by Ki Brightly
I SWAY nervously from side to side but force myself to stop. I don’t want to look antsy. Cheerful noise spills out of the bar every time someone passes me to go inside, the door a bright smear of light in the otherwise unlit big old building behind me. I smooth down my dress jacket and fight off the urge to check my tie. I know I overdid it for a night at a bar, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave the apartment in anything less. I want to look good for him, look good with him. Maybe I’ll never send him a glitterbomb card, but I can give him my best efforts. I nervously blow into my hand to check my breath, but it’s still minty, the same as it was five minutes ago.
About ten minutes and two breath checks later, he pulls his car into the Brewerie parking lot. When he springs out, I’m happy I dressed up. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that might as well have been painted on. They cling to his thighs and draw the eye up to the bulge nestled there. His jacket is open over a nice Christmas-red button-down, and those angel curls of his are glossy and perfect. I want to mess them up bad.
It takes him a second to notice me, but when he does, he stops still for a second before he grins a bright smile and jogs my way. “Hey!”
I nod, not trusting myself to say much.
He stops near me, and for a few heated seconds, our eyes meet. Smiling, eyes glimmering green in the overhead light, he holds out a hand to me, and after a second or two, I take it. I rub my thumb over the back of his hand, loving how he sort of pushes up against the caress like he never wants me to stop. His eyes close for a heartbeat. I want to hug him close and take him somewhere private. When he opens his eyes, I’m hopeful we’re on the same wavelength, but he smiles and tugs me toward the door. We walk in to the dimly lit bar with my arm slung around his waist and his warmth snug against my side, filling me with a jittery pleasure.
It’s an old place that used to be part of the train station, with high ceilings, dark wooden trim, and booths fitted around the main bar area. All the wall spaces in between are painted white, obviously trying to brighten things up, but it doesn’t work very well. Too much space, not enough light. It’s oppressing in a strange way, but with Asher beside me, shining bright, it doesn’t matter.
He greets the girl who works with him, Alicia. A shocking green sequined dress skims along her curves. Iman would probably like it—and her, for that matter. She gives me a wicked little smile along with her enthusiastic wave. Floundering, I wave back.
Rapid-fire, Asher introduces me to several people from the radio station who I’m vaguely familiar with, at least their voices, and then he’s guiding me to the long bar. I catch us together in the back mirror, and for a second, it’s strange, his cream-pale body snuggled up into my side, but I like him there. He pats my stomach with a laugh and smiles at me in the mirror before the bartender skids to a halt in front of us.
“Drinks are on those guys, right?” Asher asks the bartender, who nods without much expression. “Don’t worry. I’ll tip.” That gets him a smile. Asher orders a holiday tea martini that smells foul, with its unnatural amount of cinnamon and cardamom, when it’s passed across to him, and I stick to a simple gin and tonic.
“Always thought gin tasted like pine trees,” Asher murmurs, smirking over his glass.
I roll my eyes. “This is not a holiday beverage. This is a reasonable year-round drink for reasonable holiday drunks.”
He snickers before taking a healthy sip. “Then it’s a holiday beverage by association.”
“You don’t lose easily, do you?”
His lips twitch into a come-get-me grin. “Oh, I know when to go down.”
I shake my head but end up laughing quietly along with him.
Before long the bar has filled with people for the party, and someone has decided bad Mariah Carey holiday remixes are the perfect thing to dance to. The tables in the middle of the floor get pushed aside by obviously fortified revelers, much to the chagrin of the servers, who end up backing away from the mess as the bartender paces and shoots dirty looks that way.
Asher seems happily oblivious, concentrating on his drink when he’s not swaying slightly to the beat of the music.
Eventually he perches on the edge of his barstool, leans forward, and asks, “How has your week been?” His cheeks are already pink with alcohol, but another glass appears at his elbow and he snatches it up, eyebrows jumping delightedly.
I shrug. “Okay.”
“You don’t talk much about work.”
