“I told you,” Luke says, running a hand through his dark hair.
“Whatever. I just want to live a little before the baby comes and we’re up to our ears in diapers and nipple cream. Is that a crime?”
“We can have a sex party at home,” Luke offers in a low voice. His arm reaches out across me so he can place his hand on her thigh.
“Wait, what is nipple cream?” I ask as I gently remove his arm.
They both look at each other and then back at me. “It might be best if you don’t know,” Emory says softly.
Before I can delve into that nightmare any further, Ashton comes back holding a can of beer, a glass of wine, and what looks like a margarita with salt on the rim and a lime perched on the side. He’s haphazardly balancing all three drinks as he sways back and forth. It looks like they could all fall at any second. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted,” he says. “So I got you a few options.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing up and reaching for the margarita, if only so they don’t all come crashing down to the floor.
“I realized that I haven’t seen you drink since that night at the inn, and they were fresh out of old tequila in a flask.”
I smile at his inside joke. He’s right. He hasn’t seen me drink because I haven’t since that night at the inn. I’m not even sure why. No, I do know why. It’s because I found another vice. A sexier, muscled, six-foot vice who is currently looking at me like I’m his dinner.
I hear a throat clear and that’s when I realize that Emory and Luke are still sitting mere feet from us. My head swivels to her and her smug smile tells me exactly what she’s just put together in that head of hers. The hickeys, my secretiveness, and now this. I never did tell her about that night at the inn. It’s not that I don’t trust her. Lord knows we have been through it all together, but I don’t want her to get her hopes up. Not only is she a hopeless romantic, but she’s living proof that love exists and that happily ever afters are not just the product of romance novels. If I told her about me and Ashton, she would insist it’s more than sex and I’m not remotely ready to face that conversation.
I set down my drink and grab Ashton’s elbow. “Will you excuse us? I need to talk to Ashton about work…related things. Things related to work. At the paper. Where we work together.”
Real smooth.
Emory purses her lips. “Of course.”
She so knows.
I practically drag Ashton around the pool and into the pool house, closing the door behind us. There’s a couple making out on the couch, and it looks like the guy’s hand is heading south.
“I need the room,” I state loudly, making the woman jump and detach herself from her boyfriend. When she stands, I notice her jeans are unbuttoned.
“What the hell?” she screeches.
“I said I need the room. So take your little boyfriend and find somewhere else to fuck.”
She looks between me and Ashton, then huffs as she walks to the door, motioning for her guy to follow. When they’re gone, I turn to him. “What the fuck?”
He wipes a hand over his face. “What now?”
“You basically just outed us in front of Luke and Em.”
He sighs and takes a seat on the couch, propping his ankle up on his knee. “I got you a drink, Allie. It’s not like I felt you up in front of them.”
I sit down and lift his chin up. His amber eyes swirl with so many different emotions that it’s hard to separate them. His freckles are prominent in this lighting, spilling from the bridge of his nose down to his flushed cheeks.
“Why are you so drunk?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he mutters, scrubbing his face. “You weren’t answering me, and I got anxious. It happens to me sometimes. I didn’t have my watch, and there was alcohol and weed, so…” He trails off.
I didn’t know he had anxiety.
What watch?
Then it hits me. The night Craig tried to assault me. Ashton was having a panic attack. He was fiddling with something in his pocket. Maybe the watch? He was so pale. I thought he was justqueasy because of the blood. If there’s anything I get, it’s having an overwhelming fear. The panic that comes along with feeling like you might die. How did I not pick up on it? In retrospect, having sex that night was probably not the healthiest of choices. We were both emotionally charged. Still, I can’t say I regret it.
He was anxious because I didn’t answer him.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper.
