The city is nicely illuminated at night, so it doesn’t truly feel dark. The summer makes it possible to fully enjoy the night because even in a black dress that falls just to my knees and a thin cardigan, I’m at the perfect temperature.
I know I shouldn’t start a conversation this way, but I can’t help being blunt. I turn to Asher—who looks just as dazzling right now in that black suit as he did at the start of the evening when I first climbed into his car and saw him—and blurt out the very thing that’s been on my mind all day.
“What exactly is it that you want from me?” It comes out as a whisper, but not a harsh one. I just want to know.
“I knew you’d be angry,” Asher says flatly. “That’s why I didn’t tell you before I did it.”
“I want to return it.” I mean, I do, but I also don’t. But I do. Because I have to. I can’t freaking keep fifty grands, even if I wouldn’t be keeping it for myself.
Asher shakes his head. “No.” A strand of dark hair comes loose and drapes over his forehead, and his eyes seem to shine in the dark, reflecting the lights around us. They’re a deeper blue than I’ve ever seen them before. “It’s already done. I won’t hold it over you if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not trying to buy you or embarrass you. I’m just trying to help.”
“Help?” I gasp. “That’s a heck of a lot of help. No one gives help like that without expecting something in return.”
“Maybe I do.”
I go with a different tactic. A very true one. “There are other people who need it more than I do.”
“I know that. We actually…well, my granny mostly, has many charities she supports. So we do that too. Regularly.”
I shift from foot to foot. My heels are sky-high. I don’t normally wear them, so they’re pinching my toes while simultaneously making the balls of my feet burn with a wicked fire. “There are still more people out there who could be helped.”
“I know. But they’re not my girlfriend.”
“Neither am I.” There hasn’t been a single story about us since that kissing incident, and I haven’t seen any photographers following us around. Once they found out I was so normal, did they just give up? Or are they brooding nearby, just waiting for a stellar moment to capture?
Asher ignores that. “I don’t want you to worry, so stop stressing.” He steps forward and points at the line. “Looks nearly empty. Let’s go.”
My feet hurt too much for me to protest, so I just go along. I have the strange feeling that if I told Asher about how painful the heels were, he’d tell me to take them off and go without. Which I would never do on a city street, so then he’d probably sweep me up into those massive, burly arms of his and carry me to the car. That idea should not be alluring, and I should not want to feel his muscles straining under his suit. I should not want to feel his skin brush up against mine, feel his warm breath on my cheek or the crown of my head, or hear his heartbeat slamming against my ribs. Except, frick. Now my nipples are trying to shred my dress, and it’s the most expensive one I own. And also, my feet aren’t the only things that are aching and throbbing now.
The car comes around for us, and Asher holds my door. I slip in, and he gets behind the wheel right after. He drives with easy confidence like he actually enjoys it. I have to confess that I hate driving, and doing it at night is even worse. But being a passenger, though? The car is the perfect temperature, and it’s late, after a long day. I find myself melting into my seat, just enjoying the lights and scenery as we pass.
Soon, we’re at my house before I’m truly ready to be, which is jarring. Asher pulls up in the driveway behind my car and kills the engine.
“Can I walk you to your door?” As if there are dangers lurking in every shadow and around every corner.
“I…” Can I end the evening just like this? Can I send him off thinking I’m incredibly ungrateful for this wonderful night out and the insane amount of money he gave me?
No. That would be wrong in every way.
My parents taught me manners, and they’d both give me a lecture right now if I just got out of the car and shut the door in Asher’s face. Besides, he’d still be at work on Monday. And every day after. It’s not like I wouldn’t have to face him sometime.
“Why don’t you come in? For a drink?” That sounds like an invitation to do other things because a drink is never just a drink, and a drink usually means alcohol, though I currently have none of that in stock. “Um…of water. Or milk. Or juice. Tea? Something?”