Page 29 of From Asher, With Love

So, for the past three weeks, when Asher has been climbing the trellis outside my bedroom window once they’ve gone to sleep, we’ve tried to be as quiet as possible.

Every night while I impatiently wait for him, my heart rate accelerates and my neck tingles. The anticipation of knowing how it feels when I’m with him circles around me every night he comes over. It’s my favorite part of the day. Even if all we are is friends. For now.

My phone vibrates against my chest, the screen casting a blue glow against my skin. With shaky fingers, I unlock his message.

Asher: Coming up.

I scramble out of my bed, tossing my down comforter to the side. I tiptoe to my window and look out to see Asher climbing the trellis. I pinch my bottom lip between my teeth and glance over my shoulder, making sure my father hasn’t woken up. The hallway is still dark, with no light filtering in through the gap beneath my door. Turning my attention back to the window, I see Asher grip the edge of the window before he hoists himself through the opening.

He swings one leg over, but the other gets caught on the lip of the windowsill, and he stumbles forward, his hands shooting out to catch his fall on the plush carpet of my bedroom.

I cover my mouth with the palm of my hand, stifling my giggle.

“Oh, my God,” I gasp, muffling my laughter as I step back but hold my hand out to help Asher up off my floor. “Are you okay?”

He nods, keeping quiet while he pulls himself to a stand. When he looks up, he’s grinning. My heart races with the way he’s smiling at me, as it has since the first time I saw him standing in the middle of my street.

I giggle again, pinching my lip under my teeth to stifle myself.

“Shh,” Asher whispers, closing the space between us. His eyes nervously move to my bedroom door behind me before he places his finger to my mouth. “If your dad comes in here and finds me with you, he’ll kill me.”

Asher’s shadowed figure towers over me. He’s at least afoot taller than me, and even in the subtle glow of my bedside lamp, his eyes flicker with warmth.

My smile wanes under his touch, alarm bells screaming inside me, focusing on his touch. My heart somersaults in my chest, the echoes of the pounding vibrating up my throat to the place where his finger meets my mouth. We haven’t kissed yet, and I play it off as though I haven’t spent every minute of the last three weeks wishing we had. Even if he hasn’t kissed me or voiced his feelings for me out loud, I know I’m, without a doubt, in love with him.

Asher’s gaze constantly dances between my eyes and my mouth, never knowing where to stop. My breath dances across his skin, and I grip onto his shirt to pull him closer. He follows my lead, not breaking the trance we’ve pulled ourselves in to.

I don’t want this to stop. I don’t wanthimto stop.

My fingers tighten on the familiar fabric of Asher’s shirt. He’s wearing the same clothes he did two days ago, but I don’t say a word, knowing why. Asher only owns three different T-shirts and two pairs of jeans, but that doesn’t bother me.

Unlike everyone else at school.

Apparently.

Though they don’t like me, either. I think it’s another reason why Asher and I clicked effortlessly. We’re outcasts. Two sides of the same coin.

Asher changed my perspective on life that day he told me my voice was beautiful, and I haven’t looked back since.

“Can I tell you something?” he whispers.

I nod, clutching onto his hole-ridden shirt even tighter. “Of course,” I whisper back, feeling like a typical teenage girl. Raging hormones. First love butterflies. All of it is crashing around me like waves roaring onto the beach during a storm.

I welcome the feeling with open arms.

Asher shifts, and instinct has me standing on my toes.Finally lowering his finger, he shoves his hands nervously into his dirty jeans.

“What is it?” I ask with uncertainty.

“I, um…” He swallows, and for a moment I think he might retreat. I’m worried I’ll blink and suddenly watch him climb back down the trellis outside my window. “This is hard for me to say, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.”

“You can tell me.”

“I’m not exactly good with words.” He winces.

“Is that why you always carry your notebook with you?”

“No.” A crease forms in the corner of his tilted mouth. “I use that for something else.”

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