Catherine lights up. “I would love to.”
I wink at Asher and say a silent, Thank you.
He smiles back, conveying that I owe him.
I nod and grin because I actually think he is going to be good at talking with my mother. All he has to do is flash some muscles, and he’ll be good.
As they leave, I realize I need one more thing from him.
“What’s your schedule for the week, Asher? Do you have any competitions or training that I need to work around?”
“I usually train for at least three hours every morning. After that, I can do whatever for you, sweetheart.”
I smile.
Then, my mother grabs hold of his arm, and I know he isn’t going to get another word in for the next hour. I turn back to my computer. But at least I can get some work in instead of focusing on my husband who isn’t really my husband. I feel myself caring a little too much about him at the moment, but it’s nothing a long morning of work can’t fix.
* * *
After working for almost three hours and getting through most of the urgent emails, all I can think about is Asher.
Shit.
I shouldn’t want him. I just had him last night. And, on the plane, we did hand stuff under a blanket. I’ve gone weeks, months, without sex in the past. Why am I this needy now?
Because I never had sex with Asher before. Because I never knew what I was missing before him.
I get up from my desk, stretching. I’m surprised that Asher hasn’t texted me that he can’t take my mother any longer and I need to come rescue him or that he’s calling the whole thing off and asking for a divorce. That’s what I would have done if I were him. Nothing is worth having to deal with my mother—or father, for that matter—for this long. It makes me wonder who has murdered whom.
I slip my heels back on that I kicked off while working, and I make my way down to the café where I told Asher to take my mother. I search for five minutes, but I don’t see signs of either of them. I walk over to the barista behind the counter.
“Have you seen my husband or mother?” I ask, hoping that she knows who the hell I am. “My husband is a surfer who would be hard to miss, and my mother is dressed like she is going to a ball later today.”
The barista smiles. “They were here earlier. Your mother left in a car about an hour ago. And your husband asked for something more fun to do. I sent him across the street to talk with the kids.”
I nod. “Thank you.”
I run outside into the warm air. I immediately feel drenched in sweat every time I step outside. It makes me wonder why I even bother to wear nice clothes. Maybe Asher has it right. It does make sense to always be wearing swim-type clothing while in Hawaii.
I make it into the building across the street, and thank God for the air conditioner. I’m actually surprised that I didn’t see any press waiting for us outside.
But, after I emailed Marissa, she must have kept to her promise to help get rid of the press. I don’t know how she managed it. Maybe she allowed them to pick up the piece as well. I don’t know.
I run my hand through my hair as I search the home that holds somewhere around a hundred kids on any given day. The age range of the kids varies. But all of the kids here are in need of a fresh start. It’s expensive to fly them to Hawaii. But we have found that most of the kids thrive after they come here because it is so different from the environment they were in before. They can actually see a future after coming here. They see the beauty in the world again. So, the money is well worth it.
They come here and heal while we work to find them new homes. And, with the older ones, we work to get them jobs, college scholarships, or anything else that they need to make it in the real world once they graduate high school. We become their substitute family.
I start walking down the hallway, looking for Asher. I don’t have a lot of time to look for him. I need to find the couple of kids on my list and spend the afternoon with them, so I can figure out how to help them. I stop dead in my tracks when I see Asher sitting with one of the teenage boys, playing a basketball video game on the TV. I stand in the doorway and watch them.
“You’re kicking my ass, Jordan,” Asher says.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” Jordan says back.
“Do you cuss like that in front of the ladies?”
Jordan thinks for a minute. “Yeah. But they love it.”
“Do they? Then, the chicks must have changed a lot since I was your age. Because most of the women I know don’t love it when I cuss. Not the ones I hope to spend more than an afternoon with anyway. If you want a woman you can take out on a date more than once, you are going to have to reduce the amount of cussing. You feel me?” Asher asks.