Asher
VIP tickets to Houston’s Oktoberfest include complimentary drinks. I talked Jocelyn into the pricey tickets a month ago, though
it took only minor persuasion. A night of polka, German food and beer? She’d never say no.
In fact, I convinced a near legion of doctors to partake in the festivities. I’m nothing if not an expert at cajoling people
to attend parties.
I’m fully aware of this superpower. I use it wisely. At opportune moments.
Like Oktoberfest.
With the night half gone, everyone is properly soused. Several call it quits and Uber home, but Joss is still in full swing. She’s dressed in a dirndl that shows off her shoulders and she tosses her two blond braids while dancing with an elderly gentleman in lederhosen.
Well, dance is a loose term. Incredibly awkward dancer, Jocelyn is. Would be cute if it wasn’t so hilarious.
I’m close to drunk. My world compresses at the edges, blackened except for the tunnel vision right down the middle—straight
to her.
I’m ready to leave.
And I want to leave with her.
Perhaps it’s the obscene quantities of German alcohol in my system, but that whole rule about not getting involved with women
at work seems absurd, borderline moronic. Joss is perfect in all the ways that matter. She’s charming. Fun. Sexy.
She doesn’t want anything serious, but neither do I. Not right now.
Right now, I just really want to fuck her.
We’re great together. We have fun. Sex is the natural next step for us, right? Why ignore chemistry so potent?
Solid logic all around.
Feeling quite confident about the whole thing.
When the music ends and her dance partner moves on to someone else, Jocelyn meets my eyes across the tent. The surrounding
crowd continues their raucous partying, but I nod toward the exit.
She takes one step toward me. Then two. Crackling lights sizzle in my very intoxicated blood, burning through the alcohol.
The band strikes up another accordion-heavy tune, but neither of us looks away. She stands before me, smiling, and something
enchanting shimmers between us.
Confidence steadily grows. Warmth spreads.
“You wanna come home with me, sweetheart?” I ask.
Her hazy eyes dilate. “Yeah. Take me home.”
The Uber driver is a large bald man who remains quiet on the drive. I can’t stop looking at her. We don’t touch. Don’t speak.
But my full attention is zoned in on her. Her steady breaths. The sheen of her skin. The tiny flicker of her pulse in her
throat.
At my house, I open the front door, and she steps inside. She’s been here before, but I’m suddenly curious how she sees my
space. The style is all sharp angles and masculine textures. Leather furniture. Dark wood floors. Metal accents.
Does she like it? Why have I never thought to ask?
In a fit of nerves, I head to the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Sure.” Leaning against my large island, she sips the cabernet I pour her. Her throat works with the swallow, and my gaze
follows that motion down to the notch of her collarbones.
The reservations I’ve always held close tumble to the floor and shatter. My hand lifts, and she allows me to draw a single
finger down the line of her throat until it lands on the bare tattooed skin over her clavicle.
Her breath catches. Speeds.
My blood turns to fire in my veins, starting a slow exorcism of the alcohol. I trace my touch over the stars on her skin.
“I’ve wondered for months what this means.”
“What makes you think it means anything?” Her voice is breathy and slurred.
My attention crawls up her neck and face until it reaches her eyes once more. “Because I know you.”
She smirks. “You do?”
I allow a slow smile to take over my face. “We spend a lot of time together. Or have you forgotten?”
“No,” she says faintly, tipping back another sip of wine. “I haven’t forgotten.”
I lean farther into her space, forcing her to raise her head to look me in the eye. “Then admit it means something.”
“It means something,” she whispers. “Take me to your room, and I’ll tell you.”
My heart slams against its cage. If I take her to my room, that’s it. The line is crossed.
I won’t be able to uncross it.
You won’t want to uncross it, whispers a small voice in my head.
But is that true? There was a reason I haven’t tried this before. What was it again?
My hand drops to her elbow, and I guide her across the house to my room. It’s large and cozy, decked out in forest greens
and deep browns. Does she like it as much as I do?
“My bedroom.” I open my arms and spin in a circle. “Welcome.”
She steps into the room, takes in her surroundings and sneaks another drink of wine. “The place you sleep.”
“Yep.”
She runs her fingers along the bedspread. “And—” she turns to face me “—the place you fuck.”
My breath stalls. “Yes. That, too.”
Confidence fades to something else. No longer feeling so warm.
She sinks onto the edge of the bed and crosses her legs. The skirt of the dirndl rides up, and my focus drops to her bare
legs. They look so smooth. So touchable. My dick urges me to get on my knees, run my hands up her legs, spread them.
