Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
I shrug. “Garden variety issues, I guess. I’ve always been second-best, and usually, that’s fine with me because I still make things work. It sucks, but it’s okay.” I glance down at the table. “I don’t think I’d be okay with being second best with you.”
“You aren’t second best.” He sounds exasperated, almost annoyed. “You’re all I can fucking think about. That puts you about as far from second best as possible.”
You’re all I can think about. A rush of power lights me up like a Christmas tree. Knowing that I live rent-free in Asher’s mind, just like he does in mine, is a heady sensation. And, still, kernels of doubt keep me from doing something about it. “I could just be a novelty—”
“Don’t insult me. I’ve had plenty of brief affairs with novelty-women all around the world.
None of them were front and center in my thoughts.
None of them were the first thing I thought of when I woke up and the last when I went to sleep.
” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “None of them gave me hope.”
“That could be it—I’m giving you hope for your career.”
“Stop doing my thinking for me. Yes, we work together in a professional capacity, and you are extremely valuable to me in that sense. You are equally as valuable to me personally. I can differentiate the two.”
He’s saying all the right things. But he’s also known as an asshole, a player, and an overall menace to be around.
But he hasn’t been quite so much of a menace to me lately. Even after the maintenance room incident. He’s been a jerk, yes, but a more restrained one. Less cruel.
“You’re not nice to me,” I point out.
“I’m nicer to you than I am to everyone else.” When I arch an eyebrow, he sighs. “I’ll work on it.”
“What do you want out of this, exactly?” I ask. “Are you looking for… a relationship? Or just something casual?”
“No to casual. And I would not be good at sharing you, so exclusivity.” He scratches the back of his head, frowning. “From there… we’ll see.”
“Okay,” I breathe, trying not to let on just how much I’m freaking out. “Can you repeat that while not sounding angry so I can let myself believe it?”
“I am pissed about it,” he snaps. “I don’t get like this.
Ever. I don’t think about women. I don’t fucking obsess over them.
So, yes, I’m pissed off with myself, because you’re turning me inside out—and I don’t even want to stop it.
” By the end of his rant, he sounds more sullen than frustrated.
“I can’t stop thinking about you, and it sucks.
But what’s even worse is that I wouldn’t stop even if I could.
So, I want to date you. Exclusively. I want to get to know you more.
I want to find out what makes you tick, find every sensitive spot on your body, and make you scream.
I want dinner, and dates, and even fucking heart-to-hearts.
” He sounds like he’s mad at himself but also resigned to his fate.
“I don’t want to even think about, let alone see, you dating anyone else. That’s what I want, Victoria.”
I gape at him.
“O-okay,” I stutter. “Uh… just give me a beat to process that.” And try not to spontaneously combust from the heat. My panties are damp, my nipples are hard, and I feel like someone I’m not—like a woman who might crawl over the table just to jump her object of desire.
A beat turns out to be several minutes. A waiter sets a gigantic pepperoni pizza on the table, but it goes completely ignored. My previous hunger has disappeared and gotten replaced with an entirely new kind of hunger. The sort that makes my entire body pulse with an unbearable ache.
“Any day now, sweetheart,” Asher drawls.
Think with your brain, not your clit. I chant that in my head over and over again, repeating it like a mantra, but it’s useless. Any attempt at self-control after this insanely sexy driver told me that he wants me is useless.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I blurt, and flee the table like it’s on fire.
The bathroom is located in the back, and it’s surprisingly clean for a pizzeria in the middle of nowhere. I brace my palms flat on the edges of the sink and stare at myself in the mirror. I look exactly like the mess I feel like; flushed cheeks, labored breaths, and desire-drunk eyes.
I have never, ever felt like this. I have no idea how to calm down enough to carry out the rest of my conversation with Asher.
Splashing cold water on my face has no effect.
Breathing deeply also doesn’t do anything.
It looks like my only option is to return to the table, flushed and flustered, and pray that Asher doesn’t notice—which I highly doubt will be the case—or that he at least has the grace not to mention it. Also unlikely, but a girl can hope.
With a final fortifying breath, I open the bathroom door… only to see Asher waiting for me. Again.
“You want me to help you do something about it?” he asks without preamble. When I stare at him dumbly, he clarifies. “The scorching desire that’s eating at you. That’s been eating at both of us since we met.”
Say no. We’re in public, and I don’t think him helping me will look like anything other than something very sexual that could get us both in trouble. I should say no and wait until I’ve collected my thoughts. Wait until I’m being ruled by logic, not libido.
Just wait, Victoria.
Instead, what escapes my lips is, “Yes. Please.”