Page 34 of Poison's Promise

We walk in comfortable silence, the tension between us simmering just below the surface.

Every brush of his arm against mine sends a jolt of electricity through me, reigniting memories I’ve tried so hard to bury.

“Here we are,” Asher announces, stopping in front of a small dive bar.

The neon sign flickers above the door, casting an eerie glow.

“Classy,” I remark, raising an eyebrow.

“Just like you,” he shoots back, earning himself a playful punch on the arm.

“Jerk,” I mutter, but I’m already following him inside.

The bar is dimly lit, filled with the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses.

It’s the kind of place where secrets are whispered and deals are made in the shadows. Perfect for us.

“Two whiskey on the rocks,” Asher orders and once he gets our drinks, he guides me to a booth in the corner.

We slide in, our legs brushing under the table.

The contact sends a shiver up my spine, and I curse myself for reacting so easily to him.

“To old times,” he says, handing me a glass.

“Old times,” I echo, clinking my glass against his.

The whiskey burns as it goes down, but it’s a welcome distraction from the tumultuous emotions swirling inside me.

“So,” Asher begins, leaning back in his seat. “How about we shove aside all the bullshit? How have you really been doing? You haven’t really wanted to talk about yourself much.”

“Why do you care?” I retort, taking another sip. “You walked away, remember?”

I can’t help it, I’m still bitter about what went down between us.

“Yeah, well, I do care and if we’re giving this a real shot,” he says, his gaze intense. “Then I want to know.”

“Fine,” I say, setting my glass down. “I’ve been...busy. The club keeps me on my toes.”

“Sounds like you’re part of something you really care about,” he says, nodding. “I’m happy for you.”

“Don’t act like you care,” I snap, the anger bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t care when you left.”

“That’s not fair,” he counters, the fire in his eyes matching mine. “You know why I left. If I had known, you know I would have done things differently.”

“Do I?” I challenge, leaning forward. “Because it sure felt like you didn’t give a damn.”

“Polly...” he begins, but I cut him off.

“Poison. Call me Poison. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. When we’re in private you can call me Polly, but,” I correct him, my voice trembling with emotion. “I’m not that girl anymore, Ash. I’ve changed.”

“Maybe,” he murmurs, reaching across the table to take my hand. “But some things haven’t.”

“Like what?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Like this,” he says, lifting my hand to his lips. The touch is gentle, almost reverent, and it sends a wave of longing crashing over me. “Like us. Like our connection.”

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but before I can stop myself, I’m leaning across the table, capturing his lips with mine.

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