Page 12 of The Influencer

“You kicking me out?” Asher asks.

“No!” I giggle semi-hysterically, attempting to let my tense body go loose and relaxed. “Stay as long as you like.”

“And do what?”

“Oh. Well… maybe I am kicking you out.”

He stares down at me, and I get all enthralled with his dark freckles. There are just enough to give his insanely handsome face character and depth without overwhelming his good looks. We could not look less alike if we tried. Our differences remind me a little of Jax and Gideon, if Gideon were a sex worker and Jax were nice.

Asher also has this one mole at a spot on his neck, right at my eye level that had to have put there by God to say, “Kiss Here.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Gotcha. Anyway, feel free to stop by the shop if you have any trouble getting the ring back in. And I hope you start feeling better.”

My smile up at him is weak. “Thanks.” At least I showered this morning, so I don’t stink. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking, though, seeing me like this. I haven’t so much as snapped a selfie in two days. Well, that’s not entirely true. I did one when I got out of the shower this morning. My pouty sick post, fishing for online sympathy. Yes, I admit I do that. I’ve been making a public spectacle of myself long enough now to have had some time to reflect on my motivations. I need attention. A continuous IV of it, if possible. I have issues.

But this kind of attention I don’t like. Not this Asher brand. He’s like sooo not my type, straight or not. I like clean-cut, athletic boys. And I don’t like my men broody either. Asher is polite, but he’s all brood. And more than a little repressed. He’s got a lot of negative emotional energy, and it’s in total conflict with my vibe. Like I can’t be around men like this. It makes me all fluttery and nervous and even more extra, thanks, Gideon.

Not that I don’t like Asher. He’s fine. Really. But he’s also pointless. I have plenty of way easier friends.

“Thanks for stopping by,” I add.

“Yeah.” He narrows his eyes on mine. “Sure.”

“Am I being rude?”

“You don’t have to like me,” he says before sidestepping me and walking to the door. “Don’t worry, you’re not alone.”

“Ash—”

The door is already shut, and he’s gone.

Well, now I really feel like shit. And I’m really, extra glad he’s gone. I can breathe again. I mean. Sort of. Anyway, I feel well enough to finish clearing the living room floor, but the kitchen can wait for my mom. I plan on trying to sleep through her visit anyway. We talk for a few minutes about once a week, but we have a lot of bad history, and being around her tends to remind me of the worst time in my life. However, when I’m sick, she’s still always the first person I call.

It gives her a chance to make up for my shitty childhood, and it gives me a chance to be spoiled in person. Toxic win-win.

Letting myself wallow in my upper respiratory infection, I snuggle up on the couch with my phone and pull up a season of Dance Moms on TV. I scroll through my latest photo shoot for an online brand I’d never heard of before they offered me ten grand to pose in their clothes. While going over the proofs, I pick apart everything about my appearance. Five hundred and twelve shots, and there are only four I like. One of them is only because my ass looks good in it, which hopefully will detract from the moronic look on my face.

Grindr pings an alert, and I open it to find a message from a guy I hooked up with three months ago. Apparently, he’s in the neighborhood. I let him know I’m sick, but in order to keep him on my roster, I offer to jerk off on FaceTime with him.

He’s down.

“Your voice is sexy when you’re sick,” he says from behind the wheel of his car in some parking lot.

“Your dick is hot,” I respond, tugging my erection to the sight of his heaving abs.

“It’s remembering what it’s like inside your pretty little hole, J.”

We dirty talk each other through quick, messy orgasms and agree to hook up again soon. He was a decent fuck with a great body, and we’d look good together in a collaboration. Maybe I can talk him into it. I can be very persuasive when it comes to sex and money.

My eyes drift back to the TV screen, and soon enough, I’m drifting off. When I wake, it’s dark, but Dance Moms is still on. I check my phone out of habit. Since I’d done a pretty thorough review of what was new earlier, and for the last few days I’ve been laid up in my sick bed, it’s easy to spot the newest things. Like a DM from @ashhaash, which I open immediately.

It says: Interesting.

I respond right away, though it was sent about an hour ago.

Jade

What’s that supposed to mean?

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