Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
There’s no way I’m going to make him understand. And maybe he’s right because part of me doesn’t understand this feeling of shame crawling over my skin either.
Five minutes ago, I had no shame.
But that’s the problem with reality—it shines a spotlight on the things you don’t want to see. Sticks needles in the things you don’t want to feel. Croons a song in your ear about the things you don’t want to hear.
And I don’t want to witness the possessiveness in Ashton’s eyes. Don’t want to experience the shifting foundation of what we are. Don’t want to listen to the truth in his words because it shouldn’t matter who’s on the other side of that door, attempting to intrude upon our stolen moments in my parents’ bathroom.
Jake is the one who cheated, so why do I feel like the guilty party here?
“I just don’t want him knowing,” I finally say, for lack of an explanation that makes sense. “What I do isn’t his business.”
It’s not my father’s either.
“You’re right about that.” Ash pulls me off the counter, and I barely have time to straighten my dress before he hauls me to the door. I dig in my heels.
“No! Ashton, wait.”
“I’m not hiding in the dark with you.” With that, he unlocks the door and yanks it open.
Jake takes one look at us—our laced hands and the flush that is undeniable on my cheeks—and his eyes go wide.
“Did you need something?” Ashton asks.
“Unbelievable.” Jake darts his gaze between Ash and me. “Are you doing this to get back at me?”
The fact that he even thinks I’d do this because of him digs under my skin. “Not everything is about you.” I pull on Ashton’s hand, desperate to get away from the accusation in Jake’s eyes.
As if I have anything to explain.
We return to the sitting room, as my mother refers to it, and find that guests have begun trickling through the open French doors leading into the formal dining room.
And I’m certain I have a sign on my forehead that reads just got eaten out in the bathroom by hot, perverted friend.
Jesus, my face is flushed. It feels like a hundred degrees in my parents’ house. I let go of Ash’s hand and make a beeline for two open spots at the other end of the table from where my father usually sits. My legs are shaking as I dip into the seat. I shoot a glance at Ashton as he slides in next to me, hating him in that moment for making me a nervous wreck during this dinner.
He leans down, lips lingering near my ear. “Just breathe. We’ll be out of here soon.” Under the table, he takes my hand and squeezes, and any trace of anger I harbored toward him vanishes.
This is the part of Ashton I love.
Love.
That word sticks in my mind like a fly to a glue trap, just buzzing there, trying to break free. My heart thuds to the bottom of my gut, and I know I won’t be able to eat much—not with this disturbing, dawning realization that what’s going on between Ash and me is growing into something bigger than I imagined.
Something terrifying.
Something out of my control.
“You look like you’re about to be sick. Want me to get you out of here?”
Yes. More than anything. But the promise of my father’s watchful eye isn’t the reason my head is spinning. Ashton is, with his husky voice in my ear, his fingers locked with mine, and his woodsy scent infusing my senses.
His quiet ability to infiltrate my heart despite me trying to stop it.
“No, I’m okay,” I say as Jake enters the dining room. His stare is thunderous as he takes a seat across from us.
With a sigh, Ash lets go of my hand. But he sets his shoulders in determination as if he’s preparing for a war over a battlefield of gourmet food. And maybe he is, considering he and Jake are locked in a death stare of epic proportions.
My father makes his presence known at the head of the table, and the tension breaks. Jake turns his attention to my dad, his face washed free of the glower that lived there a second ago.
“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight,” my father says. Servers make the rounds, handing out flutes of champagne. After everyone has their celebratory glass, my dad clears his voice.
“JJ came to Sawyer and Bennett five years ago green behind the ears.” He pauses, letting out a gruff laugh. “What he lacked in experience, he made up for with his competitive drive to succeed. Law is in his blood, and we’re fortunate to have him onboard. To JJ,” my dad says, his voice thick with emotion as he raises his glass.
The toast echoes around the dinner table, but I can hardly speak. Something about my father’s speech scraped at the scabbed-over scars on my heart.