Page 12 of Age of Shade

Has anyone ever said something like that to me? Ever? I don’t have to think very hard to know that the answer is a definitivehellnope, but that doesn’t explain why him saying it makes it a little hard to breathe.

I bite my lip, scrambling for an even faintly cultured answer to that question. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t picky; I’ve lived on whatever’s around for my entire life. Until college, I had no idea fast-food burgers or frozen lasagna weren’t considered fine dining. Places with multiple forks and real tablecloths seemed like they existed only in the movies and I—

“I have no idea,” I admit when I can’t put off replying any longer. “I haven’t tried a whole lot. I’m not sure I even have a favorite food that isn’t cereal. My family didn’t have money while I was growing up, and now I’m putting myself through school—”

“You don’t have to explain.” Asher brushes off my embarrassment firmly. A mischievous grin pulls at the corners of his lips as he rises to his feet and, without another word, holds out a hand for me. Taking it is practically an involuntary response, and so is allowing him to help me to my feet and guide me through the lounge, never once slowing down to explain. Warmth spreads up my arm from the place our skin is touching, and I feel my breath catch when he looks back at me.

He looks so pleased with himself, grinning broadly and full of boyish enthusiasm.

“Where are we going?” I finally manage to ask, once we’ve gotten our coats and Asher has taken my hand again—not bothering with the pair of leather gloves the coat-check woman handed him—leading the way back through The Witt’s opulent lobby and out onto the cold street.

It’s January in New York, a miserable, freezing month where the entire city seems to be covered in sludge or dirty snow. I’ve never been more excited to be here, though. How many hours of the day do I spend just…existing? Even taking the time to grab a coffee with Ruby makes the naggy workaholic in the back of my head shift restlessly, and guilt sours what should be a good time. Tonight, though, there’s no guilt or nagging voice to be found, and I can’t stop smiling.

Asher pauses beneath The Witt’s brightly lit marquee, gazing down at me, and I watch the words he was about to speak fade away. I can finally make out the color of his eyes. They’re a bright, pale blue, and I feel my pulse stutters as they dart down to my lips and back up.

The muscles in my lower belly tighten. Is he going to kiss me? Right now?

I’m not opposed to that plan. Actually, I’m pretty freakin’ excited about it, and my heart flutters as his grasp on my hand tightens. We’re standing so close that the vapor from our breath curls together in the freezing air, and the heady, masculine scent of his cologne makes heat pool in the lowest part of my belly.

Holy hell, he smells so good. What is it about men’s cologne that makes your knees weak?

Asher is the first one to pull himself out of whatever trance we were temporarily locked in. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head slightly. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t stop looking at you.”

Oh. Wow. Okay, then.

My answering laugh sounds wispy as I shift my hand, twining our fingers together as we set off again. It should be weird,holding hands with a near stranger, but it isn’t. It feels good to let him lead, to take my brain out of my skull for a few precious moments and enjoy my life. Physically, the sensation of his bigger, rougher fingers woven through mine is strangely intimate and sensual. The warmth of his skin travels through my veins, warming me from the inside out.

Our destination turns out to be much closer than I expected. We’ve barely walked twenty feet past The Witt before Asher is tugging me through the door of an Italian deli. He lets go of my hand to snatch a paper menu from the counter. “Okay.” He leans close to me, showing me something on the paper.

“Okay?” I echo, breathless.

“I’ve been here a few times. So, an amateur would pick the meatball sub, and they wouldn’t be wrong. It’s an excellent sandwich.” Asher draws his finger across the menu to another line, and I should really be focusing on what he’s telling me, but I’m too distracted by the scent of hisfreakin’ cologne. Does he just spray himself down with testosterone every day and wait for the pheromones to draw in sensible, virgin college girls to turn them into sex-crazed demons?

Surely I’m not the only woman in this restaurant fighting off visions of ripping off that bow tie. How could anyonenotbe attracted to this man?

Lifting my eyes, I find him already looking at me and my stomach flip-flops at the return of that same adorable, crooked smile. “This one here has this sauce, it’s—just trust me. It’s fantastic.”

It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to remember that we’re talking about sandwiches.

I nod, just in time for the guy behind the counter to ask what we want. Asher orders, my arm pressed to his, and I can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through our winter coats. He’s so much bigger than me. Is it weird to find that hot? Probablynot, but itmightbe weird to wonder if he’s so bigeverywhereand—Wow. I’m completely out of control.

I’m so wrapped up in him that I don’t even consider where we’re going to eat, until Asher collects our food in a bag and pays the guy at the counter. “Come on,” He murmurs, placing a hand on the small of my back and guiding me back outside.

Again, we barely make it a few feet before I’m pulled into a taco place and into line behind a few other people. There are no menus here, just a big chalkboard listing off the place’s offerings above the cash register. I look to Asher questioningly, and he chuckles. “We’re going to try everything.”

My eyebrows lift in surprise. “Everything?”

“Well, noteverything,” he amends sheepishly. “There’s, unfortunately, only a finite amount of room in the human stomach. But I think we can sample at least six different cuisines to start narrowing it down.”

“Narrowing what down?”

A large hand curls around my waist, and my knees seriously get weak as he leans forward to speak in my ear, his five o’clock stubble rasping over my cheek. “Your favorite food.”

To my dying day, I’ll never know how I keep myself from melting into a puddle on the spot.

The level of attraction I feel toward this man is borderline terrifying. “Are you always like this?” I find myself asking, unable to help myself. I’m a little afraid that I’m being swept away by the practiced routine of a career fuckboy. I already care about him way too much, and the whole lying about his job thing isn’t exactly promising. This thing between usfeelsreal, but what if I’m just inexperienced and naïve? What if he does this all the time? I know nothing about Doctor Roth’s personal life, and now I’m plunged neck-deep into it.

Ash’s head tilts to the side questioningly. We’re so lost in our own little world that the guy behind us in line has to clearhis throat loudly to make us realize the person in front of us has moved up. We shuffle forward, and Asher asks quietly, “Like what?”

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