Page 55 of Law Maker
Jaw tight, I grabbed a bottle of whiskey.
A throat cleared. I spun, exhaling when I saw Ash in the doorway. The blazer was gone; he stood in a loose black shirt and jeans. I knew what was under the clothes. Lucky me.
“You weren’t in your room,” he said softly. “I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?”
“Never better.” I lifted the bottle. “You won’t snitch, right?”
“Are you going to drink alone?”
I shrugged. “Yeah. Unless you want to join me.” My breath snagged. Did he?
He leaned a forearm on the doorframe. “Always.”
Relief whooshed out of me. The thought of drinking with him soothed the ache, even if sitting this close while knowing he’d never be mine felt like punishment. The heart was never wrong, but mine was greedy for hurt.
I switched off the lamp. “Okay. Your room or mine?”
“I like yours better.”
Asher followed me upstairs.
“So,” he asked, settling on my bed, “why are we drinking?”
I tugged the hem of my dress down and eased beside him. “You’re pity drinking. I’m drinking because it’s the anniversary of my mom’s death—something my father couldn’t care less about—and because my ex-best friend sided with the asshole who tried to mess with me at the party.”
A muscle ticked in Asher’s jaw, his eyes darkening. “And you’re telling me now? What did he do? Did that piece of shit hurt you?”
Warmth bloomed in my chest. He cared.
“Ash.” I curled my fingers around his wrist. “It’s no big deal. I kneed him in the junk, so he got what he deserved. I’m just pissed at Mandy for believing him.”
Asher covered my hand with his, heat buzzing where our skin met. “I’m sorry. About your mom too. I’m here if you need to talk, peque.”
“Thanks, but no. I’d rather drink.”
“Pass me the bottle.”
I handed Ash the whiskey.
The corners of his mouth lifted as he read the label. “An eighteen-year-old Macallan? You could’ve done worse.”
“I doubt my father will notice. He’s got at least ten of those.”
Ash opened the bottle. “Got glasses?”
“I forgot. Wait—I’ll be back.”
I hurried downstairs, grabbed two glasses and a bag of chips, then remembered the cheese in the fridge. A quick slice later, I carried everything upstairs.
Asher stood by my desk, eyeing the stack of photo albums. He relieved me of the glasses and plate. “Let me help.”
I opened the bag of chips. “Do you want to see the photos?”
He frowned while pouring the whiskey. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop. You don’t have to show me anything.”
“I don’t mind.” I pulled the top album onto the rug, leaning against the bed. “I was looking at the pictures earlier today. Come here.”
He stretched out beside me as I flipped the first page. His chuckle rumbled. “Wow. What a start.”
