Asher
Only you can determine your self-worth. It’s not a contest.
—My Therapist
Jocelyn spends the entire flight to southwestern Florida asleep on my shoulder. Said shoulder is still tingling when we exit
the airport for the rental cars. Perky, well-rested Joss hops twice at the car pickup, all excited for vacation weekend.
I’m a little less thrilled. After examining the emotions surrounding this wedding a dozen times, I’ve finally landed on the
reason for my dread:
Embarrassment.
Grace knows I was into her. Which means Julian probably does, too.
Why am I going to this wedding? And with a fake date? I’m like the guy who brings his cousin to prom.
Pathetic.
They really need a better word for pussy. I can’t purge it from my vocabulary without a replacement.
I pat the front of my backpack. Isn’t that where I stashed the Tums?
A silver RAV4 pulls in front of us, and I take Joss’s carry-on from her hands. My shoulder sparks. Jeez. Must have pinched
a nerve in there or something.
A half hour later, we’re pulling into a drive-through portico. Valets rush to the car, shuffling us and our luggage into the
lobby. I’m offered a claim ticket and a smile, and I hand the guy a twenty because I have nothing else in my wallet.
Joss charges through the marble lobby toward the check-in desk, and I follow at a more sedate pace. Potted palms and tall
arched windows give the place an old Florida feel, with just a splash of Art Deco in the light fixtures and floor patterns.
Bright and breezy.
At the counter, a dark-haired young woman smiles. “Welcome to the Ritz-Carlton. I’m Lucy. How can I help you today?”
My head cocks. “Lucy?”
A curious light flits through her brown eyes. “Yes?”
I shake my head. “Nothing. Um. We’re checking in.”
“Perfect.” She focuses on her computer screen. “Can I have a name?”
“Asher Foley.”
Her fingers stall on the keyboard, and her attention lifts to my face. “Mr. Foley?”
Heat. Too much heat. In my cheeks. “Yep. That’s me.”
She blinks twice, then her gaze slides to Joss, sizing her up. Zero subtlety. Not a single drop. When she looks back at me,
her brows rise. “This is not what I was picturing, Mr. Foley.”
Don’t know what that means. Just want this to stop.
Joss glances between us. “Er—picturing?”
“Oh, I made his reservation over the phone.” She clicks away on her keyboard. “By his voice, I pictured someone . . . shorter.”
Joss’s face lights up. “You guess people’s heights based on their voices? That’s fascinating. I’m going to start doing that.”
Lucy makes some noncommittal noise. “Would you like to use the card on file?”
“Yes.”
“The Visa?” The edge of her lip quivers with amusement. “You’re sure you didn’t give us this one by accident?”
Well, then. Lucy’s a bit of a menace, isn’t she? But she did me a solid in finding me a two-room suite, so I’ll ignore the
cheekiness. “I’m sure.”
After she reviews the benefits of club level—will definitely be using the complimentary cocktail service—and we have our room
keys, Lucy throws out an encouraging smile. “Good luck, Mr. Foley.”
So awkward. “Er. Thanks, Lucy.”
“That girl was super weird,” Joss whispers as we walk toward the elevators. “Why do you need luck?” She mashes the up button.
“And why would you give them an accidental credit card?”
Don’t look at her. Might laugh. “For sure. So weird.”
“Is she heightist, do you think?”
Laughter leaks out, and then I’m snickering as I board the elevator, pressing my palm over my eyes.
She cocks her head. “You have a nice voice. Maybe she’s a huge Tolkien fan and was picturing you as a hobbit.”
Or she’s trying to figure out how I accidentally kissed you.
NBD.
“That’s definitely it.”
Our suite is on the ninth floor. The room is excessive.
Jocelyn’s jaw drops at the sheer luxury. “Asher. Is this real life?”
She abandons her suitcase and explores the lavish surroundings while I roll our bags into our respective bedrooms, separated
by a huge living space.
“I want to live in this bathroom!” Her voice echoes out from the room in question, all veined white marble and trendy gold
fixtures.
When I peek inside, she’s standing in the soaker tub, fully clothed, smiling. “This suite is bigger than my whole house.”
“A shoebox is bigger than your house.”
She laughs and stretches a hand for me to help her out of the tub, then immediately skips into the closest bedroom and leaps
on the bed, arms and legs splayed. “If we didn’t have these wedding activities, we could throw a hotel party.”
I lean on the doorjamb, hesitant to come closer. Don’t love the sight of her on that bed. Weird things are happening in my
pants. Hot things. Hard things.
She rises to her elbows, mischief passing over her features. “Guess we still could. How would the bride feel about post–rehearsal
dinner shenanigans?”
“Eh. Grace isn’t really a shenanigans sort of girl.”
