Chapter 12
brEATHING IS HARDER THAN IT SOUNDS
RAYA
Asher is in the shower when I sneak into the room a few minutes later, and I breathe a sigh of relief at not having to confront him right away.
I turn on the TV so I don’t have to hear him showering and think about how he’s naked in there, especially now that I know what he looks like with glistening skin.
“Oh my stars, get it together," I mutter to myself, then pull out my silky pajamas.
Thankfully, my phone has a message from Zuri to distract me.
Zuri: How’s it going? You doing okay?
I cringe when I think about telling her that not only did things not go to plan, and that I’m not avoiding Asher at all, but in fact I’m sharing a room with him.
Pretty much the opposite of the intended plan to keep my distance and not be alone with him.
I decide to keep it vague in the interest of avoiding a lecture.
Me: It’s going, no issues so far. How’s everything at home?
Zuri: All good over here, somebody really misses you tho
Me: I know, we haven’t been apart much. Tell her I miss her and let her play with your hair to make up for it
Zuri: Great, thanks for that. She was reading over my shoulder so I can’t even get out of it now.
I grin when I imagine their corresponding faces of horror (Zuri) and delight (Reverie) at that request.
Me: Have a great night!
Zuri: MISS U LUV U COME BACK SOON
Me:
Obviously, that last one was Reverie. Zuri must have given in to her pleading puppy-dog eyes, or maybe traded sending a message to get out of having her hair done. I’m smiling when I hear the bathroom doorknob click as Asher turns the handle.
I avoid eye contact and slip past him into the bathroom as soon as he exits, taking my turn for a shower and some extra space to mentally prepare myself for coming face to face with him again.
What I do not intend is for my mind to wander back to his lips and what they might feel like on mine.
I have to constantly redirect my thoughts and end up taking twice as long as I normally would to shampoo and soap the chlorine from my skin.
He is a questionable, immoral vampire from an evil, corrupt family. Internally scolding myself, I turn the water off and steel my spine for what I hope is not the most awkward encounter of my entire life.
When I open the bathroom door, he’s lounging in the desk chair watching TV. Legs sprawled out in front of him with a worn t-shirt hugging all the right places, he dominates the space, and I feel tiny in his presence.
He looks over at me as I walk toward the bed and doesn’t even try to hide the appreciation in his eyes. I ignore it as I complete my bedtime routine, then perch on the edge of the mattress near the foot where his blankets are piled from the previous night.
Before the words register in my brain, I’m speaking.
“Do you want to share the bed? We can make a pillow wall.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I clap a hand over it, eyes flaring wide.
Have I completely lost my wits?! Then again…
I drop my hand and school my face into what I hope is a neutral, unaffected expression.
He searches my eyes as he stands, his flitting back and forth between mine, before one corner of his lips barely turns up, and he slowly shakes his head.
I scan his face, but can’t decipher the look on it.
It’s one I haven’t seen before, and I don’t know what to make of it or his rejection.
He sits down on his pile of blankets at the foot of the bed, same place as the night before, and looks up at me perched above him.
“Thank you, but not this time," Asher says, and a tiny ember flares to life in my chest.
I remember to drop some CBD oil under my tongue so I don’t answer the moon’s call in my sleep, and before I know it, I’m out like a light.
I should be used to having a rabbit face and ears by now, but somehow, I’m not. Today is the first day of real work, where I will be training the client’s employees on implementing and utilizing the new software. Naturally, I’ve shifted three minutes before my presentation is supposed to start.
My hands grip the edges of the sink and I hear it creak under my weight. Letting go, I shake my head. I can’t wait any longer. Twitching bunny nose or not, I need to go.
As I walk back into the conference room where the first slide of my presentation is already projected on the screen at the front, I decide to make light of it. Filling my lungs and pasting a smile on my face, I walk in, and heads immediately turn in my direction.
I step to the front, then look around and my smile turns intentionally rueful as I circle a hand around the air in front of my face.
“I know. Ridiculous, right?” I force a chuckle and a couple people smile in response, while many shoulders relax. “It’s a new thing. Just ignore it, that’s what I do.”
With this, I wave my hand, gesturing toward the screen. “Shall we begin?”
Nods and shuffling follow as people pull out notepads or laptops, and I’m pleased to find I don’t hear one snicker or whisper from the group in front of me.
I begin to relax as I start the first of many training presentations this week, and as I move to the second slide, my face tingles back to its incredibly normal, blissfully boring human shape.
Asher walks into the hotel room later that afternoon to find me sprawled out on the bed with black cat ears (not the fake headband kind, unfortunately) and a black cat tail sticking out of my gym shorts, the end flicking back and forth.
His face cycles through an amusing carousel of expressions in a matter of seconds.
I’m pretty sure I catch shock, confusion, amusement, and what I think might be concern.
I refuse to acknowledge my brain telling me that I also saw a flicker of interest in his eyes when we both realized I’m only wearing running shorts and a sports bra.
I had been planning to go to the gym, until my black cat features made an abrupt appearance and I flopped onto the bed instead.
I sit up and watch as he slowly walks into the room and sets his leather bag down on the desk, then unbuttons the top of his shirt.
My mind spins into overdrive, silently begging those fingers to keep going, and internally crying when they don’t.
Instead, he practically stalks over to me, eyes narrowing as I straighten up in his presence.
“What?” I say, my voice wary as I lean slightly away from him.
He stops his advance and blinks, clearing some of the predatory aura he had going on, and while that does wonders for the tension in my shoulders, I’m mortified to feel my lower stomach and thighs unclench too.
It doesn’t mean anything.
“Let me help, sunshine,” he says, and I’m shocked to hear that he almost sounds… pleading.
“Please," he adds.
Past pleading then—begging.
I smother the smirk trying to break out on my lips, and pull up the rational part of my brain.
Nothing I’ve done seems to have helped. If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I haven’t tried much to begin with.
At this point, I doubt anything he has to teach me could make it worse, so I meet his eyes and nod my assent.
“Okay," I say.
“Yeah?” His eyes are wary, so I confirm again, a slight smile crooking the corners of my mouth.
“Yeah.”
Asher snags a throw blanket from his makeshift bed and snaps his wrists to spread it out across the floor. Then he grabs two pillows and sets them down, sitting on one and waving me over to sit on the other.
I curl my legs under me on the pillow, facing him with only a couple of feet between us.
My breath catches at the detail I can see on his face, realizing I never paid much attention to these smaller parts of him before.
The way his eyebrows have a natural arch, how thick and dark his lashes are.
The streaks of silvery-blue and gray that crackle out from his pupil, creating a striking effect in his blue eyes.
“So I don’t suggest anything you’ve already tried, what has and hasn’t worked in the past?” he asks.
I shrug, and he quirks an eyebrow.
“I don’t know," I say. “I haven’t really tried anything.”
“What about in the bathroom?” He references the previous day when I was hiding, then yelled at him and slammed the door in his face. I flush at the memory.
“I mean, I tried to tell myself to shift back, but that didn’t work. Obviously," I grumble the last word as I pout at my lap.
“What else?”
I think back to all the times I’ve hidden in various bathrooms over the last few months.
“I guess… I’ve tried washing my face. Pacing, does that count?” I let out a self-deprecating chuckle, and he frowns.
“What about breathing?” he asks.
“What, like meditation? Never been my thing.” I’ve never been good at remaining still, especially not when I was a child. Always bouncing around from one thing to the next.
“Not necessarily,” he says. “Let’s start with some slow, deep breaths. Follow my movements, and breathe with your stomach.”
At my confused expression, he holds out a hand for mine, then places my palm against his abs as he takes a deep breath. I startle and yank my hand back, feeling like it’s on fire. Now I know what the phrase “rock-hard abs” truly means.
His eyebrows pull together at my reaction.
“I was just trying to show you what I meant, how to breathe with your diaphragm.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat and I extend my hand, letting him take it in his and place my palm against his stomach again.
I have to use every ounce of self control I possess not to claw into him. My fingers twitch and my palm itches with the urge to run my hands up under his shirt, to feel his skin against my own and count every muscular ridge I can find.
“You’re not following," he says, and I jolt out of what was starting to become a vivid daydream when he places my other hand on my own stomach.
“Sorry, go again.” I flash him one of my brightest smiles to prove I’m on board this time, and his stomach rises beneath my palm as he breathes in. My brow scrunches when I take an answering breath and don’t feel the same rise on my own.
I look down at my hand and breathe in again, but it doesn’t move.
“What? How are you doing that?” I say with an incredulous laugh.
His answering smile is crooked, and swooping in my lower belly, right below my hand.
“It’s weird, I know. Most people don’t breathe properly.
Here,” Asher says, adjusting his position so he’s next to me and placing his hand on top of mine.
His fingers splay between my own, his touch searing.
He stills for a moment, eyes flicking to mine before he looks back down at his fingertips where they press into the bare skin of my ribs, right below my sports bra.
Asher clears his throat, but his voice still comes out a bit hoarse.
“Fill the top of your lungs first, like this.” He demonstrates with exaggerated motions, his shoulders and chest rising.
“Then fill the bottom of your lungs, like this.” His other hand covers mine on his own stomach as he again breathes in, muscles stretching and ribs expanding beneath our joined hands.
“You try," he says, as he slowly releases the breath.
I breathe in with my chest, and he nods, then averts his gaze when he notices where he was staring. His fingertips tap my stomach muscles as he says, “now here” with the rest of my in-breath.
Our hands rise, a practically minuscule amount, but I smile in triumph nonetheless. His answering smile is warm, proud, and I really, really like it.