The space between us disappears in a single step. His hand finds the side of my neck, the other my hip, and as his lips press to mine, my world lights up.
Colors, and lights, and richness, and warmth. They collide together to create fireworks in an apartment doorway that had, until today, been totally unremarkable.
Now it’s the place where I, Ella Gibson, first kissed Asher Flynn, and it will forever be known as just that.
With slow, patient movements of his lips, Asher Flynn devours my world and everything in it. The seconds become memories far too quickly, and I clutch at his shirt in a desperate attempt to stretch those memories into forever.
His hand slides from my hip to encircle my waist, a possessive move that crushes my body to his. He tastes like mint; he smells like pine bodywash. Heat focuses between my legs, radiating through every muscle, and my toes curl, my body a string pulled taut, a wonderful tightness centered on every point of contact with him.
When the kiss breaks, he stays close, and I run my tongue across my bottom lip.
Asher lets out a shaky breath. “That should tide me over until tomorrow.”
Chapter 8
Ella
My cutest summer dress. My most comfortable Converse. Just a touch of makeup. An iced coffee. And Asher.
What a great Saturday.
We’re walking again, and he keeps glancing at my hand, and I wonder when he’s finally going to take it. We’ve been together for hours. One coffee turned into two, then we had dinner at my favorite taco truck, and the sun is starting to dip.
I’ve decided he’s perfect. He laughs at my jokes. He listens to my stories. He asks me questions.
And best of all?
He read the book.
“I loved it,” he says. “I couldn’t put it down. I didn’t think it’d be funny, too.”
“Oh,” I say. “It’s not supposed to be funny.”
His face falls. “It isn’t?”
I grin. “No, it is.”
“Fuck you, I thought I’d messed up then. Seriously, though. How do you come up with it?”
I shrug. “I really don’t know. Usually, it’ll start with just a word or a phrase or a situation and it just grows from there. Every book I’ve ever written was one moment at first, and then I built on it.”
“What was the moment inCleaners? Wait, let me guess.” He chews his lip for a second. “My instinct is to say the bathtub scene, but I don’t think it is …” While he thinks, I feel his hand slip into mine and I almost burst into confetti. “The ceiling fan scene?”
I laugh. “Yes! How did you know?”
I’d been half-asleep one night, sitting on the balcony and watching the sun set, and a droplet of rain had dripped from the balcony above and into a puddle. It had splashed in my face and for a second, just a flash, I imagined what it would feel like if that were blood. That thought developed into blood dripping through a ceiling fan and someone switching it on, resulting in everyone in the room being spattered with it. It made me laugh so hard I’d scrambled inside and written it down.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But it was great. I laughed so loud I bet I woke Gable.”
“I’m so glad you liked it,” I say, enjoying the feel of my hand in his. I don’t want the date to end.
He’s so sweet, nervous, funny, kind. He barely says a word about himself, though; he just asks me a ton of questions. He seems interested in what I have to say—in me for me, which is a nice change.
Deacon had been focused on my dad, asking why I’d never become a cop and if I’d change my mind and join the force.
“Ooh,” I say. “Come in here with me.”
I drag him into the flower shop, the smell overwhelming and brightening the day further. This is the onlything I allow myself to really spend money on. I love having fresh flowers in the house. When she was alive, my mom would leave me flowers out every Sunday.