Mock disgust wrinkles up Joss’s brow. “What the hell did you see in her, then?”
I shrug. Can’t even remember. Was so long ago.
Her expression softens, and she sits up. “It’s her loss. You know that, right?”
“I’m fine, Jocelyn. It’s all water under the bridge.” I hold out a hand to pull her off the bed—for my own sanity—but she doesn’t take
it.
Instead, she stares into my eyes. Color leaches into her cheeks. So pretty. So, so pretty. “You don’t say my name like other people do.”
I scratch my neck. “I don’t?”
“No.” She stands, attention lingering on my face a few more seconds before she turns toward the balcony door. “There’s something
in it. Something different.”
Probably the L word.
I don’t say it, obviously. Would destroy this fragile peace we’ve created. But this feeling won’t go away. It’s scratching
wildly at its cage, trying to get out, all heat mixed with tenderness and affection. I don’t want to label it. Don’t want
to admit it. Don’t want to let it out.
I can’t fall in love with her.
But do I have a choice in the matter?
She slides the door open and steps onto the wraparound balcony. Humid, salty air rushes into the room, mingling with the sterile
A/C of the suite. Outside, afternoon sun sparkles over the Caribbean-blue water. The wind is strong enough to whitecap the
waves as they crash over the beach below us.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I say.
She hums. “Dangerous.”
Right. Almost forgot. Joss and the ocean don’t mix. Her hands white-knuckle the guardrail.
I’ve avoided touching her since our mishap in my bedroom, but she’s turning into Brittle Joss again. In need of comfort. I’m
somehow synced to her needs, so my hand rises of its own accord and presses against the middle of her back. Even through her
shirt, her warmth seeps into my skin. Her body loosens ever so slightly.
Ugh. Someone’s turning down the oxygen again.
“Do you ever wonder why the more beautiful something is, the more deadly it is?” she asks.
I tilt my head, keeping my gaze on the water.
“Think about it.” She leans closer to the rail, peeking down. “The vibrant purple of nightshade. The sparkle of liquid mercury.
The blinding brightness of lightning.”
Guess we’re going dark today. Which means I’m giving up on subtle. I drape my arm over her shoulders and pull her next to
me. “There are beautiful things that aren’t deadly, too.”
She laughs, soft and humorless. “Like what?”
“Sunsets. Turning leaves. Rainbows.”
Silent, she lifts her gaze to mine.
“Friendship.” I brush her chin with my thumb and smile. “Family. Love.”
Her head tilts. “Do you really think those things aren’t dangerous, Asher?”
She looks so lost when she gets in this state, this contemplating my mortality mood.
Sweet, fragile woman.
I pull her into a hug. She fits snug against me, her arms a vise around my middle.
“Just being alive is dangerous, Jocelyn. It’s not the circumstances of death that matter in the end. It’s the life lived before
it.”
“Stop trying to logicize me off the ledge here. I want to wallow.”
“Okay. Just wallow, then.” I set my chin atop her head. “But logicize is a really dumb word and you shouldn’t use it.”
Chuckling, she squeezes me tighter. “I really like your hugs.”
That’s nice. But . . . Why is this familiar weight of inadequacy resting on my shoulders now? Is it the fact that she won’t even consider the idea of us?
Casual is just all I’m capable of.
Casual might be all I ever get from any girl. Should have told Joss I was fine with it. Then maybe this itch would be out of my system.
Inadequate feelings definitely wouldn’t be, but that’s another problem.
“Hey, look,” she says, smiling up at me. “We managed to have a serious conversation outside of a sterile hallway.”
My chuff of laughter stirs the hair at her temple. “Look out, world. We’re unstoppable.”
The rehearsal dinner is located at a restaurant a couple miles inland and boasts a large gathering since many guests came
from out of town. In a shimmery blue dress, Jocelyn practically glows among this crowd.
Why did the universe have to make her so beautiful? It’s a little annoying at this point. She’s like the dessert tray at a
restaurant, all look but don’t touch, smell but don’t taste.
Fucking hellish.
Inside the restaurant entrance, someone shouts my name, stopping me dead in my tracks.
“Asher? Is that you?”
I turn toward the voice, the one belonging to the man of the hour, and paste on a smile.
“Holy shit.” Julian beams and offers me a hand to shake. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
I laugh. “Why not? I RSVPed.”
“I don’t know, man. Been a long time.”
He releases my hand, still grinning. He’s wearing light gray chinos, a white button-up and an obnoxious amount of stubble.
I know nothing about his life, but he looks rich and happy and very Italian, even though he was born right here in this cesspool of America.
He doesn’t quite smile but always appears to be smiling.
The guy is insufferably charming. It’s unfair.
Julian’s dark eyes travel to my companion, and I remember I’m supposed to introduce her.