I step further into her space. “I have a problem with you letting some random asshole put his hands on you.”
“Oh, that's rich coming from—”
I grab her wrist, pulling her toward the exit. She fights it for half a second before her body follows, her heels clicking rapidly as she tries to keep up.
“Asher, stop—”
I don't. We pass the bar and I snag a bottle of whiskey from the counter, ignoring the bartender's protest. Someone will charge it to my tab. Someone always does.
We don't stop until we're far enough away that the bass from the club is distant. Passing familiar shops on our way, neither of us say a word as we walk up the main road and in the direction of the house.
Ten minutes later, she sniffs. “Ash.”
I stop but don't turn, staring at the dark street in front of us. Not even the colorful lights can distract you from the underbelly of this town.
Trust. Many have tried.
“—we can't keep doing this,” she continues, pushing every god damn button that I have.
She appears in front of me, and when her hands land on my cheeks, I hiss, hooking my arm around her waist so she can't run.
“I know,” I say, swallowing, but skimming my lips over hers. “But you're gonna give me until your birthday, and until then, we're not gonna talk about the logistics of this fucked up situation.”
She blinks, her green eyes glaring right through me. “And then?”
I swallow, but it's too painful. Too much. Too raw. “And then we walk away.”
Chapter 22
Asher
Iwake to the taste of whiskey. Ivy's hair spreads across my chest, her breath warm against my ribs. My head pounds—a vicious reminder that stealing that bottle was either genius or stupidity.
Probably both.
I pull her deeper into my chest, lips finding the nape of her neck. She tastes like salt and that vanilla lotion she pretends she doesn't buy specifically because I mentioned liking it once.
She giggles—actually fucking giggles—and pushes her ass back against me. The sound shoots straight to my cock, already half-hard from waking up with her wrapped around me like she belongs there.
I bite down on her shoulder, tasting sleep and whiskey on her skin.
“Ash—”
The way she breathes my name makes me want to pin her down and show her exactly what waking up like this does to me. Instead, I force myself to roll away before I do something stupid. Like fuck her into the mattress when we both smell like a distillery exploded.
“Up.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Come on.”
She groans, burying her face deeper into the pillow like she can hide from me there. “It's not even light out.”
“Exactly.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.” I yank the covers off her in one swift motion, ignoring her shriek. The cold air hits her bare legs and she curls into herself, glaring murder at me. “Grab your board.”
“Are you insane?” She sits up, hair a complete disaster, mascara smudged under her eyes like bruises. She looks wrecked. Perfect. Exactly how I want her to look every morning—thoroughly fucked and furious about it. “My head feels like someone took a sledgehammer to it.”
“Fresh air helps.”
