Chapter 8 Asha
ASHA
Iarrived at the Greenhouse and found Beth and Daisy seated at a reclaimed wood pub table near the entrance. Along the back wall, the name of the bar swirled in pink neon against the ivy-covered brick. Potted ferns dangled from the rafters, and between them, strands of fairy lights twinkled.
A DJ played lo-fi beats from the corner while bartenders shook cocktails and muddled fresh ingredients.
I gave each of my girls a hug. Beth had changed from her ER scrubs into wide-leg pants and a white crop top, and Daisy wore a fuchsia maxi dress with cutouts at the midsection. She’d just come from an afternoon garden wedding she’d organized for her event-planning business.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Philadelphia’s slutty little true-crime podcaster.” Daisy grinned and flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Keep your voice down, Daze.” I gave my girls a hug and shimmied my ass onto an olive-green velvet stool. “Caught the promo, did you?”
“Sure did. You looked like a total smoke show.”
“Thanks. I’m not sure it got me the right kind of attention, though. Did you read the comments?”
“Do you mean the ones from the pearl clutchers or from the incels?” Daisy waved her hand in the air. “Don’t worry about them, babe. Let those dummies boost your views.”
Beth sipped her martini. “How’s the case going?”
“Slower than I’d hoped. This might be a tough one to crack.”
A month ago, Sierra’s parents had messaged Captive Audience, asking if I’d help find their daughter.
I’d agreed because there’d been an unusually high number of runaways vanishing from the streets of Philly this year, and the police rarely bothered searching for transient teens.
The Witkowskis had even offered a generous reward for information leading to Sierra’s whereabouts, but so far, all responses had proved fruitless.
“Enough about work. I want to hear about your date,” Daisy said, scooping guac with a chip and popping it into her mouth.
I groaned. “What date? The jerk stopped answering my messages and blocked me.”
“Wait.” Beth frowned. “Didn’t the one before that ghost you, too?”
I snorted. “Yeah. And the one before that.”
I didn’t date often. With research for the podcast, recording, and editing, I had little time for men. But a girl still needed to get laid every once in a while. That had never been a problem in the past.
Daisy’s brows shot up. “Three in a row? Wow. That would bruise even my self-esteem.”
Beth smacked her lips. “Nope. I call bullshit. Your self-esteem is indestructible.”
“True. Maybe I’ll find out one day, if a man ever rejects me. I’m sure it sucks, though, sweetie.” Daisy patted my hand.
I didn’t tell Beth and Daze that it wasn’t just three dates that’d stood me up. I’d been too embarrassed to tell them about the others.
I’d been ghosted, stood up at the last minute, and flat-out rejected. One douchebag had even told me he’d been diagnosed with a terminal illness, then shown up on a different dating app a week later.
“I’m starting to think there’s something wrong with me.” I glanced between my friends. “Am I too old? Oh my God. Am I still bangable?”
Beth snorted. “Bitch, you’re only twenty-eight.”
“Yeah, but have you seen the children I’m competing with on the dating apps? They make me feel like I belong in a nursing home.”
“Age is just a number, baby. Demi Moore is over sixty, and everyone wants to bang her. Me included.” Daze slurped the last of her drink and placed the empty glass on the table. “You know what you need to do?”
I shrugged. “Give up on men? Buy a new vibrator?”
“You need to get laid.”
“Thanks, genius. I haven’t been braving the apps for true love.”
“What’s wrong with true love?” Beth crunched on a chip.
Please. A relationship was the last thing I wanted. If life had taught me anything, it was that men couldn’t be trusted and love was just an annoying cocktail of brain chemicals that drove you to make dumb decisions.
Beth was one of the lucky ones. She and Aaron had met in high school, had fallen stupidly in love, and hadn’t spent a day apart since.
Aaron had worked while Beth had gone to med school.
And when she’d graduated, he’d started his own construction company.
