Page 43 of The Consequence of Loving Me

“You consider us friends, right?” Aspen asks as he barrels into my room, two days after I dropped my paintings off at Clementine’s.

I look up from my laptop, my fingers pausing on the keyboard while I take a look at the man in my doorway. “Excuse me, what?”

Aspen rolls his eyes, his hand lifting to rub at the buzzed hair on his head. “We’re friends, right?”

My lips purse as I think over his words. If anyone asked me when I first moved in here if Aspen and I could ever be friends, I would have laughed in their face. He’s exactly the kind of guy I would purposely ignore. He comes off as a complete douchebag, but I knew from the beginning that underneath all the playboy antics, he had a golden retriever heart. Loyal to a fault. The need to be loved.

All the other mushy gushy stuff, I still want no part in. But the guy has weaseled his way into my heart, little by little. I’m stunned to realize I actually might consider him a friend.

As I’m thinking it through, he walks into my room and plops down on the foot of my bed. He cradles his head in his hands, releasing a long breath. “I mean I know you have this whole don’t fuck with me attitude about you, V. But I was kind of thinking that you and I might be friends, and I need a friend right now—like right fucking now.” There’s strain in his voice as he talks to the floor, staring at his perfectly clean loafers.

Aspen peeks out at me from beneath his fingers, and in his eyes, I see something I’m not expecting.

Fear.

I could recognize that look in anybody’s eyes. Because it’s a look I’ve found on myself in the mirror for many years now.

I know what I’m afraid of.

But what is Aspen afraid of?

Even though my feelings are all over the place—like the splatters of my paint—I decide to let Aspen splatter the canvas a little more with whatever he’s dealing with.

As soon as I place my laptop on my nightstand, Aspen turns around to look at me.

“I guess we are friends,” I say.

He gives me a haphazard smile, picking a piece of lint off his chino pants. “Okay, then as my friend, I really need your advice on something.”

“Why can’t you talk to Maverick about it?” I ask him.

His eyes widen for a split second. The muscles underneath his T-shirt tense at my words. Aspen sucks in through his teeth and says, “This isn’t exactly a conversation I can have with Maverick.” His eyes find mine and then it all clicks together.

Oh.

I nod as I sit up in bed, my shoulders resting against my tufted headboard. I try to pull the comforter up to my shoulders, but it’s stuck underneath his body. “Take off your shoes.”

“Veronica, I need you to not pay attention to my shoes. I need you to listen to me before I lose my shit. I—”

“Fucking listen for once in your life, Aspen. Take off your shoes and get your ass off my comforter so I can pull it up. Then come sit here.” I flip the comforter over in the empty spot next to me, inviting him in.

I’m willingly letting Aspen in my bed. Who would’ve guessed?

But by the look in his eyes, I know this is something serious. Something to do with a girl. And for some reason, I want to be there for him.

I wait as Aspen slides those hideous loafers off and crawls into my bed. His head bumps against my headboard as he gets comfortable, his body stretching out across the side he’s on.

For a minute, he and I just sit there. Both of us underneath my white comforter, staring at the mirror across from us.

We aren’t touching at all, but I can feel his presence next to me. It’s oddly comforting. To know I have a man in my bed and there aren’t any expectations—just friends. I want to be a good friend to him, now that I’ve realized his heart is taken. I don’t think he’s realized it, but it’s pretty obvious.

Now the only question is: What she will do with it?

“So, who’s the girl?” I ask, turning my head to look at him.

His head whips to the side, facing me. “I can’t tell you.”

I nod, not looking away from him. I’m fairly confident I know who’s putting his heart through the wringer right now, but I won’t butt into his business. If he wants to tell me who it is, he will.

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