Fit for Love

28. Ashton

Chapter 28

Ashton

I wake up with Kendall wrapped around me.

Her alarm clock is blaring. She grabs the thing and tosses it at the wall, which stops the noise.

Smiling, I kiss her shoulder. “Didn’t you want to start working nice and early?”

“Shut up,” she grumbles. “Or I’ll throw you .”

I shrug and close my eyes, only to open them again a couple of hours later.

Kendall sits up. “Why did you let me oversleep?”

I extend an arm toward the poor, broken alarm clock. “That was you.”

“Ah. Right.” She gets out of bed. “I’d better get to work ASAP.”

Truth be told, I have a meeting with Jordan in a half hour, which barely gives me enough time to get myself together. That is why I let Kendall usher me out—but not before we make plans for me to come back that very evening.

My day is very busy. After talking with my sister, I do a friend a huge favor and take on a new client—the guy who was recently appointed Director of the FBI. After that, I head over to Essence, where my team records me as I do my back workout—something that will become an instructional video for the app.

When I return to Kendall’s place, I bring Sir Ems with me and make dinner, just like the night before the birthday outing. Not surprisingly, Kendall and I have the most mind-blowing sex yet.

For the next two weeks, a pattern emerges. I train celebrities, exercise like a fiend, and field inevitable fire drills that—alongside the unwanted wealth that so pleases my parents—are the downside of overseeing a successful fitness app. Kendall works on her design project, even on weekends, but has me come over daily to feed her and then feast on her. The only difference from day to day is that the sex is impossibly improving, and relatedly, I’m growing more convinced that whatever is happening between us is very serious.

In fact, when I talk to my sister the following Monday, without any preamble, I ask, “When is it too soon to ask someone to move in with you?”

“If it hasn’t been a year, it’s too soon,” she says. “By my calculations, you’ve only been officially dating for two weeks.”

“A year?” Marcus contrived to get Emma to move in with him two milliseconds after they met.

“Even after a suitable length of time,” my sister continues, “it helps if you’ve already met each other’s family and friends.”

“That’s half-done.” I pour myself a glass of water. “You were there.”

“Right. And if you two come to visit Mom and Dad with me next week, the parent angle will be completely covered.”

Ah. “Nice try. No.” Having Kendall meet our parents is a lose-lose proposition. She won’t like them—that’s a given—but if they like her, it might actually make me like her less. But if they don’t like her, it will make me upset with them—or more upset than I already am.

“Fine,” Jordan says. “I guess their being in Boston makes her not meeting them somewhat forgiven.”

“Especially if she doesn’t know a trip there is a possibility,” I say. “So don’t tell her… or her brother.”

Jordan and Cameron have been working together, so it’s a real possibility.

“I obviously won’t,” she says. “How could you even hint otherwise?”

“Sorry. Anyway… do you think us moving in together is a good idea?”

“Depends,” she says. “Do you love her?”

I nearly choke on my water. “No.”

Or rather, I don’t know. I do have feelings for her, tender ones, but I’m not ready to examine them closely because I get the feeling that Kendall is not “all in” when it comes to our relationship. If I had to guess, I’d say she still doesn’t believe me about my three-year abstinence. Now, if she says yes to moving in with me, then maybe?—

“That wasn’t a very convincing ‘no,’” Jordan says.

I sigh. “Next question.”

“Do you openly talk finances?” she asks. “That’s another important prerequisite.”

Is it? I frown. “We don’t really talk about money. She seems to avoid the topic, in fact. For what it’s worth, moving in with me would make financial sense for her since she’s trying to get her business off the ground.”

Her parents help her out, I know, but I can tell she’s the type of person who doesn’t want to abuse such help.

“I’d wait at least a few more months,” Jordan suggests.

I blow out a disappointed breath. “You’re probably right.”

“I always am.”

With that, she hangs up.

Sir Ems trots over and gives me a soulful stare that seems to say, “My dear chap, if you do decide to move in with the pretty-smelling human, make sure she throws away the cat-like abomination that is her old sousaphone.”

A week later, Kendall asks me to come over a half hour early, and when I do, she’s wearing an orange jumpsuit that puts all her curves on display—and makes my dick instantly hard.

“Is this the prototype?” I ask.

She only recently received the fabrics to play around with, so I didn’t expect her to have something wearable so soon.

“This is more of a mock-up,” she says. “I’ll have the actual prototype done in a couple of weeks.”

“Still,” I say with a smile. “We should celebrate.”

“Sure.” She grins. “But help me get out of this thing.”

As I do, I marvel how she got into it in the first place. Most of the mock-up is held together by enough pins to make a girlfriend for a porcupine.

Once she is out and therefore almost naked, I can’t help but carry her to the bedroom, barbarian style, where we start the celebrations with a couple of orgasms.

