Or, I imagined I'd feel better if anything was sorted, ever.
Glancing to the side, I saw him nod. His hand stayed fixed on my lower back as we walked through the upscale, modern lobby with its wall of succulents and slate, waited for the elevator, rode to the ninth floor.
I couldn't decide who this touch served, me or Ash. Hunger came in many forms and yesterday Ash was starved for comfort. I'd known that as soon as he'd fallen asleep on my shoulder. Today was different. The excitement was wearing off and I wasn't immune to my own needs anymore.
When we stepped inside the apartment and surveyed the wreckage of luggage we'd left not long ago, Ash barked out a laugh. "It looks like there was a struggle."
"The only thing missing is a few bloody handprints," I said, collecting Ash's laptop bag and setting it on the countertop.
He hung his keys on the tidy set of hooks near the door. "Some broken glass."
I righted the suitcases abandoned near the entryway bench. "Or a ransom note."
"Or?" he repeated. "Come on. It'sand. And a ransom note, Zelda."
"Okay, sure," I murmured, pulling the handle on my luggage. "Anda ransom note." I swept a gaze over the apartment. "I should put this away. Somewhere that isn't the middle of your entryway. If you still want me to stay—"
"I need a shower," he announced, cutting me off before I could open the escape hatch all the way. He shifted toward me, running his good hand over the straps keeping his shoulder in place. "Will you help me?"
I swallowed. I bit my lip. I stared at his hand for a moment. Remembered his hand on my back, keeping me still and—and safe. This new disaster, the one I'd barreled into with both hands, had the power to crush me. This was the one I wouldn't be able to save before splatter.
"With…?"
I glanced up at him. This was my chance. My fingers were curled around the handle of my luggage and my purse was over my shoulder and I could walk away now. I could leave. I could go somewhere—anywhere—and not risk another moment with a man who didn't know how to fight fair or feel his feelings or live outside his self-imposed idiosyncrasies for one second. I could stop this and find a new disaster, a better, simpler disaster. A disaster where I didn't fit and I didn't want to stay. A disaster that didn't ground me with his touch because he knew—though he'd deny it—I needed it.
"With—what, exactly?"
10
Ash
I knewwhat I was doing. I couldn't pretend otherwise.
I knew exactly what I was doing and I did it anyway. I shot a helpless glance at my sling. "Can't do much, can I?" Not waiting for Zelda's response, I continued, "Help me take this off and wash up."
Her lips parted as if she intended to reply but she stopped herself to stare at my busted shoulder. Maybe if she stared hard enough, she'd solve that problem the way she solved everything else.
"And—and by that," she stammered, "you meanwhat, Ashville?"
I shot an eyebrow up, silently challenging her to read between the lines. Which was all kinds of deranged since I'd drawn a line in the fucking sand and then spent the morning being a dickface jerk to her. That, and freaking the fuck out because she wasstillmaking noise about leaving to crash on some random couch.
Leaving.Fucking leaving. I could manage many things but the idea of her slipping out of my grasp wasn't one of them. Not without knowing exactly where she was going and seeing to the comfort and security of that couch myself.
But I couldn't do it and I'd tried. For thirteen and a half seconds this morning, I'd lied to myself about that being the best choice. When that was over, she'd taken it upon herself to chastise me so hard, I was already plotting ways to earn my next punishment. Already asking for it.
What the hell was it about this woman? She had some blue hair and a lot of earrings. Her work history was insane. She was going somewhere but she was also stopped, suddenly rooted in my world. None of it made sense. She didn't make sense and when I was close to her, neither did I.
I wanted an assistant. I wanted distance and proper boundaries. I wanted to scream at her about her ambling, directionless professional life.
And I wanted to feel her skin against mine so badly, it seemed like I was suffocating without it.
It didn't matter how many times I gathered these line items and attempted to make assets and liabilities of them, they wouldn't balance. I'd stood on the pedestal, glaring at her reflection in the mirror while the tailor stuck me with a thousand pins and mentally clicked through the if-then tree from hell.
If she left, then I'd lose my fucking mind because—because I would and there didn't need to be a reason.
If she left, then she might never come back and I'd never know why this woman mattered and that was unfuckingacceptable.
If she left, then I'd find her. Then I'd bring her back, which made fine sense to me even if it did sound like an abduction plan.
