Page 31 of Forbidden Mischief
I groan, rubbing my face as flashes from last night replay behind my eyelids. His lips. His hands in my hair. My hands on his body. We didn’t just kiss.
We’ve been making out nonstop; whenever I can get him alone or vice versa, we're lip locking.
It’s hot as hell. It’s so fucking good.
And it pretty much confirms I’m bisexual. At least, for Asher.
I should feelguilty.
I should feelsomething.
Instead, all I can think about is how much I want to do it again.
I’m so screwed.
I force myself out of bed, wincing at the dull ache in my skull, and stumble into the hallway. The scent of coffee hits me first,then the sound of him moving around in the kitchen. I hesitate. I could go back to my room, pretend last night didn’t happen. Pretend I don’t want to drag him against me and pick up where we left off.
I make my way to the bathroom, brushing my teeth quickly, trying to shake off the fog from the night before. The familiar motion helps clear my head, offering a small sense of control before I have to face him.
But instead of gathering myself, I head to the kitchen like a fucking idiot.
Asher stands at the counter, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His back is all smooth golden skin and lean muscle, shifting as he reaches for his mug.
For a second, I just watch him.
Then he turns, his golden-brown eyes locking onto mine.
Neither of us says anything at first.
I wonder if he’s thinking about last night, too. If he remembers the way I grabbed his hair, the way he moaned into my mouth.
Instead of addressing any of that, I clear my throat and force out, “What’re you up to today?”
Asher takes a sip of coffee like he isn’t the reason my brain is short-circuiting. “Going for a run.”
I nod. My body is still sluggish, my head still throbbing, but fresh air sounds like a damn good idea.
His eyes flick over me, slow and assessing. “You think you can keep up?”
A challenge.Shit. He knows I can’t back down from one.
“Try me.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and fuck, I want to kiss it off him again. But I don’t. Instead, I grab a water bottle, ignore how my pulse picks up, and head toward the door.
But then I stop in my tracks and glance down at my pajamas. Barefoot. I can’t run like this. “I need to change first,” I say, swallowing the frustration. “Can’t exactly run barefoot and in my pajamas.”
Asher chuckles, nodding. “Good call.”
I turn toward the hallway, then head back to my room, my footsteps slow as my thoughts scatter in every direction. I can feel his eyes on me, the way he watches me without saying a word. It’s like he knows how much it’s messing with my head.
Inside my room, I kick off my pajama pants, pull on a pair of running shorts, and tug a simple T-shirt over my head. I grab my sneakers from under the bed, slipping them on with a little more haste than usual, not wanting to waste time. The entire time, I can’t help but picture Asher, waiting just outside.
Once I’m dressed, I take a moment to catch my breath, wiping a hand over my face. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about keeping up with him on this run or how close we’ll be when we’re running. Either way, it feels like the tension’s only building.
When I finally head back down the hallway, I make my way back to the kitchen, where Asher’s waiting, now holding a second cup of coffee in his hands. He looks at me with a raised brow.
“You ready?”
