There may be tears streaming down my face, but I’m too prideful to admit it. I pull back, look at the place on Asher’s chest where he was shot, and hug him again. And then I lean back and slap him. He catches my wrist when I move to do it again. “Hey! What was that for?” He’s frowning at me, a look of sheer bewilderment in his blue eyes. “Are you wearing a bulletproof vest?!” I gesture to my cocktail dress. “What about me? What if that bullet had hit me?”
