Bad Habit (Bad Love 1)

“Wear something sexy!” he shouts into the phone right before I hang up, and I catch myself laughing once again. Adrian is just good for the soul. Just like everyone should have a Natalia, everyone should also have an Adrian.

My phone says it takes forty-five minutes to get there, back in the direction of my house, so I pluck an olive-green T-shirt dress out of my suitcase and slip on my black boots before walking out the door.

Once I’m close, I pull out my phone to double-check the address. I’m led into a residential area, and I wonder if this is a shortcut or something, but as I turn the corner, it says my destination is on the left.

What the hell?

I’m most definitely parked in front of a house, not a restaurant, and I pull off to the side to call Adrian. But then I see him. Not Adrian. Asher. He’s standing in the driveway, his thick eyebrows pulled together, hands behind his back. Signature black jeans, a black V-neck, and black boots.

I’m not prepared for this. For seeing him again. For the way my stomach flips in response to him. I should drive away. I almost do, but something in his pleading eyes has me turning off the ignition and slowly opening the door.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions

in check, as I walk up to him. We meet in the middle, and the look of relief on his face almost cracks my heart in two.

“What’s going on? Where’s Adrian?” I ask, knowing this is some kind of setup.

“I need five minutes. That’s it.” His dark hair hangs over one eye, and I want to brush it out of his face. To hug him. To be held by him. To nuzzle into his warm neck and take in the scent that belongs only to him. But I don’t do any of that. Taking my silence as permission, he licks his lips and exhales deeply before continuing.

“Sometimes, when you’re hurting so deeply for so long, you don’t feel anything at all anymore. And then something or someone comes along that gets under your skin, inside your blood, and makes you feel fucking everything again. And all of that pain that you never felt? It all comes flooding back. I didn’t know how to feel, Briar. Until you, with your big blue eyes and your heart on your sleeve. You made me feel everything, and I both loved and hated you for it. I wasn’t blessed with a perfect life, but I had you.”

“Ash,” I whisper, taking a step forward, but he stops me with a raised palm.

“Please,” he says brokenly. “Just let me finish.”

I nod, waiting for him to continue.

“When your dad confronted me with a picture of us together and the drugs he knew I had, I should’ve known you’d never have any part in that. I convinced myself that you were like everyone else, shallow, and conniving, and self-serving. It was almost easier, because that way, I didn’t have to worry about those fucking feelings.

“And then when you hit your head, all I saw was my mom. I couldn’t save her, and I couldn’t save you. I prayed—fucking prayed—for the first time in my life. I bartered with God. I told Him if He let you be okay, that I’d leave you alone. And you were okay, but then my dad died, and it was clearer than ever. I needed to run, and this time I wasn’t going to come back. I knew you’d be better off without me, and I planned on letting you go…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. “Until I saw the succulent you left at my parents’ grave.”

I suck in a breath, taking in everything he’s saying. He’s cutting himself open and bleeding before me. He’s breaking my heart and making me whole all at once. Tears are streaming down my face at his words, and I don’t even try to wipe them away.

“I think I’ve loved you since you cried for that pigeon. There you were, privileged and beautiful and had everything most people can only dream of, yet you still cared about a fucking bird. And you cared for me. You showed me your pure soul that day, and you showed it again when you went to my dad’s funeral, and every day in between. And I’m too fucking selfish to give you up.”

“What are you saying?” I ask skeptically, afraid to get my hopes up again.

“I’m saying I’m not running anymore, Briar. I’m staying here. With you. And fuck anyone who has a problem with it.”

He grabs my hand and leads me inside the house. It’s not fully furnished, but it has a few things, like a plush rug in front of a fireplace that’s probably never been used and a simple white couch. It looks like it’s a stage home for sale, and I wonder what exactly we’re doing here. He keeps walking us through a tiled hallway, past some stairs, and into a kitchen.

“What is all this?” I ask, taking in the stainless steel refrigerator and empty marble counters.

“I bought it.”

“You what?”

“I bought it,” he says again. “Or, I’m about to. I told you, I’m here for good. For always. And I want you to be with me here, too.”

“Ash,” I breathe, tempted to pinch myself. This is all I’ve ever wanted. And there was a time when I would have blindly said yes to anything he asked of me, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

“Isn’t this a little fast?”

“Fast? This has been six years in the making. We were always meant for each other. We just did it wrong.”

“How do I know that this is real? I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. Even if you don’t move in. If you want to stay at home, or in a dorm, or move to another state, we can figure that out, too.”