Mikey held up various outfit suggestions for his date, all of which Ashton made a face at purely on principal. "Girls love you in blue, it brings out your eyes, it tests very well," Mikey explained. "Also you fucking owe me one, so sit down and take off that ratty band t-shirt before I rip it off you and burn it in your obscenely huge fire place."
"You own more ratty t-shirts than I do," Ashton argued.
"Yes, but I make them look good."
This was Ashton' favorite kind of Mikey, flustered but still bitchy. The type of Mikey that sounded just a little bit ridiculous saying things like girls love you in blue. The type of Mikey he would do anything for. Ashton promptly stripped down to his pants and held out his arms expectantly.
"Dress yourself. Kate will be here in ten to do your hair, then we are leaving by 6.45 on the nose, Irwin." Mikey goosed Ashton' ass and left his bedroom.
At precisely 6.44, Ashton presented himself to Mikey, who had made himself at home watching television in the living room. Mikey critically inspected Ashton, who was wearing jeans without any holes, a crisp button up, and a black blazer. "Yeah, I suppose, that'll do," Mikey said, swinging his feet off the coffee table.
"That'll do? There's nothing about me that isn't amazing right now."
Mikey tugged on the lapel of Ashton' blazer. "Do you still regret the loss of your jean jacket?"
Ashton narrowed his eyes and growled as best he could (which was not very well), "Every damn day."
Mikey rode in the large SUV with Ashton to the winner's hotel. He briefed Ashton from his stalker-level file on the girl they had strategically chosen.
"Her name is Hannah. She's from Sheffield, Yorkshire. She works at Tesco."
"What, you couldn't find a girl from Australia?" Ashton rolled his eyes.
It was the fans from the Nebraskas of the world that loved him hardest and most uncomfortably. They figured, he was sure, that he would drop in some day off a bus, with nothing but a duffle bag and much more metaphorical baggage via tragic backstory, and whisk them away from their boring lives as farm hands or Tesco cashiers or whatever people did in small towns in the twenty-first century. Sheffield, Yorkshire sounded very Nebraska indeed.
"We're not trying to be that obvious. But we could do for a reminder of your image. More British everyman than Hugh Grant."
"Hugh Grant is a twat."
"So are you. But he worked for twenty years before anyone found out he was a twat." Mikey kicked at Ashton's feet.
"Oi, prick, you're going to scuff my unnaturally clean brand new shoes that clearly belong to me and were not purchased today by a stylist."
"She's going to be okay. They all had to put why they wanted to meet you in 140 characters or less and she said, 'He seems all right.' So clearly her expectations aren't very high, which is exactly where I want her."
Ashton flipped Mikey off. But playfully. Mostly.
"She's got the look, wide-eyed innocence and kindness, exactly what you need. She has no criminal record or any sort of red flags. Her Twitter is normal, quotes and almost funny observations about her life. She doesn't run a crazy fan Tumblr about you, her ships are standard, she's respectful and patient with old people on Facebook. We've had profilers look at her. I've talked to her. She's signed all seventeen of the Non-Disclosure Agreements the lawyers at Modest drew up. She's harmless. You'll like her."
"Wait. She has a boat?"
Mikey and Ashton pulled up to the service entrance of the hotel. Ashton was to publically bring his winner—Ellen, Erica, Amanda, fuck, what was it—to their car once they had gone over the logistics of the evening and once Mikey was sure she wasn't going to pass out just being in proximity to Ashton.
They walked down the hall to the suite and stopped in front of her door. Mikey held his hand out to stop Ashton from knocking. Ashton quirked an eyebrow up.
"Thanks," Mikey said softly, and Ashton filled in all the blanks. He didn't feel like he deserved thanks, and deep down he felt just a little bit for the amount of stress sitting on his friend's shoulder and how much of that stress (okay, all of that stress) was put there by him. So he didn't joke or retort or run a hand destructively through Mikey's carefully constructed hair. He hugged him briefly, letting go with a tight squeeze, and knocked on the door. And he felt like a complete asshole.
A wide-eyed young lady yanked the door open quickly, as though she had been waiting on the other side, but the door was caught in the security chain she had left on the door. "Ah fucking fuck," she said with surprise and slammed the door quickly. Ashton was instantly charmed, which he regretted immediately. She fumbled around on the other side of the door before pulling it hesitantly back open again.
"I wasn't meant to say fucking fuck to you, I'm so sorry, that's quite possibly the most embarrassing thing I'll ever do, at least for the next five minutes, please come in, do you want to come in, I'm not really sure—" she said quickly and loudly, clutching the door until her fingers were white.
"Thanks, love, we'd love to come in," Ashton said calmly, flashing a smile.
She choked out a 'ha,' her eyes stuck to his smile for a moment. Ashton moved forward a little after exchanging a quick worried glance with Mikey. She led them to a couch and refused to sit until the two of them sat together. She then sat down on an armchair next to them.
"I'm Ashton," he said, extending a hand.
