“It’s not every day you’re kid-free in the city, right? What are some activities you’ve been wanting to do that you haven’t had the opportunity to?”
“Sex… Sleep… Sex again.” He dips down and nuzzles between my breasts, one hand slipping between my thighs.
I push him away with a laugh. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Is it possible for a man to “bat his dimples,” because I have a hunch that’s what he’s attempting right now.
“Asher,” I chide.
He throws his hands in the air and huffs. “Fine. What do you typically do?”
“Hmm?”
“If I weren’t here, what would you be doing right now? And please don’t say sex. I really don’t want to imagine you with other men.”
“No,” I scoff, ignoring his slightly perturbed expression. “I’ve actually never brought a man back to my apartment.”
“Really? Never?”
I shake my head. “I don’t like having men in my personal space.”
Asher shifts in his seat. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I can?—”
“No,” I interrupt, resting a hand on his thigh. “You’re different.”
He quirks a brow, green eyes deep and searching mine.
I retract my hand and drop it into my lap. “What I mean is that we’ve been rooming together for weeks now. You’re not just some random guy.”
“Is that who you’ve been hooking up with? Random guys?”
I can’t decipher whether he’s being sincere or territorial when he asks this. He’s already established that he’s possessive—in a green flag sort of way, of course.
It’s not really any of his business, but I indulge him anyway. “Those are the only types of hookups I have.” Arms crossed, I look away, feeling a little too exposed. “No strings attached is sort of my thing. I don’t have time for dating, and even if a man sticksaround for a bit, I’ve never found one that could handle…” I stop there, not wanting to get into it.
He angles closer. “Handle what?”
I shrug. “A woman who’s a doctor? A woman with a trust fund? One of those, or maybe both.”
Squeezing my leg, he says, “I’m sorry that’s been your experience. I hope you know those men don’t deserve you.”
“I do. It gets lonely sometimes, though. Coming home to an empty apartment.” Tears tingle behind my eyes, but I blink them away before they have a chance to fall. “Enough about that. You asked what I would do if I were here on my own. Honestly, I rarely have spare time, but when I do, I go to spin, then take an art class.”
“So let’s go.” He rises to his feet.
“What?”
Holding out his hand, he says, “Come on.”
Scrutinizing his sincere expression, I accept his invitation and stand. “You’re going to come to spin then take an art class with me?”
“What else are we going to do? Unless…” He eyes the bedroom, those fluttering dimples returning.
“Absolutely not.” I giggle. “I need one to two business days to recover after what we just did.”
Art is not meant to be competitive, but that doesn’t stop Asher from striving to be the best in the class, despite not having picked up a paintbrush since elementary school. He’s about as good at painting as I am at singing, which is to say, not at all. But he gets a giant gold star for effort anyway.
