Chapter Fifteen - Kayla
Kayla
My eyes follow Asher as he heads to the door to get our food when my doorbell rings.
I can”t believe he came over.
And I sit here, the worst I”ve ever looked and probably the worst I’ve ever smelled because I just couldn’t get myself to shower the past few days. Not exactly how I ever wanted him to see me.
I also can”t be bothered to get up and try to fix myself up to look more presentable. That”s just not happening today. It’s too late now, anyways.
I grimace when another cramp makes me groan and curl my toes while clutching the hot after bottle to where it hurts.
Why aren”t there any painkillers that work within seconds of taking them? Seriously, that would be such an amazing invention.
I only lift my head when the painful pull in my insides subsides, looking right into Asher”s worried brown eyes.
”Is everything alright?” he asks, and I find myself nodding. Right now, it is. I just hope the painkillers are going to work soon.
I make grabby hands for the pizza in his hand and he chuckles, shaking his head before he hands it to me. ”Do you need a plate? Cutlery?”
”Nah, I”m good.” I”ve already opened the box and have a piece halfway to my mouth. That’s when I realize that this is actually the second time he’s brought me pizza. Apparently, I’m that easy. ”Can you get me some orange juice from the fridge though?”
”Of course, your highness.” He grins and jumps up, padding to the kitchen on his socks. When did he even take off his shoes?
”Finally, you call me by my rightful title,” I shout after him and take a big bite of my pizza.
”Sure, sure, Sweetheart.” I reach for a pillow and throw it blindly into his voice’s direction. Something clutters and I doubt it flew even close to where Asher is, but I can’t be bothered to turn around.
”Thank you, Honey,” I tease him when he comes back and hands me the orange juice.
”You know, orange juice and pizza seems like a disgusting combination,” he points out and shakes his head.
”You”re a disgusting combination,” I grumble and take another bite. I just love the sweetness of the pineapple on my pizza, it gives the whole thing a lovely fresh taste. And if there’s fruit anyway, orange juice doesn’t make it any more or less disgusting.
I’ve never understood why so many people don”t like the combination. My theory is they”ve just never tried it and go with the mainstream opinion.
”God, this is good.” I sigh happily, as I chew on a piece of crust and reach for another piece. Then for the first time, I take note of what he”s gotten for himself. ”Damn. Did you order the whole menu?”
”Close to it,” he admits with a grin and opens one of his containers. The most heavenly smell of carbonara hits my nostrils and I lean over to take a look at it. ”I”m a big guy and I”ve exercised the whole day. I need my calories.”
”Yeah, yeah. Good for you. Can I try that?” I look at him with wide eyes. Seriously, it smells to die for. He narrows his eyes at me and I can see the urge to fight me for his food in his pupils. ”Pretty please?”
He sighs and his shoulders sag as he gives in.
”Just this once. Because you’re sick.” I grin at him gratefully and lean over to dig my fork into the container, taking out a piece that”s way too big for courtesy.
But as he said, I”m sick, I don”t care.
But Karma kicks me in the ass and I almost drop it when another cramp shoots pain through my insides. Thank God my pizza box is there to catch it.
”This is as delicious as it smells,” I groan when I finally put it into my mouth and the flavors hit my tongue. Maybe I should have ordered carbonara. Then again, the pineapple pizza is hitting all the right taste buds as well.
”Good to know.” He grabs the box back and digs into it himself, groaning when he takes his first bite.
We eat silently, from time to time commenting on something happening in the series. After I eat the last piece, I throw the pizza box on the coffee table and lean back on the couch, hugging the hot water bottle to my stomach again.
”God, I”m so full.”
”Goohfoyu,” he mumbles with a full mouth as he reaches for a box with small pizza rolls and stuffs one into his mouth. How the hell does he fit all of that food into his flat stomach? Scratch that, how does he fit it into his mouth?
”You know chewing is a thing, right?” I ask and raise my eyebrow at him.
He grins at me with full cheeks like a hamster in response and takes a swig of the Coke he ordered himself until his mouth is empty and he can talk.
”Where”s the fun in that?”
”Hmm, where”s the fun in not suffocating, I don”t know. Just know that I won”t be able to Heimlich your tall ass.”
”Now that”s the better argument,” he argues back and starts eating more slowly. Maybe he was scared I”d steal more of his food, but there’s not a chance. I’m so full.
