by Elaria Ride
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he says a few seconds later, his voice gruff. “I know you probably want a shower, and — ”
“—It’s ok,” I hear myself say, even though it’s not exactly true. I’m still annoyed. And confused. “I wouldn’t say no to a shower, though,” I add, shrugging. “I’ll just need a little help to get to the bathroom. This time.”
My eyes flicker down to his, and I know I’ve made my point. He pauses, a grimace contorting his features. “Autumn,” he starts, avoiding my eyes. “About earlier, I—”
He cuts off with a pained swallow and peers up at me from his crouched position on the floor. His eyes are wide and focused, but rimmed with hurt. He looks like a puppy who’s made a mess on the carpet — and knows he’s done wrong.
I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. We all deserve a chance to explain.
Asher clears his throat and starts again. “I uh… last night was…” He trails off, but I can’t help but notice the way his cheeks have turned pink. Almost as quickly, he averts his eyes again, opting to stare at the far wall instead.
Shit.
My fist clenches at my side, all of my typically well-controlled emotions bubbling to the surface. All the guilt and remorse I’d felt just moments ago disappears. He’d rather stare at the fucking wall than stare at me.
I shake my head in disbelief. I never thought Asher, of all people, would remind me of my fuckboy high school ex-boyfriend, Justin… but here we are. You see, Justin always got that same distant, flushed look whenever someone commented on me being ‘his girlfriend’ — even though I was.
And heaven forbid anyone ever saw us touching each other. Once, in the safety of a dark movie theater, Justin had held my hand during the previews, but then one of his friends had entered the theater, too. Rather than (gasp!) be seen touching a fat chick, Justin had jolted his arm away. This story is even sadder when you consider that his friend never even saw us; we’d been too far back, strategically positioned for making out once the movie started. Or so I thought.
No making out happened that day, because Justin spent the entire movie looking flustered and bewildered. It wasn’t until later that night I realized what that emotion was: shame.
He’d been ashamed for anyone to see us together.
Much like Asher is, right now. He’s still gazing at the far wall, the flush from his chest slowly spreading to the rest of his body. I roll my eyes and narrowly avoid crying out in frustration. If he’s gonna pretend that last night didn’t happen, or that it was a simple mistake, or that —
“It was amazing,” Asher whispers, just as I’m working myself into a serious rage. “But I definitely owe you an explanation.”
Oh. I blink down at him. Well, I hadn’t been expecting that! I internally berate myself for letting my thoughts get away from me. Asher isn’t Justin… and he certainly doesn’t look ashamed.
Asher turns back to meet my eyes. This time, I only see respect… and desire. I squirm in place against the sudden pulsing between my thighs. Why does he turn me on so easily?!
Fortunately, though, he’s oblivious to my mounting arousal. This is for the best; I need to see a chink in his armor… which I really think I might be on the verge of seeing.
Asher draws a deep breath, his palm still wrapped around my calf, and when he speaks, I know I’m right: he’s finally letting me in.
“I’ve uh… I’ve only had one relationship,” he admits. “And it ended. Badly.” He sighs and looks up at the ceiling. “We were just dumb virgin kids, doing dumb virgin things, and—”
His face pales as he turns to me, realizing his mistake. “Oh, shit… but not that you’re dumb!” he says hurriedly, his eyes wide. “I know you’re a virgin, Autumn, but you’re not dumb, because — fuck!”
He huffs in frustration, but I just let out a little snort. Somehow he’s even more adorable when he’s trying to apologize.
“No, I know what you mean,” I allow through a giggle. “I’ve done some dumb virgin things, myself!”
Asher laughs, his shoulders slumping in relief. Crisis averted.
“Anyway,” he continues, “I think I’d be happier if I were a virgin today, because I was into her. Really into her. She wanted to have sex, so I just thought…”
Asher draws a deep breath before continuing.
“See, in my family, we end up with our high school sweethearts. I thought she was mine, but it turns out she just wanted a fuck before she moved away. To her, I was practice.”
