He raises a hand in surrender and turns back to the grill.
I set my chin on his shoulder. “Can I show her the house, Asher?”
“You don’t have to ask, sugar bug. Just don’t show her my red room.” He winks. “It’s private.”
Snorting, I grab Ali and head inside. As usual, the A/C is cranked high, and cold, masculine-scented air coils around us.
“He doesn’t really have a red room, does he?” She gazes up at the vaulted ceilings.
“No. It’s green.”
Ali offers a sarcastic laugh as she follows me through the modern home. I take her to the garage first so I can snag us some pineapple White Claws.
“Hallelujah.” She snaps the tab. “My fave.”
“Right? What is even the point of the other flavors?”
“Okay.” Ali waves toward the door. “Give me the grand tour.”
She oohs and aahs in all the right places, pointing out spots the decor doesn’t fit Asher’s happy-go-lucky, excited-puppy vibe.
“He had a designer,” I whisper when she points in confusion at the trendy metal artwork on the wall in his hallway.
Ali laughs. “Did he tell the designer to make his house look like it belongs to aGQcover boy?”
“I think he told the dude he has a lot of parties and to make it easy to clean.”
Ali tiptoes down the hall. “Can I see his bedroom?”
“Sure.” I open the correct door and let her in.
“What’s this?” Ali takes three steps into the room. “He makes his bed?”
“I know, right? I thought the same thing. But he makes it every day.” I sweep a hand down the green comforter, remembering that drunken night we almost ruined everything.
We can’t do this.
Still true, years later. Best decision we ever made. But now, thinking about it, I’m... antsy? Wait, is thatregret?
WTF is up with my emotions lately?
When I lift my gaze, Ali is staring at me, eyes narrowed. “What were you thinking about?”
I pull my hand back and clench it into a fist. “Nothing.”
“You looked all... sad or something.” She snaps her fingers. “Melancholy. That’s what you looked like.”
“I’m fine.” I chug a gulp of my pineapple goodness.
Ali’s stupidly acute gaze moves from me to Asher’s bed, to the door, then back to me. “Jossy, are you sufferingfeelings?”
And there it is.
TheFword.
My bones turn to ice, and all the organs in my body attempt to skitter away from the cold.
“You know I don’t have those.” Even to my own ears, the words ring false.
