Finding Asher

Asher Freedom. There's nothing like it in the world. You don't truly appreciate freedom until it's taken away from you. I remember that as I step off the bus and into my new life here in Fort Collins. I breathe in the fresh, mountain air and take a moment to listen to everything around me. Civilization. I've missed it. I walk along the sidewalk that goes through town, taking everything in. A lot has changed in five years. The biggest change I've noticed is smart phones. Everyone I pass by seems to have one glued to their hands and I can't help but notice their lack of buttons. People are just tapping away at the screen. Skinny jeans are another thing I've noticed. I've heard of them before, but to see so many people wearing them puts this new trend into perspective. They look great on women, but on men? Where do your balls go? A couple of women check me out as I walk past them. I guess I'm a good looking enough guy. I've always heard that anyway. I try not to let it go to my head, especially since underneath these dashing good looks lies a damaged, tortured soul. I turn around and give them a wink and they giggle. They look like college students, so I won't go there. Not my type anyway. Besides, I don't have time for women or the drama that comes along with them. I have one goal here in Fort Collins and that's to get the hell out. I need money to do that and I'll need a job to get money. Simple enough. I pass by a bar and I'm tempted to stop in for a drink. It's been so long since I've had a cold beer. It would be nice to loosen up a bit. After I pass by it, I stop and turn around. I look up at the old, weathered wooden sign that hangs above the building. Rocky's Bar. After a few seconds of contemplation, I head inside. I sit down at the bar and wait for the bartender to make his way over to me. It's only three in the afternoon, so the only people here are your typical resident drunks; an old guy that's nearly passed out at the end of the bar sings along to whatever old country song is playing. A couple of men wearing suits are at the other end of the bar, discussing business. A few others are scattered around, but everyone seems to be keeping to themselves. A young guy walks in looking quite dejected, and unfortunately, takes the seat next to me. Now, I'm not a bad guy. I'm actually pretty charming once you get to know me, but a conversationalist, I am not. This guy looks like he wants to talk. I just hope he finds me as unapproachable as most people do. Out of the corner of my eye I can tell he's taking in my sleeves of prison tattoos, my slicked back dirty blonde hair, my rugged beard and tattered clothes. I'm used to it. My appearance screams dirty, low life criminal. "What can I get you, son?" The old, gray bearded bartender finally asks. "Just a beer," I reply. He nods and steps away. The kid next to me is still staring a hole through the side of my head. Finally, I look up and meet his eyes. He quickly looks away. "You keep on staring at me like that and I'm gonna make you buy me a drink," I tell him. His eyes widen and his face turns red with embarrassment. "N-no. I just.... I was..." "It was a joke, kid," I deadpan. He just smiles nervously. He looks too young to be in this place. His light brown hair looks as if he meant it to look like he just got out of bed. His eyes are bright blue; almost translucent they are so bright. "No offense, but you are scary as hell sitting here...existing," he finally says. That gets a laugh out of me. I know I look scary, but I admire this kid's bluntness. "And you look like you used your fake ID to get that beer," I say using my beer to motion to his, before bringing it to my lips and chugging. "See, that's where you're wrong," he says, taking his wallet from his back pocket. He pulls out his drivers license and shoves it in my face. "I'm twenty-one today." "Well happy birthday, kid. In that case, I guess I'll buy your next beer." He smiles happily, but his eyes tell a different story.  "Really? Thanks, man." He takes a sip of his beer, but I can tell he wants to say something. While I'm not usually one to pry into other people's lives, I can't help but wonder why this kid is alone in a bar on his twenty-first birthday. He finally looks over at me and forces a small smile. "I'm Logan, by the way." A rich kid's name if I've ever heard one. He's dressed to the nines with perfect, white teeth, so I'm sure I'm right on point. "Asher," I reply shaking his hand. "So what brings you out here all alone on your birthday, Logan?" He hesitates before responding. "I haven't lived here long so haven't exactly made any friends." I feel sorry for this kid, being all alone on his birthday. I told myself that I wasn't going to get attached to anyone here. I just need to get a job, save up some money and get the hell out of Fort Collins. Out of Colorado. Hell, maybe even out of the country. But for today, I'm going to be the nice guy my grandmother raised me to be and make sure this kid doesn't spend his birthday alone. Logan and I knock back three or four more beers and exchange nonsense conversation before he asks the question I knew was coming. "I don't want to sound rude, but have you ever been to prison?" he slurs. Ah, liquid courage. I chuckle. "Why would you ask that?" He looks down at the tattoos that cover my arms and back at me. "Well, I've seen those kind of tattoos before and...well, most of those guys...they spent some time... not that...I mean-" "I spent some time in prison, yes, but I'm putting all that behind me and moving on. I'm only twenty-eight so I figure I got time, you know?" "You're only twenty-eight? But you look so..." he trails off, probably to avoid saying anything that I might take offense to. I chuckle and shake my head. "I look older than that, I know. Hell, I feel older than that too. I've been through a lot. It's put a lot of miles on this otherwise handsome face." He laughs. Too hard. While I guess I should be at least mildly offended by his reaction, I realize the kid is almost three sheets to the wind. "I think you've probably had enough for now, kid. How are you getting home anyway?" He looks up from his phone and stares at me with big, dumb eyes. This must be the first time he's considered the fact that he'll eventually have to leave this place. Being the good guy that I am, I can't just leave him here and hope for the best. "I can call my mom to come get me," he finally says. I nod, patting him on the back. "Sounds like a plan." I stand up from my chair and take out my wallet to pay for my tab. "It was nice meeting you, Logan." "Hey, maybe we can do this again? You know, just have a couple of beers