by Nell Iris
“I wanted to see Asher,” I whispered.
“Why?”
I looked away. How much should I tell him? Would he find me weak and unworthy and go back to his normal, hostile self when he learned the truth? But he’d appreciated my honesty earlier, and I really wanted to connect with him.
“I’m, uh, I’m sick. I’ve got a depression, and I’ve been in therapy for ages. My therapist gave me an assignment. If I could do one thing that would make me happy, what would that be?”
“And you wanted to see my son?”
“Yes.”
“Mhm.”
I chewed on my lip and glanced at him. He seemed relaxed, and his eyes were alert, not dull like before. “What happened?” I asked.
With a deep sigh, he rubbed his wrinkled hands over his eyes. “I was afraid you were gonna ask that.”
“So tell me.”
“I don’t know. I was a jerk. Reacted badly. And when I realized, I didn’t know what to do. Seemed like it was too late.”
“You can’t be serious. Why do you think he insists on paying for you? To drive you to the hospital?” I couldn’t stop the words that flew out of my mouth. But he’d made me pissed. It sounded to me like their falling out had been for nothing. “Surely you can’t be stupid enough to think he wouldn’t forgive you? You must know he wants nothing more than a relationship with his father?”
He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. I took a deep breath. Readying myself for whatever he was going to unleash on me.
But what I got was a booming laughter and a man bent over with tears streaming from his eyes. I felt like I’d fallen down the rabbit hole, and I had to stop myself from looking around to see if there was a white rabbit in a waistcoat hiding somewhere in the kitchen.
“I like you, son,” he said when the laughter had died down.
To say I was stunned was an understatement. “Why?”
“You tell it like it is.”
I nodded. I’d come to understand that about him these few moments we’d spent together.
“Okay. So here’s what we’re going to do. Tomorr—”
“We?”
“Yes, we. You got a problem with that?”
“No, sir,” he said with a crooked smile.
“Good.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “Tomorrow, I’m bringing Asher. You will tell him about this. Together, we’ll come up with a solution to this problem. And you can tell him you’re sorry.”
“Don’t push it,” he said, but there was no bite behind the bark.
“I think you like being pushed.”
He grunted.
“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now get outta here. I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
“Sure. But we will be back tomorrow.”
Shaking his head like he couldn’t believe my audacity, he said, “I guess I can’t stop you.”
I stood. “No, you can’t.” As I passed him, I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll bring lunch. Call me if you need anything.” After one last look at him, I walked out to the door.
“I don’t have your number,” he yelled after me.
“You have Asher’s,” I called back. “Your key is on the table out here.”
Back out in the car, I lost all bravado and started shaking so badly, I feared I’d fly apart. I resorted to the techniques Liza had taught me on how to keep a panic attack at bay, taking several deep breaths, holding them, and counting to ten before slowly letting them out.
When I had regained a semblance of calm, I turned the ignition, drove back to Asher’s, and parked in the back. As I ran up the outside stairs, I texted him.
I’m back. You’ll find me on the couch.
I stripped off all my clothes and took a quick shower before collapsing on the sofa in my underwear. There was a new message on my phone, and I clicked to read it.
Good. I’ll be up as soon as I possibly can. xo
With the phone still clutched in my hand, I fell asleep.
Chapter 11
The next morning, I awoke bright and early next to Asher in his bed. I couldn’t remember him coming home after the bar closed or walking up the stairs, so he must have carried me. I wished he’d woken me up so I could have kissed him good night.
A quick glance at the time told me I had to get up if I was going to have time to execute my plan before lunch. I was reluctant to leave the warm bed and the sleeping man next to me—he was fucking adorable with sleep creases all over his face—but I had no choice.
Carefully, I brushed an errant strand of hair off his forehead and kissed his cheek. Lingering for as long as I possibly could. He hummed in his sleep, and I groaned internally. He wasn’t making it easy for me to get up.
After a last kiss on his cheek, I jumped out of bed and went through my morning routine quickly. As I chugged down a glass of orange juice, I scribbled a note and put it by the coffee maker. I didn’t want him to think I’d left if he woke up before I got back.
I found Asher’s car key where I’d left it the day before, jogged down the stairs, and drove to the grocery store.
It was almost an hour before I was back in the apartment. The note lay untouched, and a glance at the loft told me Asher was still in bed. I unpacked all the groceries I’d bought, organized them on the worktop according to recipes, and got to work.
By eleven o’clock, the counter was filling up with containers full of food, and wonderful scents of garlic and spices permeated the apartment. It was single servings, made for the freezer, and enough for two weeks maybe. The last batch was in the oven, and I had started cleaning up when someone unlocked and opened the outer door.
With a frown, I turned around, but I couldn’t see who it was from the kitchen area. I crossed the floor until I could glance around the corner and see the visitor.
A tall, dark-haired guy was in the process of peeling off his pants and didn’t notice me at first. Next to him on the floor was a huge bottle of lube and a ridiculously big box of condoms. It looked to me like he’d brought supplies to fuck the entire Billboard Top 100.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I cleared my throat. His head jerked up, and he almost fell over when he saw me. I couldn’t help smiling as I was treated to the sight of him trying to regain his balance with one leg halfway out of a pair of skin-tight jeans.
