Page 98 of The Last Time

I take a look at it and see the swelling already starting on her knuckles. Damn, this girl can throw a punch.

“It doesn’t look broken,” I say as I inspect. “Josh, can you go get some ice from the bartender?”

“Absolutely,” he says as he turns and runs inside.

“I can’t believe you did that,” I tell her as I look up at her beautiful face.

She smiles down at me. “That asshole deserved it.”

I smile back. “I can’t argue with that.”

“Here you go,” Josh says as he hands me a bag of ice.

“Thanks.” I take the bag from him. “This is gonna hurt,” I tell Charlotte as I hold the bag just above her knuckles.

She nods her head for me to continue. I lay it on as gentle as I possibly can, but that doesn’t stop her whimpering from the pain.

“Can I drive you home?” I ask her, feeling desperate to be alone with her.

“Yes,” she whispers.

I lift her up and start to walk away.

“Hey,” Layla calls from behind. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

I shake my head. “I know. We’ll talk tomorrow,” I reassure her.

Chapter Thirty

Charlotte

Heliftsmeintohis truck, and I enjoy the feeling of his hands on me again. I know it doesn’t mean anything, he’s just taking me home, but there’s a part of me that desperately wants this to be more.

When he closes the door, I sit in the dark on my own while he walks around the car. The ice pack rests on my hand, giving some minor relief to the pain. I’ve never punched someone before, but it’s good to know if I’m angry enough, I could take a man down. Well, I wouldn’t say I took him down. He stumbled, but I made him bleed. That has to count for something.

I honestly don’t know what happened. I was filled with such outrage over what he did that my body seemed to act before my brain could catch up. I feel like I blacked out there for a moment.

But in truth, I’m glad I hit that motherfucker.

Sleeping with his friend’s wife while they just had a baby together. What a dick!

I watch as Asher slides into the driver’s seat and starts up the car. We sit in silence for a minute, neither of us speaking the first word.

He eventually takes a deep breath and looks over at me. I look into his green eyes which hold so much pain and yet so much adoration right now.

It makes my heart beat erratically.

“How’s your hand doing?” he asks.

I can’t believe he is worried about my hand. It should be him we are talking about. It shows that beyond the pain and anger that he has held onto, there is truly an amazing man beneath.

“My hand doesn’t matter. How are you doing right now?”

He just shrugs his shoulders like what happened doesn’t matter. He’s doing it again. He’s trying to close back up and keep it all inside. I don’t know why I thought it would be any different. He’s still the same guy he was a week ago.

I huff out a breath of frustration. “Can you just take me home, please?”

But he doesn’t move. I feel him study me for a moment while I refuse to meet his eyes. It’s too painful.

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