It takes him another episode to finish while I lay here, in agony. The cramps are better now, I almost don”t feel them anymore, but now I”m so full I can”t move. Each movement makes it feel like I’m about to throw up.
When he”s done eating, he takes all of the empty boxes and brings them into the kitchen. I can even hear him unfold them before throwing them away. How . . . surprisingly considerate?
I’m too exhausted to evaluate what that does to me, but my heart flutters.
Ignoring that traitor, I take the opportunity and lay myself flat on the couch, arms and legs extended like a starfish. Yes, that feels a lot better.
”Scoot over a bit,” Asher demands with a chuckle when he comes back and I groan.
”Do I have to? It’s so comfy.”
He tilts his head and looks at me like all the wheels behind his eyes are turning. Then he walks over, scoots his hand under my neck, and lifts my head, sits down and then lowers it to his thigh.
I look at him with wide eyes, my heart drumming in my chest like it’s trying to set a new record. What?
This feels way too intimate.
I can feel each muscle move under my cheek as he scoots into a comfortable position, each of his breaths, and I swear I can even hear his loud heartbeat.
He clears his throat before he reaches for the remote. ”How about we watch something less gruesome?”
”But I like gruesome,” I protest weakly, more because I feel like I have to than actually wanting to continue watching it.
I might like our little teasing fights more than I’m ready to admit.
”Well, I can only be reminded of how much people suck in small doses.” He chuckles, his thigh moving under my head. ”Help me keep my faith in humanity.”
”Okay, that”s valid,” I say, my whole body still tense.
”How about,” he scrolls through the streaming service until he finds the remake of a cartoon movie I know from my childhood, ”this one?”
It”s simple, has cute visuals, and an easy enough storyline that I’ve seen hundreds of times already. ”Sure.”
”Great.” He puts it on, then halts the movie immediately. ”Lift your head, Sweetheart; I got us ice cream.”
I perk up, suddenly feeling better.
”I hate to admit it, but you”re a God-send,” I say and lift myself up with a groan, watching him walk away with cheeks red like a tomato.
Just what the hell is going on here?
This whole thing is built on a fake foundation. There was no need for him to come here, much less with groceries and especially not dessert or sweets. There are no cameras here, and nobody who would post it to social media. This doesn”t fit our plan.
Yet he still calls me Sweetheart, and it doesn’t even sound like he’s trying to rile me up with it. He still brought me ice cream and now he’s fetching it for me from the kitchen.
That scares the fuck out of me.
He scares the fuck out of me.
He”s gaining my trust way too quickly, especially after the whole movie fiasco. Petty grudge one way or the other, when did I get over that so quickly?
Then again, how could I even hate a person who got me ice cream, a cute plush and painkillers while I”m on my period? That can”t be humanly possible.
But I don”t need my heart to beat this quickly for him, like, ma”am can you please calm down?
He returns with one tub and one spoon and I raise my eyebrow at him confused. He ignores me, though, and only motions for me to lift my head again.
I do as told and he sits down, my head immediately returns to his thigh. At least this time he doesn”t catch me by surprise. I’m even starting to relax.
And honestly, his thigh is surprisingly comfortable. It”s big and I know that”s muscle, but it”s not bony at all. It’s kind of squishy. Like a warm, denim-y pillow.
He restarts the movie and pries the tub of ice cream open. Before I can lecture him about not getting me some, he digs the spoon in, then holds it in front of my mouth.
”I can eat by myself, you know?” I ask him but open my mouth for him. God, he even got my favorite flavor. Did he also get that from the internet?
”I know you can,” is his soft answer as he digs the spoon back into the tub and eats that one himself.
I blush. There”s something weirdly intimate about him using the same spoon for both of us.
Indirect kisses. Which is ridiculous considering what else we’ve done.
It catapults my thoughts back to the match. And the night after.
Fuck.
Good thing I”m not a guy because if I were, he”d be having a wonderful view of my boner.
That was one of the sexiest sexes I’ve had. I love my silicone toys, but they are not a match for him in the slightest.
My mouth opens up without him prompting me to when he moves the spoon to my mouth again. By now I”m actually impressed that none of the ice cream has just fallen onto my face, the couch or the ground, but apparently, he”s a very good spoon handler.
”How did you know which ice cream I like?” He looks down at me, his eyebrow raised and an emotion I can”t quite make out written all over his face.
