Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 511(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
“Um … Asher, we’re in a grocery store,” I said quietly.
He smiled. “You mentioned.” He didn’t let me go.
“Well, it’s a public place, people can see us,” I told him.
He grinned against my mouth again. “I don’t give a fuck,” he murmured.
Then, right in front of the cashier and shoppers, he kissed the ever loving shit out of me. A gesture that I thought would have had me purple with embarrassment. Instead, when he released me, I didn’t give a fuck either.
It was only when we got back to my place that I realized he’d managed me out of my hissy fit about who paid.
I turned to face him from where he was sitting at the breakfast bar, frowning into his phone.
“You can’t do that,” I declared, my hands on my hips.
He glanced up from my phone, his eyes focusing on my stance. He obviously recognized said stance because he gave me his full attention.
“What? You said I couldn’t help unpack that you had a ‘system.'” He finger quoted with obvious amusement.
I glared at him. “Not that, the groceries, paying for them. You can’t do that again,” I told him firmly.
The amusement disappeared from his face. “I can and I will,” he replied.
I glowered at him.
Before I had time to launch into a monolog about how I was a strong independent woman, Asher kept talking. “I spend all of my free time here, babe. You’re busy. I’m busy. So the time we get to spend together, I relish. Which means my free time is spent under your roof, in your bed, and eating your food. You’re my woman, I take care of you.” He clocked my bulging eyes at this and held up his hand to let him continue, “You’re also running yourself ragged. Studying, workin’ at that bar.” He didn’t hide his distaste for my job. “You’re running on empty, babe. Money is one thing you shouldn’t have to worry about. I work full time. I’ve got it to spare. Plus, it makes me feel good to put it to something worthwhile like feeding my woman. Please just let me fuckin’ do it,” he requested.
I stared at him. I was quiet for a long time. He was used to this, the fact I didn’t reply immediately. His sentiment, his words were beautiful. The fact I’d found someone who wanted to take care of me was beautiful. That this man, who seemed so hard on the outside, turned soft for me. I could get used to it. That was the problem. I’d stopped my partying, stopped running and embracing the uncomfortable. Asher was comfortable. Too comfortable. That was the problem. I couldn’t explain this right now. I didn’t want to. For now, I just wanted to be taken care of.
“Okay,” I relented.
Asher had smiled and rounded the breakfast bar to give me a kiss. One that escalated to him fucking me on the counter.
It might have not been smart of me to throw myself into what Asher offered. To jump straight into a relationship that felt like we’d been together for years. It wasn’t smart because it wasn’t real. The bubble would pop at some point. But I had decided to think of that later.
I was proud of myself. Not just for my measly bicep strength, but of myself in general. It was an unfamiliar feeling. I’d never really felt proud of myself. Comfortable in my own skin. My own life. It was like I hadn’t found a way to fit yet, I was always tugging at the figurative sleeves of my existence, trying to stretch it into shape. After doing something as mundane as grocery shopping after almost a month back at college, I felt it. I had taken the sweater off, was just me. It felt good. The gaping hole in my life was still there, the pain was constant but manageable. I had hope. Asher was a huge part of this, I knew. It both comforted and worried me. Another person I’d build my life around. Another one that would tear it apart when he left.
All of this was running through my mind, plus being mindful of the glass jars in my bags that would break if I surrendered to my screaming arms. So when I walked through the door I was preoccupied. I didn’t see it at first. When I did, the bags went hurtling to my feet and the smashing of the glass went unnoticed.
Bex was being held up against the wall, by what I recognized was Dylan’s large form. Her lip was bleeding and her cheek red. I didn’t think. The sight of my friend clawing at the hands cutting off her air supply had me acting on instinct. I rushed forward.
“Get off her,” I screamed, yanking at the muscled shoulder attached to the equally muscled arm killing my friend.