Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Asher
I wake up early, the unfamiliar room throwing me off for a second.
The ceiling is too high, the furniture too nice, shadows falling in the wrong places.
My brain scrambles to orient itself, trying to figure out where the hell I am.
Then it all comes rushing back in vivid detail.
Beverly’s party. The snowstorm that trapped us here.
Daniel sleeping in the room right next door.
And what Kat and I did last night.
I turn my head carefully on the pillow, not wanting to wake her.
She’s lying on her side facing me, one hand tucked under her cheek, her breathing slow and even.
Without makeup, her face peaceful in sleep, she looks younger.
More vulnerable. Her dark hair is spread across the white pillowcase, and I have to curl my fingers into fists to resist the urge to brush it back from her face. To see if it feels as soft as it looks.
I think back to last night, and my body immediately responds.
I didn’t really think it through before suggesting we pretend to have sex to mess with her ex.
It seemed like a good idea in the moment, a way to get under Daniel’s skin and make him realize what he lost. Show him that Kat had moved on completely.
But I sure as hell didn’t know Kat would be so fucking good at it.
I wasn’t prepared for the way she stared up at me in the darkness, her lashes fluttering every time I said something, her lips parted as she made sounds that will probably haunt my dreams forever.
Her breathy little gasps and moans sounded so real that I had to keep reminding myself it was an act.
I keep picturing the flush that spread across her cheeks and down her neck, disappearing beneath that white nightgown.
How her breathing got faster and more ragged as we went on, as if she was actually feeling everything we were pretending to do.
When we got to the end of it, when I told her to let go, I could almost swear she actually came.
The way her whole body shook, trembling beneath the sheets, her back arching slightly off the mattress, her toes curling.
The shudder that went through her looked exactly like an orgasm.
Can she really act that well? Or was she as affected by the whole thing as I was?
Either way, it hit me so hard that I had to sit up right afterward so that she wouldn’t see how turned on I was.
My cock was throbbing, rock hard and jutting out from my body like I was some horny teenager who couldn’t control himself.
I went into the bathroom hoping a few minutes away from her and some cold water splashed on my face would help.
That maybe the space would let me calm down and get my shit under control.
Instead, I ended up jerking off in her grandmother’s bathroom like a desperate idiot.
I was so worked up, so turned on from the sounds she made and the way she looked at me, that it was the only way to get my cock to soften—doing the exact opposite of what we’d been doing in the bedroom, where we were deliberately loud to sell the performance.
In the bathroom, I was as quiet as possible, one hand braced on the sink while I stroked myself with the other.
Practically holding my breath, biting my lip so hard it hurt to keep from making any sound.
I came harder than I have in months, maybe years, spilling all over my fist while thinking about those needy little sounds she made.
I blow out a breath, shoving down the heat that tries to surface again at the memories.
Don’t be a fucking idiot, I tell myself firmly. Get your shit together.
I meant what I said to Kat last night. Every word of it.
I’m not looking for anything real, no matter how drawn to her I am or how hungrily my body responds to her.
Love, or even a long-term relationship, aren’t in my future.
I learned my lesson with Alexis. I’m not cut out for love, for trusting someone with that much of myself again.
And knowing that fact about myself means I need to not act on my attraction to Kat, no matter how strong it gets.
Because I do like her. More than I should.
I’ve grown protective of her in a way I didn’t see coming and definitely didn’t plan for.
And I don’t want to do anything that could hurt her when this inevitably ends.
She deserves better than some washed-up hockey player who doesn’t believe in happily ever afters.
Kat starts to stir beside me, making a small sound in her throat, and I slip out of bed as she comes more awake, giving her some space. Giving myself space too before I forget all the very good reasons why letting the attraction between us go further would be a bad idea.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and check it as she stretches, scanning through a few emails I missed. Honestly, I barely read them, but I keep scrolling through my phone anyway as I try not to watch Kat sit up, try not to notice how her nightgown has shifted in her sleep.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Really well, actually.” She pushes her hair back from her face, a note of surprise in her words. “Better than I have in a while. You?”
