“No, you’ve just been celibate for far too long. At this stage, you’re probably a virgin again.”
“Your fascination with my love life is concerning.”
“You don’t have a love life…yet. Mark my words, that’s going to change. Now, listen to me: get over your fear of abandonment and fall into bed with a huge, superhot, superfamousdriver who’s obsessed with you. And who you’re obsessed with.”
“We’re not obsessed with each other!”I shriek… just as a knock comes on my door.
And then the doorbell rings, followed by another, more rapid knock.
It’s probably the 90 year old woman down the hall with a propensity for doling out noise complaints like candy. She’s knocked on my door when I wasbreathingtoo loudly. She’s almost completely blind, but her hearing is insane.
“Hold on,” I tell Delilah, mentally preparing myself to face down a four-foot-ten woman who’s been known to beat misbehaving tenants with her cane.
When I swing open my front door, I find myself face-level with a hard chest instead of a tiny woman. My blood freezes in my veins as I slowly look up, and up, and up… until I meet Asher’s eyes.
“Who are you not mutually obsessed with?” he queries.
Fuck. My. Life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Victoria
“Let me call you back,” I tell Delilah shrilly, staring at Asher with wide eyes.
“He’s there, isn’t he?” she questions silkily. “I better not lose my bet because of your libido—” I hang up before she can embarrass me any further.
Asher and I stare at each other. He looks amused and…intent, while I’m sure I look exactly how I feel: a confused, emotional wreck with her mouth gaping and eyes bulging. Probably not my most attractive moment.
“You gonna answer my question?” he asks, sounding infuriatingly smug.
“Um…”think of something witty, damnit. “My neighbor. I’m not mutually obsessed with my neighbor. She’s this 90-year-old woman who’s weirdly obsessed with telling people to be quiet even when they’re not doing anything. Legend has it she once filed a lawsuit against someone for snoring. So… I’m not obsessed.” I swallow. “With her.”
“Uh-huh.” Asher’s dubious tone calls me a liar more effectively than his words even could. “You going to invite me in?”
Into my shithole apartment with stained walls, cement floors, miniscule kitchen, and tiny bedroom? He probably wouldn’t fit inside it.
“No.”
Asher scowls, but instead of turning into an asshole, he asks tersely, “Do you want to get dinner?”
I’m stunned. “What?”
“Dinner,” he hisses. When he sees me hide a wince, he makes an effort to soften his tone. “Dinner. With me. Now.”
“Like… dinner as friends? Or—”
“No, not asfriends.” He rolls his eyes. “Or coworkers. Or a driver and intern. Dinner as in…” he pushes a hand through his hair, which only makes it sexier. I remember how silky those locks felt when I was pulling on them. When his soft lips and hard body was pressed against me…
“Dinner like a date,” he grits out.
It’s a clear olive branch, and an invitation for something… more. Between us. My life experience tells me to slam the door in his face and nip this bullshit in the bud before it gets any worse than it already is. But another part of me that’s been growing stronger by the day wins out.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m… let me get changed. I look hideous.”
“You look delicious.” He says it almost angrily, but that doesn’t stop my cheeks from flaming. “Fuck. What I mean is… you look good. Like always. You don’t need to change.” He swallows. “We won’t be going anywhere special. It’s another hole-in-the-wall place. I mean, wecango somewhere nicer, but reporters might catch us, so—”
“A hole in the wall sounds perfect. Just let me grab my bag.”
