Chapter Eight
I’m an independent woman. I don’t need no man in order to get mine. I am an amazing, beautiful woman who deserves the best. Yep, I got this. I am…drunkity drunk. -Lyla
Lyla
The groan I emit can probably be heard from the other side of the world. Fuck, my head hurts. And my mouth feels like I tried to swallow a ball of hair.
I try to shake my head to clear it from the static that seems to be stuck between my ears, but all that does is make my headache worse. Shit.
One eye opens slowly, then the other. The room stops spinning long enough for me to take stock of my surroundings. There’s a picture of Dad, Asher and I on a wooden dresser nearby. The brown comforter that I’m wrapped in is vaguely familiar. I try not to furrow my brow because that hurts too. I’m…at Asher’s place? I’ve only been here a few times and probably haven’t seen the inside of it in more than a year, but I take a sniff…yes, this comforter definitely smells like my Asher. I take a deeper sniff and let the comfort of his scent wash over me. God, this man has me hooked.
The bedroom door opens and the man in question walks in softly, carrying a mug and examining me with a sweet sympathetic half smile.
“Feeling rough this morning, princess?” he asks in a low voice.
I grab my head. “The worst,” I groan and pull the covers over my head again.
He gently pulls back the cover. “I think the coffee will help, Ly. You should have some.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I struggle, flailing for a moment and then finally managing to sit myself up against the headboard. The cover falls from my chest and I shiver.
I gasp as I look down. What the fuck am I wearing? Red lace crosses over my breasts and as I pull the cover further away, I see more sheer material and more lace, high cut at the legs.
Fuck me…I’m showing everything.
I gasp again and pull the cover close to me. “Shit, how did I get in this getup?” I send Asher a questioning glance and he blushes. He also smirks and I notice his eyes keep wandering downward.
“That’s kind of what you were wearing when I answered the door.” He shrugs, “so I really have no idea.”
I close my eyes and try to remember. Oh shit. Images slide through my brain at a rapid pace. Reina and Sophie’s advice to seduce Asher. Me getting home drunk after a few beers and deciding to go out again. Calling an Uber and deciding to wear this lingerie under my coat. Showing up on his doorstep…everything is definitively foggy after that.
My eyes grow wide. “Did we,” I gulp, “did we do anything?” I can’t decide if I wish we did or I hope we didn’t.
A wry grin appears on Asher’s face. “No, you kind of, um, fell asleep pretty soon after you got here.”
I hold a hand to my head. “Oh, thank God. I’m so damn sorry.” I can’t even look him in the eye. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Now, I’ve embarrassed myself and he’ll never think of me as anything other than an immature kid trying to get his attention.
He pulls my hand away and says, “Look at me, Lyla.”
I finally meet his green-eyed gaze. In his eyes, I see sympathy and affection. It’s the affection that soothes me.
“There’s no reason to be embarrassed. You did nothing wrong. And,” he heaves a deep sigh, “if you hadn’t been so drunk I don’t know if I could have resisted you.”
“Really?” I squeak in a high voice and then swallow. “Really?” I ask again in a more normal voice. Act cool, Lyla. Don’t act like the goof you usually are.
He smiles. “Really. I want you, Lyla. Like I said the other day, I’ve wanted you for a long time.” His smile turns sad and that damn sympathetic look in his eyes grows. Fuck, I hate when this man feels sorry for me. “But that doesn’t mean we should act on it. I’m not the one for you.”
“But why?” I raise my hand to his cheek. “Help me understand. Why are you so certain that we won’t work?”
He swallows. “Because we want different things, sweet girl. You deserve a husband and kids. You deserve the family with the white picket fence. I can’t give you that. I can’t give any woman that.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need that right now. I just need you.” I don’t deny that one day I want to get married. I do. I can’t deny I want kids. I do. But maybe he’ll change his mind one day? Maybe we could make it work, even temporarily? Right now, having him, even for a little while would feel like heaven.
“No, Lyla,” he says firmly. “I won’t let you do that to yourself. I won’t let you settle for less than what you deserve.”
I search his eyes for something, I’m not sure what. Maybe something deeper than affection or sympathy. Whatever it is, I don’t see it in those depths of green.
I grab the mug from his hand. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say about it.”
I won’t bother him again. I won’t beg any man, no matter how much I love him. It’s time to finally let him go. It’s what I must do.