Keep the burgeoning grin to a half-smile, eyes half-lidded as I look up at her from beneath my lashes. “Yeah?” Dunno why I asked that, I know it exceeds what we’d discussed, but I want to hear her thoughts. I’m addicted to the way she thinks, the way she sees the world. It’s fuckingrefreshing. I’d shoot it into my veins if you showed me how.
She double taps on the screen, zooming in to do a close-up on the image.
“Holy shit, it’s soclean! You did this by hand?” Her face gawks, she turns those eyes to me for a second, before they go back to roaming the display, her fingers pulling and tapping away at it to expand and show her every pixel. Her fascination, her genuine interest in every detail of each and every project she oversees breathes life into her team, and I’m no exception, apparently.
I nod, leaning back and crossing a booted foot over a knee to soak it in, like a junkie would. Breathe slow. Let it infiltrate my bloodstream. Plan out how I’ll get my next hit.
“Hot damn.” Her eyes finally get their fill, though mine never will, and she leans back in her chair, legs crossed demurely under her desk. “It’s perfect. So striking. Your style is so unique, it’s truly incredible.” She shakes her head in amazement, and I allow her words to seep into me, filling me with hope, with purpose. “You fuckingnailedthat, Ash.”
A quick inhale of shallow breath that gets stuck in my throat at the familiar nickname. A first for us. The tip of my tongue reaches out to touch my eyetooth, my little habit, as my eyes stay on hers while I process, not hating the way that sounded at all. Then I let the grin break free.
“Thanks, Ellie. Glad you like it.”
That’s a fucking understatement if I’ve ever used one, but I’m playing the long game now. No need to scare her away before the fun has even begun.
* * *
“ASHER!”I hear my name thunder through the walls of our apartment and my blood pressure rises from the arrogance, the demand, the irritation two single syllables fromthattone alone invoke. “Get your ass out here motherfucker!”
“Hold on, asshole!” I shout back through my closed and locked door.
That’s Mark. My best friend, roommate, and total asshole. That’s even his name in my phone: Asshole. Last I checked his phone, mine was in there as Mother Fucker. At least we’re consistent. Though my nickname might’ve been ’cause I hit on his mom one too many times.
“The girls are going to be here any minute!” His tone tells me he won’t hesitate to jimmy the lock on my door and break the fuck in here to pull me out if I’m not in the living room before they are. He’s done it before, when I was balls deep inside a chick, so I know he won’t hesitate to do it again, when I’m not. Personal boundaries? Mark doesn’t believe in 'em.
This is the second weekend in a row he’s organized a group hang at our place, only to try to tell me it’s actually a small get together, you know, a party; not the two of us, and two girls looking to hook up.
That’s all fine and good for them—he and Sabrina are all over each other but refuse to put a label on it, so if he wants to get his dick wet, he needs a party as an excuse—but it leaves me and Olivia in very awkward territory. We used to hook up regularly, pretty sure she just thinks I’m being rude by not taking her back to my room lately. It’d be ruder of me to tell her she doesn’t do it for me anymore, so whatever.
Parties, group hangs and getting my own dick wet with a different girl each weekend was my life too, not that long ago. Our friends haven’t realized yet that it’s not my thing anymore.
I sigh, a little too exasperated maybe for my twenty years of age and the carefree Friday night I’m walking into, but I’m getting tired of the same old shit. They’re not, which is the problem here.
Love my friends, just ready for them to grow up a little.
I open my bedroom door, turning behind me to check my shit is in order as I walk out into the main living space, and as I turn back toward the front, my face isassaulted.
Something hard, slightly bouncy—is thatrubber?—makes contact with my cheek and nose, which fucking stings by the way, surprising the ever-loving fuck out of me. My head jerks back as I yell out, “The FUCK?”
Laughter breaks out all throughout the living room, a handful of our friends already here (and clearly in on the joke) as I take in what’s in Mark’s hand.
A dildo.
A giant, black, quivering dildo.
Giant and black, because of course it is.
Quivering, because it’s still reverberating from the contact it made with my fuckingface.
I take back what I said. I fucking hate my friends and they need to grow up alot.
Mark’s smug face is staring me down from several inches above, not an ounce of regret for putting a massive cock damn near up my nose, and I need confirmation that he didn’t just get his not-girlfriend’s—or possibly worse, some rando’s?—leftovers all over me.
A cocky, jovial face with high cheekbones greets me, with short dark hair. Brown skin, but no one knew for sure what ethnicity he is, exactly, until very recently. He was adopted as a baby, and until he did one of those ancestry DNA test things, we didn’t know his specific heritage. Surprisingly, he’s got almost as much Irish in him as I do. But he’s mostly got a mix of South American countries in him, and about twenty percent is apparently from Central Asia, too.
“You’ve been acting like a pussy lately, Asher, thought maybe you needed to get fucked like one.” His smooth voice, much deeper than mine, rolls through half the apartment on that delivery.
I roll my eyes at his joke, the entire prank, try to take it like I would’ve a few months ago, not slam my door in his face and whip out my iPad, start working on another design, like I’d prefer to do now.