When he had both feet securely back on the floor, he scowled at me. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked with a voice surprisingly high-pitched for such a tall guy.
“I could ask you the same,” I replied, even though I’d recognized him the second he’d looked up. It was Mike. Asher’s not-friend with benefits.
He was an inch or two taller than Asher, with a sinewy build, and—judging from his one bare leg—no body hair. Maybe he was a swimmer?
“I’m Mike,” he said, “Asher’s boyfriend.” With an exaggerated swish of his arm, he put his hand on his pant-less hip and cocked it. I was so distracted by the unexpected femininity in this sporty guy, I missed his introduction.
But then his words dawned on me. “Oh? I was under the impression that Asher doesn’t have a boyfriend.”
He let go of his hip for a second and fluttered his hand in my direction. “Clearly you’re wrong.” Realizing he was only half-dressed, he did the complete opposite of what any normal person would do in this situation. He pulled off his pants completely instead of putting them back on.
“You gonna tell me who you are?” His hands were back on his hips—both of them this time—and he pushed out his groin at me. His unsubtle movement drew my gaze, and I was almost blinded by the bright pink color of his jockstrap.
Mike smirked when he noticed where I was looking. He slid his hand to the front and gave his package a good squeeze—making his cock plump up—before returning it to his hip, pushing out his groin even more. Sweeping his brown gaze up and down my body, he sized up the competition. If I interpreted the disdainful curl of his
upper lip correctly, he wasn’t too impressed with what he saw.
Winking at me, he undid the two top buttons on this short-sleeved shirt. Then he grabbed it by the neck and pulled it over his head with a practiced move. When it was off, he held it out to me before he released it and let it leisurely sail to the floor.
He took one last look at me before he grabbed his supplies and strode past me toward the loft, almost completely naked. Except for the neon pink straps of his jock that framed his ass like a landscape painting, the only things he wore were white athletic socks, pulled up to his knees. Like I’d suspected, he was completely hairless below the neck. He had ropy muscles that flexed under his skin as he moved and long legs with perfect quads.
I wound my arms around my thin torso while I watched his back as he took two steps at the time. His muscles rippled as if he tightened them for my benefit, and I dragged my fingers over my ribs. They were easy to count even through my clothes, and I grimaced. Looking down at my body, I couldn’t help comparing myself to the toned, self-assured man probably crawling into bed with Asher as I stood here doubting myself.
Where his legs could have been sculpted by Michelangelo, mine were skinny and did nothing to fill out the pants that once had been fitted. But most of all, he was confident. So sure of himself that he undressed in front of a complete stranger and went for what he wanted.
My hand flew to my ear, and I pinched my lobe. I glanced up at the loft, but it was quiet and I couldn’t see anything.
What should I do now? Rush after the brown-haired Adonis and stake my claim on Asher? Or quietly slink out the door with my tail between my legs?
The timer dinged, taking the decision out of my hands. I strode over to the kitchenette and pulled the lasagna out of the oven. I bit my lip hard when a happy hum drifted down from above, followed by a rumbly mumble.
“Cory?”
It took me a split second to decide to fight. “Down here,” I yelled.
A muted swearword was followed by a loud thud and, “Mike? What the—?” Something clanked down on the floor, and loud stomping followed. “What are you doing here?”
Mike answered something I couldn’t make out, but it obviously angered Asher even more because his voice grew louder.
“How the fuck did you get in here? And why are you naked? Get out of my fucking bed.”
It was nerve-racking to just hear fragments of a scene and not get the whole picture, and my stomach clenched. I tugged on my earlobe as I listened to feet running around in the loft. It didn’t take long before they came thundering down the stairs.
“Cory?” Dressed only in a pair of pants, with the most adorable bedhead and sleep creases on his cheek, Asher crossed the floor in a few long strides and scooped me up in his arms. He pressed me against his naked chest, and I rested my hands against his soft stomach, breathing out a relieved sigh as his silky tummy-hair tickled my palms.
He smelled like sleep and was warm and desirable, and all I wanted in this moment was to restart the day. To wake up next to this man, but instead of getting out of bed, I’d stay cuddled up against his back. Surrounded by his scent.
In that fantasy, it would only be the two of us. No naked guy lumbering down the stairs with a scowl on his face.
Asher pulled away but didn’t pay attention to Mike. Instead, he cupped my face and looked at me with a worried wrinkle between his eyes. “You okay, honey?” He let tender fingers wander over my cheeks, ears, and down my neck, as he studied me closely with anxiety and something else—fear?—clouding his eyes. His entire being radiated tension, and it looked like he was ready to catch me if I tried to run.
“Yes,” I whispered, and all my earlier self-doubt disappeared. His body language was very clear: he wanted me there. Not the muscled dreamboat.
An annoyed huff and tromping feet interrupted our intimate moment. After one last glance, Asher let go of me, straightened, and turned to Mike.
“How did you get in here?”
