20. Ashley
TWENTY
ASHLEY
The world feels hazy when I wake up in Sebastian’s bed.
Did I dream the last evening? Did he really whisper he loved me as we fell asleep?
It seems like something that could never be true, but the first thing I see through the lashes of my barely open eyes is him looking at me like I’m the only thing that matters.
He’s stroking my hair with a gentleness that melts me from the inside out.
I take my time letting him know I’m awake.
When he notices my eyes are open, he snatches his hand away, like touching me was a momentary lapse of judgment.
I’m left wondering if I hallucinated everything from the past twelve hours.
We don’t have time to hang out this morning since it’s a workday, so while he makes coffee, I shower quickly. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but surely he’s got to say something to address what happened, what he said—not just that he loved me, but everything before that too.
Instead, he gives me a perfunctory hug and says, “Thanks for listening last night, Ash. I know I was in a weird mood. You’re a good friend.”
Right. A good friend. One who was apparently dumb enough to take words spoken when his guard was down at face value.
I flash back to that morning so many years ago, when I woke up next to him after his father’s wedding and caught him pulling himself together, putting the mask back on.
He was young then, and deeply vulnerable, and I was foolish enough to think his vulnerability meant something more for us.
I thought I knew better by now, but here I am again.
I paste a smile on my face like this isn’t confusing as hell, then I leave and walk to the subway, heading uptown. I open an e-book on the train and stare at the screen, reading the same sentence over and over again while I mull over the previous night.
Does he love me, or was that just a temporary surge of emotion? He’s told me a million times that he doesn’t say those words to anyone except his mom and siblings. If I didn’t mishear, it must have been an accident somehow. But who says they love someone by accident?
I get off the train and walk home in a brain fog. I almost go to Laurel’s on the way, but I have no idea if she’s working from home. And anyway, I don’t know what she’ll say if I turn up in the middle of my walk of shame. She warned me not to get my heart involved. I should go home.
Once I’m in my apartment, I try to focus on plowing through a marketing plan that’s due to a client tomorrow.
But I’m distracted, stopping mid-sentence to stare at the screen and run through potential dialogue with Sebastian in my head.
What happened to the Ashley who was cool and collected?
I’m like a teenager pulling the petals off daisies to see if he loves me.
I suppose the real question is whether I love him back.
We laugh a lot together and understand each other in a way I’ve rarely experienced with guys I’ve dated.
We’ve certainly got sexual chemistry in spades, though that doesn’t mean love; I’ve had hot sex with men whose conversation bored me to tears.
How do you even know if you love someone?
I hate the idea of never seeing him again, and I sort of miss him when we haven’t seen each other for a while.
And even when he’s being annoying, I don’t get tired of him.
Oh man, I suspect we’re in very dangerous territory.
I close my eyes and try to think of anything else.
Spreadsheets. Market share. Focus on the numbers, Ashley.
What’s the point of torturing myself if he’s not ready to go there?
I’d be better off focusing on Jared, who fits the profile of what I’ve been looking for and who actually wants a relationship.
Fuck. Jared. I didn’t even think of him when I raced off to Sebastian’s.
Should I text him now? We’ve been texting on and off since the dinner party incident, but that flu knocked him out for over a week, so I haven’t seen him since our hike.
We aren’t exclusive, but sending a cute message right after leaving another man’s bed seems wrong.
Maybe I’m rushing this and overthinking. I need to touch base with Sebastian again. He was in a hurry this morning, so maybe that’s why he was short. I should tread lightly, but if this is possibly anything, it’s not fair to lead Jared on.
After obsessing for a few hours and rewriting the same message two dozen times, I finally send something right before noon.
Hey Bash. How’s your morning? I’m kinda tired.
Going well. Getting a lot of work done.
Okay, so he didn’t take the bait. It’s not like him to ignore an opportunity to boast about his skill set, even without feelings in the equation.
No problem. I’ll let you work. Any plans tonight?
Not sure. I’m messaging a few women on the app, so that might lead to something.
My whole body goes cold. Twelve hours ago, he said he loved me and called me the best person he knows, and now he’s already planning to sleep with someone else?
