Page 90 of The First Spark

I bite back a smile at Roger’s aggravated tone, considering our dinner plans aren’t for another twenty minutes. “Do you miss me or something?”

“That’s beside the point. The hostess has been shooting me dirty looks for the last ten minutes. She likely thinks my dinner guest is a figment of my imagination.”

“Not a far reach. Isn’t James with you?”

“He couldn’t make it. Another bullshit late-night meeting. You know how those Wall Street types are.”

James accepted a high-level position a few months back, and although the money and prestige are nice, Roger is growing weary of his husband being MIA all the time.

That’s why he takes advantage of his now ample free time to visit me in Sparkwood. It gets his mind off his marriage woes and out of the city for a bit.

Plus, I get to spend time with my dear friend. It’s a win-win situation and trust me, I need a few of those.

“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there.”

“Starting … now.”

He clicks off the line and I toss my phone into my bag, grateful my buddy is in town again.

I need some fun and laughter, because the last week has been anything but enjoyable, and it’s all Asher Hammond’s fault.

“Fuck him,” I mutter, jabbing my key into the ignition. “Or rather, not.”

But when I turn the key, nothing happens.

After three more attempts, I realize it’s not my truck’s sadistic attempt at a joke.

“You have to be kidding me,” I mutter, resting my head against the steering wheel and trying without success to force my truck’s engine to turn over through sheer willpower.

Nope, not happening.

It’s dead as a doornail, and to make matters worse, it’s almost dark and Main Street stands practically deserted—with one exception.

Black Lotus is hopping tonight.

I guarantee at least one guy in there owns a set of jumper cables.

But that means I have to walk into Black Lotus and possibly see or speak to Asher Hammond, which is something I’ve avoided the last few days.

I’ll admit that it’s juvenile behavior, but my bruised ego doesn’t give a damn.

Look, I know I’m pretty and smart. I refuse to play coy and act like I have no clue men find me attractive.

But Ash’s friend Raven made me feel like a gangly teenager all over again—awkward limbs, no tits, and thickglasses—standing in stark contrast to her sculpted perfection.

Not that Mother Nature has much to do with her current silhouette. Oh no, she’s seen the inside of a plastic surgeon’s office more than once.

That petty thought would have been enough to maintain my equilibrium until she opened her mouth—again—and intimated I was a destination fuck for Ash.

Basically, he screwed me to reach his desired destination. And it worked—hook, line and sinker.

That is the trouble in playing with playboys. You believe you’re different only to learn you’re just like all the rest.

We all want to be the exception, but with Asher Hammond, that isn’t an option. You’re one of many—take it or leave it.

I mouth a silent prayer and turn the key one more time. Maybe the gods will smile on me.

Or … maybe not.

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