Page 143 of The Sidekick

I nod and slowly relax back into his body, letting him take my weight.

When my body molds into him, I’m in turmoil with myself. I’m mad at him, right? I need to find out what he’s really doing here before I just sit on a couch with him like we’re a couple.

My head lolls onto his shoulder, completely ignoring my brain’s frantic warnings, and he kisses the top of my head. Why is it so easy to be with him like this? The physical is more soothing than my chaotic emotions. Maybe that’s what I need? Just something physical without any of the messy stuff? I know that kind of relationship is possible, but is it possible for me?

“Ask me what you want, angel.” His voice is calm and lulling. I should probably just try to seduce him out of conversation mode, but my body aches, and I’m grumpy. We might as well talk.

“What’s your middle name?” That’s a safe, non-emotional question.

He hesitates and laughs a little as he answers. “Florent.”

“Oh. That’s really pretty,” I say in surprise. When he said it, there was the trace of an accent that gave it more of an exotic slant. “Asher Florent.”

“Asher Florent Broussard.”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful.” The accent is thicker. I try to place it but can’t. Definitely from the south. Not Texas. He doesn’t sound like South.

He turns his head, and I feel his lips move over my hair when he speaks. It sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. “Now you say it, angel.”

“Asher Florent Broussard,” I can’t help the giggle that escapes as I try to mimic the name with his unknown accent. I’m horrible at it.

Asher lets out a heavy sigh. His body relaxes back, pulling me deeper into the cushions with him. “Now, ask me the hard questions.”

I want to balk and refuse to keep going. But he didn’t ask, did he? He told me to. And I’m weak to this man’s demands, whether I like it or not. Right now, I do not.

“Max started at your gym when?” The question is tight. I can feel my body tensing. His hand starts stroking my arm again as if he’s trying to comfort the tension out of me.

“Around six months ago. He was at a boxing class when we met. The teacher was shit, he never showed up, or he didn’t stick around to supervise. Max hurt himself by going at it alone.”

“Bad?” My head lifts off his shoulder so I can see his expression. His surprise turns into a small smile as he meets my eyes. There’s that tug I get every time we look at each other, and I shift in discomfort.

“Not bad. He dropped boxing to take one of my classes. Sadly, he’s the only student on Friday, so he talks. A lot.”

“Max?” I lean away from him in shock, and his eyes narrow as we separate. I prop my back on the arm of the couch and fling my legs over his, invested now. “That jerk didn’t say a single word to me for almost two years, and he’s gossiping like a schoolgirl with you instantly? I feel cheated.”

Whatever grumbling he was about to voice over my withdrawal stops when my calves hit his thighs. One hand goes just above my knee, and the other wraps around an ankle as he settles back again. “I was wondering how he hid his interest in you for so long.”

I make a scoffing sound and cross my arms over my chest. “Please continue. Dig the hole he started.”

Asher barks out a laugh as he watches me pout. “He starts talking about a girl that disappeared on him.”

My eyes drop as my shoulders slump. The humor of the situation is lost again. The grip on my ankle tightens, and my body relaxes at the hold. I stare down at his hand in confusion. How is that grounding?

“About a month ago, he started flat out asking if I was interested in polyamory. Not in a sexual way, but as a mediator. That’s when I figured out that he was really having problems, but they were a lot more than he’d said before. I didn’t want to get involved with that kind of mess. I kept turning him down.”

“Oh, Max,” my heart aches for him, even if he’s a gossiping jerk. He needed someone to talk to, and Asher was the lucky winner.

“I settled for giving him advice instead. Then, a new girl showed up in my yoga class, and I lost my mind.” The last sentence comes out grumbled. He glares as if it’s all my fault. I feel like preening about it. “I thought Max put you in the class to tempt me. I was pissed because it worked.”

“Max would do that,” I roll my eyes.

“Turns out your bullies were the ones who set me up instead.”

“They did this?” I ask in surprise. “What a mess!”

“I don’t think they intended for me to be interested in you. I actually believe they were trying to help you out,” he tells me begrudgingly.

“All of this is just a coincidence?” I glare with disbelief.

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