"Yes," she said, taking it and firmly shaking. He waited patiently for her response. She sat in silence for a few moments. "Oh. Hannah."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Hannah. This is Mikey, my publicist."
"We spoke on the phone," she said, shaking his hand firmly as well. "Lovely to meet you at last."
"Mikey's going to walk us through the plans for the evening. It's going to be very low key, but I want to make sure you're not overwhelmed by any of the press trying to stop you and talk to you. Is that okay?" Ashton was extraordinarily proud of himself for how professionally he was behaving at that moment and fully expected a generous reward from Mikey and Luke the following day.
Hannah nodded furiously as Mikey opened his file again and began to read The Itinerary for the evening.
Ashton held out his arm for Hannah once they were assured the car was parked in front of the hotel lobby. She looped her arm in appreciatively and squeezed it a little. Ashton gave her a supportive smile, which in turn turned her smile brighter. "Can I tell you a secret," he said quietly.
"No, I can't be trusted," she replied seriously.
Ashton was a little surprised. "Is that a joke?"
"Yes," she said simply and raised a skeptical eyebrow at Ashton. Ashton chuckled a little. A little.
"I never get used to it, the attention; it scares the hell out of me. But there's no reason to panic, okay? I've got you." The level of anxiety Ashton used to feel about the amount of attention he received had kept him from sleeping regularly for years. He had grown up insisting on being the center of attention, a precocious little shit. But attention from your relatives and teachers and mates at school was literally nothing compared to the attention of nations.
Hannah tugged herself a little closer to him.
They were greeted instantly by photographers, who shouted questions at the two of them. Ashton removed his arm from hers and instead placed it low on her back, steering her lightly toward the SUV. He held the door open for her, the cherry on top of his gentlemanly pie.
Hannah scooted across the car, leaving them plenty of room for seating and no room for intimacy or shoulder draping or light hand holding. Ashton was slightly relieved.
"I didn't actually think I was going to win. I was just doing it for a laugh, you know? I only entered the once, I mean, the statistical likelihood. I promise you I'm a completely well-adjusted person," Hannah said after the car began to move.
"I'm not at all well-adjusted. This will actually be a first for me, dating a well-adjusted person," Ashton responded, to which Hannah lifted her eyebrows and flushed her cheeks. Ashton removed his foot from his mouth and clarified, "That sounded really heavy, I didn't mean dating."
"No, I got you," Hannah said, amused. "Although my mum is dying to meet you. She's told the whole family and she fully expects you for dinner Sunday."
Ashton' smile strained, as though he didn't quite believe she was joking. Hannah's phone chirped, which he snuck a peek at. It was a text: Here's a fake emergency text, in case he's a creep and you need an out. Hannah responded: Go to bed, Soph.
The first event in the Itinerary was dinner at a small French bistro, where they could sit secluded in a corner and chat privately. They were light on small talk until they had both ordered.
"What was it that you do? For a job, that is," Ashton started.
"Ehm. I work in the bakery at a Tesco's. You?" Hannah said out of habit. She didn't seem to realize it at first.
"Well. I work in sewage." A smile played on his lips.
Hannah chuckled. "I bet living in Hollywood is a bit like living your life in waist-deep shit. The metaphorical shit being of the bull persuasion."
"How apropos," Ashton acknowledged.
"Ooh, oh ho ho, apropos," Hannah said, affecting a posh French accent. "Look at me, I'm Ashton with my fancy, upper level vocabulary."
Ashton tossed a small chunk of bread at her nose. "Joke's on you, love, I had to Google that word for a film."
"I feel sort of weird asking you about your life," she admitted after a few beats.
"I am a literal open book. You may ask me anything; chances are, it's already been published about me."
Hannah considered this for some time. "What is the number one thing you are most enthusiastic about?"
Ashton responded quickly and without thought, a practiced answer. "I like to be low key, you know, it doesn't take a lot to keep me happy. Maybe some time stretched out on a beach with a special someone, sun and drinks and serenity."
Hannah hummed, looking down at her glass of wine as she turned it slowly by the stem.
"What?" Ashton said as innocently as he could manage.
Hannah shrugged. "I just hoped you were comfortable enough to be honest."
Ashton was irritated, though he wasn't sure if it was because she was right and he was fake and he hated that about himself or because he simply didn't like that she called him out. She didn't fucking know him.
They were served quickly. Hannah was sort of baffled by the menu, so she allowed Ashton to order for her. Ashton too was constantly baffled by fancy menus, and usually let Luke order for him. He picked the two fanciest sounding things on the menu, which, now placed in front of them, looked disgusting.
They picked at the food.
"I work with my best friend, Sophie," Hannah said, transitioning, it seemed, into lighter topics, "she's sort of like a culinary genius of baked goods. They let her have her own little section, Sophie's Corner, where she tries out all sorts of fancy recipes and sells them for 50p. Technically we're not supposed to do that kind of thing, but we've sort of got the manager addicted to them."