They were both driven in their careers yet supported one another. A true equal partnership.
But I wasn’t deluding myself. A love like theirs was rare. One in a million, maybe.
“No thanks. Men are only good for one thing. After that, they’re disposable.”
“Oh, come on.” Daisy laughed off my comment. “You don’t really mean that.”
“Why not? When your car needs service, you take it to the shop. You don’t marry the mechanic. If I get lonely, I’ll rescue a cat and save myself a lifetime of ironing some chump’s clothes and fluffing his fragile ego.”
Daisy frowned. “That’s depressing. Why do we invite you for drinks?”
I folded my arms. “To remind you that it’s not our job to fix emotionally stunted men.”
“Aaron’s not emotionally immature.” Beth snatched up a glass of water and stabbed ice blocks with the straw. “Although sometimes he gets an annoying case of correctile dysfunction.”
Daisy made a face. “Isn’t there a pill for that?”
“She means mansplaining, Daze. Pretty sure Aaron’s dick works fine.” I held my palms up. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Not wrong,” Beth said. “Twelve years together and he still gets a boner if I bend over to tie my shoelaces.”
“Listen.” I curled my hair behind my ears. “Aaron’s a freaking unicorn. We all know you won the life lottery finding each other. But that golden retriever husband of yours is statistically the person most likely to murder you.”
“Murder me?” Beth scoffed. “That man worships the ground I walk on.”
“Maybe. But it’s a fact that every woman should consider before saying I do.” I picked up a chip and took a bite.
Daisy’s brows drew together. “So that’s it? You’re really just gonna hit ’em and quit ’em for the rest of your days? I thought maybe this was a phase since…”
Since a man I’d trusted had taken something I’d never consented to.
Daisy didn’t finish her sentence, because we didn’t mention his name out loud. Not ever. I’d asked the girls not to. It was still too triggering.
I saved Daisy from the awkward silence by clarifying.
“Not a phase. I just arrived early at the same realization most divorced women have: Men are bad for us. Physically. Emotionally. As I said, disposable. You won’t ever see a wedding ring on my finger.
” I took a big sip of my cocktail. “Not that there’s any risk of that when I can’t even land a hookup on a dating app brimming with men looking for no-strings sex. ”
God. When I said it out loud, my situation sounded more dire than I’d thought.
“Maybe it’s time to ditch the apps and find some fun the old-fashioned way.” Beth waved her hand around the bar.
“Ugh.” I groaned. “You mean flirt with an actual person?”
“Yesss!” Daisy bounced in her seat. “Let’s find you someone who’ll rearrange your insides until you go cross-eyed.”
I arched a brow. “Sounds optimistic.”
I could hardly remember the last time I’d had half-decent sex, let alone good sex.
Beth shrugged. “What have you got to lose? Pick a random guy, walk right up to him, and watch his eyes fall out of his head over how hot you are. That’ll get your self-esteem back on track.”
“Or kill it once and for all if they laugh. I think I’ll stick with online dating.”
“No.” Beth placed both palms on the table and stared me down. “Those stupid boys on those stupid apps have messed with your head. Any man in this room will think it’s his lucky day if you hit on him.”
“When I came out tonight, I was hoping for a distraction from my problems, not an intervention.”
“Too bad. You’re getting one.”
“Fine. But when I get turned down, you’re buying me drinks for the rest of the night.”
Beth nodded toward the bar. “What about green shirt with the mustache over there?”
“Nuh-uh. I’m getting Ted Lasso vibes, and I can’t get rejected by my favorite coach.”
Beth blinked. “You’d sleep with Ted Lasso?”
I shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, wouldn’t you? Ted’s no quitter. You just know that man would get you there.”
“I hadn’t thought about it until now,” Beth replied, and made a spinning motion with her pointer finger. “Let’s revisit this conversation after a few more drinks. We’re getting off track. What about the blond guy eating a taco? Could be a good omen.”
