Asher scoffs. “So he’s a wanker.”
“Oh?” I laugh. “So you’re a bike snob?”
“You wouldn’t catch me dead on anything but a Harley, so your ‘he was like you’ shit doesn’t fly.”
“So, youarea snob,” I reiterate before resuming my story. “Anyway, everyone told me he was bad news. He was a total flirt, dabbled in a lot of drinking and sometimes drugs. I couldn’t stay away from him. He was gorgeous—”
“Aye. So maybe a little like me then.”
A smirk plays on Asher’s lips, which I try to ignore. Along with the sangria swirling in my stomach. Or is that butter-flies?
“We had fun, for a while. But after Christmas break, I came back to my dorm early and found him in bed with my roommate, Tania. She had become a really good friend.”
I glance out the window as a vivid memory pushes into my brain: his hands on her, kissing her, both of them naked.
“He didn’t even stop fucking her. He just looked up at me, then back to her, and kept right on going like I meant nothing to him. I had to live with her for the next three months as they dated. I had to be there when he came over every day. It was … terrible. And completely humiliating.” My voice trails off. “I knew then I was done with bad boys.”
“Cheating makes weak men feel strong.” He turns to look pointedly at me and my stomach somersaults again. “This Stokes? He’snothinglike the man I am.”
A rolling heat hits my core as I turn my gaze to the window. “Well, he taught me a lesson. The man I marry will be kind, he’ll come from a good hardworking family, maybe he’ll be a businessman, he’ll be home every night like my dad was, and he’ll be a real family man who wants all the same things I do.”
“Which are?” Asher’s jaw tics as he turns onto the Silver Pines drive.
“All the notes in my journal.” I shrug.
“A journal about your made-up future husband?”
“Yes, a journal. I’ve had one since I was eleven. It’s always made me feel more in control to put my goals in writing. I want a man who wants a family with me and our family will be more important to him than anything else in this world. A man who puts me first. Do you think that’s too much to wait for?”
He pulls up to my cabin and cuts the engine. I’m remindedwhen his gray eyes fix to mine that I’m withAsher.Talking to him like I would CeCe or Ginger.
“Whatever you want from any man is never too much.” He pauses and I see that pinch of his brow as he considers his next words. “And whatever he gives you in return, it still won’t be enough.”
I’m speechless, but Asher doesn’t give me a chance to respond as he gets out of his side of the truck and makes his way over to mine. He’s right. Everything I think I know about himisan assumption. But he is mysterious, quiet, always seems to speak in riddles, and he definitely has an aura of danger. Which means I can’t bethatfar off. To the world, Asher Reed is the epitome ofbad boy.
“I shouldn’t have compared you to Nate. But it does seem as though you have a past. At least, that’s what I thought the first time I saw you,” I offer as he opens my door.
“You don’t want to know about my past, Olivia.” It isn’t something he’s saying as a reflex. It’s a warning.
“Did some girl do a number on you? Is that why you hate love now?” I ask as I step out to feel the earth rock under my feet. I’m dizzy with both the curiosity I feel about who he really is and all the alcohol in my system.
“Christ,” he mutters under his breath as he scoops me up into his strong arms. I’m helpless to stop him when he looks down at me. “I don’t hate love. I just don’t believe in it.”
He cradles me tight and I rest a hand to his hard chest as he carries me up the steps to my cabin. I try not to enjoy this, but I nuzzle my face against him and breathe him in. Maybe just for one night …
“Don’t even fucking think about it,” he remarks, as if he’s reading my mind. My cabin is unlocked—there’s no place at Silver Pines that isn’t safe—and Asher makes his way in to set me down.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I fire back, smoothingmy dress over my hips.
Asher tosses my purse down on the bench in the entry of the cabin and flicks on the lamp. Jo was definitely here today; there are new magazines on the table, candles, and throw pillows on the sofa.
“I know when a woman is getting comfortable in my arms. I’m not your drunken cowboy hookup, Olivia.” He moves closer to me, the angry way he says my name sending a shiver up my spine.
“And whoever you assume I am, wherever you assume I come from, I can assure you that you’rewrong.” His voice is even lower now. “If getting comfortable in my arms is something you want, that’s something you can tell me when you’re sober. Do you understand?”
The weight of his eyes and the strange feeling that he seesme,whatImight really want, makes the room spin even more, and suddenly I feel like I’m about to throw up. I cover my hand with my mouth and make a run for the bathroom, barely getting to the safety of the toilet before I empty my stomach.
Fucking sangria Sundays.
