Page 41 of Chasing Sparks

In more ways than one.

Since we won’t drink more than one bottle, I can only assume the other one is for his dessert date later this evening. Wonder if his favorite porn star is still in town?

Time to pump up the volume on our friendship angle. “Wow. These are nice bottles. Did you pick these or did the hot little number in the liquor store help you?”

Ash chuckles, but a hint of flush crawls up his cheeks. “What hot little number?”

“Asher Hammond, we both know she’s hot. No need to pretend you haven’t noticed.”

Why am I bringing up other women in front of him? Probably my ego’s way of putting up a shield. The classic preemptive strike—let Ash know I’m well aware of his reputation, so he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything different.

Besides, friends don’t stand on ceremony. We can be upfront, brutally honest. That’s what friends do, right?

After all, Asher was brutally honest with me yesterday when he told me of his plans for the evening.

I hate playing this game. I’m no good at being friends with a man I have a mad crush on. You’d think in thirty-nine years I would have figured it out, but no, I’m still as clueless as ever.

“The cashier was about seventy-five … and a guy.” Ash pops the cork, passing the bottle under his nose. “And I chose these wines.”

Interesting. “Didn’t peg you for a wine connoisseur.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Well, I’m about to cross one item off my list. Let’s see if you like my cooking.”

I’m a damn good cook, but that wasn’t always the case. For years, I subsisted on granola bars and protein shakes, but after learning how terrible most of those aforementioned foods were for my body, I decided to go organic. Turns out, I have quite the knack in the kitchen.

Who knew?

“It sure smells amazing in here,” Ash comments, settling into a kitchen chair. “Anything I can do to help?”

I push a stubborn stray from my face and shake my head. “It’s all done. The only thing that isn’t ready is me, but you’re going to have to deal with my less than stellar appearance. Give me five minutes to clean up?”

Ash nods, his gaze traveling the length of my form. “Need some help?”

If he’d made that offer yesterday, I would have jumped at the opportunity. But somehow, knowing the identity and notoriety of the woman he bedded last night has tarnished the glow.

That and I know I can’t swing around a shower rod like Raven did in one of her videos. I stand under the spray like a normal person, which is quite boring in retrospect.

Friend zone, Ori. Keep it in the friend zone.

“Sure. How about you light the candles and find us some music? I have a ton of vinyl.” I nod toward the record case, leaning against the far wall.

“Any artist in particular?”

“Surprise me.”

Ten minutes later, I emerge from my bedroom, looking only slightly better than before. At least I managed to wash off the lingering scent of flour and onions from my four-hour cooking spree. I decide to forgo any real makeup in lieu of comfort—leggings, an oversized blouse, and a bun that now sits centered on my head.

I pad into the kitchen and grab the glass of wine Ash left on the counter, smiling when I hear the familiar strains of Frank Sinatra playing over the speakers. “You have good taste. Great wine, great music?—”

“Great company,” Ash interjects, stepping in front of me and plucking the wine glass from my hand. His palms glide up mysides, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake. Framing my face with his hands, he leans in, his mouth brushing mine. “You smell good enough to eat,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “Too bad we’ll have to wait until dessert.”

I push my glasses up my nose, trying desperately to tamp down the feelings flooding my core. “You brought dessert, too?”

Ash leans against the counter, his eyes devouring every inch of me. “Youaredessert, Ori and I plan on having a few helpings tonight.”

God damn, but he’s so good at that. Each line, carefully crafted to shoot straight to a woman’s pussy, all while completely short-circuiting her ability to think of anything beyond him.

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