“He can.” It’s a whisper, and I hate how weak it makes me sound.
Jord clears his throat, and I force my attention to him, every muscle fighting against the magnetic pull of Asher's presence. “I hate these things.”
Reality crashes back through me and my heart skips a beat. “Me too. Look at everyone.” We both stand as we examine the area. “Any possibles?”
“Nope,” Jord answers casually. “Except for your toy.”
“Stop calling him that,” I growl. If only he knew the truth, that I’m the toy, not him. Always have been.
Fuck.
Heat prickles my spine, and I know it's him.
“You look fucking impeccable, baby,” Asher's voice pours against the shell of my ear as his hand claims the spot Parker's tried to just an hour earlier. Fire ripples through my body, surrendering myself to him completely.
Luce's brow arches as she finds us tangled together. “Okay, so we'rereallynot hiding it anymore?”
I peer up at Asher from below.
His grin cuts sharp and dangerous when he dismisses my best friend with a glance. “Do I look like the kind of man who gives a fuck about what any of these assholes think?” I don't remind him that we are kind of some of these assholes.
Lucinda clinks Asher's glass. “I'll drink to that.”
My vision blurs at the edges, not from the champagne but from the way his presenceconsumes. Every breath is a struggle, my lungs too tight, my ribs too small to contain whatever it is that I'm feeling. The world tilts, and for a second, I’m not standing in this room. I'm locked in a cage. The speaker crackles somewhere in the distance, announcing the start of the ceremony, but my head won't stop spinning.
“I’m—I need a minute.” I slip away from my friends and rush toward the exit of the building. As soon as the cold air fills my lungs, I tumble over, catching my fall with a hand on my lower stomach and another on my knees.
Is this what it feels like to care about someone?
It's as though I've robbed myself of any kind of happiness, any emotion worth feeling, and now that I have it rushing through my veins, I don't know how to contain it. How to survive it. None of this is familiar territory. I know four-hundred and seventy ways to kill a man, but I don't know how to breathe when Asher Jameson looks at me.
Skin is temporary, this name is borrowed.
But Asher's touch still burns on my neck.
I am the void shaped like affection.
Except he's filled every empty space inside me with something terrifyingly close to hope.
My fingers dig into my stomach as another wave of nausea rolls through me.
Stage Three symptoms—critical failure imminent.
I should be requesting immediate extraction. Anything to burn this weakness out of my system before it gets people killed.Instead, I'm crouched in the snow outside a ceremony forhim, shaking like a frightened child because a snowboarder with a pretty smile makes me want things I know someone like me can never have.
The door clicks behind me, and I don't need to turn to know it's him. His presence shifts the air, makes the cold bite harder against my exposed skin.
“You good?” His voice carries that edge of concern I've grown to hate, because why? Why does he care?
I straighten, pulling a cigarette from my clutch with fingers that have finally stopped shaking. The flame catches on the third try, and I take a deep drag before turning to face him. “Just needed some air.”
His eyes narrow, tracking the cigarette like it personally offends him. Something flickers across his face—doubt, maybe—but he swallows it down.
He shifts his weight, and I recognize the tell. He's about to say something that will gut me. I've memorized every one of his tells over the time I've known him.
“Ivy.” My name sounds like an apology on his lips. “What happened between us—”
“Don't.” But he pushes forward anyway, because Asher Jameson has never met a boundary he didn't want to test.