"That's brilliant," Ashton said, attempting to find interest as he sniffed hesitantly at what he imagined was food.
"I know it's stunningly boring."
"It really is. Stunningly boring. Actively counting down the minutes until we're no longer talking about a Tesco bakery," Ashton said sarcastically before thinking about the consequences. Hannah, however, looked game.
"Ashton Irwin is a cheeky bastard," she announced. She scooped up a small amount of her couscous with her fork and launched it up and over, into his carefully styled hair.
Ashton' eyes lit up, ready to declare war when the waiter casually slid into view and asked them if they needed anything. Ashton looked up at her as couscous fell from his hair to his lap and answered that they were doing excellently.
"Truce," Hannah said immediately following the waiter's exit. "We simply cannot start a food fight in this very fancy restaurant."
Ashton narrowed his eyes. "Oh, I see. You're on Mikey's side, not mine."
"You're correct, he got to me. I'm to be on my best behavior." She tapped her nose.
"That simply won't do," he said, throwing down his napkin onto his plate. "This food is horrendous, let's get out of here. I shall corrupt you yet."
"Thank god," she breathed, standing up from the table as fast as possible.
This was the kind of restaurant that didn't have prices next to the items on the menu, so Ashton laid out from his wallet what he thought was enough to cover, plus an incredibly generous tip by way of apologizing for bailing.
"Paps out front, let's take the back." Ashton grabbed her hand, though he wasn't sure why, and led her through the kitchen, to the shock and scandal of several chefs. Unable to contain their laughter, they burst out the back door, into a side street. They giggled like idiots, though nothing about this was funny or remotely interesting. Ashton actively imagined the looks on Luke and Mikey's faces when they realized he ditched The Itinerary.
The night lay before them, full of promise. That promise mostly consisting of mischief.
Go to sleep, Soph.
Sophie had chuckled and did what she asked the previous night, awaking a few hours later to turn off her phone, which was beeping erratically with Google Alerts from people attempting to live blog their date. Sophie decided she didn't care to know what happened until Hannah told her. Unless the Google Alert was that she was murdered, in which case she would regret turning her phone to silent.
She had missed her last two text messages, arriving at 12 am PST: Still alive, lovely night, we're getting married in two weeks. Twenty minutes later came: Wanted to clarify because I'm scared you wouldn't realize I was joking. We got married tonight.
Once she woke, Sophie texted her back some choice words about her being a little shit before heading to work. She spent that evening at the pub around the corner from her home. The bartender, a delightful chap with brunet hair that was plastered upwards for at least a mile, was flipping bored-like through television channels.
"Hood," Sophie said very seriously. She plopped down a tray of muffins that weren't good for sale the following day.
"Pashley," Calum answered gruffly. They shook hands like men. Calum stopped the channel surfing on a picture of Ashton Irwin and their own girl Hannah and took a muffin or four.
"Saints alive," Calum muttered, squinting at the television.
"Switch it," Sophie said instantly as the commentators on the entertainment program began speculating whether Hannah had slept over at Ashton' house the previous night. They had been spotted very late at a 24 hour Del Taco in proximity to his home.
Calum switched off the television. "Did she stay over?" He got to work pouring Sophie her favorite before popping almost an entire muffin into his mouth at once. Sophie always sort of worried about the choking hazard, but there was just something flattering about somebody so desperate to eat her food that they'd risk asphyxiation.
"I don't know." And she didn't care. Any pictures she had seen of Hannah, she had been extraordinarily happy in. And she trusted her text message. After her initial wariness of the situation, she had relaxed into being glad she was enjoying herself. She succeeded in her enthusiasm. Happy Hannah makes a Happy Sophie.
"She didn't tell you if she slept with him?"
Sophie choked into her freshly poured drink. "No, Christ, Calum, she doesn't text me every time she has sex. Normal people don't do that." Sophie wiped his mouth. "Also our walls are very thin."
"You're right, I s'pose. If I texted you every time I got some, you'd probably go over your monthly limit."
"Monthly limit. What year is it in your brain? Everybody has unlimited texting here in the future." Sophie rolled her eyes and gulped down half of her pint.
"How are you holding up without her?" Calum peeled back the wrapper of another muffin.
"We are not that co-dependent, Calum."
"You're not actively planning the murder of Ashton Irwin in the event that he replaces you?"
"I've narrowed potential murder weapons down to revolver, candlestick, and lead pipe."
They chuckled quietly. "When's she due home?"
"Tomorrow night." She was on a plane at this moment, in fact. And yeah, okay, fine, Sophie did miss her something fierce.
"Ace. Bring her by. I've an excellent cure for jet lag."
"Sure thing."
Calum was echoing the talk of the town. Everybody was suddenly very rudely interested in every aspect of Hannah's life, even though it was nobody's business at all. Sophie was bombarded with questions at the shop all afternoon, after entertainment sites released where Hannah worked. It was a small (unfortunate that she had to call it small) miracle that nobody had figured out where she lived.
