Page 83 of Fractured Fear

Going back downstairs was weird as hell. I already said my goodbyes even if no one else knew it. Seeing everyone after I was prepared to leave them all behind was too much. I may have cried a few times. Iris thought Asher did something and threatened to chop off his balls.

Zane and Rio went back to work with a promise to be back later with dinner. I don’t like that they know food is the way into my apartment, but love the familiarity that means they know me.

At the end of the day everyone leaves, except Asher. The normality leaves behind a bittersweet feeling festering in my chest. If I would have been able to get away earlier, my day would not have ended this way. I love being able to live it even if these experiences are numbered.

I’m startled when Asher appears next to me with my purse in hand. “Come on, Spencer. Let’s get you home.” He hands over my bag and places one of his hands on my lower back, guiding me out the door. The simple touch shouldn’t get me all hot and bothered, but now that I know what those hands feel like exploring my body, I can’t help clenching my thighs together.

I refuse to forget his earlier comment. Was our kiss really nothing to him? I have only kissed a few men in my life, so to say I’m inexperienced is an understatement. Maybe it really was awful for him. Embarrassment colors my cheeks on our short walk to my apartment.

If Asher notices my change in mood he doesn’t mention it, which is probably for the best. I’m not going to argue with him over it, I know when I’m not wanted. I may make a fool of myself and stumble over my words, but I still have some pride.

After checking all the rooms, Asher makes his way to the kitchen and starts to pull things from the fridge. Things I definitely did not buy.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you turned my fridge into a Mary Poppins bag and are magically making groceries appear.”

Asher lightly chuckles, shaking his head. I guess Kind Asher is back. “Rio picked some things up while we were in the studio and stocked up for you.”

I scrunch my nose in confusion. “Why? I don’t cook.”

“I noticed.”

I plop myself in a stool and wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t. What a shocker.

We transition into a comfortable silence as he moves around the kitchen with ease. Chopping veggies and pan searing chicken on the stove.

“What are you making?”

Instead of answering, Asher taps the screen on his phone and a mix of jazz and R&B streams from the speaker. He turns the volume up all the way, drowning out the verbal beatdown I’m giving him in my head. He sways across the tile, getting lost in a rhythm he has set. Not a skilled dancer, but that doesn’t make the movement of his hips any less enticing.

Finally choosing to bless me with his baritone voice he says, “Rio got stuck helping our neighbor and Zane is going to be late, so I’m making dinner. That way we don’t starve.”

I’m done trying to understand this man. First, it’s “I don’t do bullshit” then he makes me pee in front of him. Then after he stops me from running, he gives me a crazy intense kiss and says it was nothing. Now he’s dancing in my kitchen cooking me dinner.

I give up.

Choosing to ignore the mood swings of the giant, I pull out my tablet, put on my accounting hat, and crunch some numbers. Such is the life of a small business owner.

“Bon appètit,” Asher says, placing a bowl of stir fry in front of me.

“Is it edible?”

Okay, so maybe the brat attitude is going to take a while to go away.

Again, I get no verbal answer. His reply is to grab his own bowl and eat beside me. The intimacy of the situation is too much to handle.

Fine. If he can act like our kiss was no big deal, so can I. I’m a grown ass woman. I can kiss whoever the fuck I want.

I take a bite of the food in front of me and a small moan slips free. Of course, he can actually cook. The fucking cherry on top of the disaster sundae that is us.

I continue eating, acting like this isn’t the best home cooked meal I’ve had since Alma dropped off a container of her tamales last Christmas. Before I know it, I have devoured the whole bowl. When I stand with my bowl, Asher stands and takes my dish from my hands. Wordlessly, he takes his bowl and mine to the sink and washes them by hand, dries them, and puts them away.

I should not swoon at how he takes charge and cares for me in situations like this. I’m an independent woman, dammit. I donot need a man to complete me. But fucking hell, if he wanted to replay our kiss earlier, I would not oppose.

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