Page 58 of Obsession on Repeat
"Too late."
We froze as a sharp knock rattled the door, followed by Gina’s unmistakable voice. "Hey, Rory? Are you in there?"
I scrambled to grab my shirt from the floor, shoving it over my head in pure panic. "Uh, yeah?"
"You weren’t at the booth. Vanessa was wondering where you— Wait, why is the door locked?"
I yanked my jeans on one leg at a time, stumbling half-dressed across the room as Asher fumbled for his shirt behind me.
"Give me a second!" I called out, tripping over his belt.
"Oh, my god." Gina’s voice was much closer now, clearly right at the door. "Oh. My. GOD."
I could practically hear the grin in her voice. I unlocked the door halfway and cracked it open, trying to peek through without revealing my flushed face or Asher buttoning his jeans behind me.
She stood there, eyebrows arched so high they were practically in her hairline. She leaned one shoulder against the door frame. "So… was this a staff meeting? Or more of a private rehearsal?"
"Can you not?"
Asher appeared behind me, fully dressed. "Hi, Gina."
"Hi, Asher," she replied sweetly. "Nice shirt. Or is that Rory’s? Hard to tell in this lighting."
He coughed, trying not to laugh.
"I’m going to die," I muttered.
"Nope," she chirped, stepping back. "But you are going to come back to the booth and face Vanessa eventually. Don’t worry. I’ll stall her. You’ve got about five minutes to look less like you’ve been thoroughly… never mind." She turned on her heel, cackling as she disappeared down the hallway.
I shut the door and leaned back against it, groaning.
Asher walked up, slid his hands around my waist again, and kissed my temple. "Well, that could’ve gone worse."
I narrowed my eyes. "You’re enjoying this."
"Maybe a little."
"I hate you."
He grinned. "You really, really don’t."
I sighed, but didn’t move from his arms.
No, I didn’t. Not even a little bit.
Later, after the club had cleared out and Gina had stopped smirking every time she looked at me, we found ourselves tucked away again, this time in the back corner of the rooftop, where no one could overhear us.
Asher leaned on the railing beside me, a few inches of space between us. "I should probably apologize." His voice was low, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.
"Don’t."
He looked at me. "You sure?"
"I wantedit. I think I needed it."
"I’m not good at this part," he admitted. "The morning-after conversations or the what are we now stuff. Usually I disappear before it has a chance to come up."
"Yeah, me too. This doesn’t feel like that."
