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He almost couldn’t believe his luck when Aisling shifted toward him on the couch, fast asleep. Her head landed against his bicep and she sighed softly, adjusting her legs. For a full few seconds he didn’t breathe, afraid the movement of air into and out of his body would break the spell and wake her. Afraid she’d move away again and take with her the heat that spread throughout his body at her touch.

He wanted to be angry with himself. The whole thing was at least somewhat ridiculous. She had very clearly expressed her intention to remain his friend. Her lack of romantic feeling toward him. She’d been repeating that, subtly and otherwise, in nearly every conversation they’d had since he’d first revealed his feelings to her. And despite his deeply held conviction that someday they would be more than friends, he knew logically that he should just let it go. That he was being silly and dramatic. That he should not allow his body to indulge in these feelings with the expectation that things would change. It would hurt too much if they didn’t.

Aisling was moving almost constantly. He wasn’t sure if it was because she was just a fitful sleeper, or if it was because she was uncomfortable. From what he could see, looking at her over his shoulder, her neck was positioned at an awkward angle. It certainly looked painful.

Ignoring his better judgment, he dropped his shoulder slowly backward, catching her cheek in his left palm and guiding her head to rest on his lap. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as Aisling continued the adjustment, bringing her hand between his leg and her cheek. The feelings that stirred within him were impossible to ignore. He tried to breathe them away. Squeezing his eyes closed even tighter, he pressed his lips together and focused on the dull pain in his mouth until he realized she had ceased all movement. Slowly opening his eyes and glancing down at her again, he determined that Aisling was completely asleep. Still, his racing heart would not abate. Every twitch of her fingers sent him reeling again.

Focusing on the movie was the only thing that kept him sane for the next two hours. The only thing that kept him from obsessing about every millimeter of her body that was in contact with his. Aisling did not budge, not even an inch. She slept like the dead. Eventually, giving in to equal parts desire and foolishness, he’d brought a hand to rest on her back. He was enjoying the steady rhythm of her sleep-breathing under his palm, perhaps more than was healthy.

Just as the movie ended and he was considering the best way to get a hold of the remote control without disturbing Aisling’s sleep, the door to the right of the television opened. A girl appeared—dirty blonde and rubbing at her eyes. He could only assume this was Aisling’s roommate Meg since he’d never met her before. He’d never met any of the people Aisling told stories about before.

The girl, Meg, froze in place, losing balance at the sudden change of momentum and hitting the bedroom door which in turn met the wall, echoing loudly in the tiny apartment. Aisling stirred against his body at the sound. Shifting his attention to Aisling, he watched her cover her eyes as she made an unintelligible noise and shook her head slightly, though she did not lift it from his lap.

“That’s not who you left the bar with last night…” Meg trailed off.

He could not see the look on Aisling’s face, but it must have said something, because Meg’s eyes went wide and she suddenly looked up at him, stuttering to retract her statement.

“I mean, uhh—that’s not who I was expecting,” she started, seeming to think better once again and continuing, “BECAUSE, I wasn’t expecting anyone this early in the morning. Clearly.”

Aisling had left the bar with someone that night. He didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that someone was a man. He didn’t have to be Casanova to know why they must have left together.

He tried to keep his body from reacting as Meg spoke. Fought to keep his muscles relaxed, even as jealousy surged through every nerve in his body, firing commands to action. He could not let Aisling know the intensity of his feelings. Of how they remained. Of how they had deepened. She was only supposed to know ‘just friends.’

Aisling did not move from her position. It was the most amazing agony he’d ever felt, fighting his body as it reacted to hers.

“This is Joe,” she said, tilting her head toward him, “Joe, this is my cousin, Meg.”

“Nice to meet you, Meg,” he said, offering what he hoped was a calm smile and a casual wave. He could not be sure of how his body was operating.

“Nice to meet you too, Joe.” She smiled back, half-sleepy and half guilt-laden, and shuffled between the television and the coffee table, heading toward the bathroom. “Hah. Joe. Shoulda known…” he heard her say under her breath.

“Good morning, again, sleepyhead,” he said to break the silence settling over them.

He cursed himself for speaking—who was he? His mother? Still, he attempted to play it off, ruffling her hair affectionately. It felt like corn silk, slipping beneath his fingertips.

“How long was I out?” She murmured, rolling onto her back and smiling softly up at him.

“About two hours.”

“Sorry, I just—“

“Don’t worry about it. You looked like you needed it. You slept like a log.” He felt a smile creeping across his lips as she continued to gaze at him.

Her stomach growled loudly and a hand flew up to rest on her belly as a laugh escaped her lips. The sound was infectious and he found he couldn’t help but laugh along with her. As they fell silent their eyes remained locked for a moment more and it was sheer torture. He could not bear to look away, but he was afraid she would see something there that he needed to keep hidden from her. She could flay him to the bone with those eyes.