Sure, those were the terms of our arrangement, but the terms never involved whispered declarations of love.
We were supposed to have benefits but no strings.
Last night was a spiderweb’s worth of strings.
I should have known. This is Sebastian to a tee.
He runs away from his feelings—always has.
He was vulnerable yesterday, and now he’s closed up.
It was stupid to think anything had changed.
My first impulse was right; I should cut this whole thing off and focus on Jared.
I send a fun, flirty text to check whether he’s fully recovered and he writes back right away.
We spend the afternoon chatting until he asks if I’m free later.
Is this too fast? A voice in the back of my mind whispers that I should wait and work through my feelings more, but Sebastian made it perfectly clear that we don’t have that type of relationship. I’d be stupid to throw away something with promise for a lost cause.
Jared meets me at a Thai restaurant looking as good as ever.
His arms are toned in short sleeves, and I’m a sucker for forearms. With his hair pushed back, I can see his brown eyes.
He’s an attractive man for sure, and I keep expecting my body to respond in some way.
For my stomach to flip-flop or my heart to speed up when he touches my hand, but my body is a traitor today.
Nevertheless, I flash him a smile, then we sit down and order salad rolls and a carafe of wine to share.
We have an easy conversation, the topics flowing freely.
I ask him how his parents are and if he’s fully recovered from the flu.
We talk about summer travel, the podcasts we’ve been enjoying, recent work challenges.
After dinner, Jared asks me if I want to grab ice cream and walk for a bit.
It’s the kind of wholesome date I haven’t had in a while.
It feels like he genuinely wants to be with me, not just to get into my pants, though I do catch him taking a glance at my butt, so at least I know he’s interested.
We find a local gelateria and agonize over the many options until I settle on mango and coconut and he gets pistachio and dark chocolate so we can try each other’s flavors. It’s straight out of a Hallmark movie, a perfect night.
To make the evening even more cute and quirky, I introduce a game while we walk and eat. We ask rapid-fire questions and can’t take more than a few seconds to respond.
“Favorite Avenger?” Jared asks.
“Thor. For sure.” I don’t tell him it’s because I like to watch Chris Hemsworth flex.
“Favorite type of pie?”
“Peach.” He pauses. “Or maybe cherry. Both of them.”
I shake my head. “You’re not allowed two. You have to choose.”
“Peach. You’re a harsh taskmaster.” His voice is low and flirty. We find a bench that’s blocked from public view by a large tree and sit down to finish our gelato.
“What can I say? I don’t make the rules.”
He chuckles because I did indeed make up the rules.
I lean closer into his side and look up at him. “Want the last bite?”
“I’m good,” he replies, watching me take my final spoonful.
I’m trying not to make this intentionally suggestive, but it’s hard not to feel a little sexy with someone staring at my lips while I savor my dessert.
There’s a pause while we both gaze at each other, then he leans in.
We kiss gently before he goes in hungrily, and it’s …
nice. It was good before and this is better; not passionate or heated or demanding, but definitely pleasant.
I’m thinking too much; I’m not in the moment.
I run my hand through his hair, gripping the back of his head to take things up a notch.
Surely we’ve got enough in common and sufficient chemistry to wake the butterflies up any time now.
He responds by sucking on my bottom lip and putting a hand on my knee then sliding it up higher.
I wonder if he’ll keep going, but then he pulls away and looks into my eyes.
Can he tell my butterflies are AWOL? He smiles shyly and God, is he cute. Why am I not swooning?
“Maybe we should take this someplace more private.” There’s a question in his eyes, but he’s not finished. “Ashley, can I ask you something first?”
“Sure,” I answer with trepidation, suddenly on the spot.
He takes a breath and looks down at his hands.
“I told you before that I’m kind of an old-fashioned guy.
I know the way it works on dating apps—you play the field.
You have to when so many people ghost you or end up being completely fake or want to sell you something.
Seriously, I went out with this woman who took out flyers mid-date and tried to get me into a timeshare. ”
He looks so earnestly surprised that I let out a giggle. After the wild few months I’ve had, this doesn’t shock me in the slightest.