Afterward, we head over to the nearest high-end sushi place because Kendall has a craving. Predictably, the place is packed, so I bring out my wallet and sneak the hostess a couple of hundreds.

“I’ll give you the next table,” she says.

“Thanks.”

I lead Kendall outside to wait and ask, “Did you ever have a roommate?”

It’s a roundabout way to test the “move in” waters, but I’ve got to start somewhere.

“Sure, for a minute in college,” she says. “I hated it.”

Fucking hell. How do I pivot this so that?—

“Kendall?” says an attractive older woman passing by.

Kendall turns, and her eyes widen. “Catherine. Hi. How are things going?”

Catherine smiles. “If that’s an awkward way to ask if Tierre regrets firing you, the answer is a resounding yes.”

Ah. So this is someone from Kendall’s old job. Given the fashionable way the lady is dressed, it tracks.

“I suspected so,” Kendall says. “But of course, we both know he’d never admit that.”

“Oh, yeah. But hey, in his defense, when the rumors began about you putting together your own line, he claimed he let you go so you could ‘spread your wings.’”

“Rumors?” Kendall asks.

Catherine shrugs. “A bunch of celebs that he knows told him they’re awaiting your VersaWear with bated breath.”

Kendall narrows her eyes at me. “Have you been plugging VersaWear more?”

I nod. “And I’m not sorry. When I believe in something, it’s hard for me not to tell people.”

Catherine turns my way, clearly just registering my presence. “Are you Kendall’s agent?”

Kendall frowns. “You know perfectly well who he is.”

“I do?” Catherine arches a bushy eyebrow. “And who is he?”

“Is this a joke?” Kendall looks at me. “You know her.” She turns to Catherine. “You know him.”

“I’m sorry, fashionista,” I say. “I’ve never met Catherine before.”

“It’s true.” Catherine gives me a thorough once-over. “He’s the kind of man I’d remember.”

“This isn’t funny.” A muscle in Kendall’s jaw ticks. “You told me to see him.”

“I did?” Despite copious Botox standing in the way, Catherine’s forehead crinkles.

“Yes. Three years ago. You said to see him to rid myself of mopiness, remember?”

Catherine shakes her head. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He was working at Essence,” Kendall says insistently.

Catherine shrugs, looking confused.

“You called him Ash at the time?”

Wait a second. I completely forgot that she came to see Asher the day we first met. So this was the woman who referred her?

Catherine waves a manicured hand toward me. “This man isn’t Ash. I just saw the real Ash the other day, and he couldn’t look like this even if he got all the plastic surgery in the world.”

Kendall turns my way, her eyes wide. “So… you’ve never fucked this woman?”

My mouth goes slack. “What the hell?” We were just talking personal trainers, so how did this escalate so quickly? Unless… “Catherine, do you sleep with your trainer? Ash?”

“Who doesn’t?” Catherine says with a shrug.

I turn to Kendall. “I’m not that Ash. Actually, I never even go by Ash.”

Kendall staggers back, eyes even wider. “I guess… I’ve never heard anyone call you Ash.”

“Because they don’t.” I face Catherine. “Am I correct in thinking the Ash in question is Asher Diggle?”

Catherine takes a step back. “Yes, but I don’t want to get him into trouble.”

I turn to Kendall. “So… when you said you had a friend who told you that I sleep around, was it Catherine?”

Catherine snorts. “Ash doesn’t just sleep around. He fucks everyone . How else do you think a trainer that inept could have such a big roster of repeat clients?”

Something on my face must scare Catherine because she mutters a couple of excuses and rushes away.

I turn my fury to Kendall. “You actually believed such a thing about me? That I slept with every training client?”

Kendall’s face is pale, but she stubbornly says, “That’s what it sounded like.”

“And you believed it until this moment? Even after getting to know me?”

She jams her hands under her armpits. “When I brought it up, you didn’t deny it.”

“I thought you were talking about sleeping around in college!” I realize my voice is raised, but I can’t help it.

“College?” she asks in disbelief. “That’s what you meant?”

“Yes. I told you. I’m not as much of a manwhore as you think.” I drag in a breath. “Is this why you had such a hard time believing that I wasn’t with anyone for three years?”

She looks stunned. “Is that really the case? You haven’t been with anyone else since that night?”

“Yes.” What will it take for this woman to fucking trust me?

Suddenly, something else hits me. This Ash misunderstanding is why she ghosted me three years ago—as in, for no reason at all. What’s worse is, even now, even with everything clarified, she doesn’t seem to trust me.

“I didn’t see Ash to get laid, by the way,” she says. “In case that’s what you’re thinking.”

I didn’t until now, but?—

My phone rings and I want to ignore it, but the ringtone is “The Imperial March,” which means it’s my father calling.

And he never calls me. My mother, sure, but never this late.

“I have to take this,” I tell Kendall tersely and pick up. “Hey. Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” my father says grimly. “It’s your sister. She was just rushed to the hospital.”