As my mind circles around the conundrum that is Asher Sullivan/Walton, my eyesight returns to normal, and I briefly wonder what my eyes looked like when they shifted. My ears shorten next, and I run a hand through my hair, tucking a few strands behind a normal, human ear, while I wait for my face to morph back into my typical features too.
Before that happens, I hear someone speaking to Asher next to us.
“Hey man,” they say, “sorry, but I think you’re in my seat? I’m in B.”
“Oh, yeah, I was going to ask if you wanted to swap? I have the aisle, but we’re together, so I’d prefer middle if it’s all the same to you," Asher says, and I do my best not to react to those words,we’re together.
Why would he say that? Why does he want to sit by me?
“Gotcha, no problem," the stranger says, tucking themselves into the aisle seat and fastening their seatbelt.
Asher doesn’t so much as glance my way, let alone offer any sort of explanation for this change.
I try to read, but I can’t focus well enough to lose myself in the story. Instead, I spend most of the flight attempting to listen to a podcast I have downloaded featuring free tourist areas in San Diego, but my thoughts keep circling back to theman sitting next to me. Legs taking up more space than they deserve, head tipped back with earbuds in, and arms loosely crossed over his chest. I wonder if there’s anything in the world that manages to get under his skin.
When we touch down over two hours later, I can’t recall one single thing that was mentioned on that podcast.
9
FROM BAD TO WORSE
RAYA
I can’t decidehow I feel about this weirdly chill version of Asher. From the airport, it was a quick drive along the harbor to the Gaslamp District downtown, and Asher was relaxed and polite to both myself and the driver the whole time. I’m trying to figure out how likely it is he has a secret twin who swapped places with him for this trip as we pull up to the hotel.
I follow Asher into the sleek hotel lobby, suitcases rattling along behind us as we step up to the counter. He gives both of our names and I lean against the tall counter next to him as we wait.
When the concierge asks for the names again, typing with a little more gusto this time, I straighten up, noticing a slight furrow between his brows. I glance at Asher, but he ignores me.
Finally, the concierge looks up from the screen, eyes bouncing between us.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Sullivan, but it seems we only have the one room booked under your name. We don’t have any reservation for a Ms. Merritt.”
Then he looks at Asher expectantly, like he will have the solution to this problem. I’m starting to understand how Reverie feels half the time, like she’s too small to be noticed.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll just take whatever you have available.”
The concierge glances at me, and then back to Asher, then down to the computer before replying. “Unfortunately, we don’t have any rooms open at the moment.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I say, at the same time Asher says, “How is that possible?”
“Well,” the concierge says, his voice calm and careful, “it’s TwitchCon, so we are completely booked. We even have a waitlist in case of any last minute cancellations. I’m happy to add you to it, if you’d like?” The concierge is clearly trying to offer a polite smile, but I am beyond it.
“What are we going to do?” I turn to Asher now too, hating the pleading tremble in my voice. “Some of our meetings are booked here at the hotel, and the company office is across the street. There must be another option close by," I trail off, muttering to myself as I pull out my phone and step away.
A frantic search reveals that there are no current openings at any of the hotels within a five mile radius, and I don’t have the funds to rent a car for anything further. Feeling tears gather in my eyes at what is turning out to be a miserable day, I blink furiously while praying to all the stars above that I don’t shift right now. That would be the cherry on top.
A hand enters my vision, covering mine and easing my phone down. I already know who it is, and his gentle touch spurs on the tears, causing a few to streak down my cheeks. I spin away from him, swiping at my face furiously.
“It’s fine, you’ll stay with me. We’ll make this work," he says.
His tone doesn’t give any indication how he feels aboutthat arrangement, but I have no other answers or ideas, so I simply nod. Keeping my eyes glued to the floor, I grab my duffel and suitcase, then follow him into the elevator where he pushes the button for the eighth floor.
The elevator ride takes years, and when it finally spits us out, I can feel his eyes burning over every inch of me. I refuse to acknowledge it, instead setting my shoulders back and tipping my chin up with a steadying breath. Now that we aren’t in such a public place, in front of others who could see if I had another embarrassing shift, I’m feeling more calm and in control again.
The room isn’t anything special, with a standard king bed, small kitchenette, and decent sized bathroom next to a closet.
Wait.
