Chapter Twenty-Eight
Victoria
“Let me call you back,” I tell Delilah shrilly, staring at Asher with wide eyes.
“He’s there, isn’t he?” she questions silkily. “I better not lose my bet because of your libido—” I hang up before she can embarrass me any further.
Asher and I stare at each other. He looks amused and… intent, while I’m sure I look exactly how I feel: a confused, emotional wreck with her mouth gaping and eyes bulging. Probably not my most attractive moment.
“You gonna answer my question?” he asks, sounding infuriatingly smug.
“Um…” think of something witty, damnit. “My neighbor. I’m not mutually obsessed with my neighbor.
She’s this 90-year-old woman who’s weirdly obsessed with telling people to be quiet even when they’re not doing anything.
Legend has it she once filed a lawsuit against someone for snoring.
So… I’m not obsessed.” I swallow. “With her.”
“Uh-huh.” Asher’s dubious tone calls me a liar more effectively than his words even could. “You going to invite me in?”
Into my shithole apartment with stained walls, cement floors, miniscule kitchen, and tiny bedroom? He probably wouldn’t fit inside it.
“No.”
Asher scowls, but instead of turning into an asshole, he asks tersely, “Do you want to get dinner?”
I’m stunned. “What?”
“Dinner,” he hisses. When he sees me hide a wince, he makes an effort to soften his tone. “Dinner. With me. Now.”
“Like… dinner as friends? Or—”
“No, not as friends.” He rolls his eyes. “Or coworkers. Or a driver and intern. Dinner as in…” he pushes a hand through his hair, which only makes it sexier. I remember how silky those locks felt when I was pulling on them. When his soft lips and hard body was pressed against me…
“Dinner like a date,” he grits out.
It’s a clear olive branch, and an invitation for something… more. Between us. My life experience tells me to slam the door in his face and nip this bullshit in the bud before it gets any worse than it already is. But another part of me that’s been growing stronger by the day wins out.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m… let me get changed. I look hideous.”
“You look delicious.” He says it almost angrily, but that doesn’t stop my cheeks from flaming.
“Fuck. What I mean is… you look good. Like always. You don’t need to change.
” He swallows. “We won’t be going anywhere special.
It’s another hole-in-the-wall place. I mean, we can go somewhere nicer, but reporters might catch us, so—”
“A hole in the wall sounds perfect. Just let me grab my bag.”
He looks inexplicably angry with both of us. “Alright.”
I end up making him wait while I change.
Outside of my apartment, since I’m too embarrassed to let him see the inside of it.
By the time I greet him again, twenty minutes have passed, and his angry expression has turned into fury.
It melts away when he sees that I’m wearing a short blue skirt with little star patterns on the soft material, and a navy top that imitates a corset and is detailed with lace.
I might’ve called Delilah in a panic. She knows my closet better than I do—most of the good clothes I have were bought on her suggestion, and I swear she has a photographic memory—so she gave quick suggestions and reminded me to stay celibate for the next week.
Asher gives me a long, leisurely once-over.
I feel his eyes like feather soft touches as they trail over my exposed collarbones, linger on my chest, and sweep down my legs.
Then, he gives me another up and down, as if one look wasn’t enough.
I lose the battle against fidgeting by the third time, and his eyes finally snap up to meet mine.
“You look… fuck.” His eyes slide closed, and he shakes his head. “Let’s go before I do something dumb.”
I drape a nice, long sweater over my outfit to protect myself from the chill, and follow him to the elevator. “Want to tell me how you found out where I live?”
“I have my sources.” When I stare at him expectantly, he relents. “I asked Oliver. Said I wanted to check on you after name-dropping you.”
I frown. “How does Oliver know where I live?”
“He’s good with computers. I’m pretty sure he can find out almost anything about anyone.”
I happen to agree. I’m certain Oliver has a skillset that goes far beyond normal data analysis and IT, and it’s the reason why I think he’ll be able to help me when I ask him for data from other teams.
A short elevator ride later, Asher opens the passenger door to his McAllister for me. My heart stutters at the casually chivalrous gesture. Todd never opened any doors for me, before or while we were dating.
“Thank you.” I settle inside, melting into the butter-smooth leather.
Asher closes the door for me, then gets into the driver’s seat and switches gears into drive. “You like pizza?”
“Yes.” But my waistline doesn’t. I gaze at his profile as he pulls onto the road. “You eat a lot of junk for a professional athlete.”
