Okay then; we’re starting to relax. That’s a good sign.
He still doesn’t turn, though he slowly touches the lapel of his cocoa jacket and slides it off the breadth of his shoulders. So I was right—he’s definitely broader at the top than the bottom. His white shirt is carefully tucked in, showing his narrow waist and the khaki pants framing what seem like strong legs. So a gym fan, huh? Wouldn’t have thought that.
“Here.” He hands the jacket over, and at the raise of my eyebrow, he says, “So you can cover yourself up.”
As soon as the jacket is in my hand, he turns, standing tall, his legs shoulder width apart and his arms at the front, as if he’s standing at attention.
This man is an enigma, and I’m dying to figure him out, even if I just met him.
In no time, I’m out of my dress. That’s what you have to do when you’re single and live alone. Zippers and anything that requires another person become a nightmare. I slide his jacket on and breathe his scent in.
Damn.
He smells earthy and fresh but also like the ocean kissing my cheeks, like fire and wood after camping. It’s intoxicating, the way it’s invading all my senses. My lungs, my skin—it makes it all the way down to my toes.
Damn.
I walk to the dryer, and the loud woosh and warm air fill the space.
Asher turns around and shakes his head. “No, no. I’m going to do it. I messed it up.”
“I can do it. I have two very capable hands. See?” I open them, spreading my fingers over the fabric.
“So what’s the point of me coming in here if you were just going to do it by yourself?”
He’s so damn assertive, and I like it more than I should for someone I just met. This is the longest I’ve been in the presence of another man who’s not a patient, my dad, my brothers, or Alex, my best friend’s husband, in a long time.
So maybe I’m just lonely or horny. Or both. Which would explain why I feel jittery under his gaze.
“You dragged me in here, not the other way around.”
He bites his plump lower lip, closes his eyes, and lets out a breath, flaring his nostrils. “I’m not doing this. I’m sorry, it’s the last time I’ll say it. You’re fine on your own, it seems. I will step away. Have a good night, and may 2026 bring you so much more happiness than what you have right now.”
He turns to leave, and I immediately feel that loneliness creeping up again.
“Wait! Your jacket,” I shout, removing it quickly. It’s not until he turns around and opens his mouth to say something, the cool air hitting my nipples, that I’m reminded of my bare breasts. Too late to do anything about it now.
I extend the jacket, keeping the hand holding my dress under the dryer in place. “Here,” I echo his simple offer from earlier, and he averts his gaze, almost as if my words brokehisspell like the fire blazing in his broke mine.
He visually swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his gaze raking my body.
“It’s bad manners to stare.” My words shake him from his stupor, making him look at his feet. But in no time, he’s holding my gaze without hesitation.
“Really? Because you’ve stared at me, what? Twice now?” His eyebrow lifts at the same time as he smirks, lowering his shoulders and relaxing a bit.
I like it. A lot.
Asher starts walking toward me in long but shaky strides until he’s standing in front of me, tall, broad, and absolutely delicious. I search his face for a sign he feels this chemistry between us, that he feels maybe an ounce of this electricity, but my efforts are futile, because he gives me nothing. Relaxed? Yes, but that’s it.
The loud whooshing of the dryer and my erratic heartbeat take over my ears, but nothing else. Not a sound, not a word, not even a look from Asher my way. I should probably step back or cover myself, but I’m too shaken to do so. No, not shaken—awestruck by this mysterious man.
Who are you, Asher, and what’s going on inside that head?
It’s like he can hear my thoughts, because his eyes finally snap back to me, and with a tight jaw, he stretches his hand forward, over me, and pulls one, two, three paper towels in rapid succession. I blink, and he’s wetting them. I have no time to question him, because in one, quick move, he’s standing behind me.
He parts my hair and smooths it over my shoulders. As my breath catches, he whispers, “Wet.”
He clears his throat. “This is wet, sorry.”
