“Sure.”
“You are?” He tilts his head to the side and my insides melt.
“Yes, but I don't feel like steak.”
He snickers. “Well, that's too bad.” Brushing my arm when he steps around, I follow him through the small garden path that leads to the back sliding doors. As if it's not my house.
He slides them open and reaches out for the light switch, turning them on.
“How'd you know the switch was there?” I joke, closing the door behind me and shaking out of my jacket before hanging it on a hook.
His footsteps don't hesitate when he continues through the open living room, where I ran into him just last night.
“Lucky guess?” He flashes me with a menacing smirk before he disappears through the archway of the kitchen.
I check my phone on the way through, opening a text from Lucinda.
Parker is drinking a tad too much and is hitting on Camille. I think.
My face falls and my footsteps stop. I don't realize I'm in the kitchen until Asher's voice interrupts me.
“You good?” Asher's question pulls me out of Lucinda's text.
“Yes.” I clear my throat and leave my phone on the counter, sliding out a barstool. “So we spent almost every weekend together for a whole year and not once did you tell me you could cook.”
He tears the cork off a bottle of whiskey, the motion sharp and deliberate. “Because then you'd get me to cook for you every night.”
“Would that be so bad?” I tease, scooping a handful of nuts and popping one in my mouth.
He holds me in place. “Not even a little bit.”
“Well, don't be too cocky. You might suck.” I meant the joke to lighten the tension between us.
He fills two glasses with whiskey. “Go get changed and shit. It'll be ready when you're done.”
It's my turn for my head to tilt, as I swipe the glass. Neat. Always paying attention. “Impressive, Jameson.”
His hand stops just shy of his mouth before forcing a smile again and swallowing the entire contents. “You have no idea.”
I slide off the barstool and make my way up to the bedroom I share with Parker. I scrub up in the shower and throw on lounge pants and a long sleeve shirt that is probably a little too tight to be wearing no bra. Releasing my hair, I run a brush through it and slide into my slippers before heading back downstairs, just in time for Asher to be closing the front door, Uber bags in hand.
I cross my arms in front of me. “Uh huh, so cooking?”
He laughs, nudging his head into the sitting room. “You weren't supposed to shower that quickly…” I try not to think into the double meaning of his comment as I drop onto the sofa. Out of all the chairs, he takes the spot closest to me. In the time I had a shower, he managed to order Uber and light the fire. It's like a repeat of last night, only no one is home.
“Thai?” I ask, plucking the container from him with a smile.
“Was kind of hoping you were a fan. Also, it's the only place serving at this time.” He shrugs, leaning back against the sofa.
Shower. He also managed to shower himself. Water droplets fall from his dark strands, and I stab my fork into the noodles, twisting it around as he pours another drink.
“So is Camille's hatred toward me because of the Ashvy fandom, or because she just hates older women in general?” I bite the noodles off my fork with a smile. I don't want him to think I'm trying to start drama.
He chews, swallows, and then clears his throat before resting his arm behind the back of the couch. The tattoo on his neck andchest crawls beneath his arm too, and I quickly bring my eyes back to him to stop myself from getting lost in it. I swear he's had more added in.
“Camille has gotten confused along the way. I think between a small portion of the public gassing up her ideas that she's the one to finally make me settle down, the competitive need to out show you to mine,” he pauses, “and your fans, along with me fucking her when I'm bored, it has all contributed into this massive clusterfuck.”
My chewing slows. “So you're a fuckboy?”
