Page 152 of The Influencer

“Ironic maybe?”

“No,” I complain. “It’s not ironic either.”

“What is it then, college boy?”

I manage a half laugh, but it’s nearly silent. “Fucked. Up.”

“You’re impossible,” he whispers.

“I think I’m starting to get that. I’m sorry if I’m stressing you out.”

“You do stress me out, but it’s the good kind of stress. Like caffeine or glitter.”

I laugh more convincingly this time, content in this microscopic bubble between our faces, him right where I want him, even if my legs are starting to fall asleep. Like I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do without him, which I guess is why I feel like I need to practice. Build up the muscle required to miss him and one day get over him. Ugh, fuck, my chest hurts.

“I think I’m gonna go for a walk. Clear my head. Let you get ready for your company.”

“You’re coming back?”

“Maybe I don’t want to meet this one. Is that okay?”

“Asher, you’re scaring me.”

“No… It’s really fine. I’m genuinely okay with whatever you want to do. I promise. Just let me know what happens and how it goes.”

He licks his lips and sighs against my mouth. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He kisses my nose, and I let go of him so he can slide off my lap. I stand and turn the phoenix charm on his necklace so it’s facing the right way, then tap the barely noticeable dimple on his chin. “I’ll text when I’m on my way back.”

43

jade

I’m doing this for Asher. Jackson Pierce’s thick cock is sliding in and out of my ass, and I’m on the brink of making myself come with my hand, and this is my mantra: I’m doing this for Asher.

The sex is top-notch in terms of ripping the fucking Band-Aid off, and it’s surprisingly simple to shut my brain off for the majority of the time. Being with Jackson, who is a complete stranger to me, is in no way comparable to being with Asher on any level. It really does feel sort of like returning to work after a leave of absence. Almost like I never left in the first place. It’s practically monotonous. I’m simply performing a skill.

And having sex for work comes nowhere close to touching my heart the way making love to Asher does.

In the hour Jackson and I spend together, I learn a lot about myself. For one—sex and emotion have never even shared a room in my brain. They live in two totally different neighborhoods. I visit one of them all the time, and the other I avoid at all costs because it’s dangerous over there. Asher has managed to build a home wide enough to bridge the gap, but he’s at the center of it—the only person I’ve ever been with who’s managed to help me connect the two. And at first, I hated it. Like seeing a beaded clutch with a houndstooth trench coat. That doesn’t go with that.

But it’s growing on me now—the way a new fashion often does. Imagine life without skinny jeans a moment—you can’t, can you? I’m not saying Asher is skinny jeans, though. What I’m saying is he’s different, and I love him for that among a million other things. He’s the best of both worlds. He’s not making me choose where I want to live—he’s giving me all the options, and he’s also, in a way, telling me I never have to pick.

So, I’m like—great—I can do this. I can visit Sexville whenever I want to, continue to avoid Nasty Emotion Town, and have Asher all to myself. It’s not like I think fucking other men will bring him and me closer, or finally drag the words I so desperately want to hear out of him, but at the very least, maybe, possibly, he’ll get a teeny bit possessive. God forbid.

I can see how, in theory, opening a relationship can make things more interesting, but I’m still in the heart-eyes phase where Asher can literally do no wrong. Is the fact that he’s giving me free will a red flag? Maybe, but it sure as fuck looks green to me.

While Jackson is getting dressed, I check my phone, still naked and sweaty from the “collaboration.” I’ve got a lot of dizzying endorphins swimming through my head, so Asher’s lack of a text sort of slides right off me. It’s better anyway. Now I can get rid of Jackson, shower, and come down off the high. But at least this time, I won’t have to crash and burn right after. I won’t have to momentarily face the emptiness of my meaningless existence and remind myself I’m okay with it.

I mention that, because tonight is the first time I ever realized how that was what my life used to be like after I hooked up with anyone, for content or just a break from the boredom. I fucking love sex. It’s my favorite physical activity. I love sex even more than I love dancing, and I really, really am passionate about dancing. But I love Asher most.

An hour later, he still hasn’t texted, so I call, and he picks up on the first ring. “Where’d you walk to?” I ask. “Vegas?”

“I’m at the shop.”

“Oh. Wanna come home?”

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