Chapter Seven Imani #3
I scan the room in a panic, and I’m not sure what to make of the fact that I can already pick Asher out in a sea of faces with ease. He’s leaning against the bar, waiting to be served.
I’m scraping my chair back and pushing myself away from the table before I even have the chance to properly think about what I’m doing.
‘Imani?’ Sloane calls after me, obviously startled by my sudden movement.
‘Bathroom,’ I lie.
Once I’m close enough to the door that leads to the restrooms, I glance over my shoulder and heave a sigh of relief when I realise that no one from my table has kept their eye on me.
I wait a second or two, checking to see if Emmy will turn her head in my direction – thankfully, she does not thanks to Sloane who is currently distracting her – then deviate from the bathroom route and instead make my way towards the bar, slipping in between increasingly tipsy attendees until I’m about an arm’s length away from Asher.
He doesn’t notice me at first, and I take the opportunity to appreciate him close up.
It’s the little details that catch my attention from this close, like the faintest line running across his right cheekbone, a soft scar possibly from some childhood mischief.
The way his dark hair falls just above his brows, tousled yet somehow perfect, as if all he did before leaving his home tonight was run a careless hand through it. And speaking of hands…
My eyes wander down and I can’t help but notice the veins in his hands curling underneath his warm brown skin as he taps nervously against the bar top.
The way the muscle in his wrist flexes slightly every time his fingers drum against the polished wood is almost hypnotic, and I wonder if he even realises what he’s doing.
Asher looks over in my direction, and for a split second, it feels like the world has slowed down again.
His shoulders loosen, the tension that had been tightening his posture evaporating in an instant.
The edge of his mouth curls up into a smile, soft and genuine.
He doesn’t look away. I think his smile deepens.
‘Imani.’ He says my name like a lifeline and like he’s genuinely relieved to see me. His eyes soften and I suddenly feel very exposed. ‘You look beautiful.’
The words hit me like a bolt of electricity.
I feel my face heat up almost embarrassingly fast. Despite how often I receive compliments, there’s something about the way Asher keeps complimenting me that has me feeling slightly weak at the knees.
It feels different coming from him. He’s being sincere and it’s clear it’s not just a random comment or idle flattery in an attempt to get something from me.
I glance away. ‘You’re not so bad yourself.’ I’m trying to keep it cool and light but my voice betrays me. I sound too soft and too flustered.
Asher chuckles and I reflexively look back up. The warmth from his smile hasn’t faded a bit. ‘Should we be talking like this?’
‘No,’ I admit sheepishly. ‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to show up.’
He winces. ‘I know it took me a while to get on board with this, but I wouldn’t do that to you.’ For some reason, when he says that, I know he means it.
I wave down the bartender and order a cocktail in an attempt to distract myself and refocus on the mission at hand. ‘I know. I mean, now I know. Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. For coming, I mean.’ I’m rambling. Why am I rambling?
The bartender reappears with perfect timing and slides my glass across the counter.
I pick up the glass and turn, intending on disappearing back into the crowd and back to my table, when someone brushes past me a little too forcefully.
I let out a shocked gasp as the collision pushes me forward, liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my glass.
Before disaster can strike and destroy this dress, Asher’s hand finds my waist while his other hand steadies the glass in mine. My breath catches.
‘Easy,’ he murmurs.
I blink up at him, suddenly hyperaware of how near he is. The faintest trace of his cologne invades my senses. I want to lean in closer and press myself into his scent. It’s like a perfume no bottle could ever hold. And it’s absolutely unfair how good he smells.
‘I’m fine,’ I whisper, lying to both myself and him. Because I’m not fine. Not with his hand still lingering against my waist, thumb absently tracing circles against my curves. Not with my entire world narrowing down to the heat of his palm and the impossible calm of his eyes.
‘Imani…’
That voice.
Fuck.
‘Since you’re already in the queue, could you get me a—’ Emmy cuts herself off, her eyes immediately darting between Asher and me.
I fumble to extract myself from Asher’s hold, trying desperately not to think about how much I already miss his touch, and get as far away from him as I can manage.
Which isn’t very far, considering how many people are clamouring around waiting for drinks.
Asher frowns at me, looking remarkably like a chastised puppy. But I don’t have time to explain.
Emmy cocks her head to the side, brows furrowed as she processes what she’s just seen. It’s completely at odds with what I’ve just told her and my heart skips a beat or two under the weight of her stare.
Oh God.
I’ve ruined everything before we could even get started, haven’t I?
I need to do something to salvage the mess I’ve made of this stupid, stupid plan.
‘Imani? I thought…’ Emmy begins.
When I get home tonight, instead of sleeping I’m going to spend every last waking minute replaying this scene in my head, cringing into my pillow until I combust.
But right now, caught mid-lie with Emmy staring at me, panic takes the wheel. My pulse spikes, my brain short-circuits, and before I can talk myself out of it…
The glass in my hand tips forward and I watch in what feels like slow motion as the amber liquid splashes down the front of Asher’s perfectly pressed shirt. Gasps ripple through the people nearby. Emmy’s mouth goes slack, her eyes wide.
Asher freezes, blinking down at the dripping mess on his chest. A small part of me, the remaining whisper of logic I still have, reminds me that this was technically the plan, but guilt still churns unpleasantly in my stomach.
Everyone in the vicinity is staring at us, waiting for either me or Asher to make the next move. I take a deep breath. No turning back now, I suppose. I may as well go all the way.
‘I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again?’ My voice comes out as a hiss and I make sure to project loud enough to carry over the music and slice right through the sound of any conversation.
More heads turn.
Heat scorches my cheeks.
Mortified is not a strong enough word for what I’m feeling right now.
Asher’s eyes snap to mine and for half a heartbeat I think I’ve broken him. Then the warmth from earlier disappears, his jaw tightens, and he steps into the role like he was born for it.
‘You think I wanted to bump into you?’ His words are like glass and his voice drips with disdain. ‘Trust me, Imani, the last thing I want is to waste another second on you.’
The words hit harder than they should and even though I know they’re not real, my chest still squeezes painfully.
He tosses a look of pure disgust my way and then storms off into the crowd. The people around us start to murmur and I want to sink into the floor.
‘Imani!’ Emmy’s hand lands on my arm, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Oh my God, are you okay? What was that?’
I force my lips into a trembling smile. ‘I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. Really.’
But it’s not fine. Not even close. My heart is simultaneously racing and feels like it’s been caved in.
Emmy pulls me into a comforting hug, speaking a hundred miles a minute, but I’m not paying attention. I can still feel the ghost of Asher’s warmth against my waist even as the sting of his words echoes in my head.
It was fake, I remind myself as Emmy guides me back towards our table. An act. It wasn’t real.
So why do I hate myself for the look on his face when I threw that drink?