“Also,” he adds on. “This is literally thelastmilestone in terms of age. I’m twenty-one now, there’s no other major number that comes after that. You can stop thinking of me as a young whatever now, I’m officiallyold.” That breaks the tension, and I laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully, but not letting him go.
“Yeah, I think twenty-two is the year you can start taking out your social security, right?”
He chuckles back, his soft puffs of breath hitting my neck as he does, and I shiver.
“Happy birthday, Asher,” I tell him, pressing the words into his neck, his chest.
“On that subject,” he pulls back to look me in the eyes. “If you’re not opposed to a little something else, I wouldn’t say no to a picture or two…” He drops his eyes down my front, where they snag on my chest beneath that bow, and I laugh. He smirks, but doesn’t return the laugh.
“Wait, you’re for real?”
He nods, lip between his teeth. “Fuck yeah, I’m for real. If you’re comfortable with it.”
“Well,” I stand up nervously, patting my skirt, straightening it out again. “I did get you a little something, let me go get it for you.”
I run to my bedroom, where the present is waiting, and can’t stop my mind from spinning over the idea he tossed out, over and over again. I don’t give it the amount of consideration I would give just about anything else in my life, I just dart into my bathroom on a whim—before my good sense returns and I talk myself out of it—where I untie the bow, unbutton my shirt, rearrange the girls, play with the selfie angle a bit, and take a shot.
Holyshit, this bra is doing things for me.
Sweet marshmallows, who am I? I don’t even recognize myself since logic abandoned me all those weeks ago. Maybe I don’t want to. This new me, the one following instinct and intuition instead of intellect, is having thrills I’d only ever dreamed about before.
The picture doesn’t show my face, or really any of me, except for the open shirt, the ties of the bow hanging down on either side of my chest, and amassiveamount of cleavage that’s pressed together by an insanely expensive bra that’s currently worth twice what I paid for it, even with inflation what it is.
I put myself back together and make my way back to the living room, his actual gift in hand. His eyes wander my frame, watching me curiously. When I pull my hands out from behind my back, a thin, letter-size folder in hand, he’s visibly lost.
“Happy birthday,” I tell him again.
“Wh—what is this?” He takes the folder, opening it, and I don’t say anything as he reviews the papers inside of it.
His mouth falls, and he flips the pages, one by one, eyes racing down them to see what’s there.
“Is this…” he trails off, eyes still flying all over the paper.
“A business plan. For your company. Your illustrations,” I tell him.
He tosses the packet onto the coffee table and stands up suddenly, grabbing me around the waist and lifting me up into a ginormous hug.
“Holy shit,” he says into my ear. My sentiments exactly. I can’t remember the last time a guy was able to lift me up. Not sure it’s ever happened, actually.
He puts me back down, grabs my face in his hands and looks at me like I single-handedly brought back Flappy Bird, not just used my knowledge and experience to help him out a little.
“No one has ever fucking believed in me like this. Jesus Christ, babe. You’re killing me. How long did this take you?”
I pop a shoulder at him. It’s not important. “Been working on it since you told me your plans, showed me your creations. Here and there, where I could. You really are incredibly talented, and I think you can do all you told me about and more. Just wanted to help you get there faster.”
He shakes his head in amazement, that tongue of his touching that one tooth, and out of nowhere, this overwhelming blast of desire slams into me.
I want him. I can’t hide from it at this point.
I don’t want to keep calling him my friend when I feel so much more for him than that.
“You’re fucking unreal,” he says, voice thick with awe.
“Also,” I say, teasingly, looking up at him and waiting for his response.
He drops his arms instantly, quirks his head, and waits.
I pull out my phone, send him an AirDrop, and watch.
