Chapter 13 #3
By the time she was finished slicing the apples and rinsing the berries, the shower had turned off. When the coffee finished brewing, she poured a cup for herself and another for Asher, adding a generous splash of cream and three spoonsful of sugar to his, just as he’d taken it the morning before.
She was cracking eggs into a bowl when Asher walked in.
She looked up and smiled. “Good morning.”
He stopped dead, his gaze sweeping over her.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He swiveled and headed back to his room.
“I poured your coffee,” she called after him.
He returned, grabbed the cup, and reached for the fridge. He paused when he must’ve noticed she’d already doctored it. He took a sip, swallowed, and muttered a grudging “Thanks” before retreating again.
What was his problem? Here she was, cooking them breakfast. What had she done to deserve his rudeness?
The answer was a splash of cold water on her irritation.
Their conversation last night must have dredged up bitter memories. It was one thing to forgive. It was an entirely different thing to forget, or to ever trust after that. Asher didn’t want to be around her, and she couldn’t blame him.
As she fried the sausage into patties, she drifted back to that moment years ago.
She’d been obsessed with Tucker Benson, barely registering Asher’s quiet presence.
When Asher asked her to prom, Tucker and the other kids watched to see what she’d say.
She hadn’t meant to laugh at Asher. It’d just bubbled out on a wave of nerves.
She’d felt no malice toward Asher, just flustered, caught off guard.
She could still see the hurt in his eyes before he walked away. Regret had stabbed her then, a self-inflicted wound that had never fully healed.
She toasted the English muffins and whisked the eggs, then cooked them as thin omelets, which she folded onto the bread. When it was finished, she went down the hall and knocked on Asher’s door. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Coming.”
She returned to the kitchen to set all the food on the table, adding a glass of ice water for both of them.
Asher came in and stood beside his chair. He wore another rendition of what she was coming to think of as his uniform—black T, black jeans. He must’ve had a spare pair of contact lenses because the glasses were gone.
She’d liked them. They’d reminded her of the geeky kid she’d known in high school—except without the geek. Nothing about that buff body said geek.
“Thanks for breakfast.” He waited until she sat before he did, his good manners a stark contrast to the anger he’d shown earlier.
She helped herself to some fruit. “Sleep okay?”
“Like a criminal on the lam,” he said, a dry edge to his voice. “You?”
“It took some time to fall asleep, but once I did—”
“Uncomfortable?”
Not even close. The bed had been soft and welcoming, and she’d been a little too comfortable in Asher’s things. Maybe she’d imagined it, but she’d gone to bed inhaling the scent of him, sandalwood and strength.
Though his tone was cordial, she still sensed an undercurrent of anger. “Have I done something to annoy you this morning?”
He took a giant bite and chewed slowly.
She sipped her water, watching him, waiting for him to explain.
“I’m fine,” he said after he swallowed, then added, “not annoyed.”
“Because you’re acting like I injured you, or…I stole your favorite shirt.”
“Maybe you did.” His tone was distant, his eyes on his plate.
Silence settled in, heavy and tense.
They finished eating, and Cici started the dishes while Asher cleared the table.
She couldn’t stand the tension. “You might have forgiven me, but that doesn’t change anything, does it?” She turned off the water to face him. “We’ll never be friends again.”
He dropped their napkins in the trash. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re distant. There’s a wall between us. It feels like…like you’ll never get over what happened in high school.”
He scoffed. “It has nothing to do with that.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? But there is an it? What? What’s the problem?”
He gestured at her, frustration flashing in his eyes. “It’s that. It’s you, dressed like…that. In my clothes.”
“I don’t understand. You said I could borrow—”
“I know.”
She was confused. “My clothes are in the dryer, but I can wear them damp. You want me to change right now?”
His mouth clamped closed.
“What?”
If anything, he looked angrier. Maybe he didn’t have much to spare. Maybe she’d taken his generosity too lightly. “I appreciate the loan,” she said softly. “I promise I’ll get them back to you. Washed and folded.”
“It’s not that.”
“Fine, then.” She threw up her hands. “What’s your problem? Because I’m doing everything I can to make it up to you. I’m trying, and all I’m getting from you—”
He crossed the room in two strides. His hands braced against the refrigerator, trapping her between his arms. “Tell me to stop.”
“What? I don’t…”
“Tell me to stop, Cici.”
Oh. Oh. She should. Of course she should.
She just didn’t want to.
Before she could fully process what was happening, he kissed her—hard, urgent, his lips firm against hers.
Her surprise turned to heat, melting her inside out. She gripped his shoulders, and he deepened the kiss, electric and alive.
She could do this for the rest of her life.
In fact, if this was payback for annoying him, she’d come up with new, fresh annoyances every day of her life.
She rose to her tiptoes, anything to get closer to this old friend she’d obviously never known at all.
But he pulled back, eyes wide. And stepped away. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why?” she breathed, still dazed. “It was—”
“You’re a client. I’m here to protect you.”
Protect her?
For a moment, she’d felt protected, cherished even. But the cold look in his eyes changed that.
Now, she didn’t feel protected—she felt exposed.
She finally understood the problem. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her in his clothes, it was that he did. Apparently, very much.
The realization sent fresh warmth through her body and shame to her cheeks. This wasn’t affection. It was base desire, nothing more.
Now, he was looking at her like she was the worst mistake he’d ever made.
“What?” Her single word came out like a demand.
“You shouldn’t have—”
“Me?” Her volume rose. “What did I do? You started it.”
“You started it! You, in that…” He waved at his giant T-shirt as if she wore a corset and fishnet stockings. “Wearing my T-shirt like a dress. You shouldn’t have… You should’ve…stopped me.”
“Could you let me read the script in advance next time so I can rehearse my lines?”
“I’m just saying…” But apparently he didn’t know what he was saying because his voice trailed. After a moment, he blew out a breath. “You’re right. My fault.”
She wasn’t blaming him. They said it took two to tango, and she’d certainly been swaying to the music.
He took another step back, then retreated all the way to the doorway. As if she were a virus and he didn’t want to be exposed. “It was a mistake. It was just stress and…physical. Nothing else.”
“Great.” Her word sounded exactly as authentic as it felt.
“You could…” He raked his hand over his hair, causing it to stand on end and stick out adorably.
“I’d rather you didn’t because I would definitely lose my job, and that would keep me from ever getting another one, at least…
The point is, you can call Bartlett and tell him what happened. I’d understand.”
“I’m not going to get you fired, Asher.” Did he really think she’d do that?
“Okay.” The tension in his shoulders didn’t lessen at all. “Then… Okay.” He swiveled and marched down the hallway. A moment later, his door slammed.
Cici stood there, heart hammering, body still thrumming after that kiss.
It hadn’t been like the one in the alley, the one she’d known was all for show. She’d enjoyed that one. She had a feeling she’d enjoy every Asher-kiss available.
This one had been real, passionate. And it had meant something. At least it had to her.
She touched her lips, still warm from his, and wondered what in the world she was supposed to do now.