“Hey, I’m gonna make a breakfast burrito, are you hungry? Do you want one?” She asked, eyes darting away strangely before meeting his again. The eye contact was suddenly different, the connection gone.

“I’m always hungry.”

“I figured as much,” she said, pushing herself into a seated position then rising from the couch. “Boys,” she shook her head as she rounded the corner of the sofa.

He was glad to be facing away from her as she made her way to the kitchen. Glad she couldn’t see him as he closed his eyes and took a deliberate breath, willing away the tide of emotion that had rushed in to fill the space she left behind. It held him to the spot. Boy. That was what she saw him as. That was all she’d see him as, he feared. Even now, so near to her, his conviction began to slip away with each passing moment. Even as his feelings intensified.

***

The day had flown by. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun doing absolutely nothing. But that was exactly how he’d spent the day with Aisling. He couldn’t believe how nice it was to pass an entire day with such ease. Being around Aisling certainly had its challenges, he was forever reminding himself of how she did not feel, forever wondering if his body was operating against him. But he honestly couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone an entire day without fighting with someone—a brother or a parent or a manager or an assistant. Aisling was a relief. The pain of being near her was worth the moments of pleasure. The moments he forgot it all and just was.

They’d spent the past few hours spread out on the floor, Fox Soccer Network playing in the background, surrounded by containers of gluten-free Chinese take-out. It turned out his family was not the most difficult group of people to feed on the face of the earth. Between Aisling being a vegetarian—scary—and Meghan having celiac disease (sort of like a really bad wheat allergy), choosing a take-out restaurant had been a challenge to say the least. It was amazing to see how many food items had wheat gluten in them, and worse, how many of the items that didn’t have wheat gluten contained animal products (and vice versa).

Suddenly Meg’s cell phone rang out and a brief look at the caller ID indicated it was a call she wanted to take—her long distance boyfriend, Mo. Taking advantage of the commotion as Meg rose from her spot on the floor and headed for her bedroom, he slid his own phone halfway out of his pocket, tying to keep it out of sight. He didn’t want Aisling to know how many calls he’d been avoiding, but the occasional buzzing to notify him of the most recent five or so messages was getting annoying. He needed to stop the buzzing.

“How many times has your family called?” she asked, he looked up from his phone knowing he’d been caught.

“Enough.” He did not want to discuss it.

“How many?”

“Ten phone calls.”

“Texts?” She pressed the issue, eyes fixed on the floor.

“More than ten.”

“How many?” Her voice was hardening.

“I don’t know; I stopped counting, just…”

“…I’m sorry,” she whispered, still looking at the ground.

“For what?”

“I shouldn’t have let you do this.”

“Oh, because I was so easy to stop. I listen to you so closely, do everything you say. Like this morning, when I didn’t get in a taxi,” his sarcasm faded at the earnest expression in her eyes. “…This isn’t really about you, Ash.”

“I know, it’s just…I don’t want to be the cause of problems with you and your family.”

“You’re not. Whatever is going on with my family was already there.”

“Yeah, but I’m sure this can’t be making things any better.”

“So do you want me to just tell them where I am? Who I’m with?” he held up his phone as if it were a challenge. “I’ll call them now.”

He watched the thoughts as they travelled across her face.

Yes. Yes, she wanted to be honest. To tell his parents, his brothers, his band. They were friends. She hated to lie about it. To sneak around behind people’s backs. They were doing nothing wrong.

But she knew it was not that easy. Knew there was pop-stardom and six years between them. Knew he had conservative parents and millions of fans who would not understand. Knew her professional reputation would be damaged, that her uncle would be upset, that it wasn’t good for business.

So, no. No, she did not want him to tell anyone. Did not want to tell anyone herself. At least for the time being. At least until the air cleared and the business between them was taken care of and the timing was right.

Aisling worried a lot. Her concern was peppered into their conversations. It was etched across her face in moments like this. She worried about the risks they were taking with both of their careers by cultivating a close friendship. It was sort of touching how much Aisling worried about him, about his career.

He worried too. But not like her. Most of all, he was just angry. Angry at the knowledge that people would begrudge him this. That people would choose not to understand, to misinterpret. Angry that something that was becoming so important to him could be used as a weapon against him, against the other meaningful things in his life. Why should a friendship—or a relationship, for that matter—be a risk to his career? To his family life? To her career? It was unfair.

“Yes,” she said softly, looking at her hands. “No,” she finished.

“I don’t like lying about this either. But I’m just so tired of all the arguing. I don’t want to give them anything else to come down on me about right now…and I don’t want to involve you.”