He scoffs. “Trust me, I don’t. Only when I go out, which isn’t often. The rest of the time it’s lean proteins, healthy carbs, and so much fucking kale. When I get the chance to indulge, I don’t worry much about it.”
The rest of the ride is taken in silence.
I do my best not to stare at him, which means I glance at him only every five seconds or so.
I can’t help myself; he looks good when he drives.
Calm, confident, and at peace. One of his hands clutches the wheel, and the other one rests on the center console.
My thoughts wander to what it might be like if he slid that hand my way and rested it on my thigh.
Again, the kiss flashes through my mind.
I cannot stop remembering the way he touched me.
His strong hands on my body. His eyes filled with desire, his lips moving with passion…
I shift in my seat uncomfortably. Asher casts me an amused glance, and as if he knows what I’m thinking, his hand inches sideways.
Just a bit at first, but then a little more, and more, until his pinky rests on the edge of my skirt.
My breath catches in my throat as that familiar burst of electricity sparks to life in my body.
Even one of his fingers is enough to turn me on.
He waits a beat to see if I move away. When I don’t, his calloused palm lands on my thigh, and I almost whimper from how good it feels. His hand covers almost the width of my thigh, and most of the exposed skin.
Dear god, I need to get a hold of myself. At this rate, I’m going to fall on him like a rabid dog. Then, I’ll have to move countries from sheer embarrassment.
Thankfully, we pull into a parking lot not two minutes later. It’s in a strip mall, in front of a gym and a pizzeria.
“Is it safe to park here?” I ask. It looks kind of abandoned, with only a handful of other cars around us.
His hand squeezes my thigh, and a gasp gets trapped in my chest. He needs to stop touching me, or I’m liable to make a fool of myself.
“Yes, the locals know me. And no, the paparazzi doesn’t know I frequent these sorts of places.
” He suddenly looks irritated. “I got left alone by them for a while, but they’ll probably be on my case again, especially if we do well two races in a row. Which we will.”
We. Not I. Again, he’s acknowledging my contribution, and he doesn’t even have to think about it. It just comes naturally to him.
“Come on. Let’s get some food.”
The pizzeria is wedged between a dry cleaner and a nail salon, with a sign above the door that’s sun-faded to the point where the name is barely visible.
A red and green striped awning sags over the entrance, and through the smudged front window, I can see a cramped dining room with maybe ten tables, most of them mismatched.
Inside, it smells incredible—dough, garlic, melted cheese, tomato sauce and something herby and warm that hits me the second Asher pulls open the door.
The floors are checkered black and white tile, scuffed from years of foot traffic.
A chalkboard menu hangs behind the register in handwriting that hasn’t been updated in what looks like a decade.
“I’m sorry about name-dropping you earlier. I didn’t mean to,” Asher says once we’ve ordered and claimed a small table in the back. “If there’s any heat on you, it should blow over quickly. As long as…”
As long as we’re not seen together in public. Which, unless this is our last date, will probably happen.
Oh shit, does this mean we’re dating now? Or is that a specific conversation that needs to be had?
I’m way too out of practice and far too much of a nervous wreck to handle this stress.
“Are we dating?” I blurt.
He meets my eyes, anger melting away and that smug, infuriatingly hot amusement returning. “We’ll get to that. First, want to explain why you decided to hide from me after I gave you the best kiss of your life?”
The arrogance. “It wasn’t even top ten.”
He only credits that lie with a derisive snort. “Answer the question.”
I swallow. Stare at the walls, the floors, the lights on the ceiling—anything to avoid looking at him. “Um… it’s kind of a long story.”
“We have all night.”
“It’s also personal.”
“Victoria, I intend to get very fucking personal with you shortly. If you don’t want to explain, then you’re wasting both of our time. You don’t need to bare your heart, but I need to understand so I can stop being mad about it.”
I finally catch his eyes with my own. The innuendo on the word personal sends a rush of tingles coursing through my body, but the rest of his statement makes me realize that he was never really mad—he was hurt. There’s a very fine difference between the two.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say softly.
“Don’t do it again.” His jaw ticks. “Please.”
“It wasn’t because I don’t like you. Or want you.” I’m hurtling into foot-in-mouth territory, and I can’t seem to stop. “Things like this scare me.”
Asher’s harsh expression softens by the tiniest margin at that. “Why?”