“No. You need to go to bed, Grace.”
I groan, eyes rolling. “Oh my god, would you stop and just let me help you.”
That silences him, and when I glance over my shoulder, he’s just watching me, dark eyes following my movements as I wet a cloth and come back over to him.
I inspect his hand with a light touch, making sure there’s no glass in the cut before cleaning it with the washcloth. Asher winces when the fabric touches the cut, but I hold his hand still as I work.
“Do you have bandages?"
“I think Lisette keeps some in that cabinet.” He nods across the kitchen. I retrieve the bandages and come back over to finish.
“There we go. Now sit down while I clean up.”
“You don’t need to clean–”
I toss my hair over my shoulder and give him a look. “I’m not leaving glass on the floor for Lisette to get hurt.”
He lifts his hands in mock surrender and backs up, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools.
“What were you doing, anyway?”
He gestures toward the broken bottle. “Drinking.”
It’s only then that I piece together the glass from the whiskey bottle that’s now shattered everywhere with the amber liquid splashed on the counter.
“Are you drunk?” I ask as I sweep all the glass into a pile to relocate to the trash.
“Maybe?” It comes out as a question that makes me laugh.
I’ve never seen Asher drunk. When I have seen him drink, he always nurses the same glass for hours and never has more than two.
But I have a feeling this is him with way more than two glasses.
Asher watches me the entire time I clean up, drunken eyes focused on my every movement. It has my body heating under his gaze.
“Let’s get you to bed,” I say once I’ve finished.
“You’ll have to buy me dinner first.” Asher’s lips tic up into a rare smile.
“Oh, you have jokes now?” I laugh, and he joins in. The lightness makes me feel a way I shouldn’t. “Come on.” I wave him off the stool. “Don’t make me carry you.”
I walk him up the stairs and to his room, making sure he doesn’t fall or break anything else on the way.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly.
“I know.”
We pause at the door to his room. “I’ll be fine from here.” He watches me, waiting to see if I’ll argue this.
I don’t. If only because past this door is taking off his clothes and getting him into bed, and I’m not ready to breach that boundary.
“Goodnight,” I say, nodding and quickly turning away to put space between us.
“Goodnight, Grace,” he calls after me and then adds, “Thank you.”
I nod at the softness in his tone, hurrying into my room and closing the door behind me.Gilmore Girlsstill plays on the TV as I hustle into bed and try to push the thoughts of drunk Asher calling me his good girl from my mind.
It doesn’t work.
