Chapter Ten - Asher
Asher
It”s weird to see Kayla in my space. Well, my parents’ space that I’m currently living in.
The apartment actually belongs to my dad. He and my mom use it whenever they come to the city for charity dinners and the like and want to spend the night.
When I heard that Luca and I would be staying in Philly for a while, I all but begged Van to let me use this apartment and have Luca in another one in the same house. It might not be my own apartment, but I always stay here when I’m in town. It’s familiar, has great security and honestly, I wouldn’t want to live in the same building as all of the other players. And after a while, you get sick of hotel rooms. I couldn’t live in the same one for months. Not a chance.
The fact that Luca is my next-door-neighbour is just a happy coincidence though.
Kayla seems unsure as she roams my living room, curiously glancing at everything her eyes find.
”Would you like something to drink?”
”Water, please.” She fans herself, her face still a bright red from the alcohol in the restaurant. ”I really like your apartment.”
”Thank you.”
”It”s pretty, but not in a ”straight out of an interior design magazine” way like Millie”s and mine.” She sighs and lets her eyes wander over some of the artworks on the wall. A sense of pride makes my heart grow warm. I like that she likes it here.
”It”s actually my dad”s apartment, so that might explain it.”
”Oh really?” Her eyes grow wide, and she looks around the room once more.
”Yeah. There are some family pictures over there.” I point to the hallway that leads to the bedroom. “He got it a good few years ago so he and my mom could spend the night in the city after events or nights out.” I grimace as I continue. ”Remember how I mentioned they met in a nightclub? They still go out to them a lot. And the hooks in the bed”s headboard tell me that I don”t want to know the names of the clubs they go to or what they do there. Any details really.”
”Hooks?” She looks at me with an adorable, confused wrinkle between her eyebrows.
Wait, what. Adorable? There is that word again.
I shake my head at my own thoughts. No, Asher, don’t. I’m not going there. Maybe I”m just horny.
Yes, that must be it. It’s been months since I last had sex, but I”m not about to bring it into this fake relationship. It”s messy enough as it is already and she dislikes me enough.
I know I’m lying to myself though.
She’s fucking mesmerizing, but I can’t let my thoughts go there. Not if I want to survive the next few weeks of this charade.
”Oh, no.” Her eyes are still wide, but the meaning is starting to sink in, and slowly, her face breaks into a smile and suddenly she bursts into the most adorable giggle.
Again, adorable. And the sound of her laughter goes straight to my cock.
I shift and hide my crotch behind the kitchen island as I will myself to calm down. Damn. What am I? Sixteen? Looks like I need to take a long, cold shower later.
”Who do you think is the one who gets tied up, your mom or your dad?” she asks me through fits of giggles, and I shudder.
”Quiet!” I scold her playfully and flick some water at her as I bring her glass over. The thought of my parents having sex is enough to make me soft again instantly. ”We don”t talk about parental sex in this home.”
”Oh, then do you let yourself get tied up?” She raises her eyebrow at me, challenge in her eyes. I chuckle and shake my head at her.
”Sweetheart, I”m the one doing the tying,” I say as I hand her the glass. “I like it when my partners squirm in pleasure, not a chance to get away when I make them come over . . . ” I lean closer, until my mouth is right next to her ear. ”And over again until they beg me to stop.”
Her breath hitches and the red on her cheeks deepens even more. I’m so close I can see the goose bumps spreading on her neck, and I can’t help but intentionally breathe against her skin before I draw back.
Quickly, she takes a step back and clears her throat, taking a sip of her water and rubbing her hand over where my breath just tickled her. ”Too much information, Asher.”
”You started it,” I say with a shrug and chuckle, breaking the suddenly tense atmosphere. Then I hear a faint knock on my door and open it to Van pushing a guitar into my hands. He looks stressed and as soon as I have it, he turns around and storms off.
”Thanks, man,” I shout after him. He raises his hand with his back facing me and waves goodbye.
”No worries.”
That poor guy. He doesn’t usually wait on Luca and me hand and foot, so I appreciate that he was able to organize the instrument and bring it over even after his work hours. He really deserves every single raise he gets from Luca and me.
I”ll make sure to bring him a coffee to the stadium tomorrow morning. I don’t know what’s going on, but I”m sure he”s going to hole up in a makeshift office there to do his work again.
And the coffee there is horrendous. I can’t let him drink that in good conscience.
