Page 71 of Jealous Stepbrother
And it’s not just work.
Asher makes time for me.
Quiet dinners when I don’t feel like eating out, long, aimless walks through the city at midnight, his coat draped over my shoulders even when I insist I’m not cold.
He keeps a stash of my favorite teas in his office and somehow always remembers which one I want without measking. He sits through movies I know bore him just because I picked them, his hand stroking lazy circles on my thigh the entire time.
He notices when I’m tired, when I’m anxious, when I need to be pushed or when I just need to be held, and he adjusts like he’s been reading my soul for years.
And I… I begin to think the feelings I’m too afraid to admit aren’t so farfetched or overwhelming or at risk of being rejected after all.
In a world where my connection with this man could be questioned, I’m feeling chosen enough, cherished enough to believe I can withstand whatever comes.
Like I could potentially be not just apartof Asher Masterson’s life but the axis it spins on. And the thought of that is… heady. Blissful.
Powerful enough to rob me of breath, especially when the man in question walks past me on the way to the shower, smiles that devastating smile and steals a kiss.
It’s Friday. We’re enjoying post-breakfast coffee when I hear a faint buzz in my pocket.
I grimace. Because it’s the sound of the fly hovering over the ointment, and the buzzing is becoming relentless. As much as I want to blame Asher for giving them permission to stay in touch with me when he caused that ruckus at The Tides Club two weeks ago, I didn’t foresee Sadie and Anna-Lynn’s enthusiasm with texting.
It started out lighthearted.
But in the last few days, it’s taken a…probingvibe.
I wait till Asher steps into the dressing room to glance at the message.
Sadie:So… you still haven’t answered.
What was UP with that scene at The Tides Club?
People are still whispering, Scarlett.
Anna-Lynn:You would tell us if Asher’s… like… controlling?
Because, with what happened at the park, it’s all like… toxic?
I roll my eyes. Deny it, of course. Send back a string of laughing emojis. Insist they’re overreacting. But when I put my phone down, a tiny splinter wedges under my skin.
Because sometimes, when his hand closes around mine a little too tight, when he orders for me before I’ve spoken, when I realize I’ve barely seen my mother in weeks, a little voice whispers if they’re not right.
I’m halfway through my internship.
Shouldn’t I be thinking about what comes next? School, career, plans that don’t entirely revolve around the man who’s become both my obsession and my cage?
I shake my head to dismiss the thoughts, then slide open the vanity drawer. Rummage, even though I know it’s futile.
I’ve searched this drawer five times already.
My pulse flickers when I feel his stare. The weight of it always pins me in place. And I glance over because, God, I can’t not look at him when he’s close.
He’s leaning in the doorway, sleeves shoved up, arms crossed, watching me with brooding eyes that can turn feral on a dime.
My sex betrays me instantly, pulsing, plumping, dampening even though he’s fucked me twice already this morning.
“Looking for something?” His voice is all silk and steel.
“I still can’t find my birth control pills.” I shove the drawer closed harder than I mean to. “I thought I’d misplaced them, or left them behind in Montauk, but the emergency ones I refilled last week? I could’ve sworn I left them right here.”
