Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
My heels click-clack across the hard floor, and I stare straight ahead, hoping to avoid eye contact with another one of my dad’s clients or my mom’s friends. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I scan my appearance. Besides the lingering flush in my cheeks, you’d never know that a little over an hour ago, I was grinding on Asher’s lap, begging him to take me higher.
After fluffing my hair and reapplying my lipstick, I’ve run out of things to do, so I decide to head back out. As soon as I open the door, a hand darts out to clutch my elbow in an almost painful grip.
“Jackson, what the hell?” I tug my arm back, and the champagne splashes onto his shoes.
“I thought I saw you go in there,” he says, still staring at the liquid on his dress shoes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He shakes his foot off and flashes me an easy smile. I don’t apologize.
“So, I hear you’re my date,” he says, when I don’t respond.
“We’re here as friends,” I stress. Even that much is a stretch after our last conversation.
“Friends?” He laughs. “Do you fuck all your friends?” he spits angrily.
“Okay, we’re done here.” His ego is wounded, and I get that. But I won’t be spoken to like that. I stand and spin around to walk away, only to run into a solid, six-foot wall of Asher. He steadies me by my shoulders, and I gasp when I realize he’s wearing a suit.
I’ll always prefer casual Ash over anything, but seeing him in a suit literally takes my breath away. His usually disheveled hair is slicked back in a pompadour style, and those beautiful, multicolored eyes shoot lasers in Jackson’s direction. I bring my hands to his face, forcing him to look at me, before dropping my hands and looking around, frantically, making sure no one saw us.
“Asher, don’t,” I whisper.
Ignoring me, he moves around me, standing chest to chest with Jackson.
“If you so much as fucking look in her direction again, I will put you in a fucking coma.”
His words aren’t loud, but quiet, intense Asher is far more dangerous. Jackson’s eyes dart to me briefly, but if he’s expecting me to stick up for him after that, he’s sorely mistaken. Shaking his head in disbelief, doing his best to hide his fear, he stomps away like a scolded child.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, turning my attention back to the bad boy turned GQ model in front of me.
“I knew that piece of shit was bad news.” His fists at his sides clench and release, clench, and release again.
“Relax.” I discreetly grab one of his hands, uncurling his fingers and rubbing his palm with my thumb. His hard eyes soften at my touch, and being the one person who can get through to him when he’s like this cracks the last piece of my hesitant heart wide open. It’s his. It’s always been his. I just wish he’d realize it.
“What the fuck was that about?”
At the sound of Dash’s voice, we drop each other’s hands like they’re on fire.
Dash jerks his chin in the direction Jackson ran off. “Do we need to take care of this guy?”
“What are you, the mafia?” I joke, shooting a pleading look at Asher. I know he wants nothing more than to make Jackson hurt right now. I can see it in his eyes. But, I don’t want them involved in this. I don’t even want my brother knowing that I slept with him.
Asher hesitates for a beat, indecision warring on his face. “He was just talking shit,” he explains, purposely downplaying the situation, and I let out a relieved breath.
As if I needed more chaos, I spot my mom heading right toward us, zeroed in on Dash. Maybe she won’t recognize Asher, being three years older and in a suit of all things.
“Dash, darling, how nice of you to—oh. Asher. What are you doing here?”
Okay, so I guess she recognized him.
“Dash here asked me to be his plus one,” he says, that mask of cool indifference firmly back in place. “I couldn’t say no to that pretty face. You know how it goes.”
“Mhm,” is all my mom says with a forced smile, turning her attention to me. “Where’s Jackson?” She scans the crowd.
“Probably to change his pants,” Asher mumbles under his breath, and I elbow his side.
“I don’t know. He was just here. I’m sure he’ll be back.” I shrug.
“Well, make sure you find him. Dinner will be served soon, then I’m certain he’ll want to dance.”
“I’m not—”
“Oh! And Lara wants a picture of you two,” she says, cutting me off, referring to Jackson’s mother. I swear I hear a growl come from Asher. And then she’s off, making her way to her next victim before I have a chance to object.