One More Step

by Lillian Schneider

“ONE MORE STEP

The beginning words for each story. Cool!

would mean certain death.”

Over exaggerating. Sarcastic MC?-I now know this is the whole prompt. oops

Asher Mackey’s ridiculous excess of charm and extreme hotness—especially that night, dressed up in a dark button-down and slacks—made it impossible to stay irritated with him.

Asher char description. AKA he’s finnneee.

I wasn’t used to having a man look at me with his heart and soul naked and alight in his eyes. My pulse kicked up a notch every time he did it.

My ex-fake-fiancé-turned-BFF, Silas Marsh, (long story)

Wait. I need to know more.

Seattle.

Asher smiled appreciatively. He loved it when anyone said something complimentary about his adopted home, Hawaii.

I’VE ALWAYS HATED mud. Unless I’m paying someone to smear it on my skin in an expensive spa while soaking in a hot bath while essential oils lace the New Age-music-laden air, no thank you. Now, my legs were covered to the knees, and my cute pre-Hawaii pedicure was ruined. Mud squelched between my toes, and I cursed the makers of the sandals I was wearing.

Holy hell, this guy. At least six feet and three inches of sculpted muscle towered over me. A square jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass, beautiful dark eyes, lush brown hair… And the entire package wrapped in a uniform that announced I save lives for a living.

So the Hottest EMT in the World is named Ash. Makes sense. He sets panties on fire.

“But as the saying goes, ‘Write what you know.’ I do question whether I could describe emotions and reactions better if I had lived through the things I was writing about. I think every writer questions that part of themselves.”

Instead, he tosses the phone on the counter and then closes the gap between us. He slips a hand behind my head and

presses his mouth to mine.

His eyes fall to my chest, and I then he unties my robe.

I force a tight smile. “Yeah. It’s…comforting.” I say that in my most convincing voice, but it isn’t comforting at all. It’s disturbing.

Saint is standing outside our bedroom window.

And as fucked up as this is—I’m a little bit turned on by it all.

No matter how hard I try not to…I’m always thinking about Saint.