Yikes. This whole thing pains him more than I’d realized. I give his arm a reassuring squeeze.
“Then.” He winces. “There was an accident. She um… passed away. Pretty violently. I could have prevented it, but I didn’t. So.” He gestures higher up my leg, closer to the location of where I’d landed on my back.
But I just stare at him, slaw-jacked, as my stomach drops. This makes a lot more sense; he’s afraid of anyone getting close. The only girl he’s ever loved is dead... and it’s clear he still blames himself.
Even though I’m sure it’s not his fault. I don’t even know the details, but I’m sure it’s not his fault…
After a second, I realize I’m still staring. I hastily flip onto my stomach as I collect my thoughts; I get the sense that getting this massage (without looking at him) will be easier for both of us.
Asher rolls my pants up, exposing the white flesh of my thighs, and dribbles more lube as he moves. Honestly, the whole thing is comical; you’d never know he’s rubbing his kind-of-love-interest’s bruised thigh using the same material he’d used to, you know. Rub one out.
Asher’s the portrait of professionalism, though; he keeps going with his story without skipping a beat. I’m pleased he isn’t quite so automatic.
“I feel horrible even comparing my heartbreak to what happened later,” he adds, his hands gliding across my skin, “but I still do, for some dumb reason. And that’s probably why I went hiking for a year after it happened. Left everything. Lost contact. Finally reached out to my parents after I found my mind again.”
His fingertips graze a bruised spot, and I bite my lip against the combined pain and pleasure. “Mmm.” I arch my back. Between the pressure of his fingers and the pain in his words, I don’t think I’m capable of much else.
Asher chuckles but continues working. “So yeah,” he sighs. “I’m sorry I ran off earlier, but when I woke up it kinda hit me all at once. I guess I just realized…”
He stops speaking for a moment, his hand frozen on my thigh. It’s not a sexual gesture. It’s more like he’s seeking comfort, desiring affirmation.
“I guess,” Asher continues thickly, his voice scarcely above a whisper. “I just realized how much more you mean to me than Sarah ever did. And how much more I’d lose if I lost you, too.”
Oh.
I let out a shaky breath against the onslaught of conflicting emotions. I find myself both delighted and touched. I’m angry at the girl who broke his heart, but I’m sorry she passed away. I’m thrilled at the feelings he has for me, but I’m flooded with understanding as to why he’s kept them locked so deeply.
Mostly, I feel like I’m seeing him in a whole new light. And to be honest, I’m not sure how to process that, either.
“So.” He clears his throat, pulling up my pants. My heart sinks; it seems Automatic Asher is back in full force, but now I understand why he emerges in the first place.
But understanding and tolerance are very different. This time, I won’t allow him to revert to a robot… not when he needs to feel things to get better.
I flip onto my back and give him a dumfounded stare.
“Why are you doing this?” I demand, narrowing my eyes. He drops his palm from my calf, and I rush to explain.
“No, Asher, I don’t mean about my legs,” I say, waving my hand impatiently. Then I drop that hand down to the space between us, covering his knuckles with my palm.
“How can you drop a bomb like that and just�
� go back to acting like nothing happened?” I ask, striving to keep my voice even. “It’s — it’s confusing, you know?”
There’s a beat of pained silence after my words and I scan his face for any hint of recognition.
And then, in an instant, his face crumples, his eyes slamming shut like he’s blocking out the emotions surging through his chest. For once, his face reflects something bubbling beneath. It’s raw, it’s uncomfortable… but whatever this emotion is, it’s necessary.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, blinking down at our joined hands. “It’s not… it’s difficult for me. To feel stuff. And I didn’t want to overwhelm you, and…” He trails off, shaking his head, and satisfied, for once, that I’m seeing who he actually is…
“I’ve been showing up at work before you,” he blurts after a pause.
Wait, what?
Asher heaves a sigh as he explains. “I’ve been showing up at work early. To turn the heat on. Because I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to be cold.”
