Chapter 25
Claire
The bed is regrettably empty beside me when I wake, but the mattress is still warm.
No man had ever slept over before last night.
My dating life has been grim, at best. Have I had satisfying sex?
Sure. I don’t have a problem asking for what I want in the bedroom.
But I’ve never been great at balancing or maintaining an actual romantic relationship.
The men I’ve hooked up with or casually dated were okay dating a doctor—turned on, even—but eventually their egos got dented, and that’s a major ick for me.
I assumed it would be awkward sleeping beside a man.
Instead, it felt right. Natural. And that mystifies me.
I wasn’t lying when I told him this thing we’re doing is different.
But is it just because we’ve been roommates this summer and have grown comfortable being in the same space?
Though, roommates isn’t quite an accurate term.
We’re not two broke kids straight out of college.
We’re adults. So let’s call this what it is.
We’re living together. But phrasing it that way sounds way too serious.
He’s only staying at my apartment because it’s convenient for hooking up. That’s what I’m telling myself, even if I don’t quite believe it, because there’s no denying that I’m currently having the best sex of my life.
Last night, he completely shut down when I questioned him about having more children. I’m an idiot for sticking my nose in his business, but it sort of fell out of my mouth as fast as a tampon falling out of my backpack in high school.
Without my consent, my mind conjures up images of Bea swapping her doll baby for a real one, fresh out of the oven, while proudly wearing an “I’m the Big Sister” shirt.
As I stare up at the ceiling, I can visualize it, her battling me to bathe the infant in the sink and attempting to place cucumber slices over the baby’s eyes.
A laugh escapes my lips.
Wait. Shit. Why am I fantasizing myself in this faux scenario?
Before I have a chance to dissect that novel development, Asher moseys into the room. He’s shirtless, in nothing but dark red boxer briefs that look make his ass look like red velvet cake.
As I sit up, the thin strap of my silk pajama top slides off my shoulder, and in response, his jaw ticks. He offers me a cup of coffee, then settles under the sheets and sips from his own mug.
Butterflies flutter in my belly. Damn, this is the best way to wake up.
“Morning.”
“Mor—” I clear my throat. “Morning. Have you been up long?”
He shakes his head. “I texted Millie. Wanted to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye.”
“Thank you for the coffee.” I clink my cup against his. “How are our favorite newlyweds doing?”
“Don’t know. She hasn’t texted back.”
“She’s probably too busy—”
He throws up a hand. “Don’t say it.”
“Hey, if I had to endure a sex shop with my brother yesterday, you can handle—”
“La, la, la,” he sings, sticking a finger in his ear like Bea does when he tells her she has to eat her vegetables. “My baby sister is innocent, and I will not be debating it.”
I cackle at his shenanigans and he pops a smile in return.
After another sip of my coffee, I place the mug on my nightstand, then swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“To the bathroom. And to brush my teeth. Then you’re going to fuck me again.”
Coffee sputters down his chin. “What?” he breathes as he wipes at the dribble with the back of his hand.
“You heard me.”
“Claire.” His firm tone compels me to stop and turn to him. “Come here,” he says. “We should talk about that first.”
“Sure. One sec. I really do have to pee.”
Spinning quickly, I excuse myself, smiling as I go.
When I return, he trades places with me in the bathroom, then sits on the bed beside me.
“I was serious when I said what we—what I—did was reckless. I shouldn’t have put you in that position and I’m sorry.”
“It takes two to tango, you know,” I tell him casually. “I could have said no. Plus, I believe I was the one who, you know…” With my thumb and forefinger, I form a circle. Then I insert my other forefinger through the hole.
Thankfully, he grins at my ridiculous pantomime.
“Do you want to quit hooking up?” Please say no. Please say no.
“Definitely not,” he responds with a sharp shake of his head.
“Okay. Then, do you want to wear a condom?”
“Well…”
“Because I have an IUD,” I interject. “It’s more than ninety-nine percent effective.”
“How do you know?”
I roll my eyes, dismissing the insult. “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”
That comment earns two dimples and a laugh.
He brushes the unruly hair off my face and tucks a strand behind my ear. “How about we nix the condoms, but I pull out? At least for now.”
His tender look of anticipation is endearing.
“Deal.”
He cuts off my smile by pressing his mouth to mine, his tongue demanding entrance like he can’t wait a second longer.
