A Little Bit Dirty

All I can think about is Asher and how I might have just made a very difficult situation even more difficult.

I followed him right into that back room and then pounced on him. Every detail is vivid and I knew exactly what I was doing.

If another second had passed without me kissing him, I think I would have died right then and there in that bar. How was I supposed to wait with the way he was looking at me, like no one else existed? With his hand on my waist? Forget it. We weren’t going to have that conversation in front of everybody.

Turned out to be not much of a conversation. Just sex.

With the ice clinking in my sangria, I readjust on the wicker patio chair and revel in the sweet lingering pain between my thighs. Amazingly hot sex. Like the kind you see on TV.

My cheeks heat at the same time my phone pings. He’s been texting me, and I haven’t answered. Just as I start to feel bad about it, another text comes in. His name, lighting up my phone screen. I bite at my lip, trying to figure out what to say to the man who broke my heart.

Another text comes in from Asher.

Asher: I want to talk. Just answer me, baby.

When I was with Asher, I was weak. Any little thing he wanted, I did. And hearing him call me baby again, seeing it written here … it makes me soft.

He might miss me, and I might miss him, but I am terrified that I’m going to be naive when it comes to him again and he’s going to break my heart a second time. I’ll hand it right back to him if he asks, and then it’s his to throw away if he wants.

I type out I miss you too, then delete it. All day it’s been that. The right words simply aren’t there.

What are we getting ourselves into?

I can’t be a mess again. I won’t go back to that place. And there’s an easy solution to prevent it: don’t let this man back in.

I can’t trust him not to do it again. And … I want to talk to him, because we were best friends for so long. It would probably be easier to trust him. But I can’t. That’s how I got hurt. I trusted the wrong person.

“What’s going on with you, Bri? You’ve barely said a word since you got here.” My sister nudges me with her elbow. I peek up from my phone and they’re all looking at me. My whole body goes hot. With the expressions on their faces, I’m almost certain they know exactly what I’m thinking.

“Yeah,” Renee agrees. She leans against the porch railing, her brow scrunched in question. “You do seem out of it.”

If anyone knows for sure, it’s her. She saw me with him … Hell, she may have heard me screaming his name last night. I snuck out right away, though. Asher took me around the back and drove me home, holding my hand the entire time. My right hand covers my left, right where his thumb rubbed soothing circles.

We were both quiet on the drive. He didn’t say goodbye, but he did kiss me good night.

“Is this because of Asher?” Autumn asks, her green eyes curious. Renee may have evidence from the bar, and Autumn knows he dropped me off.

The two of them could piece it together easy enough.

I swallow hard. Do they know that we hooked up in that closet, though? Were they all taking notes? This town gossips about everybody and everything. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that they’ve been talking about us all day. That they know how much time we spent in that storage room down to the minute.

Renee sighs, giving me a smile. “Everybody saw Asher trying to talk to you last night.”

Trying to talk to me. Okay, that’s good. They might not have seen us sneak off to hook up. I can’t help but glance at my sister who is gazing at me, the wheels in her mind turning but her lips pressed into a firm line. She’s not going to say anything … at least not right now.

Sharon, pulling her hair up into a makeshift ponytail, pipes up. “Why’d you guys break up in the first place?” Sharon’s drunk, but she studies me like I’m a project for finals in college.

“They were long distance,” Autumn supplies. She’s quick to answer and tight lipped.

“He broke up with me.” My correction is bold in the night air. That memory is one I’ll never forget. Glancing down at my cup, I know I probably wouldn’t tell the story like this if we weren’t an hour deep into drinks. I’d be more reserved and gentler. I’m anything but when I tell them, “He said he couldn’t give me what I wanted.”

Sharon gives a cry of surprise and falls back into her chair, wide eyed and dramatic, a hand up to her forehead. “He did not say that.”

“Oof,” Magnolia chimes in. She’s had her own run-in with crazy and emotional love. Very recently in fact, so I’m not surprised that she’s quiet and doing everything she can not to comment on it. In this town, it’s the offhanded remarks and gossip that can break up couples and tear people down.

“Oh, he said it.” I take another long sip from my plastic cup, draining it. “I’m going to need a few more drinks if I’m going to tell the whole story.”

“Me too,” says Sharon. She looks like she might say more. “I can’t believe he would have the audacity—”