Page 22 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
We look good together. Really good.
Aimee speaks softly, “Look at that, and tell me honestly that you guys wouldn’t be good together.”
The fight leaves me. I know why Aimee is pressing the issue. After the second week of school, Aimee confronted me, informing me that if I’m a lesbian, she would still want to be friends with me.
When I asked her what she was going on about, she said, “Well, you haven’t even looked at a guy since I met you.”
Clearly, she equates celibacy to lesbianism. I responded by telling her that men will only distract me from my studies, but that isn’t the real reason. Asher is. For the past month, I haven’t been able to focus on anything except my fear of retribution. Aimee dropped it then, but she hasn’t stopped suggesting guys she would love to set me up with.
This is one of those times, except she doesn’t know Asher and doesn’t care that he’s a suspected criminal. She also doesn’t realize that we’ve already hooked up… and I never got my happy ending.
Okay, so I’m still hung up on that.
He couldn’t wait thirty more seconds?
Oh, and err… obviously the threat to my wellbeing is the most dissuasive part about Asher. I can’t ignore the fact that he is dangerous and so far out of my league. The hook up feels like a fluke, a lapse in judgement on both his part and mine. His, because he thinks I’m pathetic. And mine, because I can’t even be around him without shaking in my boots.
I sigh. “We look good together, sure, but I want more than that.” It’s my turn to sound crazy. “I want a guy I can talk to comfortably. Someone who makes me feel safe and wanted and beautiful.”
It goes unspoken, but we both know that Asher isn’t that guy. I don’t think he even embodies one of those four qualities. Hell, I’m not even sure why Aimee thinks he’s a realistic option. It isn’t like he wants me. It’s unlikely that he’ll suddenly express interest after calling me, and I quote, “pathetic.”
Plus, I asked for her advice on staying alive not dating, but clearly I went to the wrong person.
Aimee groans. “Ugh, you’re depressing me.” She sits up and goes to my closet. “Come on. We’re going out. Let’s find a guy to take your mind off of this. When was the last time you had sex?”
I can’t even remember it.
It’s not like I’m against sex. I enjoy it, but I’ve had other priorities—like staying alive in foster care; staying alive despite my psycho ex-foster dad; staying alive while traveling to dangerous countries; and now, well, staying alive despite one very pissed off mobster.
“High school?” I finally answer.
It may have been the end of senior year with Ethan Winters. We hated each other, but it didn’t stop us from having explosive hate sex. I grin at the memories. Aimee turns to me, slack jawed. I wait for her to say something. She doesn’t, which makes me laugh.
“Seriously?” I say, still laughing. “The only thing that renders you silent is my lack of a sex life? I should bring it up more often.”
“Ha. Ha. Laugh away, Virgin Mary.” She throws something at me. It lands in my lap. “But you’ll be thanking me when you get laid tonight.”
I look down at what she tossed into my lap. It’s my little black dress. The fabric is tight, reaches mid-thigh, and shows an uncomfortable amount of cleavage. It’s sexy, sexier than what I’m used to, but when I spotted it at a thrift shop in Morocco, I knew I had to have it.
I remember when one of my many foster mothers told me that every girl should have a little black dress. Something that makes her feel sexy. Confident. On top of the world. This is that dress for me. I still have yet to find the right moment to wear it, but apparently, Aimee thinks this is it.
So, I give up on bickering over this. I strip and throw it on, because Aimee is impossible to fight with anyway. She likes to argue in circles until the person she disagrees with gets a headache and gives up. I like my head just how it is, thank you very much.
And honestly, I’d much rather fix my nonexistent sex life than the looming threat Asher poses to my well-being. Do I think a night of sex will fix my problems? No, but it’ll take my mind away from them. Plus, a few orgasms have never hurt anybody.
Horny Lucy nods her head in agreement and beats her chest from inside the mental cell I stuck her in when Asher and I were brushing lips. Looking back, I realize that I’ve gone full circle. This all started with Asher pressing me against the wall in the alleyway outside of Rogue, then Bastian pressing that blonde girl against the wall in the restroom hallway. And finally, a few hours ago, I was in the same position again with Asher.
As I get ready, I don’t bother with any makeup. I have mascara on, and my face is clear enough that I don’t need foundation. We’re probably going to a club, where I’ll sweat any makeup off anyways. After digging through her bag, Aimee tosses me a tube of Burt’s Bees lip balm.
It’s mine.
I roll my eyes as I swipe it across my lips. I’m good to go. I toss the lip balm onto my klepto roommate’s bed, where it’s immediately lost in the mess. Seriously, I don’t know how she finds anything on her side of the room. I don’t even know how she sleeps at night when her bed is littered with knick knacks.
When I glance up at her, Aimee is already dressed. She’s wearing another colorful, sequined mini dress. She loves these. In terms of club wear, they’re pretty much all she owns. This particular one is a deep turquoise color that complements her pale skin tone.
Aimee’s light blonde hair is coifed into an elegant French twist, and her face is purposefully bare of makeup except for the bold red lipstick she always wears. She once told me that the first thing she wants a man to see when he looks at her is her lips. And after being her roommate for a month, I can vouch that this is exactly what happens whenever a guy looks at her.
Even our R.A. can’t help himself.
