Holy shit. He's... he's hitting onme?
A burst of nervous laughter escapes my throat before I can stop it. This is absurd. This has to be another one of Asher's mind games, right? Some new way to get under my skin? But the way he's looking at me...
"Right," I finally manage, my voice coming out slightly higher than intended. I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Good luck with that." I aim for dismissive, but even I can hear the slight tremor in my words.
Get it together, man. Why are you even entertaining this?
Something flickers in Asher's eyes—amusement? Challenge? It makes my stomach do a weird flip that I immediately attribute to the cheap beer.
I turn to leave, determined to end this conversation before it gets any more ridiculous.
But Asher's hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. The touch sends a jolt through my arm, and I yank it away like I've been burned. Asher doesn't seem bothered by the reaction. Instead, he leans in close—too close—his breath ghosting over my ear. "By the time this night is over," he whispers, his voice honey-smooth, "I'm going to have you, Philip. You just don't know it yet."
Before I can respond, before I can even process the way my name sounds on his lips, Asher's already moving away, disappearing into the crowd with a wink.
I stand frozen, my angry heart hammering against my ribs.
Un-fucking-believable.
Chapter 2
THE PARTY CONTINUES in full swing, but my mind keeps drifting back to my encounter with Asher. I catch myself watching him more times than I'd care to admit, tracking his movements through the crowd.Just making sure he's not causing trouble, I tell myself, even as my eyes linger on the way he throws his head back when he laughs.
Asher catches me looking once, and the bastard has the audacity to slowly lick his lips before turning away like I don't even exist. The dismissal shouldn't bother me, but it does.
"Dance with me!" Monica tugs on my arm, and I gratefully let myself be pulled onto the makeshift dance floor, desperate for the distraction.
Two songs later, my shirt sticking to my back from the heat of too many bodies packed together, I collapse onto an empty couch. I close my eyes, letting my head fall back against the cushions.
"You look like you could use this."
My eyes snap open to find Asher standing over me, holding out a beer. The condensation drips down the bottle, catching the party lights.
"I'm good." I make no move to take it.
"Come on," Asher drops onto the couch next to me, close enough that our thighs almost touch. "I promise it's not poisoned."
"The fact that you felt the need to specify that isn't exactly reassuring."
Asher's lips quirk up. "Careful there, Philip. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were actually capable of being funny."
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were actually capable of taking a hint." But I take the beer anyway, if only to have something to do with my hands.
"Oh, I can take hints." Asher shifts, angling his body toward me. "I just choose to ignore the ones I don't like."
"That's called being an asshole."
"That's called being persistent." Asher's eyes drift down to my mouth as I take a sip of beer. "Besides, something tells me you'd be worth the effort."
I nearly choke on my drink. "Jesus, do you ever quit?"
"Not when I see something I want." Asher's voice drops lower. "And I bet you're a good fuck. You've got that repressed energy about you."
"You're insane."
"Maybe." Asher shrugs, seemingly unbothered by the accusation.
My attention drifts to the party around us, noticing how many people are watching Asher—wanting gazes from both guys and girls tracking his every move. It's irritating how magnetic he is, how he draws attention without even trying.
