At Eddie's Fourth of July party a few weeks ago, Brie ambushed me with a kiss. Everyone knows she's bisexual, and she claimed she was only trying to loosen me up for the upcoming season in which we're expected to do a lot of kissing and touching, so I didn't stop her. Still, I was uncomfortable. It only made me more anxious about resuming production. Having Asher around might make it worse. I'll be needing more little helpers than ever to get through each day.
I rummage through my purse under the table for another one of Theo's pills. "What's there to talk about? That's the kind of thing you can expect if you're going to come to the set every day."
"I don't like all those people eyeing you naked. I don't like knowing perverts are whacking off to you in their homes."
"Then you've wasted both of our time by moving down here." I quickly pop the pill between my lips while Asher's eyes are still shut, washing it down with my water. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm an adult now. And my fans are adults. If you can't deal with what I do for a living, then this gig clearly isn't for you. This show is all about pushing the boundaries of conventional sexuality."
Muscles and veins strained against his neck, his eyes draw up to meet mine. "What about that asshole operating the camera? It doesn't bother you that he was stealing your panties? That goes far beyond what's considered appropriate, even for adults. And what's with the producer kissing you on the head?"
I stab the ice in my water with the straw and shake my head. "That kind of thing is normal in this industry."
"If you're talking about the underwear thing, I call bullshit. Your producer better be pressing charges against that clown. He shouldn't be allowed to ever work on a set again. And what's this about a woman being in your apartment the night of your premiere party? Is that considered ‘normal' too?"
Attacking my ice a little harder, my face warms with embarrassment. I didn't know Charlie and Evelyn told him about my visitor that night. I'd rather die than tell Asher the truth.
His fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping my nervous hand. "If this is the career you truly want, I'll back you up a hundred percent. But you need to set some boundaries. Think hard about what you're willing to do, Ang. I'm not going to standby and watch you sell yourself to Hollywood just so everyone knows your name."
"You think I'm selling myself?" I ask, jerking free of his hold. "I made a well-thought-out decision to be a part of this show because it was creating a buzz for potential awards long before production even started. The book it's based on sold over a hundred million copies. Consumers are starving for a new kind of story that's edgy, and a little bit cheeky. They're tired of the same old billionaire-meets-timid-heroine bullshit. My character is bold, and doesn't take shit from anyone. I saw it as a chance to finally be taken seriously for something other than my body. You're making it sound like I'm a hooker." I stop to flick away a few fallen tears. "Being a high-fashion model comes with a shelf-life. I was starting to reach mine. Were you hoping I'd admit defeat, and move back home to become a fucking bartender, earning minimum wage like you?"
Stomach plunging, I hold my breath as Asher's hands scrub over his face. God, that was way too low of a blow. I took the argument one step too far.
Peering back at me through his hands, he heaves out a great sigh. "Fuck, Ang, that's not at all what I was trying to say. I have mad respect for what you're doing, and I'm proud of you for landing this role. I just don't want you to lose yourself along the way."
Our waitress returns to take our order, her weary expression revealing that she heard too much. I shoot Asher an annoyed glare before ordering my usual.
I should've known this wouldn't work out.
Asher makes a quick sweep of my apartment before wishing me goodnight. I hate the way our conversation ended at the restaurant. Once the argument was over, I was curt while he was polite as ever. On the short walk home, it was like neither of us had the energy to continue where we left off. There's so much more that needs to be said, but I'm exhausted.
After a long shower, I throw on a cami and shorts set before crawling into bed. The thousand dollar Egyptian cotton sheets I bought, hoping to erase all signs of my ex, do nothing to sooth me. I can't seem to find a position that's comfortable.
The last week was filled with more ups and downs than the world's mostly gnarly rollercoaster. Without a doubt, I've enjoyed seeing Asher again, even if he's stubborn and too set in his Midwestern values. The thought of him leaving creates a hot ball of dread inside my chest. I have to do something before it's too late.
I slip outside onto my long balcony, resting my arms on the edge of the glass wall as I admire the bright moonlight spilling over the dark water. The chance to live near the ocean was what sealed the deal when I was first offered a gig by a Miami modeling agency. The planes of southern Minnesota always bored me to no end. Even spending time on one of the ten thousand lakes wasn't ever fulfilling enough. Back home, everything was too safe, and too familiar. I craved something more. Something that would light a fire in my chest, and make me feel more alive.
In Miami, I discovered all of that, and so much more. I immediately adored the chaos of the city. I fell madly in love with the lull of crashing waves, the scent of salt clinging to my hair, the colorful style of locals, the eclectic mix of cultures and cuisines, the art aspect of Wynwood, and the ability to grab a drink right by the water.
Sadly enough, the beach was always my favorite part, and I stopped going soon after my first year of settling in. So much has changed since I moved down here as a naive teenager with the world at my disposal. It wasn't long ago that I was planning to marry John, and have his children. Yet here I am, creeping up on thirty, and painfully alone.
"I figured you'd be passed out by now," a low voice rumbles from my right.
From where I stand, I'm only able to see Asher's folded hands dangling off the glass wall on his balcony. I'm instantly at peace knowing he's near.
Letting my shoulders fall, I let out a slow breath, and turn my eyes back to the water. "I'm too busy drowning in regret for what I said to you earlier."
"About the bartending thing?" He chuckles in a deep sound that warms my belly. "You weren't wrong. I have yet to accomplish anything in my life that I can claim to be proud of. I've spent way too many years playing it safe. I just kind of fell into a comfortable routine, you know?"
Humming, I say, "Sounds to me like you're selling yourself short. You're living a simple life the way everyone back home does. You have your own house. Most of the friends I've made down here either still live with their parents, or rent a shoe-box sized apartment."
He chuckles again, this time a lot louder. "They wouldn't be so impressed if they actually saw my house … still needs a ton of work. It's nothing compared to this place, that's for damn sure. You have plenty to be proud of though. It's noble that you came down here on your own, and worked your way up to this." I see movement from the corner of my eye, and turn to find him leaning over the concrete partition between our units, staring me down with an intense look. "Trust me when I say I was not trying to compare you to a hooker."
My heart pounds so hard under his dark gaze that I can hardly breathe. "I believe you," I blurt. And I do. No matter what he says, I was a bitch, and I owe him an apology. Even when we were a couple of high schoolers, he was always kind and thoughtful, incapable of cruelty-at least toward me. "Do you want to come over for a drink?"
His jaw twitches as his playful expression becomes stone sober. "As long as you're awake, I'm on the clock."
"Well then, I'm officially taking you off duty. I could use the company. And I won't change my mind, so you better get your ass over here."
"Sure you're not too tired?" He seems to be fighting against a little smile as he waits for my answer.
My lips part, intending to say "no," but he shifts and I'm given a view of his gorgeous body in nothing more than a pair of gym shorts. Bright, intricate tattoos cover his defined pecs, one continuing down a bulging bicep. I feel a twinge of jealousy when I notice a skull with a beautiful woman's hair and eyes drawn in great detail. I want to inspect them closer, but I also don't want to make him uncomfortable, or let on just how interested I've become in his sexy body. His abdomen is a wall of solid muscle, leading into one of those V's guys like him possess that disappears beneath the low-slung shorts.
And he's hard. Beautifully, undeniably hard.
Mouth bone-dry, I touch my throat with my fingertips.
When our eyes meet again, his lips twist with a slow grin. It reminds me of the cocky way he reacted when I found him naked in my sister's house.
When I last caught him getting hard for me. He was so beautiful. So … thick.