I scrunched my nose. “He has itty-bitty hands.”
“Good catch,” Beth said.
“Shut the front door.” Daisy gasped and clutched my forearm. Her wide eyes were fixed on something behind Beth. “McHottie alert. Two o’clock.”
I scanned her field of vision until my gaze locked with a man’s in the back corner. He looked away quickly, but my stomach did that thing like when turbulence hit an airplane.
He sat alone at a booth, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled to his elbows, revealing muscular, tattooed forearms that had no business looking that good.
The cut of his shirt hinted at the breadth of his shoulders and the power beneath.
Dark hair combed back and shaved short on the sides, and grown-out stubble framing a jawline carved by the gods of testosterone.
Just being in the same room as McHottie made my feminism roll over and spread her legs, because everything about him was so panty-meltingly masculine.
He didn’t smile, didn’t move. He studied the room in an assessing way, until his attention returned to our table and stayed there.
Beth checked over her shoulder.
“Don’t stare!” I snapped.
“Why not? He’s staring at us.”
“Not us.” Daisy faced me. “Girl, he’s looking at you.”
He couldn’t be. My sparkly blond bombshell of a friend never failed to capture the interest of every male in the room.
“Does he look familiar to you guys?” I asked.
Daisy smirked. “Yeah. I think I saw his look-alike on a Hugo Boss billboard.”
“That’s him.” Beth nodded. “He’s the one.”
I shook my head. “Forget it. You two are nuts if you think I’m going to talk to that guy. Choose someone else.”
“Come on, Asha. What could possibly be wrong with him? Eyes too blue? Face too symmetrical?” Beth rolled her eyes and sipped her drink.
“That’s exactly my point. A man who looks that good has trouble written all over him.”
Daisy plucked a rogue red hair from my sleeve. “Which makes him the perfect choice. There’s no way McHottie has a small dick and blows his load prematurely.”
I scoffed. “You can’t know that about him.”
“Please.” She gave me an amused look. “If I know anything, it’s the opposite sex. That over there is a man who gets what he wants, and right now, he wants you.”
McHottie drank slowly from a glass of amber liquor.
Beth fanned herself and licked her lips. “Are those hand tattoos?”
Unfortunately, they were, and sexy as hell.
“Here.” I passed Beth a napkin. “Wipe the drool from your chin.”
She poked her tongue out and tossed the napkin at my chest.
Daze circled her finger around the rim of her glass. “Can you imagine how good those inked hands would look roaming all over your body? How good they’d look around your throat?”
The three of us let out simultaneous sighs.
And suddenly, I could see it all. Tearing McHottie’s shirt off, him dragging my panties past my ankles. The feel of his big body above me, thrusting away.
My face warmed. My pussy tingled.
Holy hell, it was hot in here.
Maybe the girls were right. Maybe I should take a risk and approach this stranger. And now that I’d spotted McHottie, I didn’t want to hook up with anyone else. I wanted him.
He sipped his drink. I sipped mine. Our eyes locked again, and for one foolish heartbeat, it felt like we were in sync.
I exhaled a rushed breath and wiped sweaty palms down my dress. “This is crazy. I can’t do this.”
Beth reached for a chip. “Yes, you can. You’re just rusty.”
“Do you have condoms?” Daze asked.
“No.”
“Don’t worry. He will. A guy like him probably buys them in bulk.”
“Great. Now I’m imagining him screwing every other woman in the city.”
“And now it’s your turn,” Beth said. “Look, Asha. Worst-case scenario, he says he’s not interested, and we buy you margaritas until closing. Best case, you get to ride that man all night.”
“Well, when you put it that way.” What did I have to lose? Maybe this was a terrible idea, but if I didn’t go over there, I’d be stuck wondering What if? all night. I wanted to feel wanted. Desired. If I crashed and burned, at least I’d go down in flames.
I downed the last of my drink. “All right. I’m going in. Wish me luck.”