”Here”s your guitar, Sweetheart,” I say as I turn around. The nickname started as a way to annoy her, but now it rolls from my lips so easily, without even thinking about it.
Yeah. I’m in deep fucking trouble.
I can see her contemplate whether to call me out on it or not, but finally, she shoots me a smile and instead makes grabby hands for the instrument.
”Thank you. I just got an idea I need to try out and record.” She takes it from my hands and sits down at my window front, facing the city as it sparkles in the night. She swipes over her phone screen a few times, I assume until she finds her recording app, and then strums her fingers over the strings.
“Do you have a paper and pen?”
“Sure.” I get a notepad and pen from the kitchen where I usually jot down my shopping list and set both down next to her.
“Thank you.” She reaches for them blindly, and immediately, the pen starts flying over the paper.
I’ll give her some privacy. I have to clean up the guest room a bit anyway.
It”s where I store my stuff whenever I”m here because I don”t like a cluttered master bedroom, but since I”m not sure if she”ll stay over tonight or go home, I guess I should be prepared for either scenario.
I can”t help but keep the door ajar, though. The melody she’s creating is already so catchy, so sure to get stuck in my head for the foreseeable future.
I love hearing her tinkering with the instrument, her soft voice creating a different melody over the guitar as I sort my clothes into the wardrobe.
Half an hour in, my phone chimes with a message from Sven, letting me know that we’re in the clear and nobody found out where I live.
I should let her know she can go home. Actually, I should drive her home. But I can”t bear to disturb her. The thought of stopping this soft background tinkering almost physically hurts me.
Walking into the hallway, I glance into my living room. Kayla is hunched over several papers scattered around her, tapping the pen against her lips as she hums a melody I know.
What is it?
I watch her jot something down, never stopping the humming and I finally recognize it. ‘Can’t help falling in love.’
Fuck.
I don’t think she’s humming it consciously, but I retreat quietly, my heart pounding and thoughts whirring.
Sitting down on the guest bed, I rub my hand over my face, pinching the bridge of my nose between my eyes. What the fuck is happening?
She was supposed to be a game, a farce, not. . . real.
But she is very real. Too real.
She took over my thoughts like a storm and she doesn’t even know it. She was supposed to be a way to distract the media from Luca and Millie, someone else I can annoy. Getting attached was not part of the plan.
And she was supposed to hate me. But it doesn”t seem like she detests me that much anymore either. I catch her looking at me from the corners of her eyes. I catch her little smile when I call her ‘Sweetheart’ even though she pretends to dislike it.
This is a clusterfuck. I should have paid more attention to those fake dating romance novels I saw when I researched examples for rules. Maybe fictional people are better at separating a fake relationship from their feelings.
Goddamn, I’m an actor. I should be able to separate this whole thing from my real emotions. Maybe the whole fake dating concept just doesn’t work in real life.
I get back up and put the last pile of clothes into the wardrobe, throwing it into a panel before shutting the door to keep it from falling out again.
Finally, the guest room is as tidy as it”s going to get, and I realize that she has stopped playing the guitar. Instead, I hear her talking.
Curious, I return to the living room to find her on the phone, her eyes darting over to me as soon as I enter and a look I can”t decipher on her face.
”Of course, when are you arriving?” she asks, her eyebrows scrunching up. ”Alright. Yeah, of course, I”d love to meet up.” A short moment of silence as she listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. ”Josh, I don”t think you should stay over with what”s going on.”
She chuckles, bursting into laughter at what Josh is replying.
”Yeah, just let me know where you”ll be staying. Talk to you soon.” She lowers the phone and ends the call.
”Who is Josh?” I ask her, leaning against the doorway with crossed arms, fully aware that I sound more jealous than I have any right being.
”My . . . friend,” she answers, her voice going softer at the word ”friend,” making it sound like a question.
”Ah, a benefit one?”
”Yeah. He”s coming to Philly with his brother and has asked to hang out.”
”Is that code for fucking?” The question is over my lips before I even realize, and I quickly bite my lips. Way to go, Asher.
”What?” Her eyes narrow, her gaze turning furious. ”If I meant ”fucking,” I would have said ”fucking,”” she says loudly, her voice cold like an icicle as she gets up and begins to gather up all the papers. ”I think it”s time for me to go home.”
Yep. I blew it.
