So I’m not surprised when he stays in my office, remains seated at his desk well past the five o’clock mark tonight, after days of this new normal between us. Trying out this whole being friends thing. Being Friday night, he probably doesn’t want to risk me avoiding him and his texts all weekend again if cold feet strike me again. Being a phantom, or whatever his generation calls it when you go dark on someone.
“The coast clear?” he asks me, voice quiet, kinda raspy in a way that I can feel between my thighs.
Friday nights, this place clears out faster than the stock of a Girl Scout cookie tent set up next to a CBD shop. I think Shelby was the last one to leave, and I heard the click-clack of her heels head toward the front door a minute ago.
“Think so,” I tell him, nervous to be truly alone with him like this with how things are progressing between us. To not be able to hide behind the clock on the wall, the dozens of employees meandering about the building, the limitations (and ease of subject avoidance) texting provides.
He hops up from his chair, goes and closes the door as a precaution, then he comes over to my desk, sits down on top of it, like he had me do to his earlier in the week. His legs dangle just in front of my own, his shin brushing up against my knee as they swing a little.
“Go out with me.” He drops it like a bomb, heavy and sudden, rocking the foundations of the proverbial ground we stand on. I keep my wits about me enough to realize this is a negotiation tactic. He’s starting out with something he knows I won’t agree with, in the hopes he can talk me into something somewhere in between.
That look on his face is sweet, almost eager, and very fucking convincing. So I look away.
“You know I can’t.”
Two of his fingers come up underneath my chin and turn my face back toward his. I hide the shiver well.
“You can’t tell me you don’t want to know what this is between us.”
“I… I don’t know what Icansay to that, Asher.” I’m exasperated. On the verge of giving up, despite not having even fought admirably yet. It’s embarrassing how quickly he’s winning me over, wearing me down. Still, my points are valid, and I need him to hear me on them. “We work together. You’re not even twenty-one years old yet. You have yourentirelife ahead of you. I don’t think you realize what you’re asking of either of us here.”
“First of all, we don’treallywork together. It’s not like I’m an employee of Darling. I’m an apprentice at Mitchell, I’ll be gone in a few more weeks, and everyone knows what my deal is there. Can you please stop making that the reason we shouldn’t try this?” His hand gestures between us. “Because I’ll fucking quit right now. Send my mom my resignation letter if that’s what’s stopping you.”
I drop my head into my hands, his intensity almost too much for me. It’s not that he’s pushy, it’s that he knows what he wants, and no guy has ever made me feel likeI’mwhat he wants how Asher keeps doing.
I look back up, meeting his eyes, trying not to smile. “Fine. But the rest—”
“Second,” he holds up two fingers, eyes tight on mine. “I’ve been legal for almost three full years, so don’t say my age like it’s gross or something.”
An actual gulp occurs somewhere in my throat. His eyes track it, then find mine again.
“Do you think I’m gross?” He asks, disbelieving, but also slightly vulnerable.
It snaps me out of that thought immediately. When I think ofmewith a hypothetical twenty-year-old, yes, I feel like I need to shower.
But when I think of Asher?
Gross?
Of course not.
He’s anything but.
“No, not at all.”
“Okay,” he says softly. “Because the law says this could’ve happened between us thirty-five-and-a-half months ago.” That hand gestures between us again, then drops into his lap. “There’s nothing weird about finding someone you click with, that you’re attracted to, when you’re both of age and consenting. Anyone who judges us for that isn’t worth our time in the first place.”
I nod, somewhat dumbfounded by his argument, his ability to address each and every one of my concerns like he’s Mike Ross. He goes onto the next one, not letting me come up with any more rejections.
“And I know I’ve lived less than you, but have you felt like this before?” He raises a brow at me, soft smirk on his lips.
With that, I’m afraid he’s trapped me. Like the opposing counsel who’s boxed me in with my own admissions, my own testimony, I’m in a corner with nowhere to go. Whateverthisis between us, it’s new for me, and apparently for him, too.
All I can bring myself to do is shake my head. Inadmissible in a court of law, but I think it’s all he needs to see and hear from me to read me the verdict, sentence me to what we both want.
“Because I’ve never felt so connected to someone so fast.” He lifts a hand like he’s going to use it, then drops it back in his lap again. “I don’t just mean the physical side of things, Ellie. I feel like I could talk to you for fucking ever—listen to you forever—and never get sick of it.”
He leans forward just a little, so our faces are that much closer. So I don’t miss anything he’s saying to me. “And like I can share literally anything with you and you get me, you don’t judge me.” He looks to the side for a second, back at me. “You can see my fuck-ups and still see themethat’s underneath those.” His eyes flick up and down my face, cataloging my features, taking stock of all that I am. “Your humor, your light, I feel like they are the perfect counterpart to mine.”
