“God, yes. That’s what I need, Ash.”
“Good,” he says simply, abruptly pulling back and leaving me feeling empty. My mouth drops open, and he lifts me by the waist, plopping me down beside him.
“What are you doing?” I ask incredulously. He can’t leave me like this.
Picking up the tickets from my nightstand, he scans the information and then drops them down on my shaking legs. “You’re going to be late. Might want to get going.”
“You’re an asshole,” I say, standing to straighten my dress and smooth my hair.
“So you keep telling me,” Ash deadpans.
Grabbing my wristlet, I decide to do the opposite of what he’s hoping for. Asher wants to get a reaction out of me. He wants a fight. But I’m not going to give it to him. I’m going to walk right out of this room, shaking my ass a little more for his benefit, without another word. And that’s exactly what I do.
“Dash!” I yell once I’m in the kitchen, plucking my keys off the hook. “Let’s go! We’re late!” We’re not late yet, not technically. But Friday night traffic is going to make it difficult.
“I’m not ready yet,” he calls back over the music blasting from his room. “I’ll meet you there.”
Great. Just awesome. There goes my buffer. I was counting on Dash’s presence to scare him off, even if a little. Though, on the other hand, I must admit I’m somewhat relieved. I don’t think I could face my brother right now after what just happened with Asher in my room. I don’t know how I’m going to focus on anything other than his fingers inside me. Jesus, take the wheel.
I’m delightfully bored. I say “delightful,” because it’s better to be bored than to be with stuck in awkward conversation with Jackson. For the past thirty minutes, I’ve done nothing but shake hands, kiss cheeks, and hug necks. My face hurts from smiling politely, and my feet are already killing me. But, I’ll take it. Because I haven’t seen Jackson once. Maybe he decided not to show.
A server walks by, and I pluck a glass of champagne off his tray. Even though I’m clearly underage, he doesn’t so much as bat an eye. No one cares at these types of events, my parents included. Everyone here is rich enough to buy their way out of any trouble they may find themselves in, anyway. My parents are busy schmoozing and mingling, so I decide to go to the bathroom just to have something to do.
My heels click-clack across the hard floor, and I stare straight ahead, hoping to avoid eye contact with another one of my dad’s clients or my mom’s friends. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I scan my appearance. Besides the lingering flush in my cheeks, you’d never know that a little over an hour ago, I was grinding on Asher’s lap, begging him to take me higher.
After fluffing my hair and reapplying my lipstick, I’ve run out of things to do, so I decide to head back out. As soon as I open the door, a hand darts out to clutch my elbow in an almost painful grip.
“Jackson, what the hell?” I tug my arm back, and the champagne splashes onto his shoes.
“I thought I saw you go in there,” he says, still staring at the liquid on his dress shoes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He shakes his foot off and flashes me an easy smile. I don’t apologize.
“So, I hear you’re my date,” he says, when I don’t respond.
“We’re here as friends,” I stress. Even that much is a stretch after our last conversation.
“Friends?” He laughs. “Do you fuck all your friends?” he spits angrily.
“Okay, we’re done here.” His ego is wounded, and I get that. But I won’t be spoken to like that. I stand and spin around to walk away, only to run into a solid, six-foot wall of Asher. He steadies me by my shoulders, and I gasp when I realize he’s wearing a suit.
I’ll always prefer casual Ash over anything, but seeing him in a suit literally takes my breath away. His usually disheveled hair is slicked back in a pompadour style, and those beautiful, multicolored eyes shoot lasers in Jackson’s direction. I bring my hands to his face, forcing him to look at me, before dropping my hands and looking around, frantically, making sure no one saw us.
“Asher, don’t,” I whisper.
Ignoring me, he moves around me, standing chest to chest with Jackson.
“If you so much as fucking look in her direction again, I will put you in a fucking coma.”
His words aren’t loud, but quiet, intense Asher is far more dangerous. Jackson’s eyes dart to me briefly, but if he’s expecting me to stick up for him after that, he’s sorely mistaken. Shaking his head in disbelief, doing his best to hide his fear, he stomps away like a scolded child.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, turning my attention back to the bad boy turned GQ model in front of me.
“I knew that piece of shit was bad news.” His fists at his sides clench and release, clench, and release again.
“Relax.” I discreetly grab one of his hands, uncurling his fingers and rubbing his palm with my thumb. His hard eyes soften at my touch, and being the one person who can get through to him when he’s like this cracks the last piece of my hesitant heart wide open. It’s his. It’s always been his. I just wish he’d realize it.
“What the fuck was that about?”
At the sound of Dash’s voice, we drop each other’s hands like they’re on fire.