Chapter Six - Scarlett
He exhales slowly; eyes still razor sharp focused on the road. “Collins texted you were out. Figured I’d swing by.”
“Oh, how thoughtful,” I grin smugly. “You were so clearly there for me then. Admit it.”
He ignores my teasing, not even a small smirk. Geez, he’s a tense driver. I guess there could be worse traits than a safe driver.
Five slow, slow minutes pass by and chatty Asher has been left out the back of The Golden Sparrow and replaced with whatever snoozefest version this is.
Asher’s eyes are still stubbornly glued to the road, refusing to glance my way even for a split second.
“You planning on acknowledging me at all, or is ignoring me a strategic choice here?”
He exhales slowly, gripping the wheel like his life depends on it. “I’m trying to focus on the task at hand, Scarlett. Getting you home safely and…” He clears his throat nervously before he continues “without breaking that little promise we all made to Ted.”
Ah, yes—the infamous no-touching-the-daughter agreement Caleb spilled about earlier.
“Okay,” I counter, tapping my finger thoughtfully against my lips, “but technically, didn’t we already break that promise?
Isn’t this basically double jeopardy?” I always loved that movie, one of mum’s faves actually, truthfully there’s not many people my age bracket who have heard of it, but it was at least an annual watch with mum.
He finally turns, flashing me that infuriatingly gorgeous grin, the one I haven’t forgotten for a single night. Oh, hello again, Mr. Mysterious.
“How many drinks have you had tonight, darling?” He punctuates it by dragging his tongue lazily across his bottom lip.
Ugh, there’s that nickname again. I scrunch my face dramatically.
“Enough drinks to know I’m making a pretty convincing argument and driving a very hard bargain.
” I can’t help myself I peek down at his lap.
Wait. Hard? Damn it, Scarlett—words. Choose them more wisely.
But all I can think about is the last time I was alone with Asher.
My traitorous body immediately reacts, betraying me entirely as my gaze flicks down to what’s hiding behind the fly in those pants, again.
Memories flood my brain of exactly what that tongue of his is capable of.
It’s pure muscle memory from that one unforgettable night two years ago.
And if you must know, not a single person has lived up to him since.
Shut up, don’t judge me—there’s only been one other, okay.
Asher clearly caught my slip of the tongue, because suddenly he’s shifting uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his jeans with one hand.
He clears his throat, attempting to sound casual. “Uh, Ted’s place—it’s just up here, right? I’ve only been a couple of times.” He gestures vaguely ahead with his ridiculously attractive, thick index finger.
I’ve just found a finger sexually arousing, I’m losing it. C’mon Ash put me out of this misery.
My logical brain has officially left the building, handing control over to my impulsive side—which, honestly, never ends well evidently where Asher and alcohol are involved.
Before I can stop myself, I reach over, grasping his hand and drawing his finger slowly between my lips, swirling my tongue around the tip teasingly.
He shudders beneath my touch, goosebumps scattering across his arm, releasing the smallest sound that does very bad things to me.
And makes me want to do very bad things to him.
“Scarlett,” he rasps, his voice strained with self-control, “Please don’t. You know this can’t happen, and I’m trying to drive.”
Okay, major buzzkill. My ego pops like an over-inflated balloon, embarrassment flooding in instantly.
He’s right—I can’t let my selfish wants mess this up for him.
But dammit, universe. I’ve literally fantasised about this man every lonely night for the past twenty-four months—over morning coffee, midday meetings, every quiet moment.
Now he’s delivered right to me on a silver platter labelled “look but don’t touch. ”
“I just…” he continues gently, his grip tightening again on the wheel, knuckles white, eyes locked ahead, this man is very serious about his driving safety, “I can’t jeopardise this opportunity.
I’ve worked my ass off to get here. Hell, I’m risking everything right now just driving you home, but I wasn’t leaving you behind with creepy-ass Brendan or anyone else who thinks they’ve got a shot with you. ”
His car rolls to a stop out front, and I sigh deeply.
I’m pissed—mostly because he’s right. I shouldn’t be dating players when my job literally revolves around managing their careers.
Reluctantly, I reach for the door, ready to escape this self-inflicted torture.
But Asher’s thick hands suddenly wrap around my wrist, pulling me back toward him, his face mere inches from mine. His breath warm against my lips.
“But just so we’re clear,” he whispers huskily, “I’ll be thinking about your perfect fucking ass in the shower tonight—and probably every night—with these hands wrapped tight around my cock.” His lips softly press against my forehead. “Goodnight, darling. I’ll see you around.”
Oh, sweet Jesus. Instant fire. Entire body aflame. I’m so turned on I think my brain just short-circuited. I feel it right through my core, a deep aching. Asher Kingston has awoken the beast, and my 2 years of fantasy comes crashing down around me.
“G-g-goodnight,” I manage weakly, my voice shaking. Seriously, Scarlett? That’s all you’ve got. Pathetic.
I walk to the door and unlock it, offering Asher a “I’m safe, get lost” wave. And that’s it. My one chance at redemption my one chance to be more than no names, no strings, no expectations.
I. Am. A. Total. Mess.
I somehow stumble into the house, eternally grateful that Ted is already asleep, because I cannot face my dad right now with any semblance of dignity.
I linger at the back window looking out toward the granny flat before I stroll out to my little slice of paradise.
Mum used to sit here every afternoon when the sun was going down.
It would stream through these windows, and she would paint the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen.
I took those afternoons for granted sitting here chatting away with her.
I’d give anything for just one more, especially right now.
I open the back door and carry myself to the granny flat.
Stripping quickly, I hop into the world’s fastest post-night-out shower before crawling under the covers and immediately texting Shell to check she’s alive.
Then, of course, Jen gets the full scandalous play-by-play.
I finish my message dramatically to Jen with “One day in Dawson’s Ridge and I’m convinced I’m trapped in some hick-town reality dating show. Send immediate backup.”
Just as my eyes drift closed, my phone pings loudly, lighting up the dark room.
king.asher has followed you and requested to message.
Playing hard to get clearly isn’t in his playbook. Universe, seriously—my dream guy, and of course, he’s exactly the guy I’m not supposed to want.
Curious, I open his message.
Sweet dreams, darling. I know mine will be.
Oh my god. Underneath all that cocky swagger, he’s a total softy.
Who the hell are you really, Mr. Mysterious?
I don’t even manage to reply, sleep pulling me under with the message still glowing in my hand.
And my dreams, well they’re anything but sweet.