”I watched your interview with NR Magazine,” he admits sheepishly and my eyes grow wide. That was like a year ago. ”By chance,” he adds quickly, then looks away and I swear I can the slightest glimmer of red flushing his cheeks in the moving light from the TV.
Aww. He watched my interview. ”It came up when I searched the internet for your favorite ice cream flavor.”
My heart drops. There I thought I”d been on his mind even before we ever met officially. That maybe I’d been on his mind after the whole interview fiasco.
Then again . . . he researched my favorite ice cream flavor instead of just buying a random one. That”s cute as hell, too.
Once we finish the ice cream, he puts the empty tub on the ground next to him, without getting up. Then suddenly, his hand is on my hip while his eyes remain glued to the TV. It seems like an unconscious move, but I tense.
And then his hand starts stroking small circles on my hip and I feel my muscles starting to relax under his touch.
Fuck. This is actually somewhat nice. So nice even, I fall asleep halfway through the movie.
I come awake and tense. Something is moving under my cheek. Is my pillow alive? Am I still dreaming? What is going on?
But in fact, the pillow is also warm. And there”s a hand in my hair, fingertips stroking gentle patterns on my scalp, making me want to purr like a cat.
Right. Asher came over. I had my head on his thigh.
Now what? I don’t want to break this moment yet. It’s so nice. So serene. So . . . intimate.
The realization of how fucked I truly am settles in my stomach.
I read romance novels, for fucks sake. I should have known this fake-dating thing wouldn’t work out without having my heart broken.
But no, I thought I knew better.
When I realize my breath has hitched at the realization, I announce my consciousness with a yawn and roll my shoulders. My heart is pounding fast and loud, my brain screaming at me to jump up, but I can’t. I don’t want to. It”s way too comfortable for that.
And I want a few more moments to imagine this is real. Imagine he came over because he was actually worried about me, not about his monster cock doing damage.
”Had a good nap?” Asher asks, an amused grin on his face and twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.
”Yeah,” I admit, barely above a whisper, and smush my cheek against his thigh like a cat. ”I actually did.”
”That”s good.” He tries to free another one of my strands, but my hair is so tangled, I wince when he accidentally pulls on a few hairs. ”Sorry.”
”You”re good,” I tell him with another yawn. ”I should probably brush it. Didn”t really get around to that the past few days.”
I grimace at the thought. Brushing it now is going to hurt like a bitch, but I really couldn”t be bothered the past few days, not even to just go ahead and braid it. All I did was lay in bed and wallow in self-pity and pain. My hair was the last thing on my mind.
Without a word, Asher suddenly gets up and walks off. I purse my lips in a pout as I watch him disappear around a corner. He”s a comfy pillow; it feels weird to lay my head down on this flat couch now.
First, he brings me another painkiller and glass of water. A glance at the clock over my TV tells me the first ones are probably going to wear off soon, so good thinking. Then he walks off again.
I’m just about to reach for a real pillow when he returns with my brush and one of my hair oils in his hand.
”Come on, sit up.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together, confused, but do as he asks.
To my surprise, he climbs onto the couch behind me, caging me between his thighs, his hand a gently warmth on my stomach as he scoots the both of us back a bit so my butt is not halfway off the couch.
”You really don”t have—” I say weakly, but he immediately interrupts me.
”I know, Kayla.” He sounds a bit exhausted. ”Just accept it, okay?”
”What if I get used to it?” I try to sound sassy, but in reality, even my best attempt doesn’t quite manage to mask the vulnerability shining through my voice.
What if I actually do? Then this whole charade is going to end in a broken heart and another reason to not mend it back together. I mean, what use is it if people just leave me over and over again?
I might as well just get used to it as life goes on.
Thankfully, he ignores me as he swipes all my hair over my shoulders so it falls down my back and carefully starts to work the hair oil into my ends.
”What do you do when you”re not working?” he asks me, distracting me from the way his hands and the brush run through my hair, so gently that they don”t even get caught in the knots.
”I like reading,” I admit with a sigh and lean my head in my neck.
I love it when people touch my hair. It’s my kryptonite, not that I’d tell him. I don”t know what”s going on here, but maybe, just maybe, I should stop asking questions for now and just roll with it. With another soft sigh, I close my eyes.
”Yeah? What kind of books?”
”Romance, mainly. Something that distracts me from reality,” I whisper and clear my throat.
I don”t know why I said that. The reaction to that is usually, ”Oh, so you”re one of those people who read porn?”, when in reality it”s so much more than that.
