Ashton ran a hand through his hair. “I keep the fridge pretty stocked when I visit. Want a beer?”
I sensed a make or break moment. Say no, he would leave and I was safe from whatever this was becoming. Say yes, and we were having a drink together at eight p.m. and God knows what else would come of it.
I tucked my hair over one shoulder and smiled. “Depends what kind you have.”
Was I flirting? Why? I couldn’t help it. Ashton was intoxicating, alluring, magnetic. I was so royallyfucked.
“Are you a beer elitist? I get a lot of those in my bar. Sometimes I pour them a bud light just to be an asshole.”
I laughed. “You do not!”
He nodded. “I most certainly do.”
He walked over to the fridge and opened it, looking back at me. “Let me guess: Hefeweizen?”
A grin pulled at the corners of my mouth. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “Designer purse.”
I rolled my eyes as he handed me a beer. A Budweiser.
Laughter pealed out of me as I popped the lid and took a swig.
Shit beer, but it would do the trick.
My eyes fell to the small loveseat sofa and a needlepoint embroidered pillow there.
There was a tiny red fox with the words:Look at all the Fox I giveunderneath in black lettering.
I chuckled. “Gran?” Somehow I just knew.
He nodded. “She sells them at the farmers market in town. People go crazy for them.”
Unsure what to do, I sat down on the small loveseat sofa. “Must have been exciting to grow up on a farm.”
He nodded again. “Always something to do.” Crossing the living room, he stared at the loveseat and lack of any chairs or other places to sit. The guest house was quaint but tiny. A loveseat, coffee table, and TV, with small kitchenette, bathroom and bedroom, that was it.
“I don’t bite,” I told him, and patted the seat cushion beside me. Hadn’t we just made out in the middle of a river? Surely he could sit next to me and have an adult conversation.
His eyelids hooded. “Bummer. I like biters.”
I froze, unsure if he was serious or fucking with me, and a nervous laugh escaped me. Pulling the beer to my lips, I chugged, regretting having him stay for the drink.
He sat down and the old sofa sank in, tossing me toward him. I had to reach out and still my hand on his thigh to keep from falling into his lap.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He just watched me, sipping his beer, staring at me and thinking God knows what. It was maddening.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked, draining the rest of the beer and thinking I would need about four more of these to sleep tonight, lest I be up with my thoughts.
He gave me a halfcocked grin. “You really wanna know?”
Oh God. No. “Yes.”
His eyes came alight. “I’m thinking about that kiss in the river. Wondering if it was a one-time thing.”
I nearly choked on my spit, not expecting that answer.
