On my grave, they’d better putoverthinkerunder my name.
After patting myself (and all of my pockets) down a THIRD time to ensure I have everything I need on me, I wheel around on one Toms-clad heel and make my way through the parking garage to the overhead sign markedLOBBYwhere I walk through the door just before six thirty.
I quickly scan the environment, taking in the modern decor, the mid-tone, mid-century leather couches by the glass doors of the front entrance, the tall ceilings, the framed black and white photography of St. Petersburg over the years that lines the walls, and the lone man standing in the space, one shoulder against the wall next to the bank of silver elevators, legs crossed at the ankles, hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants again.
Goddamn, how can he look so good in loungewear?
Asher smirks at me from across the lobby and walks over to meet me, wrapping me in a tight hug and rocking me side to side for a few extra seconds before releasing me and leading me toward the elevators.
“You ready?” he asks while sneaking a peek at me with a sideways glance. I can see his gaze drop down to take in my shorts and my bare legs, probably the most of me he’s ever seen before.
“To swim?” I ask, wondering if there wasn’t some deeper innuendo to his question.
After pushing the call button for the elevator, he turns to face me fully and gives me a thorough once-over.
“I don’t see a bathing suit, Ell. Am I going to have to lend you some of my clothes to go swimming in?”
I snort a laugh. “Like you’d have anything that would fit these hips,” I smack my sides, and his eyes wander there.
“I think I’ve got something that would fit you just perfect.” The suggestive smirk that accompanies those words almost does me in.
“I’m wearing my swimsuit under my clothes,” I tell him, blushing. “And yes, I’m ready to swim, after I get to see how you spend the rest of your nights when you’re not reshaping my couch cushions with your ass.”
The elevator dings, the doors open, and he uses one arm to hold them open while motioning for me to go first.
When we’re in and he presses the button for the fifth floor, he lets me see the rare, full grin on his face. “You know I’d happily reshape more of your furniture, too. I’m not in an exclusive relationship with your couch cushions.”
A blush creeps up on my cheeks before I even get the chance to pretend like I didn’t get a visual I won’t be able to forget anytime soon fromthosewords, and he chuckles, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close against his side and rubbing my arm comfortingly.
He leans in to press his nose and mouth against the side of my head and I’m pretty sure I hear him take a huge inhale before he whispers in my ear, “Relax, gorgeous. No pressure. But just so we’re clear, I’m ready to go the second you say the word.”
Any breath that was still in my lungs has whooshed out and I’m lucky my legs are still supporting my considerable weight. His hand slides down to my hip and he squeezes me there, sending a thrill through my core.
The elevator dings again, the doors open once more, and I let him get out of the elevator first as I have absolutely no idea where to go from here. He takes me by the hand and leads me down the hallway to the right, looking back to see my reaction at the new-to-me space.
It’s taking everything I have not to let a full-body shiver break out from the chills that erupted at the simple action of him taking my hand in his in a public way like this, and I’m focusing on keeping his eyes on mine so he doesn’t see my hardened nipples showing through my suit and white t-shirt.
He walks backward for a few more strides before abruptly stopping and turning at a white door with a silver 527 on the front. He has the door unlocked in seconds and I’m whisked inside, with him excitedly hounding me in from behind, his hands on my waist, his head nestled in just above my right shoulder, distractingly close to my own.
First the hug, then the arm around the shoulders, that little hip squeeze, then the hand holding and nowthis? This is as much physicality as I’ve had from him in the past seven days, and to have it all in one five-minute span is a lot for my poor body to handle. Its tolerance is much lower after all these days of minimal touching, and it seems to have forgotten how potent his proximity is. His smell, the feel of his hands on me. Oh sweet marshmallows, how am I going to survive anything more happening between us if I’m nearly undone from this alone?
My knees are shaking—literally, shaking—while my palms start to sweat, and let’s not eventalkabout the fiasco that is my gut right now. Butterflies? Indigestion?
I can’t decide if I’m about to throw up or if I’m halfway to an orgasm.
Needless to say, I’m finding it extraordinarily hard to focus on admiring their apartment—or, really, anything that isn’t the promising way his body fits to mine—at the moment.
“What do you think?” Asher asks in my ear, squeezing my hips again before stepping back from me to soak in my reaction.
I remember to move my eyes around the open space, taking in the wall of glass doors at the far end of the open space (which lead to a balcony with views of the bustling street), the kitchen near the front door, and the small dining area with a table for four.
My favorite part of the room is easily the vintage-looking weathered brown leather couch in the living room. ItscreamsAsher, and I instantly know it’s his. It’s by far the most character-filled piece in the entire space and I love this glimpse into his life.
My eyes light up at the only real bit of his personality that has infiltrated this modern, nice (if relatively small) apartment. “I love your couch,” I tell him, meeting his gaze and smiling.
“My mom found it for me on Facebook marketplace. Some old lady was giving it away when she was downsizing. After me and Mark got it here, we looked it up and saw that it was like ten grand new. I’ll never let that thing go,” he tells me proudly. His face suddenly falls, and he slaps a hand to his forehead in anguish. “I just realized how lame that story was. I can’t believe I just told you how my mom helped me decorate this place, for free. Can we scratch that? How about I just tell you, ‘thanks, we got a good deal on it, it was like ten grand new. You should test it out.’”
I laugh faster than the societal norm and a little louder than I’d consider attractive, part of my inescapable social awkwardness, but his answering grin assuages my worry.Haven’t scared him off yet. Might as well keep showing him the real me, the full version. The one no one else except Chrissy has ever been able to handle. If I’m gonna be too much for him, might as well be too much quick, not waste either of our time. I’m done dimming my light, dulling my quirks and eccentricities for a man’s comfort.
