Page 167 of Should Our Stars Collide

“Come on,” Kieran repeats, ushering him off the blanket so he can roll it up.

The drive to Ash’s office passes in a quiet, uneventful manner, but there’s nothing calm about it. Ash doesn’t even know where to start unraveling the tangled ball of emotions lodged tight in his throat. Maybe he should hand over his license. This is disgraceful.

And when they finally arrive? It takes him longer than he’ll ever admit before he’s able to get his body to move and exit Kieran’s car. Even after he does, he still hesitates closing the door. Because it feels like when he does…something will come to an end. Not just this ‘date’.

“Thank you for dinner. And for giving me a…glimpse into the future.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He cracks a smile. “Drive safe, Kieran.”

“Ash?” Kieran leans halfway over the passenger seat. “You can bullshit yourself, but it already happened.”

Processing the fact that this is the first time Kieran’s called him by his name—and hung up on how right it sounded rolling off his tongue—Ash asks, a little dazed, “What’s happened?”

“Our stars. They collided.”

Against his better judgment, Ash smiles. Because that’s exactly how he’s felt the whole time. Their meeting did feel more like a collision than anything else.

And yeah, it was fucking beautiful.

“Goodnight, Kieran.”

Kieran holds Ash’s gaze for a while longer, then releases a shuddering breath and slides back into his seat. “Yeah, yeah. You better dream of me.”

Ash waits until Kieran has driven away to say, “I have a feeling I will.”

39

Ash doesn’t dream of Kieran just that night, but every night. For a week straight. And every morning he wakes up with—the raging boner aside—a strange ache in his chest.

The first dream is innocent enough—a slightly more lighthearted version of their ‘date’, with more laughter and less angst. But by night three, things start escalating. There’s heat, closeness, lips against lips, and the kind of soft sounds that wake him up and make him throw a pillow halfway across the room when he realizes none of it was real.

He tells himself it’s temporary. A mild psychological malfunction. Maybe an early onset of a mid-life crisis. But when night five rolls around and dream-Kieran has apparently decided clothes are optional, Ash starts dreading sleep almost as much as he looks forward to it. It’s a full-on mindfuck, because in the dreams Kieran’s touch feels soreal. And in the mornings, the bed feels too big and cold, the apartment too quiet, and Ash’s self-control dangerously thin.

He tries to bury himself in work; getting invested in other people’s lives instead of his own should work a charm, right?

Not quite. The distraction works during the day, but every night his brain hits replay like it’s his favorite movie. At this point, Ash is pretty sure he’s being haunted. Not by ghosts, but by a very persistent man with the mouth of a sailor and determination of a debt collector.

Ash’s heart races just thinking of that trademark scowl. He sighs heavily and clickssaveon his previous patient’s notes (which may ormay not have taken him almost half an hour to complete). A glance at his watch makes him curse—he’s already five minutes late for his last appointment. The chair scrapes across the floor as he pushes it back in a hurry before striding towards the door.

An apology on his tongue, he opens it, and freezes.

“Kieran?”

Kieran springs to his feet, beaming. “Hey!”

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Ash peers further into the lobby. “Kieran, I can’t do this right now. I have an appointment.”

“I know.” He spreads his arms wide, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m your 3:30.”

Ash frowns and pulls out his phone to double-check the appointment, which was—yep—booked under the name Lucas Emberton.

“Lucas is my middle name,” Kieran so helpfully supplies. “You should know, since we’ll be getting married down the road.”

Sliding the phone into his back pocket, Ash has to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Right. Kieran, I know it doesn’t look it, but I take my job seriously. We can’t do this here.”

“What are you talking about? I’m here for a psych session.”