Chapter Fifteen - Asher
I invited her over.
I invited Scarlett to my house.
I went from nah, nah we can’t do this, to tell me to stop, to sex in the sheds under my name on the wall—to come to my house.
I never have girls here. Not in this house.
I’ve got that cold, barely-lived-in apartment in town for that.
The one with just enough furniture to pass as clean and cool.
It’s basically an Airbnb I sometimes pretend to live in.
When I first moved here, I brought a girl back to this house. Just once. She took it as an open invitation and started showing up whenever she felt like it. I hated that. Don’t come into my space unless I want you in my space.
And I want Scarlett here. In my space.
Not just tonight. Not just for fun.
She’s not the groupie type. She’s seen the lifestyle, knows how it works. She doesn’t know how gone I am for her, though. Not really. I told her it was just a bit of fun, in front of Collins, like a fucking coward.
But if this was just a bit of fun, she wouldn’t be in my bed right now doing nothing more than cuddling. And I wouldn’t still have that stupid shopping list of hers from two years ago. Wouldn’t keep doing that secret little thing for her every year, without her ever knowing either.
I told her I wouldn’t kiss her. I’m keeping my word. Even though every time she turns toward me, and her honey brown eyes linger on my mouth, it nearly kills me.
She helped me take my strapping off last night. Raided my pantry. Mocked my hobbies. Told me about her mum. We had a proper D&M—like, the kind where you actually feel it the next day. And now it is the next day.
She’s still asleep, breathing slow, curled into my side like she belongs there.
And I’m lying here, wide awake, just watching her.
Trying to memorise every detail. Trying not to let my brain skip ahead to everything that could ruin this. Including me. My eyelids are blinking slower, and I might just take advantage of the extra 5 minutes Scarlett is giving us by sleeping in.
I must’ve drifted off, because when I blink awake again, the sunlight’s starting to shift through the blinds and the spot beside me is empty.
I hear movement down the hall.
Bathroom door creaks. Tap runs. Quiet footsteps.
I sit up, slow, and lazy, muscles aching in that good kind of way. No rush. No panic. Just… peace.
Then I hear it—the unmistakable sound of someone brushing their teeth.
Curious, I pad down the hallway and lean against the doorframe.
And there she is. Standing at my sink, wearing the same clothes from last night, her hair a little wild, face flushed, brushing her teeth with my toothbrush like she owns the place.
She catches me in the mirror. Freezes for half a second, eyes wide like she’s been caught committing a heinous crime—which to some people using another’s toothbrush would be. I raise a brow, arms crossed.
She slowly takes the brush out of her mouth.
“…There wasn’t another one,” she says, like it’s a reasonable defence.
I shrug. “You’ve had your tongue in my mouth, Scar. I think we’re past the point of dental boundaries.”
Her eyes roll, but she’s smiling now, trying not to show it.
“I was gonna rinse it,” she mumbles, brushing again.
“I’d be offended if you didn’t.”
She spits, rinses, and gives me this look—equal parts sheepish and amused.
Then she glances at her phone, and I watch the shift happen. Her face tightens. Real world creeping back in.
“I should go,” she says quietly, wiping her hands on the towel.
I nod. I get it. No drama, no pressure. But part of me wants to ask her to stay.
Instead, I follow her to the front door.
She hesitates before opening it. Looks at me, like she’s not sure what this is, or if it’s allowed to be anything.
“Text me when you get home,” I say, planting a kiss on the top of her hair, it still smells delicious even after a night in my bed and cuddled up to me her scent of vanilla and musk still clings to her.
She nods, and then she’s gone. Door clicks shut.
The house feels way too quiet again without her in it, which is strange because that’s exactly the way I like it here.
I wander back to the bathroom, stare down at the toothbrush on the counter, and smirk.
Scarlett fucking Walker. Used my toothbrush.
Left wearing last night’s clothes. And somehow, I’ve never felt more domestic in my damn life.
Yeah. I am in trouble.