I meet her eyes once more. Warm. Brown. Like cinnamon.
My stomach lurches. She’s my best friend. What am I doing? Months ago, in a more sober state of mind, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, no matter the circumstances. Jocelyn is more important than this. Complicating friendship with sex never works, and it’s unquestionably not worth losing her.
I would definitely lose her. There is no question in my mind about that.
Though it would be a magnificent way to go.
She’s beautifully made—graceful curves, glowing colors. I’d be an idiot to say no, and yet . . . I think that’s what I’m about
to do.
I force my legs to approach until I’m close enough to touch her. But I don’t. “Stand up.”
She rises in one slow, smooth move, her gaze fixed on mine.
“What do the stars mean, Jocelyn?”
She clears her throat. “It’s the Columba constellation. Represents the dove who informed Noah the floods were receding.”
Oh. I take in the stars once more.
Receding floods.
She hasn’t revealed a lot about her past, but I know enough to understand her profound fear of drowning. There’s more to this
tattoo than she’s saying, isn’t there? Something deep. Dark.
My liver must be doing a fantastic job. The alcohol has metabolized enough for me to grasp the gravity of this situation.
How did I get here?
This woman has buried secrets in me. She’s taken some of mine. She’s given pieces of herself and extracted parts of me. We’re
inside each other, and that’s more important than this petty lust.
That’s all it is. Lust. Sober, neither of us would consider this. She is anti-relationship and I can’t do casual.
I’m horny enough to wish I didn’t care, but I do care. Because this is Jocelyn.
“We can’t do this,” I whisper.
She grins like she’d reached this conclusion long ago and was only waiting for me to catch up. “I know.”
Cheeky woman.
I go for casual with a shrug. “Fun thought while it lasted, though.”
She laughs. “Better in theory than in practice, I’m sure.”
My eyebrows fly up. “Speak for yourself.”
Her laugh only grows, and in her amusement, her grasp weakens. The glass of wine slips from her fingers, and the moment officially
shatters, dousing our feet and the floor with ruby regret.
“Shit!” She leaps backward and lands on the bed.
I stare at the mess on the floor. Will not be fun to clean. “Is this you trying to get away from me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Asher.”
“No means no, biscuit. Coulda just told me.”
She throws my favorite pillow at me, which I dive to catch so it doesn’t land in the mess, barely avoiding the glass pieces.
“Christ, woman! Don’t take it out on the pillows.”
She holds out her arms. “Give me that back. Just because we aren’t sleeping together doesn’t mean we can’t sleep together.
This bed is hella comfy, and I’m still tipsy.”
“You can’t have my favorite pillow.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Then can I have a T-shirt? Or do you want to sleep next to Bavarian Beer Maiden?”
“That depends. Does the beer maiden have it out for my pillows?”
She moves to throw another one, and I fold like a Japanese fan. “All right!”
After hopping over the larger pieces of glass and puddle of red, I reach into my closet and pull out an old T-shirt, then toss it her way. “You realize I have two other bedrooms, right?”
She snuggles into my pillows. “But I’m already in this one.”
I tilt my head at that non-answer. Is sleeping in the same bed the best idea? Will it be more awkward to point out that it
isn’t the best idea? While I dither, she holds up the black T-shirt I gave her and nearly suffocates from laughter. The shirt sports
a print of a corgi riding a T-Rex against the backdrop of a sparkling rainbow. When she catches her breath, she turns it to
face outward. “Why? Just why?”
“I dunno. Thought it was funny.” I head into the bathroom to provide her ample time to change, my stomach tying itself into
pretzel-like knots. What if a single flash of her body destroys what I’m trying to protect? I can’t allow that.
Also can’t allow myself to slip into denial.
I am painfully attracted to her right now. It’s never been this potent before. When I’m clearheaded, I can objectively admit she’s beautiful
without wanting to dive deep under her clothes. It’s just the alcohol, though, which is fast fading from my system. Once the
judgment-altering substance is out of my blood, everything will be back to normal.
I reemerge in my pj’s and throw a towel over the wine mess. I’ll clean it tomorrow. She’s already settled onto one side of
the bed, cozied up with my favorite pillow. Little thief.
Repayment will come in the form of changing the autocorrect in her phone tomorrow. Every time she types “lol” her phone will
correct to “Titty” and she’s far too tech-dumb to fix it without help.
Which I will not provide.