I nod, feeling slightly pacified. I want nothing more than for Asher to get the hell out of there, but selfishly, right now I can only think about losing him.
“When you leave…”
Asher watches me, waiting. “Yeah?”
“It won’t be forever, right?”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“You really need to work on this whole ‘comforting someone’ thing. You’re really bad at it,” I say, pulling back to look up at him. Ash is at least six feet tall, and I have to strain my neck to make eye contact when we’re this close.
“I’ve never had to do it before.”
“Why does it feel like we’re saying hello and goodbye all at the same time?” After years of tugging at his sleeve and following him like a lost puppy, I’ve finally gotten Asher’s attention in the way I’ve always wanted. But I’m not naïve enough to think that this could end well.
“Because once I leave, you’re going to forget this night ever
happened.”
I lick my lips, and his eyes follow the movement.
“But you’re still here now, so…” I rise onto my tiptoes, circling my arms around his neck. Asher grips my waist and lifts. My legs automatically wrap around him.
“For once in my goddamn life, I’m trying to be the good guy, and you’re not making it easy.”
“I like you better when you’re bad.”
Something not unlike a growl is all I hear in response before his lips are on mine once again. Ash walks us over to the wall next to the window, still holding me by my ass. When my back hits the wall, his hands are free to roam. He smooths them up the outsides of my thighs and then either side of my waist. I hold on to his shoulders to keep from melting into a puddle at his feet as I feel it building again, and my hips shift in search of the friction I need, when I hear it.
Giggling. Feminine, annoying giggling.
“Shut the fuck up! You’re going to wake my parents,” says a familiar, albeit irritated voice.
“Fuck,” Ash whispers, dropping me like a sack of potatoes, right before Whitley, Asher’s ex, appears in the window. She lands in a pile at my feet, and she smells like alcohol and cheap perfume. When she notices me, her face morphs into one of total and utter disdain.
Dash climbs through after her—his preferred method of entry when he has a girl with him—and looks between us. It’s not exactly suspicion I detect on his face, but confusion. I feel the need to straighten my shirt or tame my hair, but I’m frozen, afraid of doing anything that will display my guilt.
“What’s going on?” he asks, concern coating his tone.
“A little help here!” Whitley slurs in her high-pitched, dolphin sonar voice. Dash rolls his eyes, reaching down to help her to her feet.
“She was looking for you. Wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Dash explains. “Figured you’d be here when we didn’t see your truck at yours.”
“I was just, uh, helping Asher with something,” I say. Dash reads the meaning of my words, and his head jerks toward Ash, assessing.
“You okay, man?” he asks, keeping it vague since Whitley is here.
“I’m good,” is all he says, and the two share a look that even I can’t decode.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Whit?” His tone is harsh, but hearing him call her by her nickname reminds me of the fact that they were close once.
“We need to talk,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest.
“The fuck we do,” Asher snaps. “Go home.”
“I can’t!” she protests, and I fight the urge to cover my ears. She’s always so loud. “I didn’t drive.”
“Jesus Christ,” Asher says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Go wait for me in my truck. I’ll take you home.” Whitley wastes no time, probably knowing that he’d rescind the offer if she pushed her luck.