Romance lets me dream about finding someone I can trust wholeheartedly. Someone who won”t cast me aside when I don”t play into the fantasy they had of me, like my parents.
Someone who makes me his priority, would face his friends or family if they talked shit about me. Who would stick by me even through the media shitstorm a relationship with me will bring with it.
It seems impossible. I’ve stopped believing in that a long time ago, after being disappointed one too many times.
That”s why I appreciate my hook-ups. None of us has a higher expectation of the other than the occasional fuck and, in Josh’s case, friendship.
I know exactly where I stand with them, and they with me. They don’t need to pretend they want more and I don’t have to struggle with the question of whether to believe them.
Josh is the only exception. He is the only one who fought his way into my friendship circle as well. Letting him in was not my wisest move, but I wouldn”t want to miss him now, either. He’s the last risk I took that paid off. Well, until now at least. Who knows what the future may hold?
”Cool,” Asher answers, and for some reason, I don”t think he means it in an ironic or sarcastic way. ”You mean like Twilight?”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing. ”Yeah, kind of,” I admit, the corners of my mouth twitching.
”Why are you laughing?” he asks, but I can hear the smile on his face. That”s when I realize that my whole body is shaking with a suppressed giggle that now breaks free.
”I don”t know,” I say between giggles. ”I just find it funny that Twilight is the first book to come to your mind. Did you read it?”
“No, but my mom did,” he says, and when I turn around, I see a smile tugging at his lips. “Well, tell me about the ones you”re reading then,” he challenges me, and oh boy. I hope he has nowhere else to be today.
I dive into all of my current favorite books. And God, do I wish that I could watch his face as I do. Especially when I mention that reverse harem biker romance I read a while back.
But he”s undeterred, asking questions and commenting what I tell him, all while expertly detangling my hair with the brush.
He’s especially curious about the logistics of a five-some, that, admittedly, I’m also clueless about. We joke about all the different positions that would work and go through all the logistical issues it would cause.
At one point, we run out of positions to talk about and fall silent as he”s fighting with a particularly persistent knot in my hair.
”Ouch,” I wince when my hair pulls quite a bit.
”Sorry,” he mumbles. And to my really big surprise, he leans forward and for a moment, presses his lips against my head, right where it hurts. ”I”m trying but this is a hard one.”
”You”re good,” I assure him quickly. ”Thank you. You”re really good at this.”
”Well, lots of practice and first-hand experience,” he says with a chuckle and casts the brush aside. ”I”ll try to pull it apart with my fingers, hold on.”
I wince a few more times and each time, he gives me a small, reassuring gesture. A kiss on my neck. A gentle pat on my thigh. And then finally, a satisfied sigh sound escapes the back of his throat, and he reaches for the brush again.
”Here you go.” I turn my head and see him give a satisfied nod. ”All good now.”
”Thank you, Asher,” I say softly. His hands remain in my hair, separating it into three strands and braiding it expertly so it doesn’t tangle right back again. I sigh when he stops, a twinge of sadness shooting through me when I realize he’s done.
He gets up to bring the brush and hair oil back to their rightful place and as I watch him, suddenly, my emotions start to run high.
Oh my God.
He”s an insufferable dickhead. He can be downright mean and impossible to be around with all the teasing he’s doing.
But right now? Fuck. He’s showing me a completely different side of him. One that I was not prepared for at all, one that makes me wish all of this was real.
I open my mouth to say something. I don’t even know what. I just know that I want to talk to him.
Suddenly, both of our phones start buzzing incessantly at the exact same time.
”What the hell?” Asher wonders and unlocks his as he comes back into the living room. Mine is somewhere on the kitchen island, and I don”t bother standing up.
Judging by the timing, it”s the same cause anyway and I’m sure he will fill me in.
”Ah. Luca and Millie are official now.” Asher turns his phone to me, and I stand up to take a closer look. ”It”s a cute picture, though.”
He’s right. It’s an adorable picture of the two of them walking in a park, hand in hand, his adoring eyes on her as she says something animatedly.
I should be happy for them.
But instead, my heart drops and I gulp. Distracting from them was the only reason we”ve started this charade, and I know we said two months, but that was before I realized that this was more than I can handle.
The media knows now. There is no reason to continue. Nobody we have to distract. My eyes dart to him and I gulp.
Did he come to the same conclusion? Will we stop now?