Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Plus, there was something about Daniel that drew people to him. Asher had witnessed it when they’d gone to a coffee shop on a Saturday morning and Daniel seemed to be best friends with the owners and several customers. Asher had been going in there for half a decade and nobody knew his name. Same with Asher’s neighbor, Marc. Years living under the same roof and Asher was just a man he’d seen in the hallway, but within days, Daniel had Marc giving up his free time to provide cooking lessons. Asher had seen Shirley around dozens of people over the years, including a husband and a fiancé, and he’d never seen her smile and laugh as freely as she did in Daniel’s presence.
So, yeah, it wasn’t just Daniel’s appearance that troubled Asher, it was that he was so… God, so perfect. Daniel was so fucking perfect. Asher heard a pained whimper. When Oliver looked at him in pity, he realized he’d been the one to make the pathetic sound.
“Damn it, Asher. Half of me is pissed as hell at how you treated Danny, half of me feels sorry for you, and half of me—”
“Is horrifyingly bad at math?” Asher asked. Oliver glared at him.
“Sorry.”
Oliver punched him lightly in the shoulder. “’S okay. I walked right into that one.”
Asher smiled weakly and took a deep breath, gathering his strength. He’d never begged anyone for anything in his life, but for Daniel…. “Will you tell me where he is, Ollie? Please.”
“I honestly don’t know.” Sincerity poured off Oliver. “Look, Asher, I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but I can tell you that unless Danny wants you to find him, you won’t.”
Asher scoffed, his usual arrogance reasserting itself. “I’m a cop.”
“Great, well, if he gets arrested maybe you’ll have a shot. But otherwise—” He breathed in deeply and then let it out in a sigh. “Danny lives off the grid. How’re you going to track him? He doesn’t use credit cards, doesn’t own a house or a car. And he has enough money to go anywhere. You need to realize that—” Oliver swallowed and sounded genuinely regretful when he continued speaking. “He left you, and that probably means he isn’t coming back.”
No. Asher refused to believe that. What they had between them wasn’t one-sided. Asher had seen the way Daniel looked at him—full of desire, happiness, contentment, and pure, unadulterated need. It was easy to recognize, at least for Asher, because those emotions were a reflection of what he felt for Daniel.
“He’ll be back,” Asher said, certain that he’d be proven right.
TWO weeks later, Asher felt like nothing would ever be right again. Daniel hadn’t returned, hadn’t taken any of his calls, hadn’t so much as sent him an e-mail or a text. And Asher felt like he was crawling out of his skin. He worked all day and all night, only leaving the office when he knew he was about to collapse, and sometimes not even then. There had been more than one morning when he’d woken up slumped over his desk, splashed some water on his face, and gotten right back to it.
“Asher.”
Thankfully he had a job with a never-ending pile of tasks to get through, so there was always something to occupy his time.
“Asher.”
He rubbed his dry eyes and blinked, trying to focus on his computer screen.
“Asher!”
Asher jerked and looked up.
“Ollie. Hey. Have you heard from your brother?”
“Fuck,” Oliver whispered. He closed Asher’s office door and walked over to an empty chair, sitting with his feet shoulder-width apart and resting his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands tightly together. The sorrow on his face was a completely foreign expression. And Asher had known him through two broken engagements and a divorce.
“What happened?” Asher asked frantically. “Tell me. Is he—”
“Nothing happened to Danny,” Oliver said. “Calm down.”
“Oh.” Asher started breathing again. “Okay. You scared me there.”
“The feeling’s mutual.”
“Huh?”
“Asher, I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” Asher said reflexively.
“You are the furthest thing possible from fine. You look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Asher grinned wryly. “That helps.”
“Your shirt looks like it was slept in. There are coffee stains on your pants. And you’re wearing one blue sock and one black one.”
Asher frowned. “I’m sitting behind my desk, how can you—”
“You haven’t changed your pants in three days and the coffee stain has been there since yesterday. And I heard about the socks when I poured myself a cup of sludge in your break room earlier.”
“Who was talking about my socks? If one of my officers has so much free time, then I can—”
“What? You can what? Bite his head off? Snap at him for no reason? No worries, you’ve got it covered. There isn’t a person on this floor who hasn’t been subjected to your piss-poor mood.”
“How would you know? You’re in another part of the building. I haven’t—”