He tastes like my toothpaste, cinnamon instead of his usual mint.
Gently, he eases me back, then follows, his broad body covering mine.
His breath tickles my ear as he peppers kisses along my jaw.
Before long, he’s moving lower, his lips trailing down my neck and along my collarbone.
He sucks and teases my nipple over my shirt and I squirm beneath him.
He continues his parade of kisses down, down, down…
I lied.
This is the best way to wake up.
I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed such a lazy morning.
One without expectations or responsibilities.
No precious five-year-olds staining my shirt with sticky fingers.
Though I must admit, I miss that five-year-old.
Especially when we FaceTime her from the living room and she announces that she misses me.
“Do you miss me, too, Dolly?” Asher asks, his face lit up.
“Nope!” With that, she disappears from view.
When we’ve stared at the fur of a stuffed animal for nearly a minute, Asher calls her name. Rather than Bea, Natalie is the one who picks up the abandoned phone. After a quick update, we end the call.
“I’m sure she misses you,” I console him.
“Oh, I know,” he says, though his assurance sounds a tad contrived. Clearing his throat, he points to the vase on the coffee table. “This is pretty. Where’s it from?”
“Cam and Joey brought it back from Kyoto. It’s Kintsugi.”
“Kin-what?”
“Kintsugi. It’s the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. Look.” I pick up the rotund ceramic vase and carefully twirl it around, showcasing the lacquered gold threaded through the royal blue base color. “Have you ever heard of wabi-sabi?”
He shakes his head.
“It’s a Japanese philosophy of embracing the flawed or imperfect. Kintsugi is similar. The Japanese would repair broken or damaged objects, like this vase, with metal and powdered gold, silver, or platinum instead of throwing them away.”
Asher’s expression is full of fascination as he inspects the vase.
“Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” I say, returning it to its home on the table. “To take something broken and add beauty to it so it can keep on living. Sometimes looking even better than it did before. I like the idea that this vase got a new lease on life. But I’m sentimental like that.”
Lips pursed, he continues analyzing the vase.
I nudge him, and when he finally looks away, I ask, “What should we do today?”
He frowns, like it’s taking him a moment to boot back up. “Whaddaya mean?”
“It’s not every day you’re kid-free in the city, right? What are some activities you’ve been wanting to do that you haven’t had the opportunity to?”
“Sex… Sleep… Sex again.” He dips down and nuzzles between my breasts, one hand slipping between my thighs.
I push him away with a laugh. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Is it possible for a man to “bat his dimples,” because I have a hunch that’s what he’s attempting right now.
“Asher,” I chide.
He throws his hands in the air and huffs. “Fine. What do you typically do?”
“Hmm?”
“If I weren’t here, what would you be doing right now? And please don’t say sex. I really don’t want to imagine you with other men.”
“No,” I scoff, ignoring his slightly perturbed expression. “I’ve actually never brought a man back to my apartment.”
“Really? Never?”
I shake my head. “I don’t like having men in my personal space.”
Asher shifts in his seat. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I can—”
“No,” I interrupt, resting a hand on his thigh. “You’re different.”
He quirks a brow, green eyes deep and searching mine.
I retract my hand and drop it into my lap. “What I mean is that we’ve been rooming together for weeks now. You’re not just some random guy.”
“Is that who you’ve been hooking up with? Random guys?”
I can’t decipher whether he’s being sincere or territorial when he asks this. He’s already established that he’s possessive—in a green flag sort of way, of course.
It’s not really any of his business, but I indulge him anyway.
“Those are the only types of hookups I have.” Arms crossed, I look away, feeling a little too exposed.
“No strings attached is sort of my thing. I don’t have time for dating, and even if a man sticks around for a bit, I’ve never found one that could handle…
” I stop there, not wanting to get into it.
He angles closer. “Handle what?”
I shrug. “A woman who’s a doctor? A woman with a trust fund? One of those, or maybe both.”
Squeezing my leg, he says, “I’m sorry that’s been your experience. I hope you know those men don’t deserve you.”
“I do. It gets lonely sometimes, though. Coming home to an empty apartment.” Tears tingle behind my eyes, but I blink them away before they have a chance to fall.
“Enough about that. You asked what I would do if I were here on my own. Honestly, I rarely have spare time, but when I do, I go to spin, then take an art class.”
“So let’s go.” He rises to his feet.
“What?”
Holding out his hand, he says, “Come on.”