sometime?" he asks quickly. While I don't see the harm in that, I have bigger fish to fry at the moment. "Actually, I'm officially on a job hunt as of tomorrow. Maybe if-" "You're looking for a job?" he interrupts. "Can't get money without one. Not legally anyway." A grin spreads across his face. "My mom is looking for help at her shop! It's just a couple blocks away, I could totally-" "I appreciate the offer, kid, but I'm sure your mom wouldn't want to hire a scoundrel like me to work in her florist, or greeting card shop, or whatever- "She sells pot," he interrupts, grinning mischievously. "I'm sorry, did you say pot?" I ask, just to be sure I heard him right. "It's Colorado, man. Don't act so surprised." It's not that I'm surprised there's a pot shop two blocks away. m*******a has been legal here for years. What surprises me is that Richie Rich here has a mother that most likely looks like June Cleaver by the looks of him, that sells pot. Not the family business I pictured this guy coming from at all. "Two blocks, huh?" I ask, putting my leather jacket on and zipping it up. "Right, two blocks. She's there now if you want to go talk to her." "We've been drinking for the past two hours, kid. Have you ever attended a job interview drunk?" "I've never really had a job. I mean, I've always worked for my mom, so I've never had to go to a job interview." "But you catch my drift, right? You think your mom is going to hire a criminal that just got out of prison yesterday? One that shows up to her shop drunk with her son who is also drunk...you don't see anything wrong with this picture?" Logan laughs. "My mom is different, trust me." I can't deny that all of this certainly peaks my interest. "Well, why don't we stop by and pay your mother a visit?" I wait for Logan to pay his tab and the two of us start towards the historic district. I don't know a lot about Fort Collins since I grew up about an hour away from here, but I remember this part of town well. Before m*******a was legalized, it was mostly just a place that the local elderly congregated. Now, looking around, I see nothing but pot shops, music stores and of course, a Pizza Hut. "Here we are," Logan says, coming to a stop in front of a small shop with large, store-front windows. I look up at the sign and furrow my brows in confusion. Sugar Baby's? What kind of name is that? This doesn't look anything like the other pot shops around here. It looks more like... "Is this a bakery?" I ask, turning to Logan. "I thought you said your mom sells pot." "You need a job, she's hiring," Logan says, turning on his heels and nearly falling over. He catches himself on the wall and giggles like a little girl. "She's going to kill me when she sees you. Maybe this isn't such a good idea-" Logan crashes through the door causing it to swing wide open and falls inside face down on the floor. I over my face with my hand and shake my head in disbelief. I walk inside and help him up to his feet. He's still giggling like he has no sense at all. A throat clears behind us and I turn around and nearly stumble backwards at the sight of her. Her eyes. They are the most beautiful shade of green I think I've ever seen. "Are you seriously coming in here drunk at five in the afternoon?" She asks Logan. She doesn't sound mad, only amused. "I may have had a couple beers, but I am totally good. Not drunk," he says, giving her two thumbs up. She smiles at him and my heart begins to race. She's beautiful. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before," she says, making her way from behind the counter and stopping in front of me, extending her hand. "I'm Ashley, Logan's mom." No way. I can't seem to take my eyes off her. She's tall and slender with long brown hair and striking green eyes. Her face is flawless and her body is perfect. I look over at Logan and back at her. There is no way this i***t came out of her. I shake her hand, noticing immediately how soft and warm her skin is. I clear my throat, realizing I've probably been staring at her like an i***t. "Asher." "So how do you two know each other?" she asks, busying herself behind the counter again. I look over at Logan, who is now face down on the black leather sofa in the corner of the shop. His arm hangs limp over the side and his one leg is slung over the top of the sofa. Poor kid is definitely a lightweight. "I met him a couple of hours ago at Rocky's. I didn't want to just leave him there in his current state,"  I reply. She shakes her head and chuckles lightly. "It's his birthday, you know? I had to force him to take the day off and enjoy himself. Thank you for getting him back to me in once piece." "Actually, he mentioned that you may be hiring?" I ask, following after her, but keeping enough distance so that she doesn't smell the alcohol on me. She looks me over and smirks. "I need a baker, not security." She's not looking at me with judgmental eyes like I would expect; more sarcasm than anything. "Didn't you learn not to judge a book by its cover?" I smirk. She smiles and I can see the hint of a blush spread across her face. "Okay, fine. Come back tomorrow and prove me wrong." "Really? Tomorrow?" "What? Do you have somewhere else to be?" she asks as her eyes move over my tattoos. And there's that judgemental gaze I've been waiting for. Even though I'm used to it, I don't want her to look at me that way. "No, I don't," I say, clicking my tongue and leaning against the counter in front of her. She blushes again, but this time, it's different. She's not embarrassed or worried that her words offend me. She's affected by me. She's looking at me the same way I'm looking at her. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? You just don't strike me as the Betty Crocker type. I don't mean anything by it. I'm swear I'm not usually one that judges a book by its cover. It's just that you're so..." "Charming? Sexy?" I smirk. She laughs. "I was going to say intimidating." "Ah, yes. Because of my tattoos?" She gives me a bored look. "I'm not judging you, if that's what you think." "So what do you call it?" Her eyes turn a bit more serious as she pauses to think about it. "Okay, maybe I'm making assumptions about you. Like I said, you don't look like someone that would know his way around a kitchen." "So what do I look like?" I ask her. She smiles bashfully and looks away from me. Man, this girl is so beautiful, I can't even take my eyes off her. I'd love to work here, to see her every day. As a matter of fact, I can't think of anything I want more. "I'll be back tomorrow," I say, turning to walk away. I stop when I get to the door and turn back around to face her. "To uh... prove you wrong."