His eyes flick to me, exasperated, bored. “Can’t get in there for another…” he glances down at the screen of his phone, “hour and forty-seven minutes. But if you wanna dance, we can dance at home.”
“Aww,” Billy breaks in, mockingly. My head swivels toward him in slow motion, I didn’t realize he was still here. “He’s just a little pup!” He tousles Asher’s hair, and even I don’t like the way that felt. Something nasty in how he did it, and something dark is rising in Asher in response.
I lean closer toward Asher, inhaling his scent as it becomes available to me, but Billy’s arm is still around me, banded across my waist. I look down at it, then up at Asher. “I wanna go home,” I tell him.
“You can let her go now,” Asher tells my ex-friend. “I’m taking her home.”
“I don’t know you, buddy, I’m not abandoning a sure thing because you fuckin’ said to.”
Asher’s eyes darken and he pulls me to him, removing Billy’s arm from my body forcibly, and holding me under his arm. “You don’t knowher, buddy, and you sure as fuck don’t know me or you wouldn’t be saying that shit about my woman to my face. Get fucking gone, and go find someone who’s sober enough to give consent.” He points back toward the building behind Billy, and thankfully, the other man turns and leaves, after one final scowl.
“Waste of a fuckin’night,” I hear him mutters as he goes.
I shudder, sobering up a tad rapidly in the cool, fall, night air, with the reality of how awful that man was settling in now that I’m back in Asher’s presence.
I look down, see my cute peasant blouse, my tight jeans, my cowboy boots, and I wonder why this is the second time Asher’s seen me drunk when it’s only maybe the tenth time I’ve been drunk in my entire life. I’m really not putting my best foot forward here.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“I’m not,” he says. “Glad I was here to tell that guy to fuck off.”
“Me too,” I admit. “But I’m sorry I freaked. Went dark. Had the—the drinks.” Words aren’t coming to me so easy right now. In fact, this parking lot is a little spinny, too. Is that a new feature? Did they have to pay extra for it?
He holds me up against him, guiding me to his car. “We’ll talk about all that tomorrow. Let’s get you home safe.”
He opens the door to his dark green Jeep, a Wrangler with a soft top, holding me steady as I try to climb in somewhat gracefully despite all the cartoon stars swirling in my vision right now.
Once my legs have made it in, he leans over to buckle me in while I rest my eyes to try to slow the spinning, my head lying back on the headrest.
What was I upset about again?
When he stops moving, I open my eyes to a squint and I could swear he’s giving me that half-smile before he closes my door and heads around to the driver’s side.
He gets in, starts the thing and buckles up while maintaining his silence and starts driving back toward my place. After a few minutes of neither of us breaking the silence, I gather the strength to swing my left arm up to turn on the radio, and turn the volume up to a decent level. The stereo is currently set to bluetooth, and I stare in shock at the receiver when it tells me Dicked Down in Dallas is the song currently playing.
I turn the volume down to gape at him. “You listen to country?”
His eyes glance toward me for just a second and he gives me another amused look. “I’m fromOklahoma, Ellie. What do you think?”
“You let me think all you listen to is that trap shit!”
“First of all, we’ve talked about this. Told you I listen to all sorts of stuff. Besides, trap isnotgarbage. And you know I love eighties music. But yeah, I listen to country, too.”
“You let me believe I was all alone in my love for pop country!” I retort, still trying to connect the two images of this guy, the Gen Z kid I worry I have almost nothing in common with due to being raised in different eras and being in completely different phases of our lives, and the one who surprises me with thoughtful gestures like a gentleman, the one who I can talk with for hours (like I haven’t been able to do with another guy, ever), and the one who has the most random things in common with me.
“Wait until you see me two-step it, Ell,” he quips, winking at me.
My brain simplycan’ttake the thought of him line dancing, and I turn the radio back up and restart the song to sing along to it way too loudly, the way I only ever do with Christina, laughing at the lewd lyrics.
As someone who rarely drinks, I know my lowered inhibitions are definitely chemically induced, but I can’t find the self-preservation gene who cares about my image at the moment. With Asher, I know I’m safe from anything truly dangerous, and I can let my hair down a little for once. Even if that scares me a little. Even if it’s exactly what drove me to tonight’s poor decision-making exhibition.
He watches me out of the side of his eye every few seconds, grinning at my drunk demeanor. He’s probably trying to reconcile my different sides as well. The woman who runs one of the top ten marketing firms in Tampa Bay, who strives for emotional maturity above all else in the workplace, and doesn’t get too close to anyone to keep those boundaries firmly in place. And the one who makes dirty jokes with him, shares deep thoughts, and giggles with him for hours. Who feels nineteen again. Who sings and dances along to just about any tune that comes on the radio. And who goes line dancing, gets plastered, and has to be swooped in and saved from making a huge mistake. Granted, that last one is highly uncharacteristic, and an absolute first for me, but he’s seen all those sides of me now.
“Glad you made it out of that place,” he tells me after a few songs.
“Yeah?” I ask him, head flopping over to look at him next to me. My eyes stick on how good his hands look on that steering wheel, the gearshift.
“Yeah. They were being sticklers about my age, and I didn’t have my fake ID on me, so they straight up weren’t gonna let me in until midnight. I was worried you’d be passed out in a stall in the bathroom by then.”