I take a large gulp of my own drink, now tasting nothing but pine trees, thanks to Asher, then swirl it while I think. “People are not happy when I see them. It’s nice to say that I helped a man near retirement-age find a job to hold him over till then, but I don’t know that I did. I know he got an interview and I helped him get a new suit, but after that, I have no idea. It’s like… I get people for this short amount of time and do all I can to help them. They just drift away again afterward. I hope for the best, you know?”
His mouth drops open. “Holy shit, that’s melancholy.”
I bust out a deep belly laugh at that. “Iman says I take things too seriously as well.”
Asher nods thoughtfully. “Sometimes serious is good. I’m the opposite. I’m always go, go, go.” He skims his hand through the air, then flops it onto the bar top. “Until I crash. That’s why I have Alicia right now. I was getting myself into trouble by planning two or three events a day and not remembering when or where I was supposed to be.” He scowls down into his drink. “I’ve always had trouble with that, but it was beginning to affect the station. Thankfully I’m popular enough that they got me an intern—soon to be assistant—instead of shit-canning me.”
I shift around until I’m facing him, my belly warm, my limbs loose. He does the same, propping his shoes against the lower rung of my stool so we’re sitting together. There’s no mistaking we’re on a date. My fingers tingle as I dance them along his kneecap, and he laughs, nearly sloshing his drink onto his lap. I hold a steadying hand under the base as he leans down to take a large mouthful.
“I wouldn’t listen if they got rid of you.”
He snorts and sits his glass on the bar. “Shut up.”
“It’s true.”
He flushes from chin to forehead, and I try to think of something to say, but it’s hard with him sitting there within touching distance, looking sexy and shy. He finishes his drink in one impressively long swallow, slips off his coat, then grabs my hand, untangling himself from the trap of my legs. I stand, missing him, but he doesn’t go anywhere. He takes a second to slip my coat off, fingers skimming along my shoulders. A pleasant throb hits me low in the gut. Wow. I suck in my breath. The music is loud and obnoxious. Those high notes ping around on the inside of my skull, horrific, but he leads me out onto the impromptu dance floor, smiles up at me, pure adoration, and I’m lost and couldn’t care what is playing.
He slides his arms around my waist. Burying my nose in his sweet-smelling curls is bliss. I’m right where I want to be, Asher’s warm, compact body pressed close. We sway to the rhythm for a bit, his chest against mine, pulling me closer with his hands. I lean down until my lips touch the arch of his ear, and he goes up on tiptoes, his hip brushing mine. Thick, warm, unmistakable hardness nudges my thigh. I’m done for.
Heat floods my stomach as I inch my fingers down to grip low on his back. A sweet ache hits my groin.
“Want to take this somewhere else?” Immediately my pulse thunders in my ears. I nudge him closer, want more of him. No one has been in my apartment except Iman and a few friends. Sex has been occasional one-offs here and there, and the thought of inviting someone I barely know home, into the place where I live, turns my stomach. Is that what I just did? I’m nervous, but not… sick with it. Excited? Like I’ve got something amazing waiting for me.
Asher tilts his head back, his lips a soft caress on my chin. “Yes, please. Anywhere.” His husky voice and half-lidded eyes promise all sorts of things.
He steps back, pressing a hand to my chest. I tangle my fingers
with his. It’s one of those moments where everything is perfect, the world is spinning just right, and the low lights erase any flaws he might have, not that there are any. I stop breathing for a second, but then the world comes rushing back in on us.
Alicia stumbles next to him, gripping his shoulder. Large tears roll down her pretty round cheeks.
Not now.
Asher shakes his head for a second as if to clear it, then growls. “Oh hell no. He did not text some horrible crap to you tonight.”
Alicia tugs at the delicate twists in her hair, taking down one, then the other. “He wants to know where I am. Said I’m a w-h-o-r—”
“We don’t spell our swear words around here, sweetie. What did that asshole say to you?” Asher’s fingers bite into mine where we’re still holding hands. I rub my thumb against his wrist till he loosens his grip.
She holds up her phone and he reads, his jaw hardening and his cheeks flushing. He snags it away and scrolls as she hiccups. I do feel bad for her. She’s nice, and it’s irritating that I can’t even be that upset that she’s putting the brakes on our evening.
