I stare down at my plate, wishing it would swallow me whole.
Then, without warning, I feel Asher shift.
He leans forward, elbow on the table, his voice low and so dry it could burn.
“You’re not my type,” he says, straight at Rebecca.
The entire table freezes.
There’s a beat a breath where nobody moves.
Then Jo lets out a low whistle and mutters, “Ouch.”
Even Tyler glances up, eyebrows raised.
Rebecca blinks like she’s been slapped.
She recovers fast – fake laugh, toss of her perfect hair
“Don’t be silly. I’m everyone’s type.”
Asher doesn’t even look at her.
He turns slightly, facing more toward me instead, like she’s not even worth another second of his attention.
My heart twists painfully in my chest.
For a second, I can’t breathe.
I can feel him at my side – the heat rolling off him, the solid curve of his shoulder level with my head – and it’s like standin bonfire. Too much. Too big. Too real.
I risk a glance up at him. to a
All I can see is the underside of his jaw, the strong line of his throat, the stretch of black fabric over his broad shoulders.
He feels closer than anyone’s ever felt.
I swallow hard and yank my gaze away before he can catch me staring.
Anyway, Rebecca says brightly, forcing a laugh, ‘I guess not everyone appreciates good taste.”
She flashes a smile at the table a smile too wide,
The laughter picks up again, but it sounds thinner polished – and launches into a story about some party I wasn’t invited to.
More forced.
I force myself to pick up my pizza and take a bite I don’t taste.
Zoe leans into Tyler’s side again, giggling at something he
He doesn’t pull away.
Of course he doesn’t. her hand brushing against his arm deliberately.
He probably thinks it’s harmless.
I pick at the crust, feeling small, feeling stupid for feeling small, hating myself for letting any of this get to me.
“You’re quiet,” Asher murmurs, voice low enough that only I can hear it.
I blink, startled.
I didn’t think he’d talk to me.
Not here.
Not now.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, too fast, too bright.
He hums, skeptical,
The sound vibrates between us, low and deep, like a bass note I can feel more than hear.
I can’t look at him.
If I do, I’ll say something stupid.
If I do, I’ll probably cry.
So I keep my eyes on my plate, the edge of the greasy cardboard slice blurring.
“Don’t let them get to you,” Asher says, voice/a little rougher now. “They’re not worth it.”
I clench my jaw, pressing my nails into my palms under the table.
“I’m used to it,” I say quietly.
‘Doesn’t mean you should be,” he says.
Simple: Flat.
Like it’s obvious.
Like there’s no debate.
I sit there, trying not to show how much that hits me.
Trying not to show how much that matters.
Across the booth, Rebecca’s still talking, Zoe still laughing, Tyler still oblivious.
The air outside is sharp and cool when we tumble out of the restaurant, laughter spilling into the night.
Tyler’s still cracking up at something Jo said, clapping him on the back like they’re the funniest people alive.
WAL
Everyone’s loud and a little chaotic full of food and energy and that late-night giddy feeling.
I hang back a little, hands stuffed into the pockets of my jacket, watching the group head toward the cars.
We drift toward Zoe’s car first a little beat-up blue thing with a dent in the bumper and a ton of glittery keychains swinging from the rearview mirror.
“Later, losers!” Zoe calls, tossing her purse into the passenger seat and sliding behind the wheel like she’s about to peel out in a movie.
She twists the key.
The engine coughs.
Splutters.
Dies.
She frowns, tries again, pumping the gas.
More coughing.
More dying.
Jo jogs up, grabbing at the hood latch. “Pop it! Lemme see.”
Tyler’s still laughing, leaning against the side of her car like this is just part of the entertainment.
I hover awkwardly near the back, watching Jo fiddle under the hood like he’s pretending to know what he’s doing.
Zoe tries again.
Nothing.
Jo slams the hood down with a grunt. “Nope.”
This is the worst,” Zoe moans dramatically, throwing her head back against the seat. “My car cannot be dead right now. I have work tomorrow! Important work! I can’t walk to the salon like a peasant!”
“You’re not walking, Tyler says, trying to calm hef. “You’ll figure it out in the morning.”
“Maybe it’s the battery,” Jo offers unhelpfully.
“Maybe you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zoe snaps.
Jo throws his hands up. “Just trying to help, girl.”
Across the lot, someone calls, “Get the Navy guy to fix it!”
I turn to look and sure enough, there’s Asher, leaning against Tyler’s car like he’s posing for the cover of Brooding Monthly.
Arms crossed.
Expression flat.
Looking like he might actually set something on fire with his mind if we keep bothering him.
Jo waves him over. “C’mon, Hayes! Show us how it’s done!”
Asher barely moves.
Just shrugs lazily, deadpan.
“Don’t know anything about cars.”
I bite down on a laugh so hard it hurts.
Because I watched him fix Tyler’s car earlier like he was born with a wrench in his hand.
When I glance at him, he’s already watching me.
That stare.
Heavy, Intense.
Like he can see the joke I’m choking on.
Like he’s daring me to laugh out loud.
I look away quickly, cheeks heating.
Zoe groans again, flopping dramatically into the driver’s seat.
“This is seriously a disaster,” she moans. “I’m literally stranded.”
“It’s fine,” Tyler says easily. “You can get it towed tomorrow. Not the end of the world.”
Zoe makes a noise like it is, in fact, the end of the world.
From a few cars down, Jason shouts, “Yo! I can take three people if anyone needs a ride!”
Tyler straightens up immediately. “Perfect. I’ll drive the rest.”
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.