“With my key, of course.” Mike struggled into his tight pants as his eyes tried to burn a hole through my body.
“What key? You don’t have a key.”
“Sure I do.”
“How?”
“I made a copy of the one you gave me.”
Asher stiffened, and I took a step closer to him and pressed my palm against his back. “The one I wanted back when you broke up with me? You thought it was a good idea to make a copy of a key that I told you I wanted back?”
Mike pulled the baby-pink shirt over his head but didn’t answer. When he was fully dressed, he marched over to the kitchenette and slammed the key on the counter. Then he turned around with a bold flourish of his arm and sauntered away, hips swinging from side to side and chin in the air. I stared at him until he was out of sight, and it only took a second for the door to open and slam closed, leaving a roaring silence behind in the apartment.
Grabbing the edge of the counter, Asher leaned heavily against it with his head hanging. “I’m sorry.”
I slid my arms around his waist and plastered my chest against his back, resting my cheek against his still sleep-warm skin. “What for?”
“Mike.”
Turning my head, I rubbed my nose along his spine. Tightened my grip and inhaled his scent. “It’s okay.”
“I saw your face. You were worried.” His raspy voice was full of concern.
I snapped my mouth shut around the automatic, “No, I wasn’t.” It would have been a lie.
I ducked under his arm, squeezed myself between him and the counter, and hid my face in the crook of his neck. “Yes,” I admitted, “but not like you think. I was…self-conscious.”
“Why?” He rubbed his stubbly cheek against my temple.
“He has a very nice body. I’m…scrawny.”
Asher let go of the counter and flung his arms around me. “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful.”
My first instinct was to protest, but I bit my lip. Who was I to question his opinion? Instead, I nuzzled my face against his scratchy neck and enjoyed the prickliness. “So he was the ex you talked about?” I asked.
“Mhm.”
“And your not-friend with benefits?”
He sighed. “Yeah. Stupid, huh?”
“A little.”
“I appreciate your honesty,” he chuckled. Taking a deep breath, he perked up. “What’s all this, by the way?”
I lingered for a moment longer before I straightened. “I cooked.”
“I can tell. Are we having a dinner party?” He shot me a half-smile.
“Nope. It’s for your dad.”
“You made all this for Pops? Why?”
I filled him in on what I’d found in his father’s house the day before. How my heart had broken at the sight of all the frozen TV dinner boxes.
“I don’t want him to eat that crap,” I finished.
Asher leaned his forehead against mine, and I let my eyes drift closed, enjoying the closeness. “You’re fucking amazing, Cory Jones.”
“Nah,” I protested but shut my mouth as his lips brushed against my eyelids.
“My wonderful, cinnamon boy,” he whispered.
This time I didn’t object.
“Are you going to drive them over now?” he mumbled against my forehead.
“We’re delivering them.”
He jerked away. “What?”
“You’re coming with me.” I smiled at him.
“He doesn’t want me there.”
“Maybe so, but he knows you’re coming.”
“And he’s okay with that?”
“I didn’t give him a choice.” I stepped away and started packing everything in tote bags, readying it for transport.
Asher combed his fingers through his hair. “This day is fucking weird,” he muttered.
“Tell me about it.”
Chapter 12
Asher parked in his father’s driveway. “I’m not sure about this.” His face was drawn and apprehensive, and he refused t
o take his eyes off the rundown house.
“I am.” I got out and grabbed the two stuffed tote bags from the back. “Coming?”
“Sure,” he said, making no move to get out.
I walked around the car, opened his door, and hunched down next to him. Putting a hand on his thigh, I leaned my head against his arm. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then trust me on this, too. Please come inside.”
He shifted in his seat, and I twisted my head so I could meet his gaze. “Fuck, Cory. I’d do anything for you, you know that.”
“I know. And I’d do anything for you.”
“All right. I’ll come.”
He helped me carry the food but hesitated by the door. I rang the bell once and waited a few seconds before I pulled the handle to see if it was locked. When it clicked open, I stepped inside.
“Mr. Cross,” I called out. “We’re here.”
Not waiting for a reply, I gestured for Asher to carry the bag to the kitchen where I started to unpack.
Asher hovered close to me, and the tension made his movements choppy.
I handed him a stack of boxes. “Put these in the freezer.”
He did as he was told and returned to me for another batch. As he grabbed them, Mr. Cross appeared.
“You came,” he grunted.
“I told you we would.”
“Hrmph,” he replied and shuffled over to the table and sat down.
I bit my lip to keep from sighing. Lovely. We were back to grunts.
“What are you doing?” he asked after watching Asher cram his small freezer full of food for a few seconds.
“We brought food,” I said.
“Cory cooked,” Asher added.
“What for?”
When everything was packed away except for the ones I’d planned for lunch, I shooed Asher to the table and started plating up the food that was still warm from the oven.
“Eating healthy is important. Especially when you’re sick.”
“So why didn’t you take your own advice,” he muttered and gestured at my skinny frame.
I slammed Mr. Cross’ plate in front of him. “Because I didn’t have anyone to cook for me. You do.”
