“I’m Alan Montgomery. I’m Ash Lewis’s manager. He asked me to give you a call and see if we could set up a date for Timmy’s Make-A-Wish visit.”
“He’s changed his mind?” I ask as excitement thrums through me. “He wants to
do it?”
“Oh, he definitely wants to do it. He asked me to apologize to you for his behavior yesterday. You caught him off guard. But he definitely wants to meet Timmy and help out any way he can.”
“That means what, exactly?” I try to clarify. Just yesterday, Ash was completely dead-set against the snowboarding part of the wish. It’s hard to imagine that he’s changed his tune so quickly.
“Whatever you need it to,” Alan tells me. “He’s willing to spend a day on the slopes if that’s what Timmy wants, as well as hang with him wherever you deem appropriate.”
“Oh my God, that’s so amazing!” I squeal before I can help myself.
“Yeah, well, Ash is an amazing guy.”
“He really is,” I gush. “I don’t know how to thank him. Timmy will be so thrilled!”
“No need for that. Ash is happy to help whenever he can. Especially for a kid like Timmy.” He pauses, clears his throat. Then the deep baritone is back. “So, how does this work? I’ve never been a part of a Make-A-Wish before, so I’m not sure how things go from here.”
I can’t help thinking it’s a little strange that a manager with clients as high caliber as Alan Montgomery’s obviously are hasn’t had to do a Make-A-Wish before, but then again, extreme sports are still making a name for themselves in the mainstream. A couple more years and he’ll probably be crawling with requests.
“Well, this is the point where I ask you for any dates that absolutely won’t work for Ash. Then I call Timmy’s parents and they consult with his doctors to try and see when they think it’s viable for him to go to Oregon. We’ll come up with three or four dates that work between them and the ski camp and then I’ll contact Ash to see which date is best for him. And then I’ll take it from there, make all the arrangements. All he has to do is show up. Does that sound okay?”
I pause, remind myself to take a breath. I’m trying to be professional here, but I’m so excited I’m nearly jumping out of my skin. I didn’t fail! Timmy is going to get his wish! And I’m going to get to see Ash again.
The thought creeps into my consciousness, unbidden, and though I try to ignore it, all kinds of images from our meeting yesterday bombard me. I’ve been trying really hard not to think about that meeting—about him—but now that his manager is on the phone, it’s impossible. From the way Ash’s eyes lit up when he smiled to the way his lips felt pressed against the nape of my neck to the way his whole face closed up when I told him what I was really there for. There’d been a part of me that was kicking myself, the same part that wanted nothing more than to melt against him in that storage closet. To let him do whatever he wanted to me.
Which sounds nuts, I know, but I’ve spent ten years being that cancer girl. So not conducive to getting kissed, let alone getting laid. And having wild monkey sex against the wall in a semipublic place? It’s certainly never been on the table before—and probably never will be again.
It’s a depressing thought. Because while it’s crazy for me to think about having any kind of sex with a guy I just met—a guy like Ash who would normally never even notice me—I can’t help thinking it’d also be awesome. I wouldn’t even care that he was just using me—hell, I’d be using him right back.
I mean, I’ve been kissed exactly twice in my life—both of them pity kisses from boys my mom roped into taking me on a date back when I was bald and still undergoing chemo. Nice, right? Not pathetic at all, especially considering the fact that I’m nineteen years old.
Yes, I definitely should have taken Ash up on his offer.
Then again, if I had, I probably wouldn’t be talking to his manager about Timmy’s Make-A-Wish right now. From what I understand, guys aren’t big on talking to their one-storage-room stands after the deed is done.
“Miss Hampton? Are you still there?”
Oh, shit! “Yes, of course, Mr. Montgomery. I’m definitely here. Sorry, you were cutting out a little but it’s better now.”
“Oh, um, good. Anyway, I was saying that that sounds great. But you should probably deal with me until we get all the details finalized, if that’s okay? Ash has a lot going on right now.”
“Right, of course.” I ignore the little niggle of disappointment that comes from knowing I won’t be talking to Ash anytime soon. Then again, that’s probably a good thing. Throwing myself at him when he’s doing me this big favor would so not be okay. “If you give me your email address, I’ll send you the dates as soon as I’ve got them and we can go from there.”
“That sounds great.” I can hear obvious relief in Alan Montgomery’s voice and for a second, it seems a little strange. But then he’s rattling off his email address and I’m too busy scrambling for a pen to worry about the nuances of the conversation.
We hang up a couple minutes later, and I can’t help it. I bound out of my car and do a little happy dance, right there in the middle of the parking lot.
Timmy’s going to get his Make-A-Wish!
My first solo assignment is a success!
I get to see Ash again!
Wait—that last thought is so not appropriate. I shove it out of my mind (or at least I try to) and concentrate on the fact that I’m not a failure, after all. I didn’t let Timmy down. He’s going to get his wish before he dies. That’s the important thing here. That’s the only reason I have to be happy that Ash agreed.
When my happy dance is done—and yes, it takes a couple of minutes because I really am that excited—I reach into my car and grab my purse before heading into the office at close to a dead run. Suddenly, I have a lot of work to do today.