“You’re an asshole, you know that?” She drops her hands and huffs out before she leaves the room.
“You might want to go and see what’s wrong with her.”
“Why?” His brow furrows, still watching me intently, and making me squirm. No one has ever looked at me with such undivided focus before, like I'm the only frequency worth tuning into. Heat crawls up my neck, flooding my cheeks, but I try to look unbothered.
“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?”
“Who, McKenna?” He laughs, and the move transforms his face from beautiful to devastating. “Nah. She’s been trying to get that title for years, but I’ve never really spoken to her. Not until today, that is,” he says almost remorsefully.
“So what’s different about today, then?” The question slips out.
When his eyes lock on mine, all the breath rushes out of me. Darkness stares back at me, and I see the same pain in his eyes that I feel every night. But what’s a rich boy like him so upset about?
“Just found out some shit that changes everything,” he says, flat and indifferent.
“I'm sorry to hear that.” I take a few steps back, knowing this conversation could go places I don’t want it to. I point my finger to the door. “You know, I should probably go. My cousin is waiting for me, and parties like this aren’t really my thing.”
I walk around him, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I'm certain he can hear it. His presence alone makes breathing feel like a luxury I haven't earned.
“What is your thing?” he asks, making me stop in my tracks. I glance over my shoulder to find his head tilted slightly, his gaze slowly and deliberately raking over my body, leaving a fire in its wake.
God, even the way he looks at me makes me feel seen.
He waits. One heartbeat. Two. Then closes the distance between us again. I turn fully, trapped now, too mesmerized to even consider leaving.
“Crowds not your vibe? Or is it the music? Could be the people. I get it, they're all a bunch of rich, privileged assholes.” His grin is devastating, and he speaks as though he’s not one of them. “Or maybe it's just guys who ask too many questions?”
He leans against the wall beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, which is clearly something expensive that makes me suddenly aware of the Bath & Body Works spray I'd doused myself with earlier.
“Not this.” I gesture toward the hallway, my voice steadier than I feel. I'm hyperaware of my every imperfection in his presence.
He grins. “Come on. Help me out. You’ve clearly got a story.”
“Not one I’m willing to share with a rich boy who has too much time on his hands.”
“Fair enough.” His smile deepens, revealing a dimple in his left cheek.
“Want a drink?” He turns to one of the bookshelves, and opens one of the cabinet doors to reveal a row of liquor bottles. I guess he really does know this place.
“I’m good.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I'm not good. I'm drowning in his presence, treading water in an ocean I didn't know existed five minutes ago.
He stops, cocking his head in a way that makes his hair fall just so across his forehead, and studies me for a second. “Ifyou’re not interested, tell me and I’ll leave you alone, but full disclosure: you’re the best thing that’s happened to my night.”
I let out a small breath, surprised at his directness.
“I—I didn't say that.” The words slip out before I can think.
His smirk grows because he knows he’s got me. “I'm Thatcher, but people call me Asher.”
“Tiff.”
“Well, Tiff, since this isn't your thing, why don't we make itourthing?”
He holds his hand out, and I hesitate. I shouldn't. Every rational brain cell is screaming at me to walk away, to call an Uber and go home to my predictable life where rich, hot guys with beautiful smiles don't exist, but then I remember what’s at home waiting for me. An angry father, a too-timid mother, and everyone who knows that and lets it continue.
Here, I’m different. Here, beside this boy with whiskey eyes, I get to be whoever I want.
Fuck being rational.