Asher smiles up at me, his eyes sad. “I’m sorry. I know we were… but I think I need to make sure she has a place to stay tonight. I don’t want….” He grimaces, and I nod.
“I can go home,” she says quickly. “I’ll have to eventually.”
Asher whirls toward her, and she flinches back. “This stuff only escalates!” He gestures wildly at the cell phone in his hand. “Haven’t you ever watched a Lifetime movie?”
She laughs, and more tears cascade down her face, melting together in an odd lacy pattern that reflects the light. “That’s an exaggeration. He wouldn’t hurt me.”
“He is hurting you.”
She opens her mouth but doesn’t seem to have much to say to that.
I lean down to speak quietly in Asher’s ear. “The real question is does he know where you live? I don’t want you to be a target for some idiot’s misplaced anger.”
His shoulders heave as he glare-pouts at me. “I don’t care. We can’t let Alicia deal with this crappity crap alone.”
Alicia flutters her hands, and she doesn’t seem to know what to do with herself. “You’d really let me stay with you?”
“In a heartbeat.” He begins to speed type on her phone.
“Noooo… what are you saying?” she gasps, reaching for it, but he turns his back toward her, hustling a few steps away.
“Telling him to fuck right off and that Stokely and I will be over to get your things.”
She picks up pieces of her long hair to cover the bottom of her face as she laughs hysterically, but it turns into a low wailing sound. “He’ll burn it. He’ll destroy everything before he’ll let you take it.”
Asher gives her a look. “And you wonder why I’d let you stay with me? A life for a life, girl.”
She cups her cheeks with her hands, hair sliding free, and even though I’m not much of a hugger, I wrap an arm around her. She leans into me, soft and smelling like candy. I’m surprised because so many people would be all talk in this type of situation. But after a few minutes of discussion, we pile into Asher’s car, drop Alicia off at his place with strict instructions not to open the door for anyone, (“Not even Santa Claus?” “He would totally come down the chimney.”) then head for Alicia’s old place with nothing but an address. She practically made the sign of the cross over us as we left, so my heart has been hanging out close to the top of my throat. We come to a stop when Asher’s phone calmly informs us we’re at the right location. The street is packed full of cars, a low-rent neighborhood without garages.
“Well, if I die, you don’t have to get me a present,” Asher says with a quick quirk of his lips as he turns off the car.
Suddenly I’m panicking for a whole new reason. “We’re doing gifts?”
Asher wiggles his eyebrows. “Yep. I already got yours.”
“When?”
His eyes dance happily, pulling me in. I shift closer to him in the tight space of the car, and then we’re breathing the same air, and he parts his soft lips nicely against mine, inviting me into their warmth. His mouth is a slick, sweet cinnamon silk as I dip my tongue inside. Did I think I wouldn’t like that? I can’t get enough. As I swirl my tongue with his, a happy moan jolts through me. For a few seconds, I forget we’re on a mission. He cups the back of my head in his hand, more of a request than a demand, as he jitters his fingers along the inside of my thigh. Several excruciating seconds later, he brings them to rest on an extremely excited part of me. He presses against me, sending a sharp slice of need into my balls. I gasp and tear my lips from his.
“Asher, if we aren’t doing this thing right now, let’s go back to my place.”
He giggles—for real giggles—and skims his thumb along my cloth-covered shaft. I nearly roll my eyes back into my head. “Where’d Mister Proper go now, huh?”
I slip my hand over his, and he squeezes teasingly. I want to rock my hips so bad. “You’ll find out if you keep playing.” I pull his hand away and kiss the palm. He squirms with a happy little gasp as I nip at the meaty part of his palm. “I have work in the morning,” I growl. “That proper enough? Let’s get this done.”
For a second he pouts, and I think I really hurt his feelings, but with a laugh, he opens his door and bounces out of the car, way more enthusiastic than I am for the possible fight to come.
Asher practically sprints along the sidewalk to the front door of the little run-down house Alicia rents with her boyfriend. I rush to keep up with him, uncomfortable until my hard-on takes a dive with the cold and my nerves. Dread builds at the back of my neck. Asher pounds on the door when I’m standing beside him.
It cracks open. A huge man looms in the doorway.
“Fuck,” Asher whispers, but he’s not quiet.
I fight to keep my face hard but agree. He’s taller than I am, and wide—clearly there’s a reason Alicia is afraid of this guy. But he’s got wholesome, corn-fed, boy-next-door looks too. The window dressing to hide the hate. I wouldn’t want to stand in front of his fist.
Asher laughs, and I raise an eyebrow, giving him a sidelong look. “You Alicia’s boyfriend?”
“Who the fuck wants to know?”
Asher shocks me into immobility when he hops up and grabs the collar of the guy’s T-shirt, dragging him down to his level so he can get into his face. “Go get Alicia’s shit now. She says she has a suitcase. Pack it. Or get the fuck out of my way so I can.”
The man, clearly startled, falls to his knees before he struggles back up and shoves Asher away hard. I don’t want to get dragged into this—I like my job and life, thanks—but I’ll be damned if anyone’s knocking Asher around. I step closer, but the guy only glares.
“She’ll cheat on you too. Cheaters always cheat.” His eyes take on a mean squint as he glances quickly at me again. I have a feeling that if I weren’t here, this would be going very differently.
Asher’s eyes go round, and I bite the tip of my tongue to hold in a chuckle.
“You really think she’s cheating on you with me?”
“She’s never home. She’s needy. Women are like that. And I know she gives great head, but she’ll be onto bigger and better things as soon as she can. She’s a gold-digging whore, just like every other woman. She’ll let you pay her bills and walk out the door. Look what she’s doing to me! You’ll be next.”
Asher’s back stiffens. I’m not sure what to do, so I put a hand on his shoulder. “She’s still in school! She says she splits this place fifty-fifty with you!”
The man seems flustered by that, and Asher looks like he’s just itching to mix it up, his shoulders tight, his fists balled up, so I shove between them.
“We are not doing this. That girl is upset, and even if you two get back together”—Asher squawks at that, but I don’t stop to let him say anything—“she wants her clothes now. And any books you can throw into a box wouldn’t go amiss.”
; “And all her makeup and girl stuff!” Asher inserts himself back into the conversation like he just can’t stand to let it go. I dig my fingers into his shoulder, and he smiles back at me.
In the end we go with about five boxes of stuff and leave the big man sobbing on his front steps. Asher thuds down in the drivers’ seat as we leave, his eyes big, just staring at the crying man, his bottom lip between his teeth.
“Don’t you do it,” I grumble as he sits there, the car idling.
He blinks at me. “Huh?”
“Feel bad for him. That’s the same man who wrote all those awful things to your friend. Trust me, bullies cry too. It doesn’t mean he’s a different person than the one he was when you were all fired up.”
Asher nods stiffly. “You’re right. I can see… I see how Alicia got sucked in.” He squeezes the steering wheel until his knuckles go white.
“Bawling about how your horrible behavior has come home to roost isn’t the same as feeling bad and fixing the problems so you don’t do it anymore.”
A tear slips down the side of Asher’s cheek. He swipes at it roughly as he pulls the car out into the street. “I’ve been there,” he mumbles. “Destroyed. Watching everything I want in the world go with someone else.”
My heart crinkles around the edges. Wish I was around then. “But did you make him feel like garbage?”
Asher shrinks down in his seat. “Maybe? I don’t know. I work a lot. I tried. It’s hard. Letting people have room in my life.”
He flounders, but I pat his knee awkwardly to let him know I get it. “Well, maybe if he really tries, the next girl won’t have to send her friends to get her things.”
Asher nods, but his smile is sharp with sadness. I rest a hand on the back of his neck, and he melts back into his seat, trapping it there like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. We ride that way back to his apartment. I help him carry the stuff up, but it’s clear tonight he’s needed here when Alicia breaks out in hiccups and tears as soon as she sees us with boxes.
We sit them down near the door, and Asher turns to me, a cute, apologetic smile already in place. “I’m sorry. I need to do this.”