Shit. I bite my lip. If he’s telling the truth — and I think he is — everything suddenly makes so much more sense…
“So that’s why you were there,” I whisper, staring at our hands. “That’s when you… um. Found me.”
He murmurs in assent as I grip his hand harder.
“But don’t — don’t feel like you have to comment on any of what I just said,” Asher adds quickly. “But I just… I had to let you know. That I’m… kinda afraid. Of how much I care.”
The last five words come out so quickly they’re almost like a benediction, like he’s treated them with as much reverence as he’s treated me. I feel my eyes begin to water.
And I realize I’d been wrong about him… so, so wrong. I only hope I have the chance to make it right. Our eyes meet for one searing, heated moment. I’m about to apologize, to tell him I have the same feelings, too — but then Asher pulls back, clearing his throat.
“Anyway.” He gestures towards the bathroom. “Let’s get you a shower, ok?” I nod, preparing to stand up, but Asher pauses as another thought occurs to him. It’s like he’s lost his filter, like the walls that have stood between us are finally crumbling, like he’s allowing himself to share.
Like Automatic Asher is finally, finally gone.
And I fucking love it.
“Trust me,” he says gravely, meeting my eyes, “I’ve thought about you in that shower more times than you’ll ever know.”
12
Asher
It’s been nearly 24 hours since Autumn’s been at my house, but it’s only now — while she’s in the shower — that I realize she’s been half-naked almost the entire time.
Before you judge, I’d like to reiterate that I’m the humble, salt-of-the-earth type. I’m definitely not one to toot my own horn.
That being said, I think I deserve to feel a bit of pride: I’ve just conveyed my feelings (to a living, breathing human!) without totally scaring her off. And for me, sharing feelings is a big fucking deal.
Especially when it likely means the end of my career.
After I’d basically spilled my guts, Autumn hadn’t responded to any of my vague proclamations of interest. Not that I’d expected her to; what I’d professed would make anyone uncomfortable. As soon as the metaphorical bomb had left my lips (“I’ve thought about you in that shower more times than you’ll ever know”), she’d blushed, stared down at me on the floor, and asked for help to get to the bathroom.
Of course, I’d complied. After the massage, she’d just needed someone to lean on for support, but I’d insisted, anyway. I’d been on the verge of offering to help her shower, but she’d flatly dismissed that.
“I’m fine, Asher,” she’d promised as soon as we’d reached the bathroom. “I’m fully capable of bathing and showering like a functional adult… but if you really want to help, I wouldn’t say no to an early dinner!”
I’d let her shower, but the dismissal combined with the refusal to comment on my little announcement left a sour feeling in my stomach. After all, I’d thrown that gauntlet pretty damn hard. I’d bared my soul. I’d told her things I’ve never shared with anyone person… and she’d demanded answers about why I shut down.
And after I’d shown her the smallest glimmer of emotion? She’d headed to the bathroom. Without explanation
I know she has no obligation to return anything I said — or even to comment on it at all. But this brief conversation more or less confirmed my biggest fear: Autumn is attracted to me… but at best, she sees me as a hookup. She’s not the type to play mind games or wallow in what-ifs: if she felt something for me, she’d have given me some indication. Instead, she’d opted to not comment and to spare me the humiliation.
Southern manners die hard, eh?
So, as I stand in front of the stove preparing dinner (as promised), it’s time for me to face facts: first, Autumn is naked in my shower. Second, Autumn is attracted to me. Third, Autumn definitely doesn’t have feelings for me — at least not the same feelings I have for her. And last but not least, there’s a high chance that in the unlikely event my behavior last night hasn’t already cost me my job, whatever I’m liable to do next will definitely do the trick.
Losing the park would be devastating. I would lose everything, including my cabin; I couldn’t live here knowing that someone else is in charge of the place to which I’d dedicated so much of my life.
But I’m also starting to realize that working with Autumn Walker is like living in a powder keg and giving off sparks. At while she’s in my cabin, I’ll have the tiniest chance to argue that this bizarre situation isn’t strictly work-related.
But fuck, the odds have never been more stacked against me. Despite how things look, I’m really not trying to make her uncomfortable… but if you’d seen the way she’d looked as I’d gone down on her, if you’d heard the screams while she’d clutched my hair, I’m not sure you could blame me.
Simply put? Autumn is sexy… and try as I might, I can no longer pretend that’s all there is to it. She’s also beautiful, smart, whimsical, hilarious, adorable…
Shit.
I set my jaw and adjust myself I stand in front of the stove. My feelings for Autumn are seemingly one-sided, but I need to be on my best fucking behavior to make sure I don’t ruin things before they’ve begun.
The least I can do is make her dinner to apologize, and hope I don’t make even more of an ass of myself. I’m making her pasta for dinner — Penne Arrabiata, a family favorite. I’ve got garlic bread in the oven and some Merlot aerating on the table, so hopefully that will be to her liking. There’s a bunch of frozen Cannoli in the freezer, too, even if my mother would have my head if she found out I’d served anything but non-authentic food to a guest… especially to a female guest.
I chuckle and begin plating the pasta, idly wondering what my mother would make of this whole situation. She’d probably have a few choice words to describe my withdrawn insolence — and I wouldn’t blame her. I definitely need to get my shit together.
It doesn’t help that Autumn’s been in the shower longer than expected. Thinking about her naked has done nothing to quell my throbbing erection. I’ve been kicking myself for not just taking care of things earlier when I’d had a chance, for letting myself devolve into a horny teenager instead of someone who supervises an entire park.
Despite my release last night, I will definitely have to run to the bathroom and jack off before bedtime. Which is embarrassing. I’m already prepared to sleep on the floor (and to stay there, this time!) but I already know I’ll be waaaay too worked up to go to sleep. The mere thought of her has me this ready; seeing her will only make it worse.
As if on cue, the bathroom door opens to my left, followed by the sound of Autumn’s gentle footsteps padding on the hardwood. I try to focus on stirring the pasta, to pretend that I’m not hyper-focused on every single sound she’s making, but when she steps into the kitchen and clears her throat, she makes the choice for me. I
turn to face her with a congenial smile — and almost immediately, I prove my earlier theory correct: seeing her definitely, definitely makes things worse.
My throat goes dry at the sight of her — even though on the outside, there’s nothing overtly sexual about how she looks. It’s more that she just seems… comfortable. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t deny that Autumn looking comfortable in my clothes is turning me on, too.
God, I’m a loser. But she looks pretty damn cute.
I’d given Autumn a fresh pair of pajama pants, and these fit her slightly better than the first set; she hasn’t had to roll up the legs as many times, and it looks like the waistband is a little snugger. Her t-shirt reads BOSCO LUMBER: A FAMILY AFFAIR. Some of her wet hair hangs in ringlets around her face as she towel dries the other side. The damp spots on her shirt are doing fascinating things with the black lace beneath.
“Nice water pressure,” she says conversationally, oblivious to my gawking.
I smile and set down my pasta spoon. “Yeah. I’m a simple guy, but after a rough day, nothing is better than a long, hot shower.”
Autumn’s hand pauses in her hair. “Oh?” Her towel drops to the floor. Then she takes a step closer, and I almost let out an audible groan; if wearing my clothes turned me on, it’s got nothing on her smelling like me. Because now Autumn — the girl of my (literal) dreams — smells like pine and sandalwood and soap… just like I’d always imagined she would.
Fuck.
“Really, Asher,” she purrs, taking another step forward. And then, out of the blue, she leans into my ear and starts whispering… and I swear to God, I almost cream my jeans, right on the spot. “I can imagine something else that’s long and hard that I’d like after a rough day.”
Holymotheroffuckingshit…
This time I can’t help it; a moan slips past my lips. Autumn is surrounding me, filling my senses, wearing my clothes, her brown curls so close I could run my fingers through them.
But in the next instant, the moment shatters. She pulls away, flashes me a cheerful grin, and announces, “Let’s eat!”
