Page 65 of Obsession on Repeat
She scrambled off before I could question her, and I blinked in surprise as once again a phone was shoved into my face. I stared at it, then at Asher, eyes trailing his tight jaw, and how hard his eyes were as he peered down at me.
"Is this a fucking joke?"
"It’s Sullivan."
"I know it’s Sullivan," he snapped. "I didn’t think he’d be this much of a manipulative, little—" He ran a hand through his hair. "He posted thatknowing exactly what he was doing. He wants sympathy. He wants to make you the villain for having the audacity to move on from him."
"I know."
"I want to punch him in the fucking face."
The words jolted me in their raw honesty. "You don’t need to."
"I know I don’t. It doesn’t mean I don’t want to." He exhaled sharply and shoved his phone into his pocket. "Are you okay?"
"I’m fine. I hate that he knows how to pull strings."
Asher stepped in close, his hands warm against my hips. "He only has power if you give it to him." He tugged me into his arms, and I went willingly. "I hate that he gets under your skin."
"I hate that I let him," I whispered. I looked up at him. "I didn’t think you’d be this mad."
"I’m not mad." He brushed his fingers along my jaw. "I’m furious, but not at you."
I grabbed his shirt. "I don’t want to think about him anymore."
"Then don’t."
He kissed me, and every single thought in my head went quiet.
The next morning, I was wrapped in one of his shirts, feet tucked beneath me on his couch, scrolling through my phone while he made breakfast barefoot in the kitchen. Another headline dropped, another comment with an attempt to spin the story. I stared down at my phone, unable to look away from the headline of the article.
Sullivan Masters Reportedly ‘Heartbroken’—Close Source Claims He Thought Rory Would Come Back.
Underneath it, a photo of me from last night in Asher’s arms. I stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the screen.
He appeared behind me, holding a cup of coffee. He caught the headline on my screen and let out a sharp breath. "You want me to throw your phone in the ocean?"
I accepted the coffee. "I don’t want the hassle of having to get a new phone."
He sat beside me, arm draped across the back of the couch. "What are you going to do?"
"Nothing."
His eyebrow lifted.
"I don’t owe anyone a statement. I don’t owe the internet closure. He can bleed for attention all he wants. I’m not interested in playing that game anymore."
Asher studied me for a second, then leaned in, kissed my temple. "I’m proud of you."
I looked over at him. "Thanks, it took me long enough."
"Guess I’ll keep making breakfast then."
"Guess you better."
He disappeared back into the kitchen, mumbling something about eggs.
I stayed on the couch, fingers idly tracing the lip of my coffee mug, the photo pulled up on my phone. I stared at it one last time, then locked the screen and set it face down on the table. Quietly, I padded into the kitchen quietly, watching him at the stove, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, the morning sun cutting across the muscles in his back. I leaned against the doorway. "You always cook shirtless?"
