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“My parents are quite traditional,” he explains, shuffling his feet. “My room is just down the hall—”
“Separate bedrooms?” I ask, arching a brow. “They do realize you’re pushing fifty—”
“I’m forty-five, Ari,” he deadpans, glowering at me. “And I know. It’s not ideal, but we have to respect their rules.”
Boringgggg Asher
“Fine. But are there rules against sneaking around?” I ask, giving him a conspiratorial smirk.
“Ari, I think it’s best if we don’t… you know, on this trip.”
“Wait. At all?”
“I just don’t want to make things awkward. It...
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I stare at him for a second, something pulling taut in my chest. Only...
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“Sure. Wha...
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Should’ve packed my ...
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“Okay. Well, I have a few meetings in the morning, so just help yourself to the house,” he says, already halfway to the door. “My parents will be around.”
I nod slowly, but something about that feels… odd. I don’t know his parents well. I was hoping to rely on him to navigate this whole week, but now it seems like I’m supposed to figure it out on my own.
“Right,” I murmur. “I’ll just… make my...
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“We’re doing a gift exchange tomorrow, by the way. Sort of like a white elephant, but for midsummer.”
Why tf wouldnt you say something dude?!
“What? Shit, I didn’t get anyone a gift.”
“It’s fine, we can figure something out t...
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Guilt, heavy and suffocating, clogs my throat. So much for makin...
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I toss back an Ambien, something I take whenever I have trouble sleeping, and then I pull my laptop onto the bed. I have about thirty minutes before it kicks in, so I might as well be productive. Clicking into my fan fiction account, I use the Wi-Fi password Asher had texted me as I check the recent comments for the story I’m writing. It’s a mash-up of Eragon and Game of Thrones. My main character is currently on her knees for a seven-foot dragon hybrid, begging him to wreck her life.
“Then sleep. I’ll take care of everything.” The voice is soft, familiar, just enough like Asher’s to make sense in the haze of the Ambien.
I swear I see a dark, whirling pattern on his neck, but I can’t focus enough to truly determine if I’m seeing things again or not.
“You came to my room,” I whisper, more a statement than a question. My limbs feel heavy, my head too foggy to question why.
“I needed to see you,” he s...
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“You smell different,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Do I?” he asks.
“Yes.” He chuckles softly, and the sound ripples through the room. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, angel. Go back to sleep, okay?”
“You’ve never called me that before,” I tell him, feeling sleep tuggin...
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“You need to go somewhere?”
“I—uh—yes. Shampoo explosion.”
“I hate when that happens,”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“You should take her, Maddox,” Otto interjects, setting his coffee down. “She’d probably be bored with us.”
“That’s okay. I can just—”
“I’ll take you,” Maddox cuts in, his voice leaving no room for argument.
My lips part, but no sound comes out. He’s not aski...
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“Fine. But I’m driving.”
A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “No, you’re not.” Before I can argue, he’s already pushing off the counter, grabbing the keys off the hook by the door. “You coming?”
“How are you allowed to drive?” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I mean… legally?”
His lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile. “I got my license back a week after I got out.”
“Well… thanks for ta...
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“You sound like you had ...
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“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Maddox walks past me, plucking a dress off the rack and holding it up. “Try this.”
I blink. “What?”
His eyes meet mine, and before I can ask if he’s joking, he continues. “It’ll...
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I let out a soft laugh, caught between amusement and pure disbelief. “Are you serious? You...
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His eyes drag lazily down my body, and the way he’s looking at me should be illegal. I feel the trail of electricity his gaze leaves on my skin, a...
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“I know what’ll look goo...
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The boutique is quiet, save for the soft hum of instrumental music and the occasional rustle of hangers sliding along racks. When I pull the dress over my head, I study it with a frown. It’s a sleek, black slip dress, something far more fitted than what I usually wear. And yet… And yet… Fuck him. I love it. And it does bring out my brown eyes, dammit.
One outfit turns into seven, and soon I’m standing at the register with more than I intended to buy. He knew my size… something I remind myself to ask him about later, because it’s weird. And except for a very revealing skirt, I’m buying everything he picked out for me. It’s all high quality—silks and cashmere, thin cotton that feels like butter, linen fabric that feels way too expensive, and a pair of jeans that somehow hugs my ass and hips in all the right places.
