Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
"I know," he sighs. "Sorry. I remembered pink is your favorite color. I wasn’t sure which shade so I got them all."
"Way to be subtle," I bite my lip. He cracks a half smile. "So what are you doing here?"
"Do you really have to ask?" His eyes darken in a way that awakens every nerve in my body.
Desire.
That's what it is.
"Can I come in?"
"Uh, yeah. Sorry." I move to the side. "Of course."
I carefully place the vase on the table as he shuts the door. "Should I leave it unlocked? You seemed to be expecting Ben."
"Uh, yeah."
"Okay," he swallows hard.
I've never seen him so unsure.
"Okay," he glances around. "Can we go somewhere private to talk?"
No one is around. I mean Mom is in the kitchen. Dad in the basement. Ben isn't home.
I nod anyway.
He follows me to the small living room in the corner of the house that's never used.
I take a seat on the couch. Its likely been here longer than I have but still smells new.
He remains standing.
Pacing.
Hands balled.
Sweating.
Nervous.
It's a sight.
I clear my throat. "Is everything-"
He pauses. "I couldn't stand knowing I wasn't the last person you kissed."
I bite my lip. This is making more sense now. "So your ego couldn't handle-"
He shoots me a glare. My comment hit a spot. He's annoyed, but holds whatever it is he has with him up anyway. I didn't realize he brought so much. A bag for starters. His overnight bag. Slung over his shoulder. And a magazine in his hand.
"It took a few days." He throws the magazine on the coffee table. "It hits stands tomorrow. I wanted you to be the first to see it. I wanted to be the one to show it to you. Although I’m sure it’s already all over the Internet," he mumbles.
I curiously narrow my stare. "What did you do?"
He rolls his eyes. I mean of course I could look at it myself, but I can't tear away from him. I still can't believe he's here, and stupidly, I'm too afraid he'll disappear if I do so much as blink.
"I had my people tip off a few reporters," he hesitates. "After I spoke to my lawyers I packed my things, threw them into Brad’s apartment, and got on a plane," he meets my stare. Then looks down. I follow to the cover. It's a picture of him and Sabrina.
"Really?"
"Just read it," he rolls his eyes.
Abrina: Calling It Quits.
"That's a terrible couple name."
"You would think that," he chuckles lightly.
I feel his stare as I open to the article and skim the page, focusing on the pictures - moving trucks and a very sweaty Asher and Brad carrying boxes.
I look up.
"How come you didn't hire-"
"How come you're missing the point?" His gaze softens. "I will destroy my career before I give you up."
"Asher-"
"I tore up the contract."
"You did what?" I can't help my gasp.
"Yeah..." he nods. "You can still say no, but I did just kind of very publically break up with my fake girlfriend to be with you."
I don't know what to say.
I swallow hard.
"Be with me?"
"Yes."
"As in-"
"Dating. You and me, yeah."
"How would that work?"
"Do you really not know how dat-"
I roll my eyes. "I mean you're never around."
It's not the first place my mind goes, but it's better than talking about the jealousy I'll inevitably feel as every girl in existance throws herself at him.
“Never is a long time,” he worries. “It may not be often, but I think we can make it work.”
“How?”
“Because I want it to work. I hope we’ll want it to work."
“And what happens when you get bored and stop wanting?”
Asher’s stare is blazing. It’s too much. I look away. All I can think about is wanting him. Wanting this. And how bad it'll be for me when it ends.
Poison.
That's what he is.
Yet for some reason it's the toxicity I want.
He's all I ever want and I can't imagine my life or day without him.
My silence has frightened him. I've never seen him like this, so fallen. Vigorously running his fingers through his hair, unable to tell where my mind is at, preparing for dread over the words I may say.
He's sad.
Forlorn.
Then his eyes cautiously meet mine, his voice no higher than a whisper. "This isn’t how I thought this was going to go."
"And how did you think this was going to go?"
"For starters I thought you'd be happy. Leap into my arms like you usually do whenever you see me."
"Who said I'm not happy?" I challenge. "You just didn't answer my question."
His face relaxes and his mouth twitches.
"So?" I raise an eyebrow. "What happens when you get bored and stop wanting me?"
"Bored?" he chuckles. "Of you?" He reaches for me, taking my wrists and pulling me up. "Have you met you?"
"I'm being serious."
"So am I." He smiles. "You once told me that the most difficult things are usually the most worth it. Take that advice."