Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
But isn’t that how our story began?
“You seemed pretty miserable, even though you were undressing me with your eyes all the time,” Asher quips.
I smile faintly, but I can’t hold onto the grin, because honestly, I’m fucking sad that he’s leaving. He sits on the edge of my bed with my navy sheets and gray pillowcases. The man knows me so well.
I soldier on. “But then,” I say, rubbing my hands along the comforter. “I was dreading leaving Florida without saying . . .” I stop to swallow, then meet his gaze.
I expect his eyes to drift down to my throat, checking for the truth. But they stay locked on mine patiently.
“Saying what, Mark?” he asks softly.
I scrub a hand across my jaw. Fuck, why is this so hard?
Oh, right. Because you’re falling for the guy next to you.
“Without telling you how much I wanted to see you again,” I say, and it’s more than a weight lifting.
It’s a door opening. Maybe into a whole new future.
Asher’s grin is buoyant. “I had a feeling you were going to then. Or maybe just a hope. Even though I was leaving the country.”
I stare down at my hand on the navy comforter, then at his in his lap. The man does know me. He called it last night⏤when I really want something, I take the risk. He’s the reward. I reach for his hand. “I want us to try this out. Just you and me. I don’t want you to date anyone else. I’m not going to. I want to do this, whatever this is,” I say, and my fingers clasp his so tightly as I put my heart on the line for the first time in a long time. Maybe ever.
With astonishing speed, an answer flies from his lush lips. “Yes.”
That’s it. I don’t even have to speak the word that’s been forming on my tongue.
His lips are on mine, and he’s kissing me. It’s a soft, poignant kiss that tastes far too much like goodbye. But also like the start of something new and complicated and so very big.
When he breaks the kiss, his eyes gleam wickedly. “Is this on your spreadsheet?”
“What?” I ask, still a little dazed from everything.
“Asking me to be your boyfriend?” he goads.
“You’re such an arrogant prick.”
“But now I’m your arrogant prick,” he says, and the man is far too pleased in this moment.
Or really, maybe as pleased as I hoped he’d be.
“Yes, you are. So let’s do this.” Leaving the bedroom, and the scene of the best weekend ever in my life, we move to the living room and compare schedules.
It’s not the least bit romantic or sexy, and it’s the only thing I want to do with my boyfriend.
48
LIKE DRACULA
ASHER
I’m not a planner, but I will definitely plan for Mark Banks.
Worth it.
“I have some three-day weekends coming up.” Mark scrolls through his phone. “There’s a bank holiday the second Monday of October.”
“Yeah?” I flip to that date and find . . . “Shit. That’s no good. I’m in Monaco for Saturday and Italy on Sunday.”
“Posh fucker.” Mark gives me a grin. “Fine. There’re two bank holidays in November—Veteran’s Day is the second Monday. And then there’s Thanksgiving. But I have Rosie for the holiday, and we’re supposed to go to a parade party. So you could come here?”
I click through November. “Thanksgiving is no good because there’s an awards ceremony I’m supposed to attend. I could cancel? But Veteran’s Day is a real possibility.”
When I look up, Mark seems more hesitant than I’d hoped he would. “Wow, November . . .” He sighs.
“I know.”
He drops his gaze to his phone again. “Maybe I could come just for an ordinary weekend? The risk is getting delayed, though, and not showing up for work on Monday.”
“Well, a five-thirty flight after work on Friday gets you to Paris early in the morning on Saturday. So you’d get all of Saturday and most of Sunday.”
“Right,” he says.
But the paucity of that timing sits heavily between us. A transatlantic flight for a day and a half of togetherness. Fuck.
“Okay.” He reaches a hand across the sofa cushion and squeezes my thigh muscle. “November for sure. And hopefully another weekend before then.”
That’s when the door buzzer rings. “That will be Rosie.” Mark lets go of me and heads to the vestibule.
A moment later, his kiddo comes tearing through the apartment, followed slowly by Bridget. “Hi,” she says to Mark, her tone curt. Then she spots me and does an actual double take. She notes my weekend bag at my feet, and her mouth forms a straight line.
An awkward silence hangs between Mark and Bridget.
But Rosie doesn’t notice. “Asher! Hi! You’re here.”
“Hey, girl.” I hold up a palm for a high five as her parents head to the kitchen. “How was your weekend?”