“Yeah. Good.” I realize as I say it that it’s true.
I slept better than I have in weeks. No tossing and turning, no waking up at three in the morning with my brain churning over everything that’s been going wrong with my life.
But I’m not going to think too hard about why.
Not going to admit, even to myself, that maybe it’s because I was sleeping next to her.
Shooting me a quick glance before averting her gaze from my bare chest, she gets up and pads over to the bathroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower.”
She disappears inside and closes the door behind her, and a moment later I hear the water start. I try really hard not to picture her in there, wet and naked, water running over her skin, but I’m pretty sure I fail completely.
When she comes out about fifteen minutes later, her hair damp and her skin flushed from the hot water, she’s back in the green dress from last night. I head in to take my own shower, letting the water run cold at the end to clear my head.
By the time I’m done and dressed in my suit from yesterday, Kat is sitting on the edge of the bed looking at her phone.
We’re both way too dressed up for a Sunday morning, and I glance down at myself wryly, thinking that if I was a bit overdressed last night, I’m extremely overdressed now, especially in a small town like Maplewood.
“We look ridiculous,” she says with a laugh, clearly thinking the same thing. She gestures at our outfits. “Like we’re going to a wedding at eight in the morning.”
“Speak for yourself. I look great.” I shoot her a smirk and adjust my tie in the mirror, trying to get back to the cadence of our usual banter.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Of course you do.”
“Should we head down?” I ask, not wanting to linger in this bedroom any longer than necessary. Too many memories from last night.
“Yeah. My grandma is definitely up already. She’s probably been cooking since dawn.” Kat stands, smoothing down her dress. “I’m sure she wasn’t kidding about making a big breakfast. She never kids about food. It’s like her primary way of showing love.”
I chuckle at that. “Good. I’m starving.”
We head downstairs together, the old wooden steps creaking under our feet. The house smells incredible, like bacon and coffee and something baking. My stomach growls in response, reminding me I didn’t eat much last night between being distracted at the party and everything that happened after.
Sure enough, Beverly has the dining room table loaded with food.
There are scrambled eggs in a big serving bowl, crispy bacon, and fresh biscuits with little wisps of steam still rising from them.
A coffee pot sits on the table too, along with a pitcher of orange juice.
Kat wasn’t kidding about food being her love language.
“Good morning, you two!” Beverly beams at us from the doorway to the kitchen, looking so fresh and energetic that it’s hard to believe she hosted a huge party last night. “Did you have a good night? Sleep well?”
Kat’s cheeks immediately go pink. “Uh, yeah. Very well. Thank you so much for letting us stay. You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
“Nonsense. It was my pleasure.” Beverly waves off the thanks. “Now sit, sit. Let me get you some coffee.”
We settle into our chairs, and I’m scooping some eggs onto my plate when Daniel walks in.
I have to work to keep the smirk off my face when I catch sight of him.
He looks absolutely wrecked. Hair sticking up a little on one side, circles under his eyes dark enough to see from across the room, and a general rumpled appearance that screams ‘rough night.’
Good. Mission fucking accomplished.
“Morning, Daniel,” Beverly says, her tone noticeably cooler than it was with us. “Coffee?”
“Please,” he mutters, dropping into a chair across from me without meeting anyone’s eyes.
Beverly pours him a cup and loads him up a plate of food before serving herself some too. She’s telling us about the biscuit recipe and how it’s been in her family for generations when she pauses mid-sentence.
“Oh, I forgot the marmalade I made last week! It’s perfect with these biscuits. Let me grab it from the kitchen.”
She heads out, and the second she’s gone, the atmosphere at the table shifts, turning a bit heavier. Daniel stares into his coffee with a petulant, annoyed look on his face as he rubs at his jaw.
“I should’ve risked the fucking snow and gone home last night,” he mutters, not quite under his breath. Loud enough for us to hear but quiet enough that he can pretend he was talking to himself. “Maybe then I could’ve gotten some actual sleep.”