Page 153 of The Influencer

“I think I’d rather go get a drink.”

My stomach flips uncomfortably. “You want a drink?”

“Yeah,” he says in his low, growly voice.

“With alcohol?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Meet me and see for yourself.”

At least he’s asking me to join. I tamp down my nerves and put on a respectable Henley, cargo pants, and combat boots. An Uber drops me off at the address Asher sent. He’s easy to spot standing at the bar all tall and dark and brooding and beautiful.

I get butterflies as I catch his eye. Then I see he’s already got a drink in his hand, and I’m back to worried. It is very possible that I’m delusional and nothing about what I just did with Jackson Pierce was remotely okay.

I nod Asher’s way and feign confidence as I walk up to him. He pulls out a stool for me, and we both sit. The bartender asks for my order, and I ask what Asher’s drinking. “Whiskey neat.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Dirty martini please.”

“Grey Goose okay?”

I nod and smile before turning back to Asher. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Everything went as planned,” I blurt. It’s important to get it out there. If there’s anything I don’t want to do it’s avoid the facts.

“How’d it go?”

“Good,” I say, nodding, trying to stay upbeat about it.

“Good.” He lets out a sigh and his shoulders drop a few inches. He’d been bracing himself, but for what? I’m actually afraid to ask.

“You sure?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The bartender serves my drink, and Asher clinks it with his glass. “This is good,” he says, then grins. “Just like old times.”

I roll my eyes, only marginally relaxing.

“Still love me?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. I think I’m spoiling him with the words he has yet to say back. It’s hard to believe he’s not feeling it, but he’s been through a lot, so I continue to cut him some slack.

He winks at me. “I still want to fuck you, so we’re okay.”

I blush, but luckily the lights in here are low.

So, I wasn’t delusional. Asher really is a magical unicorn, and I am still capable of doing my job. I only have one question left. “Why the drink?”

“I scheduled a tattoo for December. You’ll be in Kentucky, I think. Felt like having a whiskey.”

“Ash…” I reach for his hand, and he takes hold.

“I’m okay,” he says.

---