Page 26 of Pro Gamer's Aim

I stand and pace, suddenly buzzing with nervous energy. Does this mean Asher and I are in a relationship now? Like a real, adult relationship? Oh god, I have no idea how to navigate that. I feel like a teenager again, trying to decipher a crush's every word and action for hidden meanings. It's ridiculous.

No more games. I need to woman up, march over there, and have an actual conversation with Asher about what last night meant and what he expects going forward. Put all the cards on the table.

"Easy peasy," I mutter, but my stomach twists itself in knots at the mere thought. I've never been great at confrontation or emotional discussions. Especially with a guy who makes my brain short-circuit with a single smoldering look.

I stop pacing. Okay, deep breaths. I can do this. I want to do this, want something real with Asher. And that means opening up, being vulnerable, and yeah, risking the possibility of rejection. But the potential reward? It's worth it. He's worth it.

Mind made up, I throw on a cute sundress that shows off my curves and a dash of lip gloss. Nothing wrong with stacking the deck a bit in my favor, right? I give myself a once-over in the mirror, then nod. Time to go get my man.

I scoop up Milo and head downstairs, adrenaline pumping through my veins. A glance at the clock tells me that business hours have begun, and the glass repair company should be here at any time between now and the end of the day. Perfect timing for a casual, "we need to talk" ambush.

I crack open the front door, peeking over at Asher's duplex. His living room blinds are open.

Were they open last night?

Did we give the neighborhood a show?

I try to remember, but can't. They probably weren't. I think I would have realized if they were.

Right?

"Wish me luck," I whisper to Milo, setting him down. Then I square my shoulders, suck in a fortifying breath, and march into his side of the duplex before I can chicken out.

He's not in the living room.

Or the kitchen.

I head upstairs, peeking into a bedroom I didn't go in yesterday. It looks like an office, with a computer already set up. He's not there, either.

Bedroom?

I peek inside, and can hear water running in the adjoined bathroom. He's showering.

"Milo, stay here." I point at a corner of the room, and he slinks over, with a mournful look over his shoulder. "I'll be right back, I promise."

Steam billows out as I step into the bathroom, heart pounding. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, Asher's silhouette moves under the spray. Water sluices over his broad shoulders, down his muscled back.

God, he's beautiful.

I swallow hard, desire sparking low in my belly. Is this crazy? Ambushing the man in his own shower the morning after mind-blowing sex?

But I need to know where we stand. Need to tell him how I feel, even if it makes me vulnerable.

I strip off my sundress and underwear with shaking hands, leaving them pooled on the tile. Naked, I press a palm to the glass.

"Asher?" His name comes out breathy, barely audible over the rush of water.

He stills, then turns. "Sam?"

I slide the door open and step into the shower, pulse racing. "I hope this is okay, I just—"

Whatever else I planned to say dies on my tongue. Because oh my god, he's magnificent. Water droplets cling to the flat planes of his stomach, the V of his hips. Follow the trail of dark blonde hair down to his—

"This is more than okay," he rumbles, eyes roaming over my bare skin. Heated. Hungry. "C'mere."

Strong hands grip my waist, pulling me flush against him. I gasp at the contact, the delicious slide of wet skin on skin. His erection presses hot and hard into my belly.

Asher claims my mouth in a searing kiss, plundering deep. Demanding. I whimper and wind my arms around his neck, surrendering to the onslaught.

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