads on the table. But something told me he wasn’t mourning the loss of his hair as much as the status of our relationship. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Will we?” The hesitation in my own voice made me jump. From something that started as mutual infatuation, our relationship felt more like a long distance train wreck lately. I knew he felt it too; he just didn’t want to admit it.
“Of course we will, Hana.” Ash placed a soft kiss on my lips. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I said, closing my eyes as I leaned into him. I told myself this would be okay. All of those depressing thoughts that slithered into my mind late at night when I was home in bed missing him like crazy—I pushed them aside. Ash Carter was my one true love and I would fight like hell to keep it that way.
No matter how much it hurt.
Chapter 21
I lean back in my chair, two seconds away from calling Shelby on her bluff. What could she possibly try to prove without her brother right here to testify for himself? Curiosity takes over and even though I should probably get up right now and walk away, I don’t. “If you really have evidence that Ash isn’t over me, then I want to see it. And if it’s your stupid intuition or twin powers, then that doesn’t count.”
“It’s digital. Is that good enough for you?”
My eyes narrow. “Maybe.”
Now that she has my attention, Shelby takes her sweet time going to the browser and typing in the web address of a supercross news site. “Ash doesn’t know I’ve seen this,” she says, scrolling through the page’s long list of news and articles. “He actually didn’t even tell me that he got interviewed by that heartthrob athlete lady again. I found it when I was just screwing around on the site, killing some time.”
She pulls up an article which has a video, pausing it before it can start playing. She swivels around in her chair so that she’s facing me and says, “At first I thought it was weird that he wouldn’t tell me since he tells me about all of his TV appearances. And then I watched it and realized why.”
“Because he’s making out with that blonde chick or something?” I ask.
Shelby gives me a warning look that’s almost identical to Molly’s glare. She hits play. “Why don’t you see for yourself.”
