Beyond the Horizon (Sons of Templar MC #4)(31)

Asher didn’t let me focus on it. “Well, I’ll have to take you out for a giant steak for our first date,” he proclaimed.

“First date?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” Asher confirmed. “See, we haven’t had one of those, and I’m mighty keen to take you out. Show you off. When you’re ready,” he added.

I was silent for a long time. Again, he didn’t press. “What if I don’t know when I’ll be ready?” I asked quietly.

Asher didn’t pause. “Then I’ll wait,” he replied firmly, seeming unperturbed. “As long as you’ll consent to me talking to you, calling you. Need to hear that beautiful voice at the very least. I wouldn’t object to dirty pictures either,” he teased.

I surprised myself by letting out a small giggle. “I’ll consent,” I said finally. “So, what’s your favorite food?” I asked after another pause. I wanted to know him too, I realized.

Asher didn’t miss a beat. “Tofu,” he replied seriously.

I surprised myself even more by bursting out with laughter.

And just like that, with a simple phone call, Asher seemed to salve some of the burn on my soul.

It felt good. Amazing in fact. I could get used to it. That was the problem.





Bex was painting her nails on the sofa while I made us lunch. I didn’t think that putting frozen fries in the oven constituted “making” anything, but I was impressed I had the energy to do even that considering we hadn’t arrived until the sun rose this morning.

“You know what? I’m not even hungover, or tired,” I told Bex, straightening from the oven.

She didn’t glance up from her task. “It’s ‘cause you’re still a little bit drunk,” she explained. “It’ll hit you in a couple of hours, then you’ll feel like you’ve been hit by a truck,” she declared firmly.

I screwed my nose up. “I’m not keen on that, alcohol is supposed to make you feel good isn’t it?” That was the whole reason I was doing this, being this person. This person who chugged beers at parties and did Jell-O shots. This person I didn’t recognize. I didn’t feel good. But I didn’t feel anything. That was good.

Bex glanced up. “Yeah, it’s not the alcohol that makes you feel bad the next day, it’s the absence of it. Which is why we keep drinking,” she told me cheerfully.

It was safe to say Bex was wholeheartedly on board with this new lifestyle I’d decided to adopt. The strip club where she worked had given her a few days off also. Begrudgingly. Her boss treated her like crap, but she was their main earner so he didn’t have much choice but to give her the time off. She’d been a party girl since before I met her, but I knew even she didn’t drink as much as we had been since ... since it happened. I guessed she was running too.

My heart did a skip when the sound of my phone jolted me out of my thoughts. I scrambled to snatch it off our counter, hoping it was him. I felt butterflies in the pit of my stomach at the name flashing on the screen.

“When the oven beeps you get up, take the fries out of the oven,” I instructed Bex quickly. “If you don’t, we both starve and die a fiery death when the oven catches fire,” I warned quickly. Bex was not a cook.

She waved her free hand above her head. “Yeah, yeah, go and have your chat with your biker.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

“Asher,” I greeted softly as I closed the door to my room, sinking onto my bed.

“Flower,” his raspy voice mumbling the name only he called me, and it was the best sound in the world. “You busy?” he continued.

“No,” I answered quickly. I may not know why he wanted to call me, to talk to me, but I knew I didn’t want it to stop. I knew it was unhealthy. Becoming this attached to someone who wouldn’t be in my life for long, but I couldn’t help myself. Calls with Asher went hand in hand with the fried food and alcoholic drinks, only they were unhealthy for my emotional wellbeing.

“Are you?” I asked.

There was a chuckle at the end of the phone. “Not right now, Lily. That’s why I called you.”

I felt my face flame. “Oh, right,” I muttered. I was even awkward on the phone. Great.

“Even if I was busy, there’s nothing that will stop me from speaking to my flower,” he told me as if I wasn’t an awkward dork. As if I was special.

I swallowed. He was so candid. So free with his feelings. It was unnerving.

“Aren’t guys like you meant to be mysterious and hide their feelings underneath a thick wall of muscle and testosterone?” I blurted, staring at my ceiling.

There was another throaty chuckle at the other end of the phone. “Guys like me?” he questioned.

I fiddled with my comforter. “Hot guys. Bad ass biker types that leave feminine jaws dropping in their wake,” I explained.

This time there wasn’t a chuckle, there was a full out roar of laughter.

Usually, this would have me wanting to hang up the phone and hide underneath the comforter I was playing with. But he wasn’t laughing at me. Not in that way.

“Flower, I’m not sure how I’m meant to act, or how mysterious I’m meant to be since I’ve never been in this situation,” he replied.