Page 22 of Bad Reputation

“Maybe I would be able to. Maybe I am just better at keeping my fucking mouth shut than you are.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “You haven’t dated anybody for long enough to have a horse in this race.”

I clench my fists. If Asher was hoping to pick a fight today, mission accomplished.

“You don’t know me,” I say through gritted teeth. “You used to, but not anymore. You have no idea who I date, and no say either.”

“No say?” He seems to find that part confusing.

I open my mouth to tell him everything, to spill my guts about Emma.

And his motherfucking phone rings. He glances at me, frowning, and pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Shit,” he mutters. He turns away from me, picking up. “Hello?”

He talks for a minute, periodically glancing back at me. Then he ends the call.

“That was Gunnar. There is something wrong with all of the coolers at Cure. They just aren’t working.”

“What? Why didn’t he call me?”

Asher shrugs. “I don’t know. But I have to go over to the bar for a while. I assume that we’re going to need some kind of maintenance person to repair whatever’s broken.”

I narrow my eyes. “Uh huh.”

“Come on, don’t give me grief over this. We’ll finish our conversation later.”

I shrug. “No need. I feel like we’ve said all that there is to say, really.”

I walk back into that wreck of a house, fuming.

“Jameson!” Asher calls.

But I’m done. Done with his self-involvement. Done pretending that we are best friends. He has been brutally honest about the fact that he considers Evie his best friend, anyway.

Most of all, I’m done with his bullshit rules.

Of course, it’s a little too late for me to just go up to Emma and tell her. I feel like I’m sorry, I changed my mind isn’t going to cut it.

But it’s sort of freeing to know that in the future, I don’t have to live by his rules anymore. The question is, what does a future without Asher’s restrictive rules look like?

And why do I have trouble imagining any future with anyone but Emma?

9

Emma

“Okay, but how do we feel about this? Do we think that it is just the right amount of over the top, or is it just overkill?” Maia asks, posing in the doorway of her living room. “I don’t want to fall prey to my mother’s instinct for over the top everything. She’s from Hong Kong, so she’s partially excused, but… you know.”

I’m sitting on a low blue suede couch with pretty blonde Alice, eyeing Maia’s outfit. It’s a red lace jumpsuit, low cut in the front and back, and it emphasizes Maia’s tiny waist.

“I think it’s perfect,” Alice says. “Very cutting edge.”

“It’s not too revealing, is it?” Maia asks, turning for us to inspect her. Her British accent makes me smile.

“No,” I assure her. “You’ll be the belle of the ball.”

“Wonderful!” she says. “I mean, even though we are only going to Cure, I want to be sure that we all look posh.”

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