His head jerks back with a scoff. “Mmm.” He changes his mind, shrugging. “Maybe. But I never give anyone any promises.”
“Yup!” I point my fork at him. “That's what a fuckboy would say.”
Dimples sink into both cheeks when he smiles.
He shakes his head and looks away. “I fucking missed you.”
My smug smile burns my cheeks, before slowly resting to one more genuine. “I missed you too.”
When his eyes land on mine, the room shrinks around us.
“Anyway!” I clear my throat. “What else has happened lately?”
“Ah, a lot,” he teases, placing his dinner on the small table in front of us and widening his legs to sink farther into the couch. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
His head falls back against the cushions, muscles slackening.
“When was the last time you had a good sleep?” I lean to the side, putting my container beside his and crossing my legs.
They open lazily as he turns his head to me. “About three hundred and forty something days.”
I shuffle in closer until he has to lift his arm for me to snuggle underneath. Silence. For as long as I've known him, we've never had to fill the silence with any unnecessary chatter. I think it's one of the reasons why I admire his friendship so much.
My finger finds its way onto his tattoo, and I trace the lines of it crawling up his neck. “You didn't have to ghost me to date someone.”
His lips brush my forehead. “I did if I didn't want her to know I wished it was you.”
My breath catches and my fingers ball into a fist. “Asher…”
“…Ivy…” he teases, the curl of his smirk pressing warm against my scalp.
I brush my nose against his chest, my heart thundering behind my ribs.
The front door opens and I go to push away, but he locks me in place.
I glare up at him. “What are you doing? You know this looks intimate.”
“Yeah?” He holds my stare. “And I don't fucking care.”
Parker's muffled voice carries upstairs and I shuffle out from beneath Asher, my skin still warm where his body had been. Atlas sings the lines to a song slightly off-key, and Camille slows behind him, her arms crossed, the corners of her mouth pulled down like she's trying not to cry. When she sees me, something flickers over her face — before hardening to anger.
“What are you two doing!” Luce asks, darting her attention between us, a half-smile playing on her lips. “Were we interrupting?”
Camille takes this moment to round the sofa. She lowers onto Asher's lap, her movements uncertain, like she's afraid he might push her away.
“I need bed,” she murmurs, voice small.
Asher hesitates, then sighs. “Yeah, I'll take you.”
He lifts her, and for a moment, I catch the gentleness in how he cradles her head against his shoulder. Each of his footsteps up the stairs feels like a tiny betrayal, though I have no right to feel that way.
My chest aches with something I don't want to name.
“Hey.” Luce's fingers snap in front of me, her brow furrowed with genuine concern.
I force a smile, knowing she can see right through it.
I know she can see right through it.
