One Tiny Lie (Ten Tiny Breaths, #2)(39)

That’s why his next words surprise me. “Connor asked that I make you like me,” Ashton casually says, easing his tight grip on my hips so that I’m not pressed directly against his erection, allowing me to breathe again. His mouth twists as if from something sour. “Since he really likes you.” Then he sighs, looking over my head, as he adds, “And I’m his best friend.” As if he’s reminding himself of that.

Right, Connor. I swallow. The mention of Connor and his feelings for me while my hands are still flattened against his best friend’s chest, the one that I pawed repeatedly not even two weeks ago, fills me with guilt.

“So?” Serious dark eyes lock on my face. “How do I do that, Irish? How do I make you like me?” His question is already dripping with innuendo but when he uses that tone—one that is crackling with desire—my mouth instantly dries. And I remember exactly why I probably did throw myself at him the first time. And I’m about to do it again.

I try to summon the willpower to turn and walk away. With a deep exhale, I slide my hands back to his neck and match his intent gaze. I’m speechless. Utterly speechless. I bite my bottom lip. His eyes drop to my mouth, his own lips parting a touch. I quickly manage to croak out without thought, “Stop embarrassing me?”

He nods slowly as if considering it. There’s a pause. “What if I’m not trying to and I still embarrass you? You embarrass easily.”

Case in point, my cheeks flush and I roll my eyes. “Just tone it down.”

Ashton’s hands shift up and back slightly, his fingers spreading out along my sides and back, his pinkies just above the border of inappropriate ass touching. “Okay. What else? Come on, Irish. Lay it on me.”

I chew the inside of my mouth, thinking. What else do I say? Stop looking at me like that? Stop touching me like that? Stop being so sexy? No . . . if I’m being honest, those things aren’t bothering me right now. Probably because I’m drunk.

“Of course, we could go back to your room and—”

“Ashton!” I smack his chest hard. “Stop crossing the line!”

“We’ve already crossed that line.” His arms suddenly surround and crush me against him, until I can feel every part of him. For just a second, my body responds of its own accord, drawn by the electricity surging through to the very ends of my nerves.

Finally my brain manages to break the magnetic pull. I pinch a muscle in his shoulder hard enough that he flinches as he releases his grip.

He’s not ready to let me go just yet, though, his hands settling on my hips again. “Feisty. Just how I like you, Irish. And I’m kidding.”

“No, you’re not. I felt it.” I tilt my head and cock one eyebrow to give him a knowing stare.

That only makes him laugh. “I can’t help that, Irish. You bring out the best in me.”

“That defines you?”

“Some would say . . .”

“Is that why you . . . with so many women?”

An amused smirk touches his lips. “What is it you can’t say, sweet little Irish? Is that why I f*ck so many women?”

I wait for the answer, curious as to what he’s going to give.

The strangest look passes over his face. “It’s an escape for me. Helps me forget when I want to forget . . . things.” With a smile that doesn’t touch his eyes, he adds, “You think you have me all figured out.”

“If pompous, philandering, narcissistic ass is what I’m thinking, then . . . yeah.” I need to stop drinking. Loose lips syndrome has officially taken over. Next, I’ll bring up my dirty dream.

He nods slowly. “If I don’t mess around, would that make you feel better?”

“Well, it’d certainly make your girlfriend feel better,” I mutter.

“What if I didn’t have a girlfriend?”

I don’t notice that my feet stop moving until his do as well. “You . . . broke up with Dana?”

“What if I said that I did? Would it matter to you?”

Not trusting my voice, I simply shake my head. No, in my head I know it wouldn’t matter because he’s still all wrong.

“Not at all?” His eyes drift to my mouth as he asks in a tone so gentle, so vulnerable, so . . . hurt, almost.

My body involuntarily reacts to him, my hands curling tighter around his neck, pulling him closer to me, wanting to comfort and assure him. What exactly do I feel for him?

The slow song has ended and moved on to a high-tempo rock song, but we’re still standing chest to chest.

I know I shouldn’t ask, but I do it anyway. “What you said in that note. Why?”

He looks away for a moment and I watch his jaw clench. When he meets my eyes, there’s resignation there. “Because you’re not a one-night girl, Irish.” Leaning in to place a kiss on my jawline, he whispers, “You’re my forever girl.”

His hands slip away from me and he turns. With my heart pounding in my throat, I stand there and watch as he calmly walks to the table to grab his jacket.

And then he walks out the door.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


Attraction


You’re my forever girl.

I can’t shake his words. Since the moment they escaped those perfect lips of his, they’ve hung over me. They followed me all the way home in a drunken stupor, they crawled into bed with me, and they lingered there all night to greet me the moment my eyes opened in the morning.