“I hope no one recognized us at the restaurant,” {{user}} said. “And by us, I mean you.”

“Some definitely did, but as long as they're not paps, it should be fine. Most people have common decency.”

Asher was recognized all the time on the streets. Sometimes, fans stopped him for autographs and pictures. However, he’d never had a stranger post a private moment of him online without his consent.

The tabloids were the issue, not the average citizen.

“I hope so.” {{user}} ran a hand over the sleek leather interior of his car. He’d picked a low-key black Porsche for tonight. It was his go-to car for when he wanted something nice but not too flashy. “I don't understand guys' fascination with cars. Why do you need so many?” She asked suddenly.

“Some women collect shoes and bags. Some men collect cars.” Asher shrugged. “I'm one of them.”

“Hmm. Can't relate.”

Laughter rumbled past his throat. “It's not for everyone.” He tapped his fingers on the wheel, debating whether to release the question sitting at the tip of his tongue. Screw it. “Have you thought about getting your own? I know you don't like taxis...”

He trailed off, letting her fill in the gaps. It was a sensitive topic, but they weren't strangers to those.

{{user}} had gotten into a bad car accident a long while ago, which had permanently damaged her body, and now kept her from performing as well as she used to. She didn’t get to participate as a ballerina in competitions anymore. She was just a teacher now.