Page 67 of Chasing Sparks

At least I’m not home sulking. No way was I letting that happen—not tonight—especially knowing Ash is probably out with one of his many lady friends.

I am such an idiot.

I’ve never been here before—deep in unrequited emotion—and let me tell you, it’s not a locale I plan to visit again.

Sure, my bruised ego wants to create a voodoo doll in Ash’s likeness and add a few more holes to his pierced cock. But my brain, ever the voice of reason, reminds me that the man’s behavior isn’t suspect.

It’s just who he is.

Not based on the whispers of the townsfolk, either. No, this came straight from the horse’s mouth.

Asher Hammond doesn’t believe in love or relationships.

Period. End of story.

He hasn’t mentioned his stance since our first night together, but Ash likely figured it didn’t bear repeating.

As a master’s-prepared, highly intelligent woman, I surely understand his words apply to me, too.

Now, if I can only convince my heart to detach from the northeast’s most notorious playboy, I’ll be all set—especially once the warm buzz of alcohol takes hold and soothes my wounded soul.

Mina offered to tag along with me to the local watering hole, but I declined, particularly since she spent most of the afternoon outlining all of Ash’s shortcomings.

I love the woman. I do. And I know she feels terrible about the situation, even though none of this is her doing. Don’t tell that to her temper, though—Ash better check his coffee for the next couple of weeks.

She wanted him to be for real, for us to be real.

And I suppose, as reality goes, we were—if only on one side of the equation. But on his side? The numbers never even added up.

A steady stream of locals drifts into the bar, no doubt many of them running from the same emotions I’m trying to avoid. I’m not sure who decided grouping us together into a sodden, soused mess was a good idea, but here we are.

Now all I need is for a bar brawl to break out, and my week will be complete.

I wonder where Ash is now.

With a quick shake of my head, I try to derail that train of thought. I don’t want to know, though my morbid curiosity can’t help but wonder how many other women coexisted alongside me during this last month.

When did the man fit them in? He must run on twenty-eight-hour days or something.

At least we were always careful. Protection was a must, even if my stupid, emotional side occasionally dreamed of throwing caution to the wind.

In my mind, we were making love. Hot, sweaty, sticky love, sure—but love, nonetheless.

For Ash, I was a good fuck. A reliable lay.

Maybe that’s why he never took me to his farm.

Hell, I always assumed it was because of our ridiculously packed schedules, made even tighter by the holiday rush.

Truth be told, I’m not one for bars and late-night parties, so it never occurred to me I was being kept on the down low.

So much for not thinking about it.

“This seat taken?”

I bite back a groan.

I am so not in the mood right now.

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