Page 6 of Chasing Sophia

“You were at The Queen’s, weren’t you?”

“You were there too, or did you forget?” He gives me that mesmerizing twitch of his lips, which is equally frustrating and hypnotic.

“I’m sure one of your friends didn’t lie to the hotel manager and make the booking in their father’s name on your behalf.” I grit my teeth. Why does he get on my nerves so easily?

“No, nothing so dramatic. One of my friends invited me to his party. Does your hatred toward rich men also extend to their not rich friends?”

“I don’t hate anyone. Except for maybe one person…” I give him a wry smile. “Now, if you’re done, I need to leave. I have a bus to catch.”

I take a step toward the bus stop, but before I can go any farther, the scarf tightens around my neck.

“Let me go.” My growl is fiercer than that of a grizzly bear saving her cubs. I turn around to find him standing with both his hands up in the air and the end of my scarf tucked inside his wristwatch.

How the hell did it end up there?

“Is this the last one, Sophia?” The sharpness of his gaze seems to see past the thick, icy wall of my bravado. I stand tongue-tied, my gaze still locked on the end of my scarf dangling through his watch, when he asks again, “Is this the last bus?”

He looks past my shoulder and I follow his gaze, where the red bus, decorated inside with Christmas lights, is leaving.

“The next one will be here in thirty minutes,” I whisper.

He nods and without tugging the fabric that now holds us together, he takes a small step forward, erasing the distance between us. “I’m asking for thirty minutes of your time. Let me prove to you that I’m not the guy you think I am.”

“Why?” The falling snowflakes get thicker, and I can see my warm breath in the air.

“Because I like you.”

“Are you always this forward?” My teeth are chattering again.

“No.” He doesn’t explain more but lightly presses his palm to the small of my back. I feel the warmth of his touch through the layers of my clothes as he guides me toward the bus stop shelter.

By the time we take our seats, the grassy sidewalk is covered with a thin layer of snow.

“I missed this weather. This town,” he says softly, as if he hadn’t planned to voice his thoughts out loud, and then adds, “I can’t stop wondering why in the hell a pretty girl like you would need a fake date.”

“I think you need better hobbies or a more engaging job.”

The laughter that shoots out of his mouth has my frosty toes curling in my shoes. “You are…”

I hold my breath, excited and nervous to know how he’ll end this sentence.

“Fascinating.”

My heart soars in delight.

“Tell me,” he prompts again.

“I’m not in the habit of sharing my personal life with strangers.”

Something resembling surprise and amusement flares bright in his whiskey eyes. He places his hand forward. “Hi, Sophia. I am Ash… Asher.”

I can’t hold back my snort. “Hi, Ash… Asher. Does this make you less of a stranger?”

“It makes me more of a friend.”

“What are you doing here, Asher?” I ask before he can put me more under the spell of his enchanting smile.

“Is it so hard to believe I want to be your friend?” He slightly drops his head to the side.

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