Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“You didn’t!”
“I did. Our server upsold me like a boss. Although, maybe that one was on the house because I think I’d already paid and tipped well. And I must have looked pretty sorry because she said I needed to eat my feelings.”
I slap a hand over my mouth. “Oh my god.”
“I needed to hear it.”
“No, you didn’t.” Asher steps in, shut the door behind him, and I deflate. It’s embarrassing how badly I want to wrap my arms around his neck and press myself against him. “I’m sorry. That dinner was…I don’t even know what it was. I was not in a good mood, and then I…I wasn’t expecting to like your grandma, but I discovered I did, and I was still all worked up about things. I was mad at you.” It sounds so silly saying it now, and it’s hard for me to remember why I was mad in the first place.
Oh right. Because his granny reminded me that I was probably just another bang and bung for him. I don’t know what bung is, but it sounds like one and done.
“I noticed there was a weird tension at dinner. You had no reason not to like my granny, except that she was an extension of me.”
That’s not it at all. Thinking about Asher’s granny makes my heart skitter with dread. I might grudgingly like the woman, but I’m still basically a double agent, and I know Asher would be so hurt if he found out about the cheque in my purse. Which I’m going to rip up. I just couldn’t make myself do it yesterday, so it’s still in there—a twenty thousand dollar taunt—burning through my poor purse and waiting for the ax and fire, except in this case, it’ll just get my hands and the garbage can.
“I’m sorry I freaked out.” This, at least, I can deal with right now. “I was thinking about your past. I should have sat down and told you I was freaking out and explained everything. I don’t know. You were right. You didn’t deserve it, I wasn’t being fair, and you always have been overly nice to me. Everyone has things they’ve done that they wish they hadn’t done.”
“Really?” He seems surprised, and I’m not sure if it’s the lead-up to my admission or if he didn’t expect I could be persuaded to think otherwise.
I bob my head. “Yeah. For example, I myself dated a guy for three years, someone I wasn’t even in love with, and I got engaged to him. My friends were relieved when we broke up, and I think my parents were too. I haven’t even talked to them about it yet. Not really anyway because I don’t know what to say. Is being with someone like that because you’re too afraid of rejection or being alone any better than dating more people because you’re young and don’t really know what you want?”
It’s not an open-ended question, so Asher just studies me. His eyes look a thousand shades darker blue than they ever have. After a few moments, he says, “We can only do what we’re taught, I guess. And teach what we know. I don’t want to use that as an excuse, but I’m ashamed to admit I have no idea what love actually looks like. Not that kind of love, at least. My granny has loved my mom and me no matter what, and there were some definitive what moments in there, but that’s not the kind of love I mean, even if it is invaluable. I know how to love my family and how to stick together and fight it out, but I don’t know anything more than that.”
What he says makes me pause. I always had the benefit of seeing that my parents were in love. I knew they were, even if they didn’t kiss, hug, and do the sappy stuff in front of us very often. More importantly, they provided a stable home, taught us right from wrong, looked after us, and truly cared about us.
Asher leans against the wall. “Has anything we’ve done felt forced to you? Awkward? Fake?”
“No,” I admit on instinct, caught off guard by the change of subject, but I know I’m right. “Not even that first kiss.” Damn it. I should have kept that bit to myself.
“Not even that first kiss,” he echoes in agreement.
Holy dingleberries, I think we just made up. Or maybe that’s some kind of cue because Asher steps forward, and I find myself closing the distance, reaching for him, craving his arms, his closeness, his presence, and the feel of his body pressed up and wrapped around mine. I crave his scent, which by now, I know by heart. Which then gets my heart pumping and my blood flowing. And also my lady berries berrying if you know what I mean. Maybe temptation, loss of control, and bad decisions aren’t so bad after all.