Well, maybe it’s better that way. A way to bring more distance between us again. A chance to retreat and gather my thoughts, come to a point where I’m not imagining this becoming more.
”I”ll call you a driver,” I tell her softly and take out my phone.
She crosses her arms in front of her chest and fixes her gaze out the window, watching the cars on the street, moving like little, glowing ants. Her fingers tap against her upper arm, and I can see the anger boiling in her eyes.
I sigh.
”I”m sorry,” I tell her once the driver is taken care of. ”That was uncalled for.”
”Yes, it was,” she says curtly, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her eyes. ”Listen, this doesn’t work.” My heart stops and I open my mouth to object, but she continues talking. “I’m tired of arguing with you whenever we meet. Can we just call a truce?”
Oh, thank God. I clutch my shirt on my chest, glad that she’s still looking outside. I thought she was about to call this whole thing off. Mum would have had my head.
”I”m naturally annoying, I can”t guarantee anything.” My voice is hoarse as I answer her, and I clear my throat. When she looks up, the sincerity in her expression strikes me. She looks exhausted, and there is something else in her eyes that I can”t quite place. ”I”ll try, okay?”
”Okay.” She sighs. “I’ll take what I can get.”
”So, when is your friend coming to Philly?” I pinch my forearm in an attempt to dial back on my snarky tone.
”Next week.” I nod, right as my phone starts buzzing in my hand.
”Alright. I think your driver is here.” She gets up, clutching all of the papers against her chest and gently places the guitar on my couch.
”Thank you, Asher.”
She shoots me a short but finally sincere seeming smile before she puts on her shoes. And I need to look away. Because the way she”s leaning down is making her skirt ride up, revealing almost all of her long legs and my cock also remembers our earlier conversation. Very well.
How would it feel to have them wrapped around my head as I have my face buried in her pussy? What does her sweet voice sound like when she begs me to stop?
Fuck. Subtly, I take a step so the couch covers my crotch from where she’s standing.
I force myself to look back at her when she straightens her back and rolls her shoulders before opening my front door.
”Let me know when you”re home.” She stops and slowly turns her head.
”Yes, dad,” she says with an eye roll, but the smallest smile is starting to tug at her lips. ”Have a good evening.”
”You too.”
There is a moment of awkward silence between us, either hoping or waiting for the other to add something. But neither of us does. So, she shoots me another tight smile and then she”s gone, the soft click of the door closing loud in my suddenly way too quiet apartment.
”Fuck.” I groan and sink onto the couch once the door is closed.
I am in so much trouble. And I am most definitely hard.
I need to take a shower.
Within minutes, I have hot water cascading down my body, slightly easing the tension in my muscles that’s been there ever since she walked out my front door.
My cock is rock hard, has been since she fucking leaned down to put her shoes on. Goddamn.
When did I return to puberty? There’s hasn’t been a woman that made me hard just by leaning down to put on her shoes, like, ever.
Fuck.
I palm my cock and start stroking it, a groan falling from my lips and echoing from the tiles.
I should imagine something else. Literally anything but her. She is burned into my brain, the only images it conjures up are of her.
I imagine her coming into the bathroom, only wearing a towel that barely manages to cover her tits and revealing almost the whole length of her long legs as she has it wrapped around herself.
She”d saunter towards me, seductively taking off the towel, inch by fucking inch.
I just know that given the chance, she”d keep me waiting, longing for her until she can”t take it anymore herself. I groan and let my head fall back, leaning against the cool tiles of my shower. Fuck.
Once naked, she wouldn”t give me a chance to take her in. I picture her sinking on her knees in front of me, purring as she palms my cock and starts jerking me off.
She”d lick her lips seductively before taking me into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing just like they did when she drank her damned cocktail, as she sucked me off, slowing down when she knows I”m just about there.
I”d be a heaving mess, fingers tangled in her hair and muscles strained to not keep her head right where it is and fuck her pretty little mouth until I come down her throat. And I would enjoy every fucking second of it.
I jerk myself faster. Fuck. The image of her on her knees, looking up at me through hooded eyes, cheeks red with heat and pleasure, it”s enough to push me over the fucking edge.
With a loud groan, I come, my release spurting against the shower wall. I watch it drop down the tiles as I try to catch my breath.
Fuck, I needed that.
That is my first realization. The second one comes right after, hitting me like a freight train.
Holy shit, I am in so much trouble.