As if I could ever forget him. “Sure.” I stepped aside. “Your mom already went to bed. We thought you left.”
The door closed with a click. He leaned against it, cheeks flushed as if he’d been out in the cold.
“No. I just went to get this.” He held out a pink cardboard box. “You don’t turn eighteen every day. What they did was shitty.”
My fingers shook as I lifted the lid.
Right then, I knew no matter how many birthdays I had, this one would be unforgettable.
A small, heart-shaped chocolate cake sat on a golden doily. Tears fogged my vision. I blinked hard, but Asher’s sigh told me he noticed anyway.
He reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a small pink candle and a lighter. “I wanted one that said eighteen.” He frowned, as if not finding it was a tragedy—even though he was already more thoughtful than my own father. “But they didn’t have any.”
I swallowed the tears before they spilled. “This one’s perfect. Thank you. I’ll get plates and forks, yeah?”
He groaned. “Plates. Fuck. I knew I forgot something.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Asher crossed his arms. “Really? I guess it’s also not a big deal they forgot your big day? Is this your version of normal, peque? And what about the party you didn’t have? Was that your choice—or because they didn’t bother?”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, hot enough to melt the chocolate off the cake. I set it on my desk before I dropped it. “Forks,” I muttered, hurrying for the door.
Asher stepped aside with a loud exhale.
I bolted down the stairs, my face burning. Why did he have to be so damn observant? Dr. White never noticed anything, and he’d been seeing me for years. Asher had been in my room for minutes and already saw straight through me.
I grabbed the forks and plates, then paused in the dark kitchen, listening. Silence blanketed the house. Dad and Sharon were asleep. Good.
Mr. See-right-through-you was in my room. Not so good.
I loved that he cared. I just didn’t know what to do with it—with someone who cared being close. It made me feel exposed, like the time Mandy and I went to a party in cheerleader costumes—tiny skirts and cropped tops—only to walk into a room of slack-jawed guys and girls in jeans and tees. I’d been wary of parties ever since. Mandy loved them anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I headed upstairs. I really wanted that cake—and Asher’s company. When I walked in, Asher tore his gaze from the shelf above my desk where I kept my favorite paperbacks. “You’ve gotbooks in Spanish.” His eyes flicked over me. “I would’ve brought more if I’d known.”
The change of subject siphoned tension from my shoulders. I’d rather talk about books than Dad.
“Some are gifts from my teacher.” I set the plates and forks on the desk.
“Your Spanish teacher?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Sanchez. She gave me those before she retired last year. Now I study on my own because the new teacher only teaches up to level two.”
Interest sparked in Asher’s dark eyes. “And you’re farther than that?”
“I’ve finished level four.”
“You can practice with me whenever you want.”
He sounded earnest, and I fought not to show how much that meant. Finally, something I didn’t suck at—and with him, it might even be fun. He’d probably be patient, if a little sarcastic and a lot cocky. Pro racer and all that.
Still, I wouldn’t tell him he was the reason I loved Spanish so much.
“Thanks,” I said.
Asher pulled the cake from the box. “Let’s celebrate before I pass out on your pink bed. Looks way more comfortable than the plane seat.”
“Want to try it?”
