But seeing Beck again, gazing at me with those dark, hooded eyes, the same ones I fell into the first time I saw him across a coffee counter, I know my love for him was real and true and it’s never left. In all these years, it’s never faded.
Even from this distance, I still see the love for me swimming in his own eyes.
Guilt eats my insides raw until they bleed. I love Asher with my whole self and I shouldn’t be feeling this way about another man, especially one who duped me.
We stare, neither of us shifting toward the other. I can’t deal. Not now. Maybe not ever. When the crowd starts moving, that’s my cue. I break away and cross with them, hoping like hell he doesn’t follow.
Then I make it to my car, point it toward Detroit, and drive. As much as I need Asher, the only thing that will happen if I see him is tears (mine), questions (his), and hurt feelings (both) because I can’t talk to him about this yet. I’m not ready. I need time to process something that’s come directly out of a fucking soap opera and figure out what the hell I’m going to do with the pile of crap that’s now thickly coating the bottoms of my shoes.
Chapter 32
Asher
“Hey, baby. How was your day?”
“Long,” she sighs heavily.
“I wish you would have let me come with you. I could be rubbing your feet about now.” Or taking away every trouble and every worry and every doubt with my mouth and fingers and cock.
“That sounds heavenly, actually.”
Dammit, I should have insisted I go with her. I spent an endless day in a barrage of meetings and I can’t tell you a damn thing that was said. My attention was entirely distracted on the leggy, beautiful woman that I’m trying desperately to figure out how to hold onto.
Sandra, my VP of acquisitions and divestitures, was pretty fed up with me by the end of our two-hour planning session. I also agreed to a new marketing campaign that’s to start next week, signing off on slogans I couldn’t repeat if you held a gun to my head. Guess I’ll see what I did when the multimedia ads hit the market.
“What are you doing now?”
“In bed, nursing a glass of wine.”
“Are you naked?”
She laughs. I love her laugh. “No. I’m only naked when I sleep with you. Otherwise I’m usually in pajamas.”
“The sexy, see-through kind or the grandma kind?” That earns me another laugh which sends a zing directly to my dick. It’s now semi-hard at the thought of her wearing something black and see-through. God, I miss her.
“Is your mind always on sex?” she asks, her voice low and sultry.
“Surprisingly, no. Don’t get me wrong, I think about sex with you a lot. A. lot. But I enjoy holding you in my arms when we sleep or the feel of your head in my lap as we watch TV or cooking dinner for you just as much, Alyse.” I’m surprised at how much I mean those words.
“Asher,” she breathes.
“I love you, Alyse. So very much.”
She hesitates to respond and just those two seconds feel like an hour. “Why?”
It guts me that she keeps questioning how I feel, but it utterly shreds me that she believes herself undeserving of it. “Baby, the better question is why not? You’re an incredibly amazing woman. I wish you could see what I do when I look at you.”
“So do I,” she replies quietly.
“I’ve never loved anybody more. Calling what I feel for you love is an injustice, because it goes so much deeper than that. I have never felt this happy or alive or…whole. I finally know who I am when I’m with you, like I’m the best version of myself, if that makes sense.”
“It does,” she whispers.
As much as I detest her insecurity, I hate my own more. Dammit, I’ve been feeling this nagging uncertainty since Saturday night and it’s eating away at my insides more and more every minute to the point I think I may be getting an ulcer. I’ll probably hold the world record for the least amount of time taken to make my own gut bleed.
“Tell me you love me, Alyse.” Jesus, please tell me you love me.
“So much I can hardly breathe.” Her voice is soft and threaded with amazement, but I also don’t miss the underlying tone of sadness.
My entire body sags into the couch in relief. “Baby…you going to tell me what’s going on with you? And don’t tell me it’s nothing and that you’re fine. Because neither is true.”
“I just…I need some time.”
My heart stutters, hoping to hell that’s not code for “it’s not you, it’s me.” “Define time, baby.”
“Promise me you’ll be patient with me. Please, Asher.”