Page 155 of The Influencer

“Are you offering to sublet?” he asks, and even though I can tell he’s being sarcastic, or even trying to be cute, I’m not having it.

“No. I’m saying you’re welcome to live here.”

His brow lifts. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned anything like that.”

“I know.”

“So, what would that mean?” he asks.

“Just what it sounds like. You don’t have to move out just because I’ll be out of town awhile.”

He licks his lips, and I get the impression he’s choosing his words carefully. The knots in my stomach rarely lie when it comes to him. He’s always been as easy to read as a traffic sign.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

I try to swallow, but I can’t. My throat is closing. “What are you saying?”

Because just fucking say it.

“If you’re not here, I don’t see the point in staying.”

“You don’t like the place?” I ask.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what do you mean—you don’t see the point?”

“I’m here because of you,” he says in a low voice, his words slow and measured.

Except he’s not saying anything, and I feel my hellcat temper rising. My hand twitches with the urge to just smack him. On the leg, of course—I’m not that vicious. I glare at him instead of letting words spew forth. I have a lot of them, and they’re kind of hysterical.

The thing is—he’s mine. Right? I found him. I have dibs. Asher is mine. But he doesn’t belong to me, and I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to, or he just won’t let himself. Or even if it’s because of me and my lifestyle, or just my life in general. “Is this fun for you?” I ask.

His eyes tighten in the corners, and his next words are wary. “Is what fun for me?”

“Hanging out with me. Living here. What we do together. Our ‘relationship,’” I say, throwing up some brief air quotes.

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I think I’ve told you that. More than once.”

“But how? The best thing that’s ever happened to you because you were finally able to leave Olivia? Or is it the best thing that’s ever happened to you because I’m so fucking great you don’t know how you ever lived without me?”

“Both,” he says simply.

I haven’t breathed in several seconds, so I force in some air.

“Are we fighting?” he asks.

I feel like fighting. I feel like shaking him and getting in his face and demanding answers to all the questions I have, namely—am I crazy for falling for you? Did I misread everything? Am I really just a goddamned fling? “No,” I say, however. Quickly.

But I see it then—the lack of emotion in his eyes. The dead pools of amber as his gaze goes all flat and guarded. I’ve seen it before, especially when we first met. He really is broken, and I haven’t fixed a fucking thing.

“Whatever happened with Olivia and your old apartment?” I ask. “You never told me.”

“She moved out, and when the lease was up last month, I let it